Summary: You miss Rafe's long hair after being dared to cut it, and he convinces you it looks good
Warning: mentions of sex, slight smut, breeding kink, 18+
a/n: just a surprise hey heyyyy, this is slightly edited and very rusty my apologies. This is about that one tweet i saw where people were complaining about drew’s ‘ugly’ haircut and i decided to put my own twist to it, enjoy!
please do not post this anywhere without permission, thank you!
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"You did not." the words rapidly left your lips as your boyfriend stepped right through the front door, sunglasses still on as he came back from his barber.
This was Barry's fault. The dare was just a suggestion in your mind, and even after begging on your knees, you can't help but feel a twinge of regret for not speaking up more and stopping him from cutting it.
The hair you loved to pull while he licked through your folds and ate you out like it was his last meal on earth, hearing nothing but muffled groans between your legs as you pulled and gripped.
His smile was wide, and cocky even as he closed the door behind him and saw you sitting on the corner of his couch.
"I miss your long hair already," you say with a small pout.
Rafe chuckles as he sits next to you, getting comfortable before he pulls you closer to him. "Really? I kind of like it like this," he says, running a hand over his head.
You look up at him skeptically, but he just smiles and leans in to kiss you. You can't deny that he still looks handsome, even with his hair shorter than you're used to.
"You're lucky, that I love you," you mumble against his lips that had now pressed themselves against yours, his tongue sliding easily against yours and using his arms to pull you on top of him.
"Yeah?" his hands had found their favorite spot against your ass, moving your hips slowly against his, "It'll grow back," his lips wrapped themselves around your tongue as he sucked it gently, pressing you back against the sofa.
The man walked in and saw you wearing nothing but his shirt and underwear, the smell of sex lingering in the air after hours of pounding you down into his mattress all morning.
Like a man still starved, his lips had made their way down your body, lifting off his shirt from you and groaning at the sight of you with no bra, "Tsk tsk, you're practically begging me to take you right here,"
you squirmed against his lips as they pressed themselves against your stomach, hands cupping your breast, "and you fell for it," you giggle as he bites down onto your thigh playfully, your hands going to hold onto his hair, "I'm gonna miss being able to grip your hair," his buzzed hair felt rough yet soft against your touch.
In a swift motion, you were flipped onto your stomach and pinned down by his hands, feeling his breath hit your right ear as he bit your earlobe gently, "even better, you won't be able to pull me away when I eat that pretty pussy of yours," he hummed, as you hear his belt getting thrown to the side, his one hand pulling down his shorts slowly, "and I'm just gonna keep going, even after you've begged it's become too much,"
You moaned against the pillow that had muffled your sounds in the last few seconds, back arching back against his growing bulge that kept pressing itself against you, "and just when you think I've stopped," he pressed his lips against your neck, pulling your underwear to the side as his tip kissed your entrance, the pre-cum mixing with your juices, "I'm gonna slide my cock in," he hissed as he spoke, slowly pressing his hips forwards and happily being welcomed by your warm cavern, "and pump you with so much of my fucking cum, buried deep inside, and get your belly big and round with my children," his breath was shaky as he slid all the way inside of you.
Your legs were spread, back arched against him as he deliciously split you open, never getting used to his monster cock.
"Fuck, Rafe.." was all you could let out, as his hand pressed your head deeper onto the pillow, the other hand smacking your ass and savoring your cunt that gripped onto him, "My hair should be the least of your worries right now, better hope that pill of yours works," he slid out of you before slamming back into you, earning a gasp from your lips, "cause you're in for a long afternoon, mama."
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Taglist: (let me know if you'd like to be added/removed, or if you changed your username!)
.✦ 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.”
summary: yunho was hongjoong’s right hand man, his best dealer, his best racer, last thing yunho needed was to get distracted by a cop’s daughter
warning: possessive jealous yunho, weed dealer yunho, stoner yunho, street racer yunho, use of drugs, violence, oral, unprotected sex, creampie, spanking, breeding
pairing: yunho x afab/reader
genre: smut, drama, angst, romance
word count: 24.2k
chapter ten
chapter twelve coming soon
masterlist
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The garage smelled like burnt rubber, grease, and motor oil, the scent of home, even if his ribs still ached when he bent too far over the hood. Yunho wiped the sweat from his temple with the back of his hand, breathing through the pain as he leaned over his busted car. The frame was mangled, the hood crumpled, and the axle? Might as well have been cursed. But he was determined. He was going to bring it back to life. Not for the race. Not yet. But because it was his.
The slam of a car door outside barely registered until a pair of heels echoed across the garage floor. He straightened slowly, wincing, and turned to see a woman standing in the open bay door like she owned the place. Slim black slacks. Blazer. Sunglasses. Lipstick too dark for daytime but worn like a challenge. She held up a badge before anyone could speak. “ATF. Agent Bae,” she said crisply. “I’m looking for whoever’s running this place.” Yunho narrowed his eyes, tossing his rag onto the workbench. “Hongjoong’s not here.”
“Shame.” Her voice was flat but smug. “Then I guess you’ll do.” She stepped forward, the click of her heels obnoxiously loud on the concrete. Her gaze swept over the garage like it disgusted her, until it landed on Yunho again. “Jeong Yunho, right? You’re the one who got himself run over. Hell of a way to avoid questioning.” Yunho’s jaw clenched. “And I’m told you’re still under medical orders, but here you are, sweating over a corpse of a car. Dedication or stupidity?”
“Lady,” Wooyoung muttered from somewhere behind a stack of tires, “you’re asking for a wrench to the face.” She smiled, not at Wooyoung, but at Yunho. Like she knew exactly how far she could push before someone snapped. “I’m taking over the investigation into Outlaw Customz,” she continued, brushing imaginary lint from her lapel. “The Bureau’s got a bit too many blind spots lately, and your last two agents assigned here? One went rogue, the other got too cozy.” Yunho didn’t say a word. Just watched her. The way she kept glancing around like she was cataloging weak points. The way she leaned forward slightly as if daring him to speak out of line. The way she knew things she shouldn’t.
“You got a warrant?” he finally asked. “Nope,” she said with a smile. “Just introducing myself.” And just like that, she turned and started walking back toward her car. “Oh, and Yunho?” she called over her shoulder, pausing at the door. “Tell your friends, especially the loud mouthed one in the truck, any missing inventory, money laundering, or tampered VIN numbers I find? Won’t be swept under the rug this time. Your free ride’s over.” She was gone before anyone could respond.
Yunho stared after her, heart pounding, not from fear. From instinct. Something was off. She had too much bite, too much interest, and not enough of the usual procedure. And the look in her eyes? It wasn’t justice. It was personal.
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Hongjoong stepped through the bay doors in a black shirt and worn denim, sunglasses still on, iced americano in hand. The moment he crossed the threshold, he knew something was wrong. Yunho wasn’t working. He was waiting. Standing by the hood of a car, tense, jaw clenched, arms crossed over his still bruised chest like he was trying to hold back a storm. Wooyoung was pacing just behind him, muttering under his breath, and Yeosang sat on the workbench like he was either analyzing a crime scene or about to commit one. “Did the garage blow up while I was gone?” Hongjoong asked dryly, peeling off his sunglasses.
“Worse,” Yunho replied, low and sharp. Hongjoong raised a brow. “Someone better talk before I assume Jongho blew an engine again and now he’s trying to frame someone.” Yunho didn’t smile. Didn’t even twitch. “New ATF agent showed up,” he said. “Said her name was Bae.” Hongjoong’s expression didn’t change, but his grip on the coffee cup shifted. “She flashed a badge, called me by name, threw shade at the Bureau, then said she’s taking over the investigation into Outlaw Customz. Real smug. Real mouthy.”
“What did she ask?”
“Nothing.” Yunho snorted. “She was just here to flex. Told me my free ride was over. Said she’s onto us, money, mods, everything.” Wooyoung cut in, eyes still wide. “Bro, she said he got run over to avoid questioning. Run over. Who the hell says that?” Yeosang muttered, “Someone trying to poke at you, see if you break.” Hongjoong finally set his drink down. Leaned both hands on the worktable and stared at nothing for a long moment. “She mention how she got the assignment?” he asked.
“Just said the last agents went rogue or got cozy,” Yunho replied. “Didn’t name names. But Joong…” He stepped closer. “She knew shit she shouldn’t. Not public info. And she looked at me like I already disappointed her.” Hongjoong nodded slowly. Something settling behind his eyes. “She’s not ATF,” he said flatly. “Then who the hell is she?” Wooyoung asked. “Someone with backing,” Hongjoong answered. “And if I had to guess…” He met Yunho’s eyes. “Han’s daddy’s finally making good on his son’s fuck up and all that money.” The room went still and Yunho’s jaw flexed. “You think she was hired?”
“I think she’s exactly where she wants to be,” Hongjoong said. “And if she’s not real law enforcement, she’s here to build a case against us, fabricated or not. To rattle us. To bait you.”
“She’s probably gonna try to use Y/N next,” Yeosang added quietly. “Or threaten her.” Yunho’s face darkened. “She won’t get near her,” he said. “I don’t care who she works for.”
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The takeout bag rustled as Yunho slid into the driver’s seat of Y/N’s car, the scent of hot jjajangmyeon and soy glazed chicken and fries filling the interior. He’s been using her car for obvious reasons and leant Yeosang his bike for since he wasn’t exactly in condition to drive it right now. He exhaled slowly, his body still aching in waves beneath his hoodie and joggers, every bruise a reminder of the last two weeks. It was late. Streets quiet.
Her side of the city was always calmer, less sirens, more neon reflections bouncing off wet pavement. He turned onto the main road, fingers drumming the wheel lazily as he hummed along to the song on the radio, high from pain meds and food anticipation. Until the lights flashed behind him. Blue and red. A patrol cruiser. Yunho blinked. “The fuck?” he muttered, pulling over without hesitation. He wasn’t speeding. He wasn’t swerving.
The officer approached slowly, too slowly. Yunho rolled the window down, squinting up at the man in the beam of his flashlight. Tall. Pale. Smug expression behind aviators even though it was nearly midnight. “License and registration.” Yunho handed over his license, then leaned across the seat to fish through Y/N’s glovebox for the car’s paperwork. “I just picked up food, man. I didn’t even know the speed limit changed on this street or whatever,” he muttered, handing everything over. The cop stared at the registration for a beat too long. “This car’s registered to a Y/N Kim,” he said flatly. “Yeah,” Yunho replied. “She’s my girlfriend.”
“Mmm.” The cop stepped away, back to his cruiser and Yunho sighed as he picked up a french fry. He was halfway through chewing when the officer returned, face unreadable. “Step out of the vehicle.” Yunho blinked, brows furrowed. “I’m sorry… what?”
“Step. Out.”
“The hell for?”
“Car’s flagged in our system. Reported stolen three hours ago.”
Yunho snorted, mouth still full. “No, it wasn’t.”
“Step out now, sir.”
Yunho stared at him like he was insane. “It’s her car. You really think I stole my girl’s car and stopped for food on the way?” But the officer’s hand was already on the door, wrenching it open. And Yunho, still bruised, still recovering, grunted as he was dragged out by the arm, shoved hard against the hood of the car. He winced immediately, pain slicing through his ribs. “Fucking hell, ow!” he hissed, voice sharp. “You’re real proud of this little power trip, huh?”
“Put your hands behind your back.”
“I’m gonna tell her you manhandled me and her dad’s gonna have your ass.” The cuffs clicked. And Yunho? He started laughing.
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Agent Bae’s heels clicked as she entered the bullpen, sharp as ever. She found Chief Kim near the glass conference room, on the phone, voice terse. When he hung up, she arched a brow. “Busy night?” she asked coolly. He glanced at her. “Something like that.” She tilted her head. “Funny how your task force never quite managed to take this place down. How long have you had eyes on Outlaw Customz? Two years?”
“Watch yourself,” he warned.
“Oh, don’t get defensive. I just find it curious.”
Before he could respond, the sound of a very familiar voice echoed from down the hall. “I told you it’s my girlfriend’s car, you fucking rent a cop! Call her! Her number’s in my phone under, Hot Ass in My Bed! Go ahead, check it, unless you’re scared of how many photos I have of her naked!”
Chief Kim turned. So did Bae. Yunho was being walked through the main floor in cuffs, still laughing, blood at his lip, hoodie pulled crooked from the rough handling. “Real nice,” he called loudly. “Tryna frame me for grand theft of a car I pay the gas for. What’s next? Stealing my own underwear from her laundry basket?” The dirty cop who brought him in looked uncomfortable now. And Chief Kim? He was already marching toward them.
Yunho was still chuckling when the doors opened again. Footsteps, two sets. Sharp. Determined. He didn’t even have to look up to know who it was. “Yunho,” came the familiar growl. Yunho tilted his head back against the cold wall of the holding room, wrists burning in the cuffs and ribs pulsing with ache. He looked up through the mess of hair in his face, grinning despite the smear of blood at the corner of his mouth. “Hey, Chief,” he said, voice hoarse but cocky. “How much of that did you hear?”
Kim didn’t answer. Just gave him that look, the one that could strip paint off a car door. Right behind him was Agent Bae, arms folded, smug like she’d just walked into a courtroom with a smoking gun and a designer bag full of snark. Yunho rolled his neck. “Lemme guess. You came to make sure I didn’t confess to stealing my own girlfriend’s damn car.”
“Not your name on the registration,” the cop muttered, arms crossed, already shrinking under Kim’s stare but still holding onto the last scraps of his ego. “Oh, you’re doubling down?” Yunho scoffed. “Admirable. Stupid, but admirable.” Kim turned, eyes narrowing on the officer like a blade being drawn. “Her car, huh?” he said, tone deceptively mild. “Mind describing it for me?”
“Red 2019 Ford Mustang. Registered to Y/N Kim.”
“Mmm.” Kim nodded once. “The same Red 2019 Ford Mustang that I personally paid for two years ago? That car?” The officer faltered as Kim stepped forward. “That car that’s been parked in front of my house, in front of her apartment, my daughter’s name on the registration because I gave it to her for her birthday?” Yunho watched the color drain from the cop’s face. “Interesting,” Kim said, tapping his chin. “Because if I remember correctly, there’s no stolen vehicle report. And last time I checked, there’s a GPS tracker in the glovebox, installed by yours truly. Want to pull those records, Agent Bae? Might be good for your files.” Agent Bae didn’t look nearly as pleased now. “Tell me something,” Kim said, voice low and deadly. “Who gave you that tip?”
“Anonymous call,” the cop said too quickly. “Uh huh,” Kim deadpanned. “And I’m fucking Santa Claus.” Yunho bit back a grin. His wrists still ached, and his ribs throbbed with every breath, but watching this asshole squirm? That was worth at least a shot of morphine. “Yunho,” Kim said again, without looking at him, “did you steal my daughter’s car?”
“Not unless she’s reporting it missing along with her underwear,” Yunho said, unapologetically crude making Kim sigh and slap the shit out of him. “But I’ve definitely left some DNA behind if you need proof.” Agent Bae groaned audibly and Kim just sighed and turned back to the officer. “Take off the cuffs. Now.”
“But…”
“Now. Before I have your badge on my desk and you’re lucky to be writing parking tickets in a school zone.”
The cop fumbled with the keys. The second Yunho’s wrists were free, he hissed and shook them out, rubbing the red lines where the cuffs had bitten into bruised skin. Kim turned to Agent Bae, tone cold. “You should update your investigation notes, Agent. Yunho’s a lot of things, but a car thief isn’t one of them. And if Han has enough pull to get one of your people to set this shit up, maybe you should be looking into him a little harder.” Then Kim finally looked at Yunho. “Go home. You look like hell.”
The sound of stomping boots echoed through the bullpen, snapping heads up and silencing idle chatter like a record scratch. The front doors burst open. Y/N didn’t slow her pace. She stormed in like she owned the damn bureau, fury simmering in her clenched jaw and fire in her eyes. Behind her, Seonghwa followed with a calmer stride.
“What the hell?” Y/N snapped as soon as she caught sight of her father, who was standing near the glass conference room rubbing his temples like he had a migraine with her name on it.
Kim barely got a word out before she was moving again, eyes landing on the tall, familiar figure with bruises under his eyes and a busted lip. Her entire face changed in a blink. “Yunho?” He gave her a sheepish little smirk, lips swollen, cuffs gone but wrists still red. “Hey, baby.” Her gaze dropped to the blood drying at the corner of his mouth. Her tone turned lethal. “Who hit you?” Yunho was about to answer, but before he could, the air shifted. Agent Bae stepped into view like a villain entering act two of a Kdrama, perfectly timed with her smug little smile and arms folded across her blazer. “You must be Y/N,” she said smoothly, looking her up and down like she was already unimpressed. “The girlfriend.” Y/N turned slowly to face her, one brow arched. “And you are?”
“Agent Bae. ATF. Lead investigator on the Outlaw Customz case.”
“Must be exhausting,” Y/N shot back without missing a beat. “All that effort spent chasing after the wrong people.” Agent Bae’s smile didn’t waver. “Well, I do find it interesting that every time we circle around something illegal, your name shows up. And now your boyfriend’s showing up in flagged vehicles, mouthing off to officers.” Seonghwa, who had been standing politely off to the side, took a step forward at that and Y/N’s voice dropped into that eerie calm that always preceded chaos. “You trying to intimidate me, Agent Bae? Cause I grew up with a cop for a father, and I’ve been around enough bullshit to know when someone’s got a personal agenda.”
Kim coughed from the sidelines, clearly regretting every life decision that led to this exact moment as Agent Bae tilted her head. “So defensive. Makes me wonder what you’re trying to protect.”Y/N took another step forward, closing the distance until they were nearly eye to eye. “If I were you, I’d stop wondering and start worrying. Because you’re talking to someone whose father still has the power to drag your badge through the mud, and whose boyfriend has more street loyalty than you’ll ever earn in a government office.”
Bae opened her mouth, then thought better of it. Yunho, watching the whole thing from his seat in the corner, looked up at Seonghwa and muttered, “She’s hot when she threatens feds.” Seonghwa exhaled. “She’s also gonna get you put back in cuffs if you keep talking.”
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By the time they got back to Y/N and Seonghwa’s apartment, the adrenaline had started to wear off, but the rage was still simmering just beneath Y/N’s skin. She slammed the door behind them, jaw clenched, bag slung off her shoulder and tossed to the side like it had personally offended her. Seonghwa didn’t say much. He just muttered a dramatic little “I’m starving and this food is cold now, thanks” and shuffled straight to the kitchen, fishing out the takeout container Yunho had picked up before getting, oh, you know, falsely arrested.
Yunho trailed behind her into the apartment, head ducked just slightly, still limping a bit from his lingering injuries. He looked like a kicked puppy, all bruises and blood and pouty lips. But Y/N didn’t even let him sit down. “Oh, no,” she snapped, spinning on her heel. “Get your ass in the bathroom.” Yunho blinked. “Am I in trouble?”
“You’re dirty.”
“I was working on a car before, not robbing a bank.”
“You also got arrested. You smell like handcuffs and shitty cologne. Shower. Now.”
Yunho smirked. “You’re sexy when you’re mean.”
“Keep talking,” she muttered, yanking him by the wrist and dragging him down the hall, “I’ll wash your mouth out too.” She didn’t say she wouldn’t like it, and once in the bathroom, she flipped the water on, turning to him with narrowed eyes. “Shirt. Off.” Yunho wiggled his brows. “Well if you insist…”
“Yunho.”
“Right, sorry. Arrested. Bad. Dirty. Serious time.” He winced a little as he peeled the fabric over his bruised ribs, the wounds healing but still angry and red. Y/N softened at that, reaching to help with the rest. When the steam filled the small space and the shower fogged up the mirror, she was already undressing, tossing her shirt and jeans onto the counter. Yunho caught a glimpse of her bare neck and leaned in, brushing his lips to the fading bruise Han had left. She let him, just for a second, her eyes fluttering shut. “You’re sexy when you’re mean,” he whispered again, voice lower this time, more reverent. “Scary as hell, too.”
“Good,” she murmured, stepping into the water with him. “Then you know not to piss me off.” The hot spray of the water pelted over them, fogging up the glass, dripping down skin, mixing with the hum of something unspoken building between them. Y/N was running conditioner through her hair when she felt Yunho step closer behind her, his hands sliding up her sides with a slow, featherlight touch. She didn’t flinch when his fingers brushed over her hips, she knew he was just taking inventory. Touching every inch of her like he needed proof she was still his.
“Turn around for me,” he said softly, barely audible above the water. She met his eyes over her shoulder, dark, hungry, but gentle, and she did. Slowly. Chest rising as the steam wrapped around her like a second skin and he kissed her. It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t rough. It was slow and open mouthed and deep, like he was thirsty for her. Like she was the only thing that could ease the ache of the last few weeks. When he pulled back, her lips were swollen, her breath shallow. “You always take care of me,” he murmured, lowering himself, kissing down her collarbone, down her sternum, her stomach, and then he dropped to his knees. Right there in the shower, bruised and still a little high off pain meds and everything else, he settled between her thighs like that was where he was meant to be.
Her hand flew to his hair the moment his mouth found her, lips soft but insistent, tongue dragging slow, wet circles over her clit until her knees almost gave out. One of his hands gripped her hip to keep her steady, the other slid behind her thigh, coaxing it over his shoulder. He moaned against her, and the vibration made her gasp. “Yunho…” she choked out, her back hitting the tiled wall, her fingers fisting in his wet hair. But he wasn’t stopping. He was feasting, eyes flicking up to watch her fall apart for him, his mouth working her like he had all the time in the world and nowhere else to be. Because he didn’t. He was home now. And she was the reason he’d survived.
She was close, her head tipped back against the tile, lips parted, the steam curling around her like a halo as Yunho’s mouth worked her with unwavering focus. His tongue was relentless, firm and slow and devastating in every stroke. And he knew her, because when her thighs started to tremble, when her moans grew breathy and broken, he didn’t let up. He tightened his grip and she came with a shudder, gasping his name like it was sacred, fingers digging into his soaked hair as her body went tight, then loose all at once.
He didn’t move at first. He just kissed the inside of her thigh, eyes still locked on her flushed face, letting her ride the high all the way down. Then, slowly, Yunho rose to his feet. His breath hitched, not from her, but from the pull in his ribs, the deep bruising along his back that screamed from kneeling too long. He exhaled through the pain, his jaw tight, but when she reached for him, worry flashing across her face, he caught her wrists. “I’m fine,” he rasped, voice low, soaked and starved. “I need to be inside you.” And then he kissed her again. Rougher. Hungrier.
He spun her gently, pressing her back against the warm tile. She gasped when she felt him, hard and thick and ready, rub between her legs, her body already so wet, so open for him. His hands gripped her thighs and she jumped, wrapping her legs around his waist, her back hitting the wall with a soft thud. “Yunho… your ribs….” He kissed her again. “Don’t care,” he muttered against her neck, lining himself up, the head of his dick brushing her entrance. “You feel too good, baby.” And then he pushed in. Deep. A strained groan tore from his throat as her warmth wrapped around him, every inch of him sinking into her until his forehead dropped against her shoulder.
“Fuck,” he breathed, voice shaking. “You’re perfect. You’re so…. tight. Just for me.” She moaned, clinging to his shoulders, the stretch already making her tremble again. He started to move, slow but deep, powerful thrusts despite the bruises that painted his skin. Every time he pulled back and pushed in again, the water sloshed over their bodies, and her name was a constant whisper from his lips. Because nothing else mattered. Not pain. Not arrests. Not threats. Only her.
The water kept running, hot and sharp against their skin, but all Y/N could feel was him, Yunho driving into her over and over again, her back against the tile, legs locked tight around his waist, his bruised body holding nothing back as his thrusts deepened, harder now, more urgent. The pain, his pain, was a distant hum in the background, overshadowed by the heat building in his spine, in his gut, in his chest where her name lived now, carved into bone as her fingers dug into his back as he fucked her like he needed to prove something, not just to her, not just to himself, but to the world that dared try to take her away from him.
“You’re mine,” he gritted, voice a growl against her jaw. “You hear me? Mine.” She whimpered his name, her lips brushing his temple, but he didn’t let up. He shifted, slamming into her just right, and her cry echoed off the shower walls. “That bruise,” he panted, leaning forward to kiss the side of her neck, that mark, again. His lips brushed over the now fading shape left behind by Han, a ghost of violence Yunho couldn’t erase but would never forget. “He’ll never touch you again,” he swore against her skin, each word punctuated by another thrust. “I’ll kill him first.” Her whole body tightened at that, her breath catching, her nails dragging down his back as she felt herself climbing fast again. She believed him. It wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t a maybe. It was a promise.
“I love you,” he whispered, raw and low. “I love you, Y/N.” Her eyes burned, overwhelmed, the words falling from her lips in a gasp, “I love you too,” right as the coil inside her snapped. She came hard, shaking in his arms, clinging to him like she might fall apart otherwise. And Yunho lost it. He buried his face in her neck, thrusting once, twice more before groaning deep in his chest, spilling into her with a full body tremor, holding her so tight she could barely breathe. His whole body trembled, jaw clenched, the steam rising like smoke around them. For a long moment, they just stayed like that, pressed together, hearts racing, water washing away everything except them.
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The late afternoon sun poured in through the open garage bay, glinting off wrenches, chrome, and sweat. Yunho was shirtless, finally cleared to lift fully again, the bruises on his ribs now a faint yellow, green instead of angry red. He and Jongho were focused, working in sync as they lowered the new matte black hood onto the restored shell of Yunho’s car. “Easy there,” Jongho said, gripping one side while Yunho secured the hinge, wiping his forearm across his forehead, squinting toward the light. “God, I missed doing this,” he muttered. “Being able to actually move without feeling like my ribs were gonna crack in half.” Jongho grinned. “Yeah, your whiny ass was driving me insane.”
“Whatever,” Yunho smirked. “You cried when I made you carry groceries up the stairs.”
“That was three flights, and you bought enough food to feed a damn army.”
The banter continued until a sharp metallic click echoed across the garage. Both of them froze. Another click, then shouting outside. “Hands where I can see them!” Yunho and Jongho turned toward the entrance just as tactical boots thundered in. Multiple agents in black stormed through the open bay doors, guns raised, vests marked ATF and KPD in bold white lettering. The scent of motor oil and rubber was instantly drowned out by the adrenaline slicing through the air.
“What the fuck…” Jongho started, raising his hands instinctively as three agents rushed them. Yunho didn’t move at first. His jaw clenched, the hood still balanced between his fingers, heart pounding as the lead officer aimed straight at his chest. “Step back. Hands on your head. Now.” Yunho lifted his hands slowly. “It’s my car, man.”
“No sudden moves,” the agent barked. Around the shop, chaos bloomed, more agents filing in, barking orders, pushing past Wooyoung who came out of the backroom half covered in grease, saw the rifles, and immediately yelled, “Oh, come the fuck on!” Yeosang, caught mid sip of his iced coffee on the lift platform, stared down at the agents like he was trying to decide if he was still high or if this was actually happening.
And at the center of it all, Yunho didn’t flinch. His eyes locked onto her. The new ATF agent. The smug one with the sharp suit and sharper smile, Han’s handpicked piece of leverage most likely. She strolled in behind the chaos like it was a red carpet, unbothered by the shouting. “Mr. Jeong,” Bae said smoothly, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “Nice to see you again.” Yunho’s glare darkened. “You picked a hell of a day.”
“You know what they say,” she smiled, flipping through her tablet. “Timing is everything.” The garage looked like a war zone. Agents swarmed every corner, overturning drawers, scanning the computers, pulling up floor panels and knocking on walls like they were looking for a hidden vault. The chaos was surgical, rehearsed, targeted. And yet, they came up empty. No stolen parts. No unregistered weapons. No drugs. Well… no real drugs. Until one of the younger agents held up a vacuum sealed ziplock of weed like it was a live grenade. “We got something!”
“Where was it?” Bae asked, striding over in her heels like she was on a damn runway. “In the locker room. Stuffed in a Vans box, behind some shirts. Locker’s got a nametag on it, W. Jung.’” Wooyoung blinked, deadpan, from where he stood beside Yeosang and Jongho. “Are you seriously arresting me for weed in 2025?” The agent smiled coldly. “You’d be surprised what I can do when you’ve got priors, Mr. Jung. Seems this isn’t your first offense.” Wooyoung snapped, “That’s personal use, not trafficking…”
“And this is federal property under active surveillance.” She waved her hand, like brushing away a fly. “Possession with intent will stick if I say it does.” Two agents moved to cuff Wooyoung and Yeosang stepped forward. “Hey… he’s on probation. You can’t…..”
“I’m not resisting,” Wooyoung interrupted, already rolling his eyes as he raised his hands. “No need to tackle me this time.” They still manhandled him and Jongho gritted his teeth, fists clenched at his sides. “You’re really gonna pull this shit just to get to Yunho.” Bae turned, her smile never wavering. “Oh, I think we’ll be pulling a lot more than that before this is over.” Yunho said nothing, jaw flexing as he watched Wooyoung get shoved into the back of a black SUV. This time, there was no Kim Junmyeon to sweep in and undo it. No dad badge to pull rank. This time? Wooyoung was really getting booked.
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The smell of wet fur, old kibble, and lavender cleaner clung to the air as Y/N crouched beside a hyper golden retriever named Gimbap, his tail thumping wildly against the kennel bars. “You’re gonna break your spine wagging that hard,” she laughed, slipping her fingers through the gap to scratch behind his ears. Beside her, Seonghwa leaned on the doorframe of the adoption room, sipping an iced vanilla latte like he hadn’t just spent the last thirty minutes letting a senior Chihuahua nap in his lap. “You’re naming him Gimbap now?” San snorted from the corner, arms folded as he watched her through amused eyes. “You rename every dog you see.”
“That one looked like a Tteokbokki,” she pointed toward a Shih Tzu chewing on a Kong toy. “That one’s name is Tteokbokki,” San replied. “Oh. Well then I’m clearly gifted.” Seonghwa chuckled but then narrowed his eyes slightly, like a cat catching movement in the dark. “Okay, but for real, how long?” San blinked. “How long what?” Y/N stood, brushing dog hair off her black leggings. “You and Wooyoung. Don’t play dumb.” San’s expression was the picture of innocence. “We’re just friends after they fixed my car that time.”
Seonghwa scoffed. “Friends don’t sneak out of each other’s beds before sunrise.” Y/N smirked. “Friends don’t leave bruises on necks and forget to wear concealer.” San flushed. “You guys are out of your damn minds.”
“Just admit it!” she sang, stepping closer. “You’ve been seeing him in secret, haven’t you? Is it kinky? Is it emotional? Is he the big spoon or are you?” San was mid eye roll when Seonghwa’s phone vibrated on the bench behind them. He picked it up without glancing at the screen, then immediately froze. “Hwa?” Y/N asked. His face shifted. Smile gone. Eyes narrowed. “What?” San asked, suddenly alert. Seonghwa’s tone was razor sharp. “Wooyoung just got arrested.”
Y/N blinked, the words not registering for a second. Then, panic. “What do you mean arrested?” she gasped. “For what? Where? When?” Seonghwa was already moving toward the door. “It was a raid. The garage. They only took him.” San’s body jolted forward. “Only him?” Y/N grabbed Seonghwa’s car keys. “We’re going. Now.” She didn’t care that her shoes were untied. That she left her phone behind. That her hands were shaking. All she could think was, not again. Not another one of theirs behind bars.
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Steam curled in the small bathroom, fogging the mirror, softening the scars and bruises still fading across Yunho’s ribs. He ran the towel over his hair, the other still low on his hips, clinging to the V of his abs. The gash on the back of his head had healed over, just a faint red line now. His knuckles? Still calloused. Still ready. The worst part wasn’t the crash. It wasn’t even the hospital, or the bruised ribs, or the scar he’d carry from where Han’s car had clipped him. It was the waiting.
Sitting still, playing nice, acting like he could be normal for more than a week. He couldn’t. That was never him. He dropped the towel to the floor, dressed in all black, loose cargo pants, thermal long sleeve, hoodie over the top. Pulled on his chain, the one Y/N had once joked made him look like someone who charged for danger. Laced up his boots, grabbed the duffel already packed by the door. Jongho was gone for the night, sleeping over at Yeosang’s. No one to stop him. Not that they could.
The burner phone on the counter buzzed once. One word, “Go.” He slipped his pistol into the back waistband of his pants, hoodie falling over it like muscle memory. The same way his hand brushed the handle without thinking. His gun was just part of the outfit at this point. Just like the silence. Just like the tension. Just like the job. No matter how much Y/N’s dad wasn’t watching him now. No matter how many I love you’s were whispered against collarbones. Yunho’s world was still built on fast cars, locked trunks, heavy envelopes, and names you didn’t say out loud.
And he was healed. Which meant he had no excuse left. The night air bit against his skin as he stepped outside. His car was still wrecked, still waiting, and he would not dare take Y/N’ car for this. So he took the black Honda instead, the one Hongjoong kept gassed and silent in the back. No one knew about this drop except Hongjoong and the client. Just the way Yunho liked it. He revved the engine once and pulled out onto the road, the hum of adrenaline settling beneath his skin like home.
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She should’ve said no. Really, she meant to say no. But then San had shown up at her apartment with that look in his eyes, messy hair, nervous bounce to his knee, chewing the hell out of his lip, and asked if she could please go out with him. “Just a few hours. Just so I don’t go completely insane without Woo.”
And now… here she was. The dress clung to her like it was poured on, sleek black satin with a draped neckline and the most dangerous side detail imaginable. Five delicate chains held the left side of the skirt together, flashing slivers of skin with every step, every shift of her hips. Her thigh was practically winking at people. Her dad would have locked her up just so no one could look at her. Seonghwa had stared at her for five full seconds when she came out of her room, blinking like he rebooted mid thought before finally muttering, “I suddenly understand every mistake Yunho’s ever made.”
San, on the other hand, had let out an audible whistle, followed by a drawn out “Holy shit” and a proud arm around her shoulders. “You’re gonna get me killed by association.” Now, lights flashed overhead. Bass thrummed deep in her bones. Bodies moved like heat and haze and temptation on the dance floor, but Y/N didn’t move toward them just yet. She leaned against the bar, sipping her drink, letting the music settle in her chest, letting herself feel for the first time in a while. It felt good. Reckless. Free. Like the calm before something absolutely stupid. “Do you see the way that guy keeps looking at you?” Seonghwa said, leaning close with a smirk, “I think he’s trying to figure out how those chains on your dress work.”
“Joke’s on him,” she murmured, dragging her finger around the rim of her glass. “I had to use a mirror, two hair ties, and the patience of a monk just to get them to stay in place.” San appeared between them, a new drink in each hand and a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Okay. I’ve had two shots and half a mojito. One of you is dancing with me before I black out or start crying over Wooyoung or something embarrassing.”
“You cried over him thirty minutes ago,” Seonghwa replied, raising an eyebrow.
San grinned and pointed at Y/N. “Then it’s her turn. Come on, trouble.” Y/N gave Seonghwa a mock apologetic look as San dragged her toward the dance floor. The chains on her dress glinted under the neon lights, a flash of skin and shimmer with every step. She didn’t notice the way half the room looked at her when she passed. But San did and so did someone else.
Yunho hadn’t planned to stay long. The drop was quick, just a black duffle in the club owner’s office, exchanged with a nod, no questions asked. He was supposed to leave right after, slide back into the night like always. But then he caught a glimpse of her. His girl. On the dance floor. And everything else fell away. She was moving to the beat, hips swaying in that black dress like sin and silk had made a pact to ruin him. The lighting made her skin glow, the glint of the side chains catching like starlight every time she turned. And dancing with San, of all people, his hand low on her back, too low.
Yunho had frozen in place, jaw clenched, hand in the pocket of his hoodie curling into a fist. She hadn’t told him she was wearing that. She hadn’t told him they were coming here. “Me and Seonghwa are just hanging with San tonight,” she’d said over the phone earlier. “He needs a distraction. Promise we won’t be out late.” Yeah. This didn’t feel like just hanging out.
He didn’t go to her. Not yet. He stayed in the shadows, leaning against the far wall where the club lighting didn’t quite reach, watching her with sharp eyes and the storm slowly building in his chest. It wasn’t until she broke away from San and headed toward the bar that it happened. A guy, tall, smug, clearly drunk on both alcohol and the way her dress fit, peeled off from the crowd and followed her. He sidled up next to her as she leaned over the bar to order, his eyes dragging down her body like he had any right. He said something, Yunho couldn’t hear it over the music, but it made her tense, her body pulling back a step.
That was all it took. The fuse snapped and Yunho moved. Straight through the crowd, parting bodies with sheer presence alone. The guy barely got another sentence out before Yunho appeared beside her. Not loudly. Not suddenly. Just there, silent and solid, stepping into the space like he owned it, like he’d been waiting for someone to give him a reason. He slipped in behind Y/N, one hand resting low on her back, fingers splayed possessively, the other curling casually around the edge of the bar. His voice was even, almost friendly. “Hey, man.” He smiled without warmth. “You lost?”
The guy blinked, thrown off by Yunho’s sudden presence. “What?” Yunho tilted his head slightly, gaze lazily dragging up and down the guy’s figure. “You must be, since you’ve clearly got the wrong girl.”
“I was just…”
“You were just about to walk away.” Yunho’s tone didn’t change, but something in his eyes did. He leaned in slightly, the smile still on his face. “Unless you want to leave here missing a few teeth, yeah?” It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It was worse. Because the guy believed him. The smug expression dropped instantly, and he stammered something incoherent before stumbling backward, disappearing into the crowd without looking back.
Yunho didn’t watch him leave. His hand was still on Y/N’s back, the other now resting flat on the bar. She turned to him slowly, eyes wide, adrenaline still humming beneath her skin. “What are you doing here?” she asked, the music throbbing behind her, her voice low. “I could ask you the same thing,” he said, not moving. She raised an eyebrow. “San dragged me and Seonghwa out. You know that.” Yunho didn’t answer at first. His jaw ticked once, then his gaze finally, finally dropped, trailing down the deep dip of that neckline, the way the dress clung to her curves, the delicate chains hugging her exposed thigh.
When he looked back up at her, his voice was quieter. Rougher. “And you wore this?” Her breath caught as Yunho blinked once, like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud, like it slipped past the tight grip he usually kept on his self control. Y/N’s lips twitched. “I wasn’t trying to…”
“I know what you were trying to do,” he interrupted, voice a little darker now. “But you look like this, and you came here, and I wasn’t supposed to see it?” She tilted her head, challenging. “And if you hadn’t?” He didn’t smile. Didn’t blink. “Then some asshole would’ve ended up touching something that doesn’t belong to him.” She swallowed hard. He didn’t mean it as a threat. He didn’t mean to be possessive. But every word dripped with it, unfiltered, raw, honest. She was his. And this was the first time she was seeing what it looked like when someone else forgot that.
Y/N stepped back from the bar, from him, her eyes narrowing even as the bass from the club’s speakers vibrated through the floor beneath her heels. “What?” she snapped, eyes narrowing. “Did you follow us? I thought you said you were going to the garage to work on your car.” Yunho’s jaw flexed, caught between explaining and not wanting to sound like he was scrambling. “I was,” he said, voice low. “I was at the garage.” She crossed her arms. “And then what? You just happened to show up here?”
“I made a drop,” he said, evenly. “To the club owner. I didn’t know you’d be here.” Her expression flickered for a second, surprise cutting through the suspicion, before her eyes searched his face. “You didn’t know?”
“No,” he said, honestly this time, because it was the truth. “You told me you were hanging out with San and Seonghwa, not where you were going. I wasn’t checking up on you.” She let that sit between them. Her jaw was still tight, her body language guarded, but her shoulders dropped a little. “You didn’t have to threaten that guy.” Yunho’s eyes darkened. “He followed you from the dance floor. He put his hand on your waist.”
“So?”
“So I didn’t like it.”
She blinked. “Yunho.”
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he repeated. “But the second I saw you in that dress, dancing with San, hell, anyone, something in me snapped, alright?” Her lips parted, stunned by how blunt he was being now. “You looked so good I couldn’t think straight. And then that asshole tried to touch you.” His voice dropped lower. “I didn’t come here to fight, Y/N. But if I hadn’t stepped in, I would’ve done something stupid.”
She swallowed hard, torn between frustration and the part of her that loved the way he was unraveling in front of her. He glanced at her again, like it physically pained him to look away. “I’m not used to this,” he muttered. “Feeling this… territorial.”
“Jealous?”
His jaw ticked. “Possessive.”
“I’m yours,” she said softly. “You know that, right?” His eyes locked with hers, and just like that, the war inside him went quiet. “Yeah,” he whispered. “But sometimes I still need to hear it.” Yunho exhaled slowly, running a hand down his face. “You should stay with San and Seonghwa. I’ve still got to take the drop car back to the garage, get your car…”
“I’m going with you,” Y/N cut in, firm. “Didn’t even wanna come to this club in the first place.” He blinked at her, caught off guard by how fast she folded back into his side. She wasn’t mad anymore, not really. Maybe a little indignant. But mostly, she just didn’t want to be away from him. And the feeling was mutual. “Fine,” he said finally, both of them leaving, him already unlocking the drop car and holding the door open for her.
They drove in silence, not uncomfortable, just simmering. Yunho’s hand stayed on the gearshift, knuckles pale, eyes darting over to her legs when he thought she wouldn’t notice. But she did. Of course she did. The dress was short and clingy, her thighs crossed, her lips still glossed from her last drink. And Yunho, poor, jealous, half feral Yunho, looked like he was physically restraining himself from pulling the car over just to have a minute alone with her and that mouth.
After dropping the car at the garage and switching into her ride, they didn’t go back to either apartment. Y/N glanced over at him, bare shoulder catching the glow of passing streetlights. “There’s a bar near your place, right?” Yunho looked over. “You want another drink?”
“No,” she smirked. “I want to beat your ass at pool.” He laughed, genuinely, belly deep, and within ten minutes they were walking into a neon lit dive tucked between a 24 hour laundromat and a closed down bodega. The floor was sticky. The air smelled like beer and smoke. The pool table in the back was tilted slightly to the left. And Yunho had never been more attracted to someone in his entire goddamn life. Because Y/N sauntered up to the table like she owned the place, hips swaying in that dress that rode up every time she leaned.
Yunho went to get them drinks, beer for him, something pink and fruity with a cherry for her, by the time he got back, she was already chalking her cue. “Stripes or solids?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder. “I’m not gonna be able to focus,” Yunho muttered, eyes locked on the curve of her thighs as she bent to break. She grinned. “That sounds like a you problem.” The break was clean, one stripe dropped instantly. Y/N straightened, swaying just slightly as she walked past him to line up her next shot.
Yunho leaned against the wall, sipping his beer, watching. Watching her smirk, her bite her lip in concentration, watching the way the dim light caught the shimmer in her hair and the gloss on her skin. She was beating him. Badly. And she was loving every second of it. “Am I turning you on right now?” she asked, cue ball smacking against the three. He swallowed thickly. “You know you are.” She gave him a look, pure mischief. “You gonna try to win? Or just keep staring at my ass every time I bend over?”
“I can multitask,” Yunho said, finally setting down his beer and picking up his cue. But when he lined up his first shot, she walked around him, slow, trailing a finger up his back. “Don’t scratch.”
“Trying not to scratch anything right now,” he muttered under his breath and she laughed, light, teasing, and he turned around, cornering her between the table and his chest. “You playing dirty?” he asked. “I always play dirty,” she said sweetly, leaning in close making Yunho’s breath hitch. Pool forgotten. Game forgotten. The only thing that existed was the few inches between them and the way he looked like he might snap if she kept looking at him like that.
Yunho leaned over the pool table, lining up his shot like he wasn’t watching the love of his life walk around wearing a dress that made his mouth go dry. The fabric hugged her like it had a vendetta against his self control, and her legs? Forget it. He missed and Y/N smirked. “You good?”
“Nope,” he muttered, standing up straight. “Distracted.” She walked around him, trailing her fingers across his lower back, just enough pressure to make him inhale. She leaned over the table to aim, hips swaying with just enough subtle tease to make him grind his molars and she sank the ball. “Okay, rules,” she said, turning and handing him the cue. “Each ball sunk? You get to ask for something.” Yunho gave her a long, slow look. “Anything?”
“Anything.” Her lips curled, dark and daring. “As long as it doesn’t get us kicked out of this bar.” His grin was wolfish. “Game on.” He took the shot, clean. Ball in. “Come here,” he murmured, already turning to face her. She stepped in close and Yunho brushed his hand down her back, stopping just above her ass. His lips hovered near her ear, warm breath ghosting over her skin as he whispered, “Don’t wear that dress again unless you want me to fuck you in it.” Y/N exhaled shakily, her fingers curling into the front of his hoodie. “Jesus.”
“Nah, baby. Just Yunho.”
She barely got her next shot off. Her hands were steady, but her thighs… not so much. She missed. Yunho didn’t even celebrate. He just leaned in again, nose brushing her temple. “Do you feel how hard I am?” he asked, hand slipping low around her waist, guiding her subtly back into him. She gasped softly, yeah, she felt it. “I’m trying so hard to behave,” he murmured, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. “But you wearing that? Laughing with San? That little sway you do when you walk? You’re really testing me, baby.” Her breath caught as she reached up to adjust the strap of her dress, a nervous tell he now recognized. “Your turn,” she whispered, eyes lowered.
He didn’t step away. He stayed right there, pressed up behind her while she aimed. His palm settled against her hip, thumb tracing circles. She barely missed again. “Oops,” she said softly, not sounding sorry at all. “Yeah,” he growled, voice low. “Oops.” His hand dipped, sliding along the outside of her thigh, dangerously close. She caught his wrist and turned her head slightly, whispering, “Someone’s watching.” He didn’t care. “You’ve got no idea what I’m gonna do to you once we’re alone.”
“You keep saying that,” she said, lips barely moving, “but all I see is talk.” He smirked as he slid her hand up over his chest, and placed it right over his heartbeat. “This feel like just talk to you?” She swallowed. “No?”
“Didn’t think so.” Another shot. Another miss. But neither cared anymore. “You wanna finish this game?” she asked. Yunho shook his head. “I wanna finish with you bent over this table, but I’m trying to have some decency.” She hummed, wicked. “You’re doing a terrible job.” He leaned in again. “You gonna ride me in that dress tonight or do I need to beg?” She blinked up at him. “What makes you think you have to beg?”
Yunho leaned in to kiss her, just a brush of lips, teasing, but didn’t take it any further. “Because I’d do it,” he whispered. “I’d get on my knees and beg for you if that’s what it took.” Y/N grabbed his shirt, pulled him in closer, and smiled. “Then maybe you should.” Yunho pulled back, lined up another shot, tongue poking the corner of his mouth in concentration, but Y/N wasn’t letting him have a second of peace. She leaned against the table, just close enough that her thigh grazed his as she bent down to sip from her drink, voice casual as ever when she purred, “You’re practically healed now, right?”
He glanced up, suspicious as she smiled like sin. “So tell me, baby… when you get to be inside me again, what are you gonna do to me?” Clunk. The cue slipped just slightly, enough to send the white ball in the wrong direction and miss completely. Y/N’s grin was immediate, her eyes wide and innocent like she didn’t just say what she said. “Oops. Did I distract you?” Yunho straightened, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip with a glare so hot it could melt the damn felt off the table. “You wanna play that game?”
“You’re the one who said this was a wager game,” she said, slowly sauntering around the table, brushing past him as she lined up her own shot. “I just didn’t realize how easy it’d be to win.” She sank a ball. Then another. Yunho clenched his jaw, arms folded across his chest as he watched her take her time, swaying her hips deliberately, her dress riding higher each time she leaned over the table. “You keep doing that,” he warned, voice low, “and I’m gonna bend you over this table. Don’t care who’s watching.”
“I know you would,” she said, lining up the eight ball. “You talk a lot when you’re frustrated, babe.” The ball clicked in perfectly. Game. Set. Match. Y/N stood slowly, flipping her hair back off her shoulder as she turned to face him, deliberately licking the rim of her straw before taking a slow sip. “I win.” Yunho was speechless for once as she stepped closer, one hand sliding up the inside of his thigh, just high enough to make his body jolt, but stopping before she gave him what he wanted. “You gonna be a good boy when we get home?” she asked in a whisper, lips barely brushing his. “Or are you gonna make me scream?” Yunho growled low in his throat, grabbing her waist and tugging her flush against him. “I’m gonna make you scream so loud your neighbors call the cops.” She giggled. “That so?”
“Yeah,” he said, brushing his lips across her jaw, “And when they show up, I’m answering the door still inside you.”
“Damn,” came a mutter from a table nearby but neither of them cared. “Rematch at home?” she offered, turning in his arms and starting toward the door, hips swaying. Yunho followed instantly, growling under his breath.
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The city lights blurred past the windshield, a hazy trail of neon as Yunho guided the car through late night traffic with one hand on the wheel and the other resting possessively on Y/N’s thigh. Her skin was warm under his palm, soft and teasing where her dress had ridden up from sitting. He was still buzzed from the bar, his mind reeling from the game she just beat him at, well, more like seduced him through, and all he could think about was getting to her apartment and returning the favor. Or possibly just throwing her over the couch. He hadn’t decided yet.
“Remind me never to bet against you,” he muttered, glancing sideways, his lip twitching into a smirk. But she didn’t respond. Not verbally, at least. Instead, Y/N slid her hand over his, guiding it a little higher on her leg before slipping out from under his grip entirely. Her body shifted in her seat, slow and deliberate, until she was leaning across the center console. Yunho blinked. “What are you….” Her hand moved first, fingers tracing the outline of his bulge through his jeans like she had all the time in the world. Then her mouth followed. “Y/N…. shit!”
He jerked slightly in his seat as her lips wrapped around him through the fabric, his hand tightening on the wheel with a white knuckle grip. The car swerved a little to the left before he corrected, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring. “You’re gonna kill me,” he hissed, glancing down at the top of her head. “I’m… fuck….. I’m driving.” She hummed innocently, finally unzipping him, pulling him out with a slow, teasing drag of her tongue along the underside. “You’re doing great.”
He damn near bit through his lip as Y/N lowered herself more, her hand steadying him as her mouth took him in, warm, wet, relentless. The car swerved again, a sharp veer to the right that made her giggle around him.
“God….” he growled, “you think this is funny?” She pulled back just enough to whisper, “A little.” And then she took him deeper and Yunho’s head hit the back of the seat, eyes fluttering shut for half a second before he forced them open again, laser focused on not crashing. His hand found her hair, gripping tight as he thrust ever so slightly up into her mouth, barely able to breathe. “Fuck, baby…. you’re gonna make me come before we even get home…”
She made a pleased sound around him, hollowing her cheeks as she bobbed her head faster, chasing the way his thighs tensed beneath her and Yunho’s breath turned ragged. “Ten more minutes. That’s all I need. Ten more….” He moaned low, guttural, fingers tangling in her hair. “minutes and then I’m fucking ruining you.” And from the look she gave him as she pulled off just enough to kiss the tip, she couldn’t wait as Yunho was seconds from coming undone.
The kind of undone that would’ve had him pulling the car over and dragging Y/N into the backseat. His hips twitched upward, knuckles white on the steering wheel as her mouth worked him over like she’d done this a thousand times, and knew exactly how to destroy him.
Lights. Red and blue, flashing behind them in the rearview mirror. Yunho blinked, dazed, the moment short circuiting. His foot eased off the gas. Y/N, very much still in his lap, paused. “No. No no no…. this is not happening,” Yunho hissed, voice caught between a groan and a whimper as he reached shakily for the gear and guided the car onto the shoulder as Y/N slowly sat up, wiping the corner of her mouth, eyes wide with disbelief. “Yunho…”
“I know.” He dragged a hand down his face. “I fucking know.” She reached into the back, grabbing one of the garage hoodies and pulling it over herself even though her dress was still technically on, it felt like armor against what was coming. The officer’s door opened behind them. Footsteps. A flashlight beam sweeping across the car. “Are you shitting me right now?” Y/N visibly winced. Yunho let his head thunk against the steering wheel. “Y/N?” her father barked, voice full of suspicion and disbelief as he leaned down toward the window. “Yunho, what the hell are you doing?”
Yunho sat up, eyes wide, mouth opening, then closing. His dick was still out. He subtly zipped himself up, trying to shift in his seat without it being obvious that he’d just been mid fellatio on a public road. A small sob of frustration caught in his throat. “Sir,” he managed, somehow keeping his voice level. “Evening.”
“Evening?” Junmyeon snapped. “Why the hell were you swerving like a drunk idiot? Need I remind you, you just got out of the hospital for a crash?”
“Yeah… no, I….. was adjusting the seat.” Yunho grimaced. “I wasn’t drunk. Just… a little distracted.” Y/N was dying slowly next to him, hands pressed to her cheeks, unable to even look out the window as her dad peered past Yunho and locked eyes with his daughter, whose face was bright red. “You okay?” he asked her.
“Yes,” she squeaked, then cleared her throat. “I’m fine.” Junmyeon eyed them both, then straightened, muttering, “Jesus Christ. Go home. Before I lose my badge for pulling over my daughter mid….” he shook his head and stopped himself. “Don’t say a goddamn word to anyone about this.” He walked off, cursing under his breath.
Yunho stared straight ahead as Y/N stared at the glove box like it had answers to the meaning of life. “So,” Yunho said after a long beat. “Still wanna finish?”
“Drive, Yunho.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
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The second Y/N’s apartment door clicked shut behind them, Yunho had her. There wasn’t even time to breathe. She gasped, her back hitting the wall, keys dropping to the floor with a muffled clatter as his mouth crashed into hers, hot, hungry, unrelenting. One arm braced above her head, the other already sliding down the side of that dress he’d been obsessing over since he laid eyes on it. “The dress,” he growled against her lips, teeth grazing her bottom lip like he might lose control completely, “stays on.”
Y/N shivered, moaning softly as he gripped her thigh and hitched her leg around his waist, grinding his hips into hers, already half hard again and very ready to make up for the roadside tragedy that was their night. “Yunho…” she breathed, fingers gripping the collar of his shirt. “I’ve been dying to fuck you in this dress since I saw you in it,” he said lowly, dragging his lips down her neck. “I should’ve pulled you off that dance floor and bent you over the bar.”
“You were jealous,” she teased, though her voice hitched when he licked the spot just above her collarbone. “You think?” he said, laughing darkly. “Guy touched you once and I wanted to rearrange his face.” He picked her up without warning, causing her to squeal and wrap her arms around his neck. He carried her straight to the couch, laying her back without ever letting his mouth leave her skin, not caring if Seonghwa was home or not, hands sliding up her thighs, beneath the hem of the dress.
“Mmm… these too,” he muttered, peeling her panties down her legs and tossing them somewhere across the room. “But the dress stays the fuck on.” She arched an eyebrow at him, grinning, breathless. “You’re really into this dress, huh?” He sank to his knees, pushing her legs apart and licking his lips like a man starved. “You have no idea.” And then he buried his face between her thighs. Warm, wet, and all tongue, Yunho groaned the second he tasted her. The vibrations rumbled against her core, her hands flying to grip his hair as he sucked on her clit like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
“You’ve been teasing me all night,” he growled, pulling back just long enough to glare up at her, lips glistening with her arousal. “You think I wasn’t watching the way you danced?“ His fingers slipped between her folds, one sliding inside with ease. She gasped, legs twitching against his shoulders, but he wasn’t even close to satisfied. “Gonna make you scream for teasing me,” he muttered, tongue flattening against her again while his finger curled just right. One became two, stretching her deliciously, the slick sound of his fingers thrusting in and out growing wetter by the second making her thighs clench. “Yunho!”
“Oh no,” he growled against her clit, licking in slow circles before flicking fast again. “Not yet.” He didn’t stop. Didn’t even let her breathe. He slid in a third finger, pushing deep as his tongue never left her clit. The stretch burned in the best way, and with the way his fingers crooked just right, over and over again, hitting that spot, she couldn’t hold it. Her whole body arched off the couch. Her moan turned into a cry, legs shaking as pleasure ripped through her like a lightning strike, her orgasm hitting so hard she couldn’t stop it, her body convulsing, slick gushing as she squirted all over Yunho’s hand, his arm, the fucking couch.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t pause. He kept going, watching her unravel, mouth back on her clit as she writhed and sobbed out his name, begging for mercy he wasn’t giving just yet. When she finally tried to squirm away from the overstimulation, he grabbed her hips and held her down, licking her up like he needed every last drop. “Mine,” he murmured into her skin, kissing her thigh as she panted, eyes dazed, hair messy. “Look what a mess you made…”
Her breath was still catching when Yunho pulled back from between her thighs, his lips and jaw glistening, flushed with heat and satisfaction, but the look in his eyes? That said he was far from done. “Up,” he ordered lowly, voice rough like gravel dragged through honey. Y/N blinked at him, legs still trembling, but he didn’t wait, he scooped her up like she weighed nothing, arms sliding beneath her knees and back. She gasped, her hands clutching at his shoulders as he rose to his full height, chest rising and falling, bruises still faintly marking his skin but no longer slowing him down as he carried her through the apartment, the sound of her door creaking open the only thing between his soft kisses against her neck and her whispering his name.
When he reached the bed, he didn’t drop her. No, he placed her down, slow and deliberate like she was something fragile, but then again, Yunho had always known exactly how to balance that line. He stood at the foot of the bed for a second, staring down at her like she was the most beautiful chaos he’d ever witnessed. His knuckles gently brushed her cheek, then he reached down, his hand finding her jaw, fingers firm under her chin as he tilted her head up to him. He kissed her, slow, deep, unhurried, tongue slipping past her lips as she pulled him closer, tasting herself on him, moaning into his mouth like it wasn’t enough, like she needed more.
Her hands slid down his chest, mapping the almost fully healed bruises, the fading tension. And then lower. Her fingers dipped into his waistband, easing it down slowly, her eyes not leaving his as she undressed him. First his pants, then the briefs beneath. He hissed when she grazed his skin, half from sensitivity, half from the sheer want she stirred in him. She pushed the clothes down his thighs and let them fall to the floor. And Yunho? Yunho was already hard again, already twitching for her as he stepped forward between her knees, breathing shallow, eyes on fire.
Still fully clothed in her dress, she laid back, lips parted, waiting. But Yunho reached down, dragging his fingers along her shoulder until the strap slipped down, then the other. His voice was low as he whispered, “I said the dress stays on… but I didn’t say I wouldn’t ruin you in it.” Yunho was breathing harder, his body taut with need as he stared down at her, laid out in that dress like sin itself. But he didn’t give her a chance to get comfortable. He flipped her over in one smooth motion, her gasp caught in the pillow as he pressed her face down into the mattress, hand heavy and possessive on her lower back.
“Stay,” he growled, voice low and guttural and she whimpered, shifting her hips, her thighs instinctively pressing together until Yunho settled between them, his dick dragging through her slick heat as one hand tangled in her hair, tugging her head back so she could hear him clearer when he leaned down, lips brushing her ear. “You wore this little fucking dress to test me, didn’t you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Didn’t need one. Not when he was already sinking into her, inch by thick inch, her moan muffled in the mattress as he bottomed out.
Yunho groaned, biting back a curse, his other hand gripping the tiny metal chains on the side of her dress, just over the high slit that left her thigh bare and begging for attention. The chains dug into his palm as he used them like reins, anchoring himself as he began to thrust. Hard. Deep. Merciless. The bed creaked beneath them, the slap of skin on skin echoing around the room, her back arching beautifully with every piston of his hips. He let go of her hair just long enough to land a stinging smack to her ass, making her jolt and gasp, only for him to lean over and murmur, “You love when I lose control, don’t you?”
Her answer was a sobbed moan, needy and wrecked. And Yunho grinned. Not cocky. Possessive. This was his. Every fucking inch of her. He yanked her hips higher, forcing her to feel every punishing thrust, his hand sliding down the chain again just to feel the dress pull against her skin, grip on her hips tightening, his hand sliding back to her ass just to land another sharp, echoing slap against the soft flesh. The sting had her arching into him with a strangled moan, her thighs trembling from the force of every relentless thrust. He was deeper now, brutal, unrelenting, like he was trying to remind her exactly who she belonged to.
Her moans were incoherent at this point, high pitched and needy, her fingers gripping the comforter like it could anchor her through the onslaught. “Yunho… fuck!” He snarled at the way she cried his name, smacking her ass again, this time harder, and growling, “Say it again.” She sobbed his name, voice wrecked. “Yunho…. baby…. please…”
“Please what?” he taunted, leaning over her back, chest brushing her spine as his hips slammed into hers, the sound of skin on skin thick and wet and obscene. “You begging me now?” Her mouth fell open in a whimper, unable to keep up with his pace, with the fire blooming in her stomach. “Please don’t stop…. don’t fucking stop…” Yunho’s eyes darkened as he pulled her up by the chains of her dress again, forcing her onto her elbows, his hand dragging from her ass to her lower back just to push her down harder. He thrust into her with enough force to knock the breath out of her lungs. “You’re so goddamn tight like this…. so messy… fuck, look at you.”
She couldn’t, too lost in the feel of him, in the way his hand gripped and spanked and held her in place, in the way her body shook from the pace he was keeping, brutal and perfect and maddening. “You’re mine,” he growled again, low in his throat like a vow. “And nobody, nobody, gets to see you like this but me.” Another sharp smack to her ass. Another cry of his name. She was a mess for him, sweaty, flushed, her body clenching around him with every punishing thrust, and Yunho could feel her getting close. She was right on the edge, so he pulled out in one smooth motion, making her gasp at the sudden emptiness, the slick slide of him leaving her body.
Before she could even whimper in protest, he flipped her onto her back, hands gripping her thighs as he shoved her higher on the bed. She blinked up at him, dazed and wrecked, her dress askew, chains glinting along her hips, the fabric bunched around her waist, her legs spread and glistening. “Look at you,” he murmured, voice husky and reverent, before grabbing her thighs and tossing them over his shoulders. Then he sank back in. A sharp, shattered moan tore from her throat, and Yunho, Yunho actually whimpered, low and guttural, his head dropping forward as he watched himself disappear inside her again.
“Fuck…. baby… you’re creaming all over me…” he groaned, his hips rolling slow, controlled, like he was trying to memorize the feel of her all over again. The wet sounds were obscene, every deep thrust dragging more slick from her, coating him, milking him. His hand smoothed over her thigh, then gripped it tighter as he rocked into her, slower but deeper now. Each thrust angled perfectly to hit that spot inside her that had her toes curling, had her clenching around him so tight he was seeing stars.
“You feel too good,” he rasped, eyes locked on her as he pulled out just enough to watch her flutter around the tip before sliding back in, burying himself completely again. “You always do… fuck!” Her hands reached for him, one dragging over the muscles of his stomach, the other gripping his wrist. “Yunho…” He leaned over her, folding her in half just a little more, her thighs trembling over his shoulders now as he picked up the pace, just slightly. Enough to make her moan louder, enough to make her eyes flutter shut.
“Don’t you dare look away,” he growled softly, his thumb finding her clit in a slow, maddening circle. “I want to see your eyes when you fall apart for me.” And just like that, her back arched off the bed, her mouth falling open in a strangled cry. “You gonna come, baby?” he breathed, eyes dark with hunger. “Come on, let me feel it.” He moved his hand back away from her clit, body trembling with restraint, his arms taut as he held her legs over his shoulders, but his eyes, dark and burning, never left hers.
He could feel it, the way her body clenched around him, how she was close again. And he wasn’t far behind. Still thrusting slow and deep, he leaned in until their foreheads touched, her thighs sliding down just enough for him to cage her in. His voice dropped to a gravelly whisper against her lips, “You feel that, baby? The way you suck me in like you own me?” Her breath caught, eyes wide, lips trembling. “You do,” he growled, one hand grabbing her jaw, keeping her face tilted up to him. “You fucking own me.” Then everything about him shifted.
His next thrust was harder, deeper, his hips snapping forward with a guttural moan that vibrated in his chest. The gentleness vanished, replaced by something raw and possessive. “Been so good for me, taking me so deep,” he grunted as his thrusts sped up, “but you want more, don’t you? You want me to ruin this pussy.”
“Yunho…” she whimpered, hands clutching at his arms, nails digging into his skin as he started pounding into her again. There was no other word for it. Deep, relentless, possessive. “You wanna come while I’m buried inside you?” he gasped, lips brushing hers. “You want me to fill you up?” Her moan was all the answer he needed. His hand slid down, splaying across her lower belly, pressing just enough to feel how deep he was. “Look at that,” he rasped. “Taking me so fucking deep… fuck…. gonna breed you, baby. Stuff you full so no one ever forgets who you belong to.”
The heat of those words hit her like lightning. She broke, coming hard, body locking up beneath him with a cry. Her walls fluttered violently around him, and Yunho’s breath hitched, his hips stuttered once, twice, and then he was right there with her. “Shit…. fuck… Y/N!” he choked out as he buried himself to the hilt and came, thick and hot, filling her in long, shaking pulses. His mouth dropped open in a groan, forehead pressed to her shoulder as his entire body shook from the force of it.
He didn’t move, didn’t speak at first, just panted against her skin, body draped over hers like he was trying to melt into her. His hands trembled as they smoothed over her thighs, rubbing gentle circles as her legs fell open beneath him, both of them utterly wrecked. Then, breathless and dazed, he kissed the corner of her mouth. “Mine,” he murmured. And she nodded, still trembling, pulling him closer. “Yours.”
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The sun was just starting to lower behind the Seoul skyline, casting long golden streaks across the concrete behind the garage as Yunho wiped the sweat from his brow. His hoodie lay forgotten somewhere in the shop, tossed aside hours ago when the work got serious and the heat climbed. Now, he stood in a black tank and stained work pants, hands covered in grease and dried paint thinner, staring down at what remained of his beloved car. It had taken weeks to get to this point. Weeks of healing ribs and bite sized painkillers. Weeks of late night tension and soft mornings tangled up in Y/N’s arms. Weeks of pretending everything was fine while the ATF dug around and Han walked around like he didn’t try to kill someone.
But here, in the back lot of Outlaw Customz, stripped down to nothing but steel and screws, was the one thing Yunho had control over. His car, his baby, was halfway disassembled. The hood had already been replaced. The front bumper lay off to the side. Every decal, every piece of scratched vinyl, every cracked light, was gone. He had sanded down the panels himself, fingers aching, knuckles raw, until all that remained was the naked, dull shell of the body.
He stepped back and dragged a hand through his hair, letting his eyes roam across the frame. “Whole new paint job,” he muttered under his breath. “New life.” Jongho had offered to help again. So had Yeosang. Even Hongjoong had grumbled something about taking a break from the books to lend a hand. But Yunho had politely turned them all down. This part… he needed to do on his own. It wasn’t just about fixing a car. It was about taking back something that had been ripped from him.
He walked over to the workbench, picked up a spray gun, and checked the pressure. The matte black paint had already been mixed. It wasn’t going to be flashy. Not like before. No bold racing stripes or eye catching color blends. This time, it was going to be quiet. Sharp. Dangerous. Like the man who drove it. He adjusted his goggles, glanced at the side mirror reflecting the healing bruises still faintly yellowing on his ribs, and smirked, getting to work, taking his time, losing count how long he’d been working.
The scent of paint lingered thick in the air, the matte black sheen of Yunho’s car gleaming under the soft glow of the garage’s overhead lights. He stepped back, tilting his head, eyes scanning the curves and lines of his freshly repainted masterpiece. It wasn’t perfect, not yet, but it was his again. Sleek, clean, and mean as hell. Just like he wanted it. He wiped the sweat from the back of his neck with a rag, chest rising and falling with the slow, satisfying exhale of a man who’d finally reclaimed something that was taken from him.
The creak of the garage door caught his attention. “Figured you didn’t eat again,” Y/N’s voice came before she appeared, stepping around the doorway with a brown paper bag in hand, the other balancing two drinks. Yunho turned, his lips twitching into the start of a grin the second he saw her. She was in joggers and a cropped zip up hoodie, hair pulled back, still looking like the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Her nose scrunched slightly as she walked in and sniffed the air. “God, it smells like chemicals and testosterone in here.” He chuckled. “That’s just me, baby.”
She rolled her eyes, but he saw the way her gaze flicked past him to the car, then back to him. “You finished?” Yunho glanced over his shoulder, pride blooming in his chest. “Just now.” Y/N walked past him slowly, setting the food down on a nearby bench, her fingertips trailing lightly across the freshly painted frame of the car. “It looks… insane. Like some kind of Batmobile from hell.”
“Good.” Yunho grinned. “That’s exactly what I was going for.” She turned to face him, arms crossing loosely. “You gonna name it again?”
“I was thinking about it.”
“Hmm.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “You could name it after me. I am the only one who gets to ride it.” Yunho let out a low laugh, walking over and slipping an arm around her waist, tugging her gently against his still sweat slick chest. “You trying to make me take you right here on the shop floor, baby? I just cleaned the dust off.”
Y/N smirked, standing on her tiptoes to brush a kiss against his lips. “Eat your damn food, grease monkey. Then we’ll see how grateful you really are.” He nipped at her bottom lip before pulling away. “You always bring the best motivation.”
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The moon hung low and heavy over the docks, casting pale silver light across the cracked pavement and stacks of shipping containers towering in rows like rusted metal tombstones. It was nearly midnight, quiet except for the distant hum of the city and the soft lapping of water against the dock pilings. Yunho stood alone in front of the warehouse. His warehouse. His sanctuary. He hadn’t been back here since the night Han tried to kill him. The last time he stood on this pavement, his car had been gleaming, loud, untouchable, and seconds later, smashed into glass and fire. The gash on the back of his head had long since scabbed over and faded to a scar. His ribs didn’t ache anymore. But the memory of that impact, of her scream, still echoed.
He exhaled, slow and deliberate, then opened the warehouse doors. There she was. Freshly repainted in matte black, his car gleamed under the hanging fluorescents like a predator ready to hunt. The engine had already purred earlier in the day back at the garage, but this… this was her real test. He ran his palm along her roof, fingers brushing the familiar curve of the frame. “Let’s see what you’ve got,” he muttered, climbing inside and shutting the door.
The second the engine roared to life, a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. She still had that same growl, deeper now with the tweaks he’d made to the exhaust. He eased her out of the warehouse, the tires bumping over the uneven ground before gliding onto the smoother asphalt near the shipping lanes. He didn’t hit it hard at first, just a few loops around the open stretch, testing the weight of her, the way the rebuilt suspension hugged the road, how responsive she felt to the wheel. But the longer he drove, the faster he pushed, until that old thrill began to bubble up, intoxicating, familiar.
Foot to the floor. The car screamed as it peeled across the pavement, tires spitting gravel in its wake. The adrenaline was pure, white hot, his jaw clenched, hand tight around the shifter as he drifted wide then snapped her back in line. It was poetry. Vengeance on four wheels. Not just restored, but reborn. When he finally cut the engine, the car hissing softly beneath him, Yunho sat in the dark, drenched in sweat, heart thudding in his chest as the echo of his tires faded into the night. He leaned back against the headrest, staring at the ceiling of the car. “She’s ready,” he whispered. Not just the car. He was ready too.
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The garage had always been a second skin, grease stained concrete, the scent of oil in the air, the rhythmic clatter of tools. Yunho stood over the gutted engine of a ’92 Supra that some poor bastard had dragged in that morning, sleeves rolled to his elbows, one hand resting on the cool metal as the other tightened a bolt in slow, focused turns. Sweat glistened on his skin, not from pain, not anymore, but from work. He felt whole again as the music buzzed low from the speaker in the corner, something mellow but gritty, almost syncing with his heartbeat. His car was outside, gleaming in the sun like it had never been wrecked. Like he hadn’t nearly died in it. He’d stripped it, painted it, rebuilt it from scratch. Now, so was he.
The air shifted, the sound of careful footsteps giving it away. Yunho wiped his hands on a towel slung over his shoulder and glanced over just as Seonghwa stepped into view. He looked… calm. But a little too calm. Dressed casually, navy sweater, jeans, sneakers, but his posture was stiff, his hands shoved too far into his pockets like he was anchoring himself. Yunho raised an eyebrow, casually tossing the towel onto the open hood. “Hongjoong’s out back.”
“I figured,” Seonghwa said smoothly, eyes flicking around the room like he wasn’t quite sure where to land. “Just stopping by.” Yunho nodded, but didn’t look away. “You usually don’t just stop by without Y/N.” Seonghwa hesitated. Just a blink. But Yunho caught it. “She home?” he asked, tone careful, a little too light. “Yeah. Think so.” Seonghwa didn’t meet his eyes.
Yunho’s gaze narrowed slightly. He could read people. He could read engines, yes, but people too, and Seonghwa? He was humming with unspoken shit. But Yunho didn’t push. He didn’t need to. Not yet. “She’s excited about med school starting,” Seonghwa offered suddenly, like he was trying too hard to be casual. “Little stressed. But excited.”
“Yeah,” Yunho said, dragging a hand through his hair, “she’s been studying like a maniac.” Seonghwa nodded and glanced toward the back of the garage. “I should find Joong.” Yunho stepped aside, watching him go. The vibe was off. Way off. But he knew Y/N. Knew that whatever it was, she would tell him when she was ready. He trusted her. So he let Seonghwa disappear into the back, turned his attention back to the busted engine, and forced himself to focus on the rhythm of bolts and sockets and steel. Even as a coil of something uneasy started to tighten in his chest.
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The engine purred under his hand, smooth and loyal, freshly tuned and just the way he liked it. The drop site was a run down industrial lot on the outskirts of the city, the kind of place that had seen a lot of shit over the years and still didn’t flinch. Yunho leaned back against the hood of the black Lexus they’d taken tonight, smoke curling from the blunt between his fingers. Jongho stood beside him, hoodie up, arms crossed tight like he was bracing for more than cold. “Still nothing?” Yunho asked, glancing at the phone Jongho held loosely.
“Nope.” Jongho sighed, stuffing it back in his pocket. “Five minutes late. Typical.” Yunho exhaled a short laugh, eyes flicking across the empty lot. “These assholes ever show up on time?” Jongho didn’t answer, just gave him a look. They both knew the answer. The night was quiet but restless, the kind of silence that made your skin itch with the possibility of trouble. Yunho’s jaw ticked. He hadn’t seen Y/N all day. Not even a message. And maybe it was dumb to be annoyed about it, he knew she was busy, getting ready for med school and dealing with whatever Seonghwa was nervously hiding, but he still felt it. That slow, gnawing itch under his ribs. “You good?” Jongho asked. Yunho gave him a sidelong glance. “I’m fine.”
“Right,” Jongho muttered. “You’ve been chewing that blunt like it owes you money.” Yunho snorted but said nothing as he looked out again over the lot, jaw working. “You see her today?” Jongho asked.
“Nope.”
“Thought you were supposed to go over there tonight.”
“I was.” Yunho flicked the blunt away, watching the embers scatter. “But she didn’t text. I didn’t want to crowd her.” Jongho nodded slowly, then glanced at him. “You think something’s up?” Yunho didn’t answer. He didn’t like the question. Instead, he said, “How’s Wooyoung?” Jongho exhaled, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Still in holding. Bail’s set stupid high. They’re really trying to make an example out of him.” Yunho let out a low breath, hands bracing on the hood. “This whole thing’s a fucking mess.”
“Yeah,” Jongho said, “and it’s about to get worse.” Yunho looked over as Jongho shrugged. “Got word. The new ATF agent? She’s sniffing around again. Asked for garage rosters.” Yunho felt his jaw clench but before he could reply, headlights cut through the night. A sleek black Benz eased into the lot, windows tinted too dark, music vibrating low from inside. Yunho pushed off the hood, slipping back into the familiar rhythm. Masking whatever was burning under the surface. The job was here. But his mind? Still on her.
Still wondering why the hell he hadn’t seen the girl who made his entire world feel like it wasn’t just covered in ash and gasoline.
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He shouldn’t have stopped here. He knew that. The bar was some polished, glassed up rooftop place with too much chrome and not enough soul. Way too nice for the kind of business he was doing ten minutes earlier. Jeno and Jaemin had been their usual pain in the ass selves. Yunho didn’t like dealing with them on the best of days, but Jooheon was Hongjoong’s most trusted supplier and he vouched for them, so here he was, playing middleman while pretending he didn’t want to put both their faces through the hood of his car.
The whiskey in his glass was warm, sharp. The bar quiet except for murmured conversations and clinking glasses. He hadn’t seen Y/N in a couple days. Said she was busy. Said she loved him. And Yunho believed her, because he knew her. But damn, he missed her.
“Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Yunho didn’t respond. Didn’t flinch. Just took another sip, jaw clenched. His fingers twitched around the glass at the voice behind him. “I heard you’re all healed up,” Han continued, sliding onto the barstool beside him like this was a friendly little catch up. “Impressive. Thought I put you down for a lot longer.” Yunho exhaled through his nose. “Get the fuck out of my face, Han.”
“Oh, come on,” Han chuckled. “I’m just being neighborly. You’d think after the little stunt your boys pulled, I’d be the one out for blood.” Yunho finally turned to look at him. Just once. One look, cool and cutting. “You deserved worse.” Han grinned, spreading his arms. “I walked away, didn’t I?” Yunho’s fingers curled around the glass tighter. “And she…” Han leaned forward, lowering his voice just enough that it pressed under Yunho’s skin like a knife. “How is Y/N? You sick of her yet?”
Yunho’s jaw ticked.
“She’d act like such a brat, so full of attitude, but she’d fold, man. Every time I put her on her knees. You don’t get to erase that. No matter how much you fuck her now.”
Yunho blinked once. Calm. Still.
“I bet she still thinks about it,” Han added. “Bet you do too. You can’t fuck the ghost out of her.” The glass in Yunho’s hand shattered, his grip too tight, whiskey dripping down his knuckles with shards embedded in his palm. And Han had just enough time to say “Oops” before Yunho’s fist connected with his face, hard and fast like a piston. The bar went dead silent except for the crunch of bone.
Han stumbled backward, hit a chair, then lunged like a bull. Yunho didn’t move. Didn’t dodge. He slammed into Han, taking both of them down in a violent tangle of fists and fury, glasses flying, a table flipping, a bottle smashing somewhere nearby. Someone screamed. The bouncer moved too slow.
They crashed through the table. Yunho pinned Han, hitting him again, again, rage burning behind his eyes. “You touched her,” he growled, breath ragged. “You fucking hurt her.” Han spat blood and sneered. “She fucking liked it.” That was it. Yunho gripped his shirt, yanked him up, and drove him backward. They hit the front window with a shatter loud enough to silence the world. Glass exploded like fireworks. Both men disappeared through it, crashing onto the sidewalk in a mess of blood, fists, and broken vengeance.
Yunho landed hard on top of Han, knees pinning his ribs to the pavement. The crowd outside the bar scattered, gasps, phones raised, someone screaming for police, but all Yunho could see was him. That smug, blood slick grin stretched across a face that should’ve already been unrecognizable. Yunho’s fists didn’t stop. They couldn’t stop. One. Two. Three. A punch to the jaw so hard Han’s head bounced off the concrete. Blood smeared across Yunho’s knuckles, down his wrist, across Han’s lips.
“You think this is funny?” Yunho growled, voice nearly unrecognizable, feral, wild, full of venom. “You think you get to touch her and walk away?” Han’s only reply was a garbled laugh and a cough of blood. That earned him another punch. Then another. And another. Yunho didn’t care about the crowd. Didn’t hear the cops arriving. Didn’t see the flashing lights or the officer running up with his hand already on his baton.
Han had mocked her pain. Had made her bruise something to boast about. Tried to kill him. He was going to pay for every second of it. It took two officers to grab Yunho’s arms, dragging him off like a man possessed. He fought them at first, shoulders heaving, a snarl still caught in his throat like he hadn’t quite come back to reality yet as Han lay there on the ground, coughing and choking and half conscious, blood spilling from his nose and mouth, his designer shirt ripped and stained.
Both of them were cuffed. Yunho didn’t say a word as his wrists were yanked behind his back, metal snapping shut tight. His chest rose and fell in rapid waves, blood dripping from his scraped knuckles down his forearms. “Jesus Christ,” one cop muttered under his breath. “What the hell happened?” Yunho didn’t answer. He just stared at Han, still grinning like the fight wasn’t over yet, like he’d keep going if someone so much as twitched the cuffs loose. “You should’ve stayed gone,” he muttered low. “Because now? You don’t walk away this time.” Sirens still howled in the distance, more patrols pulling up. And Yunho? Yunho was smiling. A little cracked. A little bloodstained. But smiling all the same.
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The cuffs bit into his wrists, but he welcomed the sting. It grounded him. Reminded him that even if his hands were tied now, they’d done what they needed to do. Han had been laughing and Yunho had made sure he’d choke on it. The squad room smelled like old coffee, bleach, and tension. Yunho’s lip was split, his cheek already swelling, and blood from his knuckles had dried into dark, angry lines across his skin. They shoved him toward the booking desk just as another pair of officers dragged Han in from the opposite side, face wrecked and wobbling on rubbery legs.
“Sit your ass down,” one of the cops barked, pushing Yunho into the hard plastic chair like he wasn’t voluntarily cooperating. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak. Just leaned back, head tilted toward the ceiling, eyes fluttering shut for a second. Then he heard it. A sigh. Long. Bone deep. The kind that came not from frustration, but the acceptance that this again was happening. “Of course it’s you,” Junmyeon said flatly, voice cutting through the noise of the precinct like a damn guillotine.
Yunho cracked an eye open to see Y/N’s father walking toward them, still dressed in his suit, coffee in hand, and looking like he’d aged ten years since Yunho last saw him. Yunho let his mouth twist into a tired smirk, even as blood stained his teeth. “Miss me?” Kim Junmyeon didn’t laugh. Didn’t blink. He looked between Yunho’s busted face and Han’s even worse one, who was now sitting slouched and moaning quietly into his own lap. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Junmyeon muttered to no one in particular. “Both of you?” He stared at the two of them like they were feral strays dragged in from opposite ends of a city war.
Yunho lifted his cuffed hands as best he could, tone dry. “Self defense.” Junmyeon raised a brow. “They said you threw the first punch, Yunho.” Yunho didn’t deny it. “Yeah. But he deserved the last one.” Han let out a groan, and it took everything in Yunho not to laugh again. The kind of laugh that scared people. The kind that had haunted him since the crash. Since the bruise on her neck. Since the moment Han opened his mouth and made the mistake of painting himself like a threat again. Junmyeon rubbed his temple. “You know this makes everything harder.”
“Not for me,” Yunho shot back, voice lower now, darker. “I’ll sleep just fine.” Junmyeon looked at him long and hard, then nodded to one of the officers. “Get him cleaned up. Then bring him to my office.” Yunho watched him walk off, sipping his coffee like it wasn’t laced with a headache. Then, finally, Yunho exhaled. His lip was split. His ribs ached again. His fists throbbed. But goddamn if it didn’t feel good to watch Han bleed.
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The door creaked shut behind them, Junmyeon leaning against the desk while Yunho sat opposite, one wrist still cuffed to the metal chair leg, just in case. The overhead light buzzed low, casting long shadows over both men, and Yunho could feel the weight of his girlfriend’s dad’s silence pressing into him like another bruise. “You know,” Junmyeon finally said, arms crossed over his chest, “for someone who swore to me he’d keep his head down, you sure have a knack for public destruction.” Yunho shrugged, winced. “I told you. He pushed.”
“He breathed, and you launched him through a window.” Before Yunho could snap back, the office door cracked open again, and in walked trouble in a government issued suit and heels that clicked like gunshots across the tile. Agent Bae. She was immaculate. Snark woven into her smirk, smugness radiating off her like perfume. Her sharp eyes scanned the room once before landing squarely on Yunho, and god, she looked like she enjoyed finding him here.
“Well, isn’t this cozy,” she said, stepping in and closing the door behind her. “Jeong Yunho in cuffs. Again. That must be, what… strike four?” Yunho rolled his eyes. “Don’t you have someone else to harass? A cat stuck in a tree? A guy selling expired aspirin?” She ignored him, turning to Junmyeon like she’d just remembered he was there. “You know, Captain,” she said sweetly, “I find it very interesting that despite multiple warrants, wire taps, and raids… no one’s found anything remotely actionable at Outlaw Customz. And yet, your daughter is practically living with one of the suspects.”
Junmyeon didn’t respond but his jaw ticked once as Bae tilted her head, mock curiosity in every inch of her. “Very peculiar. Makes me wonder just how deep this goes. Because you’re either the unluckiest investigator, or the garage has someone very important keeping them clean.” Yunho’s body tensed as Junmyeon stood up slow. “You done?” he asked and Bae smiled, like a cat with blood on it’s claws. “Just getting started.”
“Then I’ll save you the trouble,”Junmyeon said coolly. “You can bark up every tree you want, Agent Bae. But unless you’ve got actual charges, I suggest you let my officer clean up the damn blood in my precinct instead of smearing it on my kid.” Bae raised a brow but said nothing. Her smile never quite reached her eyes. She turned toward Yunho one last time. “Don’t get too comfortable, Jeong. Even with your little love story, no one’s untouchable forever.”
Yunho leaned back in the chair, licking at the cut on his lip, voice steady as steel. “I’m not worried about being untouchable,” he said. “I’m just not dumb enough to underestimate a snake in heels.” Bae paused at the door, only barely suppressing the twitch in her jaw, before leaving with one last click of her stilettos echoing down the hallway. Junmyeon didn’t say anything for a beat. Then he looked at Yunho. “You better marry her if you’re gonna drag me into this shit.” Yunho smirked, bruised and bloodied and unbothered. “Is that you giving me your blessing?”
“Oh for fucks sake.”
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By the time Yunho made it to Y/N and Seonghwa’s apartment building, the bruises on his knuckles were blooming purple and stiff, the few specks of glass that had embedded in them removed. His shirt was torn near the collar, and the taste of blood still clung to the corner of his mouth. Every step up the stairs reminded him of the fight, of how good it felt to finally let go, and how stupid it was at the same time. He hadn’t even texted her. His hand hovered above the door for a beat longer than he liked, but then it opened before he could knock.
Seonghwa stood there barefoot in sweatpants and a hoodie, a mug of tea in his hand and a perfectly raised brow like he’d been expecting this exact moment. “Well,” he said, stepping back to let him in, “her dad called. Said you beat Han’s ass.” Yunho winced slightly as he stepped inside, his voice dry. “And how did he sound about it?”
“Like a father who didn’t hate it nearly as much as he should’ve.” Seonghwa shut the door behind them. “She’s in her room. Been pacing since her dad called.” Yunho nodded, running a hand through his messy hair, letting out a sigh as his body finally started to ache in full. He glanced at Seonghwa before turning down the hallway. “I’m not sorry,” he said over his shoulder. Seonghwa didn’t say anything back, but Yunho heard the faintest snort of agreement.
The apartment smelled like laundry and the leftover dinner Seonghwa probably made and forgot to eat. Every inch of it felt like her, even the air. He walked slowly, pausing at the cracked door to her bedroom. She was there, back turned, still in an oversized tee that nearly swallowed her. Her hair was up in a messy bun, phone in one hand, pacing slowly until she noticed him. And her phone hit the bed.
She crossed the room before he could say a word, arms wrapping tight around him, but the second she touched his ribs, he hissed and tensed. “Shit… sorry,” she breathed, pulling back just enough to look at him. He looked like hell. Bruised, scratched, blood still crusted near his brow and lip. But his eyes… they were on her. Only her. “I’m fine,” he muttered, even though he absolutely wasn’t. “You okay?”
“Me?” she glared, hands on his jaw, eyes scanning every inch of him like she was counting injuries. “You put someone through a window, Yunho.”
“He deserved it.”
“I’m not disagreeing, but Jesus.”
He dipped his forehead to hers, hands sliding to her hips, voice quieter now. “I couldn’t listen to him talk about you like that. Not after everything.” She kissed his cheek, gently, then his jaw, and finally hovered over his busted lip. “You’re insane,” she whispered. “Yeah,” he smirked, “but I’m your kind of insane.” She rolled her eyes, but her fingers slid into his hair and her lips brushed his like she didn’t care if it stung and Yunho finally exhaled. And for the first time in days, it didn’t feel like the world was spinning too fast.
He kissed her gently, lips lingering against hers like he needed to remind himself she was real, solid, here. When he pulled back, his fingers curled at her waist, grounding himself. His voice came low, quiet, but edged in something raw. “Why didn’t you call me yesterday?” She blinked, just once, then looked down for a beat too long, just enough for him to catch it. Her breath caught, her hands still on his chest, and when she finally looked back up, her answer came just a little too quickly. “I was busy.” Yunho didn’t say anything at first, just studied her, really looked. The hesitation. The delay. The slight tightness in her jaw, the flick of her eyes when she said it.
He knew her too well by now. She was lying. Not about everything, but enough that it pinged something instinctual in him. His thumb brushed her hip, slow, his head tilting as he watched her carefully. “Yeah?” he asked, tone deceptively calm. “Too busy for even a text until late?”
“I said I was sorry…”
“I didn’t ask for sorry.” Her brows furrowed at the shift in his voice, the softness now threaded with something more serious. “I just asked what kept you so busy you couldn’t see me.” She bit her lip. And that? That alone told him whatever it was, it wasn’t just a packed day or bad timing. She wasn’t mad at him. She wasn’t dodging him because she was upset. No, this was something else. Something she was hiding and Yunho’s jaw tensed just slightly, not from anger, but from knowing. Knowing she was keeping something from him, and it wasn’t small.
He didn’t push it. Not yet. Instead, he leaned in again, pressing a kiss to her cheek, then to her temple, and whispered right against her skin, “When you’re ready to tell me… just don’t wait too long, okay?” She said nothing. But the way she clung to him a little tighter? That said everything.
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The late afternoon sun slanted across the garage, golden light spilling through the open bay doors and bouncing off polished chrome and concrete floors. Yunho was bent over the hood of a car, a rag slung over his shoulder, grease staining the curve of his forearm. Sweat clung to the back of his neck, curls damp and messy from the hours spent working under the heat. He heard her before he saw her, those light footsteps he could pick out anywhere. Y/N. She stood in the doorway, still in her med school orientation outfit, navy slacks, low heels, and a white blouse tucked neatly like she was trying to project confidence and poise… even though he could tell the day had been long. Her hair was up, but a few strands framed her face, and her satchel bag was slung low on her shoulder. Yunho grinned, straightening up. “How’s the future doctor?”
“Tired,” she replied, walking toward him and letting her bag drop onto one of the workbenches. “And starving. And kind of terrified I’m gonna fail anatomy within the first month, but hey.” She smiled, soft, like just seeing him cut the weight of the day in half. “You look like you’re covered in half a car.” He smirked, brushing his hand against his rag. “Might be.” But her gaze drifted, past him, to the corner of the garage. To his car. Clean. Tuned. Sitting proud like a sleeping beast, ready to roar. “You’re racing again?” she asked quietly.
Yunho’s fingers froze around the rag. “Friday night,” he said after a beat. He didn’t look at her right away, because he didn’t want to see what he was sure he’d find on her face. And when he did turn? He saw it anyway. Her lips pressed together. Her eyes uncertain. “I’m not asking you to stop,” she said, stepping closer. “I just… I can still worry, Yunho. That doesn’t make me weak, and it doesn’t mean I want you to be someone else.” There it was. Not just worry, he knew worry. He could handle that. But there was a look in her eyes that didn’t match just nerves about a race. Something deeper. He could feel it.
He watched her, watched the way her arms crossed slightly like she was trying to protect herself from something. She looked tired, more than tired. Like something was draining her. He nodded slowly, stepped closer, letting his hands rest gently on her hips. “You sure that’s all it is?” She met his eyes, but only for a second. “What else would it be?” Yunho didn’t answer. He just leaned in and kissed her forehead, lips lingering a little longer than usual. Because whatever it was? It was still hiding behind her eyes.
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Captain Kim Junmyeon let out the longest sigh he had in days, maybe weeks, as he dropped his pen and leaned back in his chair. His back cracked. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed like gnats. And just as he considered finally standing up to stretch, the door to his office creaked open without warning. Of course. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, already annoyed as Agent Bae strolled in with all the smugness of someone who’d just finished rigging a trap. Clipboard under one arm, thick manila file in the other, she looked positively delighted. “We need to talk,” she said, her smile sharp.
Kim didn’t even bother to wave her in. “Unless someone’s dead, bleeding, or blowing up the damn garage, save it.” She didn’t flinch. Just dropped the file right in front of him with a neat little thwap that made something in his gut coil. He squinted at the label on the tab, unimpressed. “What now?” Agent Bae’s voice was light, almost sing song. “Might want to take a look, Captain.” He didn’t move. “Why are you surveilling my daughter?”
That wiped the smug look off her face for a beat, but it came back even sharper, more deliberate. “You’ve got bigger problems than that question,” she said. “Open it.” His fingers hesitated a second too long before flipping open the file. One photo sat on top, printed in crisp color. And the second he saw it, his heart stopped. It was Y/N. Sunglasses on, face half hidden, but unmistakably his daughter. Leaving a building. Bag in hand. He leaned forward. And then his eyes caught the name etched on the glass door just behind her…. OBGYN ASSOCIATES OF BUSAN.
Agent Bae didn’t even try to hide her grin now. “Told you,” she said, tapping the edge of the folder. “You’re looking at your daughter leaving a women’s clinic yesterday afternoon.” Kim sat back, jaw tight. “You had people following her?”
“You think dating a suspected felon keeps her off the radar?” she replied smoothly. “She’s already connected to a garage under federal investigation. I figured if anyone had something to hide, it’d be the girl playing house with your boy Yunho.” His teeth clenched as she leaned in, dropping her voice low and slow. “Congratulations, Captain. Looks like you’re gonna be the grandfather to a little mini criminal.”
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It was just after seven when Y/N stepped out of the main building next to Seonghwa, her backpack slung over one shoulder, her scrubs wrinkled from a long day of lectures and anatomy labs. Her phone buzzed as she was halfway down the steps. It was her dad, asking to meet him for dinner at his favorite restaurant. She hesitated for only a second. It had been a few days since she’d seen him in person, and his messages lately had all been unusually short. Careful. Like he was trying not to step on something delicate.
Ten minutes later, she slipped into the narrow booth across from him. He’d already ordered for both of them, chicken soup steaming, a side of radish kimchi, and that barley tea she always liked. He didn’t say much at first, just handed her chopsticks and gestured toward the soup. She smiled faintly. “Thanks. I’m starving.”
“I figured,” he muttered, digging in, eyes on his bowl, but not for long. As they ate, she talked casually about her day. Clinical rotations starting next week. Her lab partner dropping an entire tray of scalpels. Seonghwa teasing her about falling asleep with flashcards stuck to her face the night before. Normal things. Safe things. But Junmyeon barely reacted, just nodded. He grunted. And every few minutes, his eyes flicked to her midsection, not obvious, never lingering, but noticeable all the same.
The meal was almost done when he finally sat back, folded his arms, and asked the question. “You need to tell me anything?” The words were quiet. Weighted. Y/N blinked, a piece of green onion halfway to her mouth as she set her chopsticks down slowly, gaze narrowing just a little. “What do you mean?” He exhaled. Tired. Heavy. “I mean,” he said, voice still calm but the undercurrent unmistakable, “you’ve been… different lately. You’re quiet. Tired. You didn’t order wine this time. And today, I ask you to dinner and I’m pretty sure you hesitated.”
“I didnt hesitate,” she lied, heart racing as he reached into the inside pocket of his blazer and he pulled out a folded piece of paper. Crisp. Clean. Printed in color. He didn’t say a word as he unfolded it and slid it across the table. Y/N froze the second her eyes landed on it. It was a surveillance photo, she recognized the angle, the quality, the unmistakable time stamp in the corner. And more than that, she recognized herself in the shot. The bright sun over Busan. Her standing outside the OB/GYN clinic from a few days ago. She looked up, slowly. “I thought we were over you watching me?”
Her father’s eyes narrowed. “We are.”
“Then what the hell is this?” she hissed, hand tightening around the edge of the table. “Are you…. are you having me followed again?”
“I’m not the one following you,” he snapped, low and firm. “That damn ATF agent’s been running surveillance ever since she got assigned. And apparently, now she thinks I’m in on something too.” Y/N’s heart hammered in her chest. She looked back at the photo again, then shoved it toward him, face hard. “So you think I’m what? A criminal now too?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth,” he said, quiet but deadly. “You know better than that.” Her lips parted to argue, but then he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice, his eyes scanning her face the way only a parent could. A detective. “Does he know?” She blinked, playing confused. “Who?”
“You know who. Yunho. Does he know you’re pregnant?” The word hit like a gunshot across the table, loud despite the whisper, cutting through the warmth of the restaurant and slicing through the brittle tension between them. Y/N sat frozen. For the first time in years, she couldn’t form a defense. Couldn’t dodge the question. Couldn’t even lie. Because there was something about the way her father said it. The look in his eyes. It wasn’t rage. It was heartbreak. “Y/N.” His voice was gentler now. Almost tired. “Does he know?”
Y/N swallowed hard, the lump in her throat impossible to ignore now. Her fingers curled into the napkin in her lap, wringing it tight. She didn’t meet his eyes when she answered. “No,” she said quietly. “He doesn’t know.” Silence fell over the table, but it wasn’t peaceful. It was the kind that hummed beneath the surface, ready to crack open as her father sat back, jaw ticking. “Why the hell not?”
“Because,” she said sharply, then caught herself, took a breath, forced her voice calm. “Because he doesn’t need to know. Not yet.” Her dad scoffed. “Not yet?” His brow arched, disbelief lacing every syllable. “You’re carrying his kid and you don’t think he needs to know?” Her eyes finally met his. “He’s just now better. After everything. The crash, Han, the investigation, the pressure, he’s barely gotten a break. And now there’s some smug ATF agent trying to take him down for breathing too hard. What do you think telling him I’m pregnant is going to do to him?”
Her father didn’t respond right away. He just stared at her, the lines around his mouth tight. Like he was trying to figure out if she was lying. Or trying to protect herself. Or maybe, trying to protect Yunho. “He deserves to know,” he said finally, voice low. “I know,” she whispered, nodding. “And I’ll tell him. I will. But not yet.” The silence stretched for a moment between them. “Please,” she added softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t say anything. Just… let me handle this.”
Her father stared at her for a long moment before slowly exhaling and folding the photo back into his jacket. A sigh leaving him. He was not ready to be a grandfather yet.
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Yunho lay on his bed, shirt off, arms tucked behind his head, one ankle crossed over the other. The fan above whirred softly, and from the living room, the sound of Jongho’s music seeped faintly through the walls. His car keys sat on the nightstand, a half finished bottle of water sweating next to them. He was finally healed completely. Bruises faded, muscles no longer tight with every breath. His mind, well, that was still a bit of a war zone, but he’d gotten used to the mess. He just hadn’t gotten used to how distant Y/N had felt the past few weeks. The way she smiled, but not all the way. The way her eyes lingered on him when she thought he wasn’t looking.
He was still trying to shake the conversation they had a few days ago. Her voice from the garage echoing in his head. “I’m not asking you to change… but promise you’ll never race him again.” She hadn’t said Han’s name, but he felt it. That unease. And the way her hands had gripped his, almost trembling.
A knock tapped on his door, twice, soft, familiar. He sat up as it creaked open and Y/N stepped inside, her bag sliding off her shoulder, hoodie zipped halfway over her tank top. She looked exhausted and beautiful and out of reach all at once. “Hey,” she said, the corners of her lips lifting. “Hey,” he murmured, voice warm but lined with suspicion he didn’t bother hiding. “You said you were going home after class.”
“I lied,” she said softly, closing the door behind her. “I needed to see you.” His brows lifted as he stood, slowly walking toward her, searching her face for something. He didn’t know what. Answers maybe as she stepped into his chest before he could ask, wrapping her arms around him. Her cheek rested over his heart. “You okay?” he asked, voice muffled in her hair. She nodded against him. “Just… long day.” He held her tighter, but his eyes were still sharp, focused over her shoulder. Something was off. She was here, but she wasn’t really here.
Yunho pulled back slightly to look at her. “You sure everything’s okay?” Y/N nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Just tired.” His jaw tensed. “You’ve been tired a lot lately.” She looked up at him then, smiling just enough to make him believe it if he wanted to. “I’ve been starting med school and trying to keep up with a criminal boyfriend who’s basically made of sex and bad decisions. I think I’m allowed to be tired.” That made him chuckle, but it didn’t loosen the tight feeling in his chest.
She leaned in to kiss him, slow and soft, like she was trying to anchor herself in something she didn’t want to lose. And Yunho kissed her back, pulling her close again, wondering what it was she wasn’t saying, wondering why it felt like she was carrying something so much heavier than just a long day. He didn’t press her. But he knew. Whatever it was, it was coming. And it had him nervous.
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Friday afternoon. The air in the garage was thick with the smell of oil, exhaust, and the metallic tang of victory that hadn’t happened yet. Yunho had grease on his forearms, shirt tossed over the hood of his freshly tuned car, engine purring like a satisfied beast. The sleek paint job gleamed under the harsh lights, his car again, finally, fully. He had the hood open and was leaning in, fingers working like muscle memory, checking the plugs and fine tuning timing like he didn’t already know it was perfect.
He didn’t see the black sedan pull up. Didn’t hear the boots on the concrete until he heard him. “Car looks good.” Yunho straightened slowly, arms still under the hood, eyes squinting toward the voice. Y/N’s father. Junmyeon stepped into the garage like he had every right to be there, which, given his history with the garage, he kind of did. Behind him, Hongjoong nodded in greeting, flicking the ash off his cigarette near the wall.
“Captain,” Yunho said, wiping his hands on a nearby rag, tone guarded. ““Relax. Not here to arrest anyone,” Junmyeon said jokingly, eyes scanning the garage. “Though I see you’ve got this place in tighter shape than the last time I came through with a warrant.” Hongjoong made a noise, somewhere between a grunt and a laugh. “Must be that ATF agent breathing down our necks.” Junmyeon didn’t confirm or deny, just turned back to Yunho, gaze sharp but not unfriendly.
“Wooyoung still in holding?” Hongjoong asked, folding his arms. Junmyeon’s jaw ticked slightly. “Last I heard. Solitary now, after mouthing off one too many times.” Yunho cursed softly under his breath. Of course he is. He missed the guy. Things had been too quiet without his chaos. “Anyway,” Junmyeon continued, stepping closer to Yunho’s car, giving it a once over with the eye of someone who’s been around long enough to appreciate the work. “Nice rebuild. Didn’t think it’d come back from that wreck.”
“Neither did I,” Yunho said, nodding once. “But she’s running smooth. Ready for tonight.”
“Hmm.” Junmyeon walked around the car, fingertips grazing the spoiler. “You planning on racing again after this one?”
Yunho blinked. “What?”
“Just asking,” Junmyeon said with that practiced tone, like he was just making conversation, but every word was a fishing hook. “You plan on doing this forever? Racing. Making… deliveries. You think this is it?” Yunho’s shoulders stiffened as he glanced over to Hongjoong, who gave him a look like, don’t take the bait. “I’m good at what I do,” Yunho answered coolly. “Why? You recruiting?”
Junmyeon smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just curious what kind of future you see for yourself. You know, long term. Settling down. That kind of thing.” Yunho squinted, something suspicious starting to brew. “You ask all your daughter’s boyfriends that?” Junmyeon gave a noncommittal shrug. “I only ask the one who might be too stubborn to realize when it’s time to grow up.” Yunho didn’t reply at first. He leaned back against the car, arms crossed. “You worried about her?”
Junmyeon’s silence was answer enough. And yet, the tension wasn’t hostile, it was layered. Wary. Calculating. Protective in the kind of way that didn’t scream, I hate you, but more like, don’t screw this up. “I’m not going to hurt her,” Yunho finally said, more serious than he meant to sound. Junmyeon looked at him. Just looked. And then, almost as if he didn’t mean to say it out loud, “I know.” Then he nodded once, like a decision had been made, and started walking out.
Hongjoong watched him go, exhaling smoke through his nose. “You sure know how to pick ‘em.” Yunho stood there for a long moment, eyes still locked on the doorway where Junmyeon had vanished. Something wasn’t right. And for the first time in a while, it wasn’t about engines or turf wars or shady drop offs. It was something else. Something real.
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The warehouse lot was already buzzing. Engines revving, bass thumping through cheap speakers balanced on hoods, the smell of gas, oil, and tire smoke hanging in the humid air like it was part of the atmosphere. Yunho had barely stepped out from behind his car when he was swallowed by the crowd, everyone patting him on the back, dapping him up, shoving beers into his hands like he hadn’t been out of the game for months. “You back or just visiting?” someone shouted over the music. Yunho smirked. “Guess you’ll find out when I take your money.”
Jongho laughed from somewhere near the front, perched on a toolbox like a king on his throne, already betting with a group of college kids who had no idea what they were walking into. Yunho was feeling it, the adrenaline, the hum of the car behind him, the way the crowd buzzed just a little louder when his name was thrown around. It felt good. It felt right. But nothing compared to the second she stepped out of Seonghwa’s car. His gaze locked on Y/N immediately, like gravity snapped.
Her hair was down, black boots crunching gravel, and she was wearing overalls and just a sports bra. Chanel logos printed all over like temptation incarnate and she looked so good in it his brain short circuited for a second. Seonghwa trailed behind her, hands in his pockets, giving Yunho a nod as she walked straight toward him like she owned the night. Yunho met her halfway, tossing his beer to the side, a grin pulling at his lips. “You came?”
She barely smirked. “Had to make sure you don’t die without me.” He let out a breath that sounded like a laugh and something else far more dangerous. “You sure that’s why?” She tilted her head at him, lashes fluttering, completely unbothered by the way every guy nearby was now subtly staring. Because, of course, of course she looked like that. In this crowd. And she had the audacity to pretend she didn’t notice the chaos she walked into. Yunho’s hand slid down to her waist automatically, possessively, like his body just knew. “You wearing that to distract the other racers?” he muttered, low so only she could hear. “Because it’s working. I already want to crash.”
She leaned in, whispering back with a grin, “Didn’t say who I was trying to distract.” That earned a quiet groan from Yunho as he curled his fingers into the fabric of her suit and leaned down, brushing a kiss to her cheek. Her skin was warm from the car, and he barely resisted biting it. “After the race,” he promised her darkly, voice hot in her ear. “I’m gonna unzip that thing and make you beg for it.” She blinked up at him, fake innocence dancing in her eyes. “That a threat or a promise?” He licked his lips and pulled back just enough to wink. “Both.”
From somewhere near the line, someone called his name, time to race. Yunho took a breath and stepped back from her like it physically pained him. “Don’t move. I need you right here when I win.”
“You better,” she shot back, walking past him toward the line of parked cars with Seonghwa trailing. “Or I’m making Jongho drive me home.” Yunho muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, hell no, and jogged back toward his car, heart pounding, but it wasn’t just the race. No. It was her. It was always her.
The engines were starting to growl, headlights slicing through the dark like wolves baring teeth. Yunho stood by the driver’s side of his car, hand resting on the roof, one foot on the asphalt like a fuse waiting to be lit. Y/N was perched up on the hood of Jongho’s car, Seonghwa leaned beside her, throwing quiet looks her way like he was keeping guard without making it obvious. The street lights flickered once, twice. And then all hell broke loose as the roar of federal engines cut through the music like knives.
Four black SUVs with flashing lights no one mistook for show. A second later, the crowd was scattering like fire ants under boiling water. Tires screeched, bodies shoved, and suddenly floodlights illuminated the entire lot like a prison yard. Yunho froze as Jongho cursed loudly. “Shit!” The door of the lead SUV swung open like something out of a bad movie, and out stepped Agent Bae, wearing all black like it was a uniform for smug vindication, badge out and smirk already waiting for her moment, she strutted into the chaos, eyes locked on her prize.
“Jeong Yunho,” she called, voice cutting over the panic. “You’re under arrest.” Yunho’s fists curled, jaw clenched as agents rushed past him, guns drawn, not raised, but present enough to make a statement. The crowd was still scattering, some jumping into cars, others just running. But Y/N didn’t move. She stood frozen beside Seonghwa, eyes wide as Yunho made eye contact with her just once, and her lips parted like she was about to call his name. But then Bae turned toward her and smiled. “Oh, don’t look so shocked, sweetheart,” she said as two officers cuffed Yunho behind his back, forcing him down against the hood of his still idling car. “Must be hard, chasing your baby daddy around town and keeping up with med school.”
Yunho blinked as Y/N’s mouth fell open. Seonghwa’s hand went to her shoulder like he could shield her from the burn of those words but it was too late. The damage was done. “What the fuck did you just say?” Yunho growled, struggling against the cuffs. “What the hell are you talking about?” Bae arched a brow. “Oops. Was that a secret?” She mock pouted. “Well, I guess secrets don’t stay secret long when you’re under federal surveillance. Real shame, though. Kid’s not even here yet and already getting dragged into this criminal circus.”
Y/N’s legs buckled slightly as Jongho cursed under his breath and Seonghwa caught her before she could stumble. Yunho’s face had gone blank, stone still, but his eyes told the whole story. Hurt. Confusion. Fury. “You good at rebuilding cars, Yunho,” Bae taunted as they shoved him into the SUV, “but you’re terrible at staying clean.” The door slammed shut. And just like that, the SUVs tore out of the lot, red and blue lights leaving behind a silence that was louder than the race ever could’ve been.
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The interrogation room was colder than usual. Or maybe he just felt it more tonight. The walls were the same lifeless gray, the fluorescent lights humming above like they could cut through skulls if you listened long enough. The metal bench dug into his back. The cuffs had been swapped for zip ties around his wrists, and his knuckles were still raw from when he’d tried to fight the arresting officer off sheer instinct, not that it helped. None of that mattered now.
He hadn’t said a word since they brought him in. Not during the ride. Not during intake. Not when they shoved him in here to wait. They’d try to break him later, Bae would probably trot in with a file full of blurry photos thinking they had him backed into a corner. Let her. Because none of it was louder than what was happening inside his head.
She’s pregnant.
He ran the words over and over in his mind, each time like scraping glass across stone. His heartbeat hadn’t come down since the second Bae opened her mouth. He’d looked at Y/N and felt the floor vanish. The panic in her eyes. The shock. The guilt. It hadn’t been a lie, not from the agent. No way she’d say that without something to back it up. Which meant it was true. Y/N’s pregnant. And she hadn’t told him. His jaw clenched. His heart squeezed with something brutal and bitter and stupidly soft all at once.
Was it because she didn’t trust him? Because she didn’t think he’d stay? Or worse…. because she thought he’d leave? He’d been reckless, sure. Still was. He lived in a world where a good day meant getting through it without flashing lights and badges. But Y/N… she’d always been the thing he thought he could protect. The one part of his world he could keep untouched. But now? Now there was a kid. Their kid.
Yunho stared at the metal table bolted to the floor. His leg bounced. He couldn’t sit still. His fingers twitched against the plastic ties like they could somehow hold back the tidal wave of panic rising in his throat. He wasn’t mad she hadn’t told him. Not really. He was just…. hurt. No. Devastated. Because she hadn’t even given him the chance to know. The chance to change. The chance to tell her he wanted this. That despite every fucked up thing around them, she was the one thing he was sure about.
The sound of boots down the hallway made him glance up as the door creaked open. And in walked Agent Bae, as smug and serpentine as ever. Clipboard in hand, dark blazer stiff over her bony frame, like her spine was carved from contempt alone. She didn’t sit right away, just circled him slowly, tapping the end of her pen against the clipboard like she was debating whether to interview him or dissect him. “Well,” she drawled. “Here we are again. Didn’t think I’d be seeing you back in here so soon. Especially not with a new… family in tow.”
Yunho’s jaw clenched as her grin sharpened like glass. “Not gonna say anything?” she asked sweetly, then leaned forward, planting her hands on the table and dropping her voice. “You’re quieter than your dad was.” His breath hitched, just for a second. She saw it. And she pounced. “He begged, you know. Right before the end. Funny what grown men do when they realize they’ve pushed their luck too far.” She tilted her head. “But you already know that, don’t you? Must be in the genes, being reckless until it kills you.”
Yunho didn’t blink. He didn’t move. But he was shaking inside. Like a fuse lit with nowhere to burn. Because what the fuck did she know about his dad? “Then the crash,” she sighed dramatically. “You almost took yourself out of the equation again. Too fast, too cocky, too stupid. And you think that’s what a father looks like?” Yunho looked up slowly as she smiled. “There it is. I knew that’d sting. You think you’re gonna be a good dad, Yunho?” Her voice was cruel now, every word sugar coated in venom.
“What’re you gonna teach your kid? How to rebuild a stolen car? How to lie to the woman you supposedly love? Or how to run drugs across the city without getting caught?” Yunho’s hands curled into fists on the table. “Because I’ll tell you what I see when I look at you,” she said, standing tall again, circling. “I see a hot headed little boy who’s always five seconds from throwing his life away. And now? You’ve got a girl knocked up, a record catching up to you, and no one left to clean up your mess. You’re gonna be a father?” She scoffed. “You’re just your father’s ghost in better jeans.”
Yunho’s chest rose and fell. He wanted to break the table in half. He wanted to scream. He wanted to punch through the mirror. But instead, he breathed in through his nose. Slow. Steady. Then, voice low and hoarse, “Is this what you think makes you good at your job? Poking ghosts? Dragging a girl and a baby into something you can’t prove?” Bae’s smirk twitched. He’d hit something. Yunho leaned forward, locking eyes with her now. Calm. Lethal. “I know what I am. I know what I’ve done. But don’t ever mistake that for not knowing what I can be. For her. For that kid. I’d burn every bridge I’ve ever built to keep them safe.”
Bae clicked her pen, turning back to the clipboard with a sardonic chuckle. “We’ll see how safe they are when I’m done with you.”
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The garage wasn’t supposed to be this quiet. Not when Yunho had just been arrested. Y/N hadn’t said a word since they got back. She just sat on the couch in the corner of the main bay, eyes glassy, lashes clumped together, cheeks pale. Seonghwa was next to her, saying nothing, offering nothing except the steady rhythm of his breathing, the subtle brush of his hand over hers every few minutes to remind her she wasn’t alone.
Inside the office, the muffled sound of Hongjoong’s voice came and went, short, clipped, furious. He was on his third call, pacing, teeth gritted as he rattled off favors and debts, his fingers twitching with the urge to break something that wouldn’t cost him more lawyers. Yeosang and Jongho sat outside, leaning against the wall of the garage under the single flickering bulb. They shared a blunt in silence, the red ember flaring and fading like a slow heartbeat. Neither of them cracked a joke. Neither of them smiled. And that was the scariest part.
The rumble of a car engine caught everyone’s attention. And a moment later, the heavy metal door squealed open. Junmyeon stepped in, dressed in jeans and a black Henley, like he’d been mid laundry run when the world exploded. His eyes scanned the room once, Yeosang gave him a nod, Jongho nothing, and then he was moving straight toward his daughter. The second Y/N looked up and saw him, really saw him, she crumbled.
Junmyeon crouched down without a word, arms open, and Y/N launched forward into him, fists clutching his shirt like it might disappear if she let go. Her shoulders started shaking, the first sob barely audible before the next hit harder. “I didn’t get to tell him…. I didn’t… she just said it, like it was a punchline…. he hates me now, and he’s gone and I….”
“Shh, baby, hey…. hey.” Junmyeon’s voice was lower now, gentler than anyone else ever heard it. “You listen to me. He doesn’t hate you. He’s scared. Same as you. But we are not gonna let this break him. You hear me?” She sniffled hard, burying her face against his chest. “I was gonna tell him. I was. But he had so much going on, and I didn’t know how, and now she…. she told everyone, and he…”
“He’s not going to prison,” Junmyeon said firmly, holding her tighter. “She’s got scraps and ego. That’s it. I know the system, Y/N. I am the system. And I will burn every bridge I ever built before I let her ruin my grandkid’s dad’s life. You believe me?” Y/N nodded slowly, but the tears didn’t stop. Because believing it didn’t make the fear go away. It didn’t make the ache in her chest ease up or the image of Yunho in cuffs fade. And somewhere beneath all of it, she couldn’t shake the one thought she’d had since the second she saw his face when the truth came out, what if he never forgives her for not telling him?
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Bae looked like the damn cat who swallowed the canary. She was seated at her desk, coffee in hand, one leg crossed over the other, typing up her post operation report like she hadn’t just torpedoed a man’s life in front of half the underground scene and dropped a nuclear bomb of truth on his girl. A faint smirk played at the corner of her mouth as she reviewed the footage stills. Yunho in cuffs. Y/N’s shocked face. The chaos. The screams. All of it packaged perfectly in her neat little narrative.
The bureau buzzed around her, agents debriefing, radios crackling, printers running hot. But none of it mattered. Because she had already won. Until the hallway door slammed open so hard the wall behind it cracked. Captain Kim. The entire bullpen froze like prey sensing a predator. Junmyeon didn’t walk, he stormed. His boots echoed like gunshots against the tile, each step heavier than the last as he beelined through the rows of desks, shoulders square, jaw clenched, murder in his goddamn eyes.
Bae didn’t even flinch. She just sat there, smug, ready, sipping her coffee like it was a victory toast. “Captain,” she greeted sweetly. “I was just finishing up my report. You’ll be pleased, last night was productive.” Junmyeon stopped at her desk. Didn’t look down. Just stared. Everyone around them slowly found something else to focus on. The floor. The ceiling. Their own shoelaces. Anything but what was about to happen. “I run this place,” Junmyeon said, voice low and rumbling like distant thunder. “Not you. Not your fed badge. Not the pricks who sent you here on their little crusade.”
Bae blinked once, lips parting. “I’m not sure I follow….”
“Don’t play stupid. You came after my daughter. You dragged her name through the mud, humiliated her in public, and outed something that was never your place to speak on. You didn’t just arrest someone tonight, you attacked my family.”
Bae set her cup down. “Captain, I think emotions are….”
“I know every crooked son of a bitch in this building. Every rat bastard with a badge, every liar in a suit, every cop who owes someone something.” He leaned in close now, towering over her desk, voice dark enough to silence the hum of every printer within earshot. “And I know the streets better than you ever will.” Bae finally faltered, just slightly. The smallest twitch at her jaw. “You came after my kid’s life,” Junmyeon growled, “and tried to ruin my grandkid’s before they even get here.”
Now her eyes widened, the façade cracking, just for a second as he clenched his jaw. “I will bury you.” Bae opened her mouth but he cut her off. “I will bury you, and that rich little prick and his daddy who hired you. You think I don’t know how this started? You think I don’t know which asshole with too much money and not enough backbone is paying you under the table to clean up his mess? I’m not stupid. And I’m not powerless.”
He stepped back, eyes burning into hers like wildfire. “This game you’re playing? You just made it personal. And the one thing I’ve learned in my thirty years wearing this badge… is never make it personal with a man who has nothing left to lose.” He turned, walking away without another word. And for the first time since she’d transferred into that office, Bae didn’t feel in control. She felt hunted.
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The click of Junmyeon’s boots echoed louder in the sterile corridor than usual, the buzz of the flickering fluorescent lights above sounding like static in his ears. He barely nodded at the officer who let him through the reinforced door to holding. Didn’t need to. The guy had already seen what kind of mood he was in. Yunho was seated on the bench inside the cell, arms resting on his thighs, zip ties still on his wrists, head tipped forward like he’d been sitting there for hours, thinking. Brooding. Breaking. He didn’t look up until Junmyeon spoke. “I can’t get you out.”
Yunho blinked slowly, lifting his head, eyes bloodshot but clear. Focused. “Not surprised.” Junmyeon leaned against the bars, crossing his arms over his chest, face carved from stone. “The ATF has surveillance footage of your last drop. It’s weak, but it’s enough to hold you while they dig. And after tonight? They’ll dig hard.” Yunho let out a low, humorless laugh. “You here to lecture me?”
“No,” Kim said evenly. “If I was here to lecture you, I’d start with why the hell you let a prick like Han get under your skin.” That got a flicker of something behind Yunho’s eyes. Rage, maybe. Shame. A mix of both. Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating and Yunho looked away. “I didn’t know. About her.” Junmyeon’s arms dropped and his jaw twitched. “I know.”
“She didn’t tell me. Not until that…. that bitch outed her like it was a game.”
“I know,” Junmyeon repeated, firmer now, stepping closer to the bars. “And if it were up to me, that bitch wouldn’t have a job come morning.” Yunho’s brows lifted at that. “You’re not here to yell at me?” Junmyeon exhaled through his nose. “You think I don’t know who you are, Yunho? You think I don’t see it?” He jabbed a finger toward him. “You’re reckless. Stubborn. You live like you don’t care if you make it to thirty. And God help me, you remind me of myself when I was your age. But…” His voice softened, not much, but enough. “You love her.” Yunho swallowed hard, throat bobbing. “I do.”
“Then stop giving these people reasons to destroy your life.” Yunho’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You telling me to go straight?” Junmyeon huffed. “I’m telling you that you’ve got a reason to live now. A reason that didn’t exist months ago. And yeah, maybe I can’t get you out tonight. But I’ll work on it.” Yunho looked up at him fully now, and Junmyeon saw it. Not fear. Not guilt. But purpose. “She’s scared,” he said finally. “You need to remember that when you see her again. You were too busy bleeding out or getting thrown into cells to notice… but she’s not just scared for you anymore.”
Yunho leaned forward, the weight of everything finally, truly settling on his shoulders. “I want to do right by her. By them.” Junmyeon nodded once. “Then start with staying alive.” He turned to leave, voice a low grumble as he walked away. “And keeping your damn temper in check.”
Behind him, Yunho stood and walked to the bars of his cell, voice breaking.
jeong yunho x afab! reader (feat. s.mg, p.sh, k.hj)
for mature audiences only, minors will be blocked.
⟢ a/n: this is the part i've warned y'all about. please do not push yourself if reading gets distressing. i look forward to the team yunho vs team mingi debate after this one. this does NOT in any way, shape, or form depict who / how any of ateez are irl. please do not take this fic as fact on their personalities, please and thank you.
⟢ summary: wake up. you've been under his spell for too long.
⟢ word count: 18.2k
⟢ warnings: MINORS RUN FOR THE HILLS | yunho is INSANE, swearing, graphic depictions of violence, captive reader, conditioning, use of names (daddy, doll, baby, good girl), minor character death, murder, physical violence (on and offscreen), knife, threats, blood, use of chloroform, gun use, mentions of suicide, confined spaces (suitcase), almost smut, dry humping, body worship
The strong scent of Yunho’s cologne and leather mixing in the air is the first thing to hit you as you wake up. You have been thrown into the closet like a ragdoll, laying in a crumpled heap among the shoes that lined the floor, hidden by long winter coats like a filthy secret.
And isn’t that exactly what you are?
The headache is brutal, indicating that you must’ve hit the back of your head on the wall as you landed here. When you finally open your eyes, your vision is blurry, as if to confirm that’s exactly what had happened. A horrid, sweet yet burnt smell lingers right under your nose. It’s pungent, like someone had poured bleach and acetone on you. You lift your fingers to the space between your nose and lips and immediately pull them back once your skin burns underneath your featherlight touch. Your top lip feels numb and swollen, the skin tight and stinging. A horrible memory of your first night here resurfaces – flashes of fear, of the same burnt odor, slumping against Yunho as he dragged your limp body into his car.
Your stomach twists violently, making you gag. It is sheer willpower and every ounce of self-control you have to not throw up all over Yunho’s shoes. You breathe through your mouth so the smell isn’t too overwhelming anymore, and you force yourself to sit up with your back against the wall to attempt to breathe normally. Slower than normally, really. Head swimming and spinning, you stare at a random spot on the floor, concentrating on calming yourself down. You make yourself notice the smallest of details in his clothes that hang around you, anything to take your mind off of the nausea and the memories. But being upright for this short amount of time only brings you right back down to the floor soon enough. Horizontal again, your head stops spinning so much, but it pounds alongside every beat of your panicked heart. The carpet underneath your head offers no comfort. Surrounded by the smell of his cologne, his natural scent would normally calm you down, but now it only holds apprehension. The sting in your jaw sits uncomfortably against your teeth, though the feeling has mostly dulled. You wonder how long you’ve been unconscious for.
The horrid screams had ceased a while ago – you can tell by the stillness of the apartment, like it was afraid to breathe in front of Yunho as they watched him. Occasionally, you can hear Yunho moving around the apartment, but you’re not quite sure what he’s doing. The closest he gets to you is when he comes into his bedroom, yanking something out from under his bed and zipping it open before leaving again. You hear the rush of water from the kitchen, indicating that he’s washing his hands or something. For a while. The chemical burns on your face start to flake, cracking and drying your skin. The nausea comes and goes in taunting waves.
You rest your head on one of Yunho’s shoes, using it as a makeshift pillow for the time being. You won’t sleep, you can’t possibly. But you zone out, rarely blinking or keeping your eyes closed for long periods of time and no in between.
You ache to be held. For a gentle touch, like you’re fragile. To be told everything is okay, and that all is forgiven.
To be home, wherever that may be now. With whomever that wouldn’t hurt you like he did.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
In all honesty, Yunho didn’t even realize that he hit you. He only saw red, felt his knuckles impact against something, and saw you looking at him like he was a stranger. It unnerved him. Pissed him off even more as his insecurities and vulnerability grew.
But he’ll deal with that and you later.
You were shut in the closet just to be out of sight. Just so he can focus on one thing at a time. After depositing your unconscious, limp body in there, he calmly walked back out into the living room, his manager wheezing against the wood flooring.
To be honest, he was getting real sick of people showing up to his apartment unannounced. He’s going to have to do something about that soon.
He runs a hand through his hair, standing over the crumpled, bloodied body like he was an inconvenience to his evening. A disruption to order. Why must they all bleed so much?
“Look what you made me do…” he sighs, nudging him in the ribs with his boot. He’ll have to deep clean the rug eventually, scrub every inch of the floors, but not right now. For the moment, he needs to focus on regaining control of himself, of the situation. The mess can wait. Priorities first.
The phone he had taken off of his manager buzzes in his pocket, impatient to be used. He crouches down, blood pooling around his shoes.
“Did you touch her before I came in?” He asks quietly, tilting his head to one side.
His manager coughs out a broken, ‘no’, or what sounds like one. But that’s not good enough. He doesn’t believe him in his rage. And sure he can fact-check it himself with a quick look at his laptop, but it doesn’t matter anymore if the answer is yes or no. He doesn’t care. It won’t make one bit of difference – he’s already gone too far, made up his mind.
“Did you want to?” The venom seeps back into his voice, yet the volume stays the same. His anger makes him believe all sorts of things happened, no matter the short amount of time the manager was actually face to face with you. As far as Yunho is concerned, he signed his death warrant the moment he opened the door.
It’s bad timing. His manager loses consciousness for a brief moment before Yunho asks, so he doesn’t reply. Yunho rectifies this by stomping on his hand. Another sickening crunch is heard in between the sole and the wood at the moment of impact, and it wakes him back up. But Yunho’s past wanting an answer. He needs him awake for another reason.
To help cover up his own murder.
The manager’s hands fumble with the phone as Yunho hands it to him, several fingers obviously broken. His breath is shallow, ragged and rough. It takes effort to keep his eyes open, fighting to stay awake so Yunho doesn’t break more of his fingers.
“Call your wife. Tell her you’ll be unreachable,” Yunho says softly, keeping his voice down in case the line is picked up as he speaks. “Say it calmly. Make it believable.” There is no room in his tone for refusal.
The manager’s hands shake so badly that he has to lay the phone against the floor to steady it. He dials with a clumsy apology murmured under his breath, like a prayer. Like saying sorry will save him.
When the line connects, the sound of his voice makes the room suddenly feel unbearably intimate. “Hi Doyeon, it’s me. I have to go away for a while. I… need time to think.” The words drag in his mouth; they hurt to shape. He doesn’t tell the truth. He can’t. He keeps his eyes on Yunho’s face the whole time, searching for any indication of another impending attack.
“Don’t call or text,” his voice wobbles slightly, another wheeze escaping him before he can stop it, “please just… give me time. I lo–” Before he can say anything else, Yunho hangs up the call for him, cutting off his wife as she pleads with him to tell her what’s going on.
He calls the KQ staff office next. His voice is brittle but practiced. “I need to take a leave. It’s sudden, I know but… no there’s no way around it. I can’t… do this anymore. Have Changmin take over for me.” Yunho watches him like a hunter looking through his scope. The manager does well adjusting the honesty and keeping it just vague enough.
At the end of the second call, the manager hangs up abruptly, cutting his boss off as well. He looks up, searching for the man he once knew, the one he had watched grow all these years. But Yunho is nowhere to be found, even though he is crouching above him, holding all the power in the world.
“We’re gonna go for a little drive.” Yunho states flatly, watching his eyes slowly glaze over from the blood loss he’s experienced so far. And the world fades to black again.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
The sun had already set long after Yunho managed to get the man into his suitcase. With the changing of the seasons, the sky getting darker earlier was nothing but a blessing. He worked best under cover of night. He rolled the suitcase out of the apartment building calmly, like nothing was amiss whatsoever. Hoisting it up into the trunk of his car proved to be only slightly difficult. Rush hour was over. Everyone was at home making dinner, or waiting for their food at restaurants. A quiet, normal day. No one will notice.
He drives to the outskirts of Seoul, stopping the car about forty-five minutes away from the apartment. There’s a high bridge he’s scoped out before. Just in case this day ever came. There are no cameras around here, nor any people in passing cars. He puts his hazards on in case anyone passes, they’ll just assume he’s having car trouble and whatever he’s doing is him trying to fix it. But there are no headlights coming from either side yet.
Looking over his shoulder once more for any headlights, he opens the trunk and unzips the suitcase quickly. He needs him alive. The manager’s breath is ragged, labored, and thin from being trapped in the stuffy suitcase. Yunho had only granted him a sliver of air by not zipping it completely shut. Only about an inch. Being unconscious was a blessing. But he comes to again once a rush of air hits his lungs, eyes darting around at his new surroundings, confusion wrinkling his face. And Yunho stands in the middle of it all, shrouded in darkness. He tips him out of the trunk, his body crumpling at his feet.
With one more look, and no sign of anyone still, he lifts the manager to his feet, ignoring the slurred pleas for mercy, for his life. But he forfeited all of that when he stole the keys from Mingi’s jacket. It was inevitable, he just had no idea.
Funny the situations we get ourselves into while trying to do the right thing.
The manager clutches onto the railing, staring down into the black depths below. They’re high up. A perilous height. An all too climbable rail between him and oblivion.
“Jump.” Yunho says with zero emotion behind the word. No room for arguing. He doesn’t want to hear him beg anymore.
“Yunho, please…” his manager tries one more time, clutching onto his shirt with his non-injured hand, “don’t do this. Please don’t become this.”
Yunho’s hand twitches. His jaw sets, eyes narrowing. Out of nowhere, his hand wraps around the manager’s throat, pushing him against the railing so hard it digs painfully into his lower back.
“I am sick of people trying to tell me what to do all the time.” His voice is rough, almost inhuman in its lack of emotion. More frightening than the devil himself. “Don’t become what? Someone who’s finally in control of their life again? God forbid.”
The manager coughs, gasping for breath, “Yunho–”
But his grip only tightens, restricting any more air from entering his lungs.
“I’m giving you a choice. You can jump, or I can throw you off. Up to you.”
The manager pleads again, stammering for words, but Yunho doesn’t give him the chance. The metal of the railing groans and creaks beneath the strain. Yunho presses harder, enough that the man gasps against the painful pressure applied to his trachea, and leans in closer. A knife produced seemingly out of nowhere taunts menacingly in his face.
“You have ten seconds to decide.”
Starting now.
Ten.
The manager still tries to fight back, still refusing to accept his fate.
Nine.
Yunho’s grip is too strong. Wild eyes unblinking, locked onto every move he makes. Looking for any reason to end his life himself with the knife in his hand.
Eight.
The manager looks out of the corner of his eye, into the inky black below him.
Seven.
The sound of rushing water beneath the bridge jeers at him.
Six.
It will engulf him soon.
Five.
The water will drag him down on his own terms, or Yunho’s.
Four.
Why not die with some dignity?
Three.
He thinks of his wife.
Two.
He doesn’t want to die at all.
One.
“I’ll do it.” He manages to croak out. Instantly, Yunho’s hand releases his throat, but the knife is still pointed directly at him. Towards his heart.
He climbs the railing, his whole body shaking the entire time. Still, he tries to come up with something to say to calm Yunho down, something to do to get out of this. A plan of action to run for his life. But Yunho’s faster than he is, and stronger. He’ll be caught. And then he won’t have a choice anymore. Or rather, the illusion of choice.
He holds onto the railing with white knuckles, needing to force himself to pry them off. The tip of the knife presses into the middle of his back. Not hard enough to push him, but enough to let him know his only way is forward.
He takes his last deep breath and clears his frantic mind as best he can.
He prays for justice.
Then, he steps off. And he’s gone.
The late evening air swallows the sound that follows.
A minute later, Yunho exhales shakily and takes a step back. The wind tousles his hair like it was rewarding him for doing the right thing. But he sighs like he’s disappointed – not at what he’s done, but that it has to come to this. Maybe now the group will take him a bit more seriously. Although, it seemed Mingi’s lesson was well-learned by everyone else quite successfully. They don’t have to know he did this.
No one does.
He looks down at the black water, then at the dark sky above. There’s no moon tonight. Only stars. Billions of silent witnesses.
Then, as if right on time: the headlights. Two cars in quick succession drive right past him as he shuts the trunk a little more forcefully than he intended. He turns his face towards the bridge so neither driver can see what he looks like before seamlessly sliding back into the driver’s seat, throwing the knife into the glove compartment for now. The engine purrs and the tires crackle on the gravel as he gets onto the main road again, heading back into Seoul.
Finally sated, satisfied with his work and the efforts he’s gone to to cover everything up, he turns his attention back to you. What to do with you…
She’ll never love someone she fears.
He grits his teeth, his hands tightening around the steering wheel. For the safety of himself and for everyone else on the road, he has to think of something else. But Mingi’s words cut him deeper than any knife could. He tries to focus on anything other than the condemnation, but the words replay in his mind, a relentless echo. The anger and frustration build, threatening to consume him. Mingi was basically saying she doesn’t love him, trying to warn him, and he ignored it. It’s an ugly truth that he had no intention of looking in the eye until now – only now he uses it to rile himself up even further.
Borderline spiralling, speeding down the highway like a bat out of hell, there’s only one more mess to clean up. One more loose end to snip away. Those small, sneaky looks to Mingi when you two think he doesn’t notice… the way your shoulders relax whenever someone else is in the apartment… the look of pure horror when you saw him behind the manager a couple hours ago. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.
That look was seared into his brain for life. The dried blood on his hands cracks as he clenches them into fists on the steering wheel. Early on, you used to flinch when he touched you. He imagines you’ll start to do so again. It’s inevitable.
And if it’s inevitable, he may as well make it a lesson. May as well give you something to really be scared of.
If you think you’re afraid of him now…
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
You’re not sure how long you’ve been in his closet, but you’ve developed impossible-to-ignore pain in your back from laying on the floor. The stench of burnt flesh just under your nose has diminished, thankfully, though it still hurts something awful. You remember from the first time that it had taken a couple days for this pain to completely go away. If you could sleep and knock off a few hours of having to feel like this, that would be great. But you can’t. The apartment has been eerily silent for so long, but you’re just waiting for Yunho to catch you by surprise again, kicking the door open in the middle of the silence. You barely move from where you lay, not wanting to piss him off any more – in case not being exactly as he left you will be his final straw.
But with him, who knows?
You’ve been dragging your nails against the floor, just to give yourself something sensory to focus on other than the stinging in your face, for the better part of thirty minutes when you hear the front door open. Your heart stops beating like it's afraid he’ll hear it. Your body locks up.
But your fear, your panic, the fight or flight response kicks in. You scramble backwards, attempting to hide yourself behind his coats, as if he wouldn’t be able to find you easily. But it buys you a few seconds at least. You hear something land on the bed before his footsteps head directly towards you. Hugging your knees to your chest, you brace yourself for whatever he’s about to do to you.
The door swings open, hitting the stopper with a loud bang! His eyebrows knit together in confusion when he doesn’t see you right away, but catches sight of your curled up body amongst his coats.
“Hiding from me?” He snarls, taking his time to come closer to you. He doesn’t crouch down, not bringing himself to your level. Instead, he towers over you, making you feel even smaller compared to him. Every breath that manages to leave you tastes like fear. You take in his slightly disheveled clothes, messy wind-swept hair, a far away look in his eyes you haven’t seen in them before.
And the blood that still stains his skin, his palms dyed an awful muted pink. His shirt is pristine, though. He must’ve changed while you were knocked out. You stare at him like a deer in headlights, unable to speak. Your arms hug your knees tighter to yourself, entire body trembling like a leaf caught on an unforgiving wind.
“You do realize you’re breaking the third rule again, right?”
Oh, fuck.
Breaking one is bad enough. But two? Hell, even three if you count that you’re not exactly being on your best behavior with him right now. That well-conditioned part of you snaps to attention, pushing you forward to kneel for him. Your head is bowed, chin to chest. Shame and dread flood through you.
He rolls his eyes, taking a step further back. Like he doesn’t want to be that close to you. Like you’re infringing on his personal space.
“What happened to my good girl? Huh? Are you this shit-scared of me that you can’t remember your rules?” Yunho asks incredulously, “You don’t greet me properly. You don’t answer me. You let him in here, let him see you.” His face twists into something akin to disgust.
Again, you try to redeem yourself, but it just comes out broken and small, “I– Daddy, p-please I didn’t–”
“Shut up.” He hisses, cutting you off. He doesn’t want to hear your excuses, even if they could save you. The smell of blood coming from him begins to choke you.
You shut your mouth quickly, tears starting to flow down your cheeks. There’s a small, unfamiliar voice in the back of your mind trying to speak amidst the other racing thoughts, rushing through your brain like white water.
Hopelessness drowns you.
Then you’re being pulled up, but you don’t surface. He makes you stand, giving you a look that says ‘follow’. With tentative steps behind him, you obey, exiting the closet like you’re exiting your cell. On your final walk to the execution chamber. If you had any of your sarcastic wit left, or the courage to accompany it, you would’ve asked him for a final meal at least. But you remain as silent as the grave you’re sure he’s about to put you in.
You wonder why he won’t let you at least explain what happened, jumping to conclusions of your betrayal so quickly. Then again, you don’t think you can admit to your mistake so openly. Dumb little doll, so excited for Daddy to come home again, ready to cook with him, met a stranger instead. Now his blood caked and stained Yunho’s skin. You don’t ask about his fate. It’s obvious. He would. He did.
Even more so when you see the open suitcase laying on the floor by the foot of the bed. Fully unzipped, blood staining the inside as well, awaiting another body to transport somewhere remote.
Yours.
An involuntary gasp seizes your throat and you stop in your tracks, not daring to go any further. In fact, you take a hesitant step back.
“No–” The word leaves you before you can even think.
He turns around, impatient. “Be quiet. Don’t make me force you in.”
The threat is there. Another whiff of blood and bleach makes you gag. Yunho reaches for you but you sob, shrinking even further back.
“No–! No, no, no–” Your voice is thin and hysterical. You can’t handle another punishment. You can’t do it. You can’t. It’s unbearable to think about, both your mind and body are already so close to falling apart completely, it’s too much to go through again. You can’t do it. Not the fire… not the six hours… not being locked in here for another week… not the forced sex you pretend to be okay with. None of it.
You’ve hit your breaking point. Hard.
Just below the surface, something cracks within you. Like something has finally clicked in your brain. The wheels begin to turn again after months of rusting, of being shut down and left for the spiders to hang their webs upon. That suppressed little voice finally roars to life in your mind, clawing its way up front from the back.
Get away from him. You have to get out of here. He’s crazy.
He tries to grab your wrist. Again you recoil, backing up even more with your head still bowed slightly, subtly looking at the door that leads out to the living room out of the corner of your eye.
Run. For your life.
If you do, it better be your best damn effort because if he catches you…
His jaw sets.
“Y/N,” he growls, causing a ghastly shiver to run down your spine at the sound of your actual name coming from him, “stop this. Now.”
But him taking one more step towards you is enough to set you off. The room blurs as you run, almost tripping over your own feet as you squeeze past the ajar door. Your legs aren’t used to running, and neither are your lungs. Your head is light and dizzy once you get to the living room. But you keep pushing yourself out. Out, out, out, get the hell out of here.
What unnerves you even more is that he doesn’t chase after you. He walks. Like that Halloween movie villain, the one you mix up the name of all the time. Jason? Freddy? Michael? You never were a horror movie buff, even less so now. Your life was a horror movie enough as it is. You feel as if your eyes have finally cleared, able to see the apartment for the prison cell it is. To see him for what he is: a monster, a killer. With his sights set on you.
It breaks your heart.
And maybe that’s why you look over your shoulder, hand on the front doorknob, and pause. You hate it, but you think you do love him in some sick way. Even now. Guilt clutches at you for thinking of him as a monster, after all that he’s done for you. Risked for you, sacrificed for you. Were you just going to run and turn him in? The few minutes on the balcony already told you: you’re not ready to be back outside yet. The police would interview you, send you home immediately. Free. The world is too big for you to handle. You need him to protect you from it. How many times has he proven to you that you can’t survive without him? You need Yunho.
Your bottom lip quivers as you realize the gravity of what you’ve done. This is why you suppressed that bothersome voice in the first place – it only landed you in worlds of trouble. It placed you into that fire all those months ago.
“Baby…” Yunho warns, the pet name making a strategic comeback, “don’t make this any worse for yourself.” His voice is eerily calm, like the ocean under a moonless sky. Soft enough to not create any ripples in the water. The pet name sounds lifeless, like it holds no meaning to him anymore. He’s calling a ghost by that name.
You know what he’s referring to. Maybe he can forgive you running from him, but if you open that door, you’re crossing an unforgivable line. The biggest sin of all, attempting to violate rule number five right in front of him. You can never leave.
Your hand jerks away from the doorknob like it burns to the touch. Yunho watches you closely, calculating and unmoving. You step back, seemingly snapping back into your conditioned senses, shocked at what you had just tried to do.
“That’s right, baby. Come back to me…” He speaks barely above a whisper. A large, dainty hand extends towards you, an offering for you to take it.
Run. Don’t.
Stay. Beg for forgiveness. Try again. Endure. You love him.
You love him, you love him, you love him.
“I’m…” your voice cracks, full of shame of what you’ve just done, what you almost did, “Daddy, I’m so sorry…”
And you fall into him again, taking his hand like a lifeline. You tried to save yourself, silly thing. You don’t need saving. Only he knows what’s best for you. And you convince yourself of that, and how you’re doing the right thing as you bury your face in his shirt.
You repeat your apology until it doesn’t even sound like real words anymore, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, Daddy, please forgive me, I’m sorry–”
He says nothing. The only ounce of comfort he gives you is his hand on the back of your head, holding you to him. Possessive still, anchoring. His other twitches by his side. He lets you cry it out, lets you tug on the fabric of his shirt, beg him like it’s the only thing you know how to do. Everything narrows to the press of his palm, the scent of him, the ridiculous steadiness of his breathing.
He lets go of you slowly, as if testing whether you’ll fall apart without him. When you don’t, when you stay rooted to the spot with the hysterical kind of composure that comes from having nothing left to give, he takes your hand, leading you back into his bedroom. Back into your confinement. Your little four-walled world. And you follow him, of course. You don’t dig your heels into the floor, you don’t fight him. Just wordless movement.
Once back in his room, he kneels and gently pulls you down with him. There is no hurry in him now. Only the certainty that everything will be done his way. A fake veil of calm shrouds him entirely, masking the fury that lies beneath. Five rules broken in one night. All five.
All of them.
He swallows down his true feelings and forces his voice to sound light, “We’re going outside, baby. This is just so that no one sees you. Okay? You trust Daddy, right?”
You nod, dumbly. The word ‘outside’ is lost on you, not registering as you’re neck deep in damage control. He could’ve said he was shipping you off to the moon, or feeding you to wild dogs, you would’ve nodded along, agreeing with whatever he decided to do with you. You deserve it. You ran.
Dumb doll.
“Yes, Daddy, I understand. I trust you.”
Dumb.
The first breath you take inside the nylon smells strongly of blood and sweat. The space is small, impossibly small, but the dark is immediate, easier somehow than the light. You curl in on yourself because there is no other way to be. His palm lays flat along your back once, an almost tender press, and then he starts to zip.
The zipper moves in a sharp metallic rumble, stopping just above your nose to allow a slit of light left at the top. A tiny, impossible window to the world. A small mercy he provides you as far as breathable air goes. Already, it has become quite hot inside. You have to try to breathe normally, your knees digging into your lungs.
He pauses only long enough to look down at you through that lone hole, and for a heartbeat something unreadable crosses his face – satisfaction, perhaps, or a cold, private pity.
You can feel the shape of his weight at the seams, the slow, methodical arrangements of his feet as he sets the suitcase upright. The world tilts slightly forward as you’re pulled along. The sounds are far away: a distant hum of the refrigerator, the door being nudged open to accommodate the size of the suitcase, Yunho’s breathing.
Roll, roll, roll, stop.
The ding of the elevator makes you jump. It’s a sharp sound, one you’re not used to.
Roll, roll, stop.
You’re starting to get motion sick, the stuffy, limited air not helping in the slightest. Still, you try to relax. The smooth ride down in the elevator makes you dizzy, nausea blooming in your throat. You exhale once it dings again, signalling its arrival down in the lobby.
The lobby… you have no idea what it looks like. You try to look through the small air hole Yunho left you, but don’t see too much. A sliver of glossy, white floors, the bottom half of a front desk. The smell of incense is strong and permeates through to you. You can tell it's expensive.
A couple of minutes later, and the suitcase lifts. The weight of him shifts through the case; the world tilts once more until you’re settled on your side again, on a higher surface. His car. It smells new. The last thing you see before the trunk is closed is a small rectangle of the darkened sky. But the view is quickly snuffed out with a resounding thunk. Now totally wrapped in darkness, left with your labored breaths and cramping limbs, that small voice echoes through your skull like it was finally given a megaphone:
You’re dead.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
The violence of being outside for the first time came as a brutal shock. Far beyond the balcony, in an unfamiliar forest where there’s no ‘inside’ to escape back into. Nothing that feels like safety for miles around. The air surrounds you, and there’s too much of it. The wind is unbearable against your skin, threading through your hair. You shiver, not only because of the falling temperature and your inadequate clothing, but also due to the fact that Yunho is pacing behind you like a caged animal.
Your hands are tied in front of you. Tight. Tighter than he’s ever tied you before. A gag is stuffed in your mouth to keep you quiet in the solitude of the forest. Something made of some type of cloth has been placed over your head, cutting off your vision. All you can do is listen. The birds are quiet in their nests, none wanting to sing for the sight below.
You know what this is. What you’ve given yourself.
Beyond punishment, you’ve earned a death sentence, and this is your execution.
It’s just like your dream. Almost exactly. He would. He will.
Rocks and twigs bury themselves in the bare skin of your knees, drinking your blood. The soil demands the ritual, the earth needs your body. The trees stand around you like witnesses, their leaves whispering at a distance you can’t measure. You’d bet anything they’re talking about you. How stupid you truly are. Gossiping about how you should’ve ran and never looked back. Should’ve taken the elevator down to the lobby, yelled for anyone within earshot to help you, hidden away with the front desk attendant as the police descended and surrounded the building.
But they don’t understand. No one does but you and him. The image of him being led away in handcuffs sickens you.
Without him, who even are you?
Well, you don’t have to fuss about any of that anymore. Your heartbeat threatens to beat right out of your chest, frantically searching for a place to run and hide. The hood over your head smells like dust and a light fabric softener. It gets hot underneath the hood as you cry, panting breaths adding to the heat. You struggle to keep your hands still, but they shake uncontrollably.
Yunho continues to pace behind you. You accept what he will do to you, but that doesn’t ease the fear of it actually being carried out.
It’s difficult for anyone to look death in the eye and welcome it with open arms.
You haven’t lived. Not to your standards at least. There’s still things you want to do, places you long to travel to, people you haven’t said goodbye to yet. You yearn to hold Mingi’s hand one more time, your only other source of comfort these past few months. Or, at the very least just have him here. Have someone else with you, stay with you when you go. Promise to stay with you even after you’re gone. No harm will ever touch you again, even after death. A new wave of hot tears spill from your eyes, following the paths and streaks of those that have already travelled down your cheeks before.
You learn something about yourself right at this moment: you don’t want to die alone.
And yet, no one comes out from the trees to give you any solace. It’s just you and him, the trees and stars acting as witnesses. A jury, and an executioner.
Yunho finally steps closer to you. Something metallic in his hand clicking and snapping together. The sounds are heavy, like even the noise coming from it weighs a ton. You know what it is. Your body tenses at the horrible realization; how he plans to get rid of you.
The barrel of the gun rests against the hollow of your skull like a promise. Your shoulders hunch instinctually at the cold feeling of metal on your scalp. He doesn’t hurry. He lets you listen: the small noises of the forest, your ragged sobs, the steady thrum of his breath.
You hold your own hand.
A finger finds the trigger.
He would. He will. He is.
The world zeroes in on the two of you, so small in the dark. It peers over the shoulders of mountains and clouds, over the treetops, craning to get a better look. The wind carries his cologne down to you. The cold metal presses harder for a moment, and you know this is it. He holds it there for a few agonising seconds, no sound but your cries echoing off the thick trunks of the trees.
“I love you,” you promise again through the gag, through your ragged breaths and sobs, against all hope of seeing him ever again. The words come out muffled, garbled, but clear in their intentions. Your last words to him, his little doll right until the very end.
He doesn’t say anything. It’s worse that he doesn’t, only serving to make you cry harder. You just want to hear his voice. Anything he says at this point would be reassurance that he is there.
There’s a soft sound as the safety switches off. Then a tick tick tick of the hammer being pulled back. Both noises are too mechanical for the naturality of the forest.
He’s done waiting.
A single click snaps the world into silence. A hollow, metallic echo that rings louder than an actual gunshot ever could.
You flinch so hard your whole body folds in on itself, head dropping, breath coming in tiny, gasping bursts. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up with what didn’t happen. The silence that follows feels unreal, almost sacred. For a long second nothing else exists but that absence – the space where a life could have ended. Should have ended. You’re caught in disbelief, still unsure if you’re dead or not. Even the wind stills.
Your stomach heaves violently, heart physically hurting your chest as it beats wildly in confusion, trying to understand if it needs to stop or not. Your knees buckle, and your body crumples down to the forest floor. You welcome the slight sting of pine needles and rocky soil beneath you. Fallen leaves run away from you, drifting and dancing past your body as you wail, sounding like a wounded animal as the gravity of life hits you full force. You can’t control your cries, nor your erratic, frantic breaths. Even still, you wait for that gunshot, that deafening bang! that will precede your eternal sleep.
Then you hear him move. With a sharp tug, whatever is covering your head is suddenly lifted away, pulling a strand or two of your hair out. The forest comes into view. The vast, expansive landscape makes you feel exposed in the worst way possible.
His breath is right by your ear when he speaks. Quiet, gentle as if not to disturb the peace of the forest any more than you already have.
“Next time, I'll do it for real. Get in the fucking car.”
Yunho steals even the relief of being dead. The lesson hangs in the air, heavier than any punishment he could give you. He decides when you live, when you die, even when you think you’re dying. It is the epitome and culmination of his control and power over you.
He was never going to kill you. Sure, he thought about it, heavily debated on it even. But it’s true that you were so damn close to being perfect for him. He’s never had someone come that close, come this far like you have managed to. He can’t throw you away that easily and waste all the potential you possess. Never. Not unless you try to run again – which, he doubts will ever happen after tonight.
But he’s not completely heartless, he understands why you ran. Punishments are scary, no one ever wants to receive one. He knows your memory of the fire the first time you tried to run, no doubt that’s part of what encouraged you to flee from his room tonight.
Still, you ran. Broke all five fundamental rules. Of course he had to do something drastic. Wake you back up to remember your place in your learned reality. God, you don’t always piss him off but when you do… he gets to astronomical levels of anger. It’s because he cares, he tells himself. It’s because of your potential. And you’re fighting him on it, even when you don’t mean to or don’t realize that you are. So he’ll burn tonight, keep you in Mingi’s room and simmer himself down in his own room, and wait until morning to charm you back into his arms again.
It works every time, anyway.
On shaky, unstable legs, you somehow manage to push yourself up to stand. Yunho gently grabs your wrist, leading you back over towards the car. You haven’t been able to stop crying, still in shock that you’re going back to the apartment. That you’re alive. Your dream didn’t foresee this part: the aftermath. You don’t know what to expect here.
You can feel the trees staring down at you, their gazes weighing your shoulders down. Seeing everything, hearing all. A car door opens, offering you refuge. Yunho picks you up, a bit unceremoniously, and sets you down, tugging on the seatbelt a bit hard to secure you in.
She’ll never love someone she fears.
That damn line… Yunho bites the inside of his cheek, his face screwing up in aversion. This time, he needs to hear it. Despite what he’s just done, the terror and unspeakable trauma he has just put you through only minutes ago, he needs to hear it. He’s selfish, he knows that. And he doesn’t care. It’s like a drug he needs a hit from now. That reassurance, the validation that you’re still his in every way possible: body, heart, mind, and soul. All consuming. His.
A clearer cry is forced from your throat when the gag comes out, Yunho yanking the fabric down, causing the tight knot that secured it in place around your head to loosen. It hangs around your neck like a kerchief, damp from a mixture of spit, tears, and snot. Lovely. Your reddened, watery eyes meet his in the artificial golden light of the car.
“Say it.” He hisses, yanking your head back by your hair, fingernails digging into your scalp. He means for it to sound more authoritative, but there’s something vulnerable that lines the edges of his request, making it almost resemble a question.
You sniffle, looking up at him as you tremble in his grasp. Now that you know what feeling so close to death is like, it’s made you a little braver than before. And that little slip in his voice gives you enough courage to confront him about something instead.
“You never say it back…” you whisper, voice hoarse and breaking at the ends of your words.
Yunho sets his jaw, his gaze unforgiving. That was not the response he’s looking for. He just needs you to say it – why can’t you just say it when he needs you to? Almost as quickly as he had grabbed you, he lets go of your hair, stepping back.
“I only love broken things.”
And the car door slams shut.
The trees watch the two of you drive away. It takes about ten minutes for the wildlife in the area to stir once more, afraid to come out.
The earth keeps the echo of the absent shot long after you are gone. The forest remembers.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Yunho prays as soon as you are deposited into Mingi’s room, rosary clutched in his fist. He confesses under his breath, asks for forgiveness, allows the tears to come when they want to. It’s been so long since he’s been alone in this room. Everything feels a bit colder, emptier. But it must be done. Even if every fibre of his being aches and longs to pull you close to him, he pushes away every tender thought. He’s still mad. Still feeling that betrayal. The silver cross on his rosary digs into his skin, leaving a t-shaped mark on his palm from how tight he’s holding it.
He paces his room, going wherever his feet take him, often standing completely still in the middle, just breathing with his eyes closed. He recounts everything that happened this evening, trying to think of any loose ends he needs to take care of. The blood in the living room, in the suitcase, any hair or clothing fibers, everything needed to be deep cleaned. Swept away, and gone from existence. Any trace of the manager will be exterminated in the morning. Otherwise, he’s sure he was careful. No headlights appeared when he jumped, neither driver seemed to pay him any attention as they passed by, and no one as of yet has called with any news of him.
He’s good. Everything’s fine. The cool metal of his rosary against his skin calms him, running his fingers over the smooth black pearls. He’s forgiven. Everything is justified. You’re still home with him, as it should be. It’s just because you’re not where you usually are, he thinks that’s why he’s feeling so uneasy. But he can hear you sometimes, when your tears become a bit too loud, waking up from nightmare after nightmare. His heart hardens, knowing now for sure that they’re all about him. All having to do with what he just did to you.
She’ll never love someone she fears.
The rosary rattles in his shaking hands. That damn line again. But instead of pushing it away again, he sits with it. He thinks of how you chose your very last words to be ‘I love you’. It had struck him in the forest, almost causing him to falter. You didn’t plead with him, didn’t beg, didn’t call out for anyone to help you. At what you thought was the end of your life, using the very last breath you would exhale, you spoke with devotion on your lips. His favorite promise. A quiet testament to how you feel, an unwavering declaration meant for no one to hear but him. How poetic it would’ve been. But instead, he didn’t let you go.
He won’t let you be free of him.
His eyes find one of the cameras without really looking for it. The two of them watch each other for a while, there in the dark as he sits on the edge of his bed. From the other room, your cries have quieted, turning into small whimpers and sniffles. He wonders if you’ll try to go to sleep again. It seems your subconscious doesn’t want you to stay asleep at all. His hand finds his laptop in the dark, opening the screen and logging in with a quiet sigh.
The screen switches, finding you in the dark. You’re curled up in bed, right at the very edge of it, your arms tucked in against your chest, one of your hands holding onto the covers to keep it over you. Ready to hide in case someone comes in. A tug in his heart disrupts the pattern of beats. What he did was a necessary evil – or at least, that’s what he tells himself. And he’s willing to give you time and space after the fact, but he’s going to have to start pulling you back under his spell again soon. Undo some of the damage he’s no doubt done to you – especially with what he said to you. Essentially admitting that he doesn’t love you.
At least, not yet.
How can he when you so willingly betrayed him? Twice. You let a stranger into the apartment, seemingly luring him back towards his room, destroying his trust in the process. And then you ran from him, knowing you were at fault. He also can’t fully trust that you genuinely love him back, thanks to Mingi’s voice haunting him 24/7.
Yunho presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, as if trying to keep all his emotions at bay.
Maybe when you’re perfect he can let himself try to love you like you deserve. It won’t exactly be hard. When you’re fully broken, compliant, perfect for him, with no to only minor, rare mistakes, then he can devote time into properly giving you the love you clearly crave. He’s been so jealous of Mingi for giving it to you first, fake or real.
Ugh, he scoffs under his breath.
He sits there, watching you stare off at nothing, holding a pillow close like one of the stuffed animals he’s given you, for the better part of an hour before finally tearing his eyes away. He had wanted to go back a couple hours and watch the footage from earlier in the evening, but decided against it. Watching you let the manager in would only reignite his anger.
What’s done is done. He’ll leave it for later.
He shoves his laptop away, further into your designated side of the bed. It’s quite late at night, but he opens the TokToq app on his phone regardless. Maybe talking to ATINY will help him calm down, get his mind off of everything.
As expected, as soon as he starts a voice live, thousands of fans join and flood the comment section. Multiple different languages, questions, praises, and cute little emoticons rise up his phone screen like staccato movie credits. The two main things his fans are wondering is why he’s up so late, and inquiring about how everyone is while on hiatus. He’s the first one to go live since the day of the announcement.
“I’m okay~” He promises, flashing a convincing smile, using a softer, slightly higher pitch in his voice. “I’ve missed you all… just wanted to say ‘hi’ to everyone after so long.”
Again the comments surge, some of them telling him he sounds exhausted. He ignores those for now, settling in bed. He doesn’t plan on staying live for too long, just wanting to check in and provide proof of life for his fans.
One comment reads, ‘can we pls see your hands??🙏🏻’.
He smirks to himself, looking down at his hand in the dark. They have no idea what he’s done with his hands tonight. Covered in blood mere hours ago.
“You guys like my hands so much…” He chuckles. The comments go crazy.
So easy.
He entertains them for another ten minutes, talking about nothing of substance. They’re invested in what he’s had to eat recently, happy that he and Mingi have been – as he put it – ‘hanging out together a lot recently’, and telling him to go to sleep.
He fake pouts, hamming it up, loving the attention. “Ah, why do you want me to leave so badly~?”
Again, the comments go berserk, calling him cute for being pouty. This is exactly what he needs: the attention, the unconditional love, all for the bare minimum. He sighs when he looks up in the top left corner of his phone, noting the time. Way too late to continue – besides, he has a busy day tomorrow covering his tracks.
He signs off with a new ‘heartyu’, makes some kissy sounds into the microphone, and wishes everyone a goodnight. Once the live ends, his face drops back into a scowl. He tosses his phone on the bed and gets up to wash his face.
Not once does he look in the mirror.
But he smirks once more, head tilted down towards the sink.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
The next morning passes in silence. Yunho doesn’t try to coax you out of the room, nor does he invite himself in. Today he will dedicate most of his time to a deep clean of the entire apartment. Before tackling that arduous task, he cooks and leaves you a small breakfast outside the guestroom door, knocking quietly. He hears your sleepy voice groan like you just woke up.
“Y/N,” he calls you, loud enough so you can hear it, “breakfast is out here. Take it whenever you want it.”
He waits a beat or two, listening for any movement from behind the door. There’s a rustling of sheets, a small sniffling noise, and then all sound stops again. He lets you be. He looks down, careful to not trip over or step on your food or knock over your drink before heading back into his room, to change into some old clothes he wouldn’t mind getting any bleach on by accident. When he comes back out, intent on preparing all the materials he needs from the kitchen sink, he glances at the guestroom door.
The plate and glass are gone.
Good.
Not refusing to eat is a good sign. Whether you’re eating because it’s what he wants you to do, or if you’re just truly hungry, either way he’s pleased. It shows him you don’t have to go back to square one.
He starts with the kitchen first, scrubbing the knife until it looks brand new, with not a single speck of blood to be found. Nor traced. The countertops are next. Then the fridge, inside and out. He has no idea where the manager went in the apartment, what he touched – or who.
Gritting his teeth, he shuts the fridge door a little too hard. He knows he’s being stubborn. Thinking he knows exactly what happened, but he can’t help it. He can’t bring himself to watch it just yet. There is no desire within him to potentially watch you betray him. Anyway, it was safer to clean every inch of the apartment regardless. Hair and clothing fibers oftentimes don’t just stay in one place. Also, it gives him an outlet for his frustration. Maybe this is why Seonghwa cleans so much.
By midday, the kitchen is nearly sparkling. By the evening, the front door and entranceway are spotless. He even wiped down two pairs of his shoes he had left by the front door. He put a mask on to stifle the strong smells of the cleaning supplies he used, and doubles up after he gets the bleach out. Now for the rug.
He sighs, knowing this may be the most difficult task. He had sprinkled some baking soda over the rug earlier, learning from his mother a long time ago that it helped to rid carpets and rugs of bloodstains. What he didn’t expect was for how well it would work. Rather surprised with the result after leaving it alone for thirty minutes to set, he holds it up to look closer. The stain has faded from a violent reddish-brown to a calmer shade of brown. He moves the coffee table off of the rug, crouching down to gather it in his arms to bring to the kitchen sink to wash it with cold water. He’ll have to clean the sink again, but that’s alright.
But when he stands, something clatters to the floor.
Instantly, his eyes follow the noise, not knowing what it can possibly be. The remote sat snugly on the couch, lounging back against the cushion. Everything that he remembers leaving on the coffee table remained untouched.
Keys.
Mingi’s to be exact, the spare pair Yunho had given to him a couple of months ago. They were soaked red, camouflaged among the blood, hidden underneath the baking powder.
He drops the rug in the sink before quickly walking back into the living room, crouching down again. They were no doubt Mingi’s. And they were definitely made for this apartment and its door – they looked identical to his own pair, except his has a tiny pink twist tie looped around the hole in the key fob. But… Mingi hasn’t been in the apartment as of recently. Maybe a couple of days ago, and he thinks he would have noticed if he left his keys here by now, if not just by stepping on them accidentally.
So where did they come from?
He picks them up by his fingertips, dangling them in front of his face. Did he just not remember Mingi being here before yesterday? Or did he come in without Yunho knowing…? Huffing in annoyance, he stands again, the keys resting in his palm. Everyone wants to go behind his back, huh? With his other hand, he fishes his phone out of his pocket to call him.
Only to find that he had texted him yesterday evening.
[Min]: hey i think i lost my keys
[Min]: i think they fell out of my jacket pocket somewhere at the company
[Min]: just lmk what to do to replace them, i’ll pay the fee if any
[Min]: sorry yun
Yunho freezes, keys still in hand. Over text he still can’t be sure Mingi isn’t just trying to cover his tracks in some way. He knows he’s not thinking logically, but for some reason he just wants to believe the worst. To prove his point and or to justify his actions and behavior. Or… he just still does not want to watch the camera footage.
That’s more likely the reason.
At least there are some holes in his imagination – seeing it will fill those with certainty. Heartbreak. He doesn’t have time for heartbreak right now. Nor does he have the room for it.
But now something else is staring him in the face: the fact that he may have been wrong this whole time. The keys burn cold in his palm. The rug lays in a crumpled heap in the kitchen sink, forgotten as he beelines back into his room. His laptop blinds him in the dark room as it turns on, bringing up the livefeed again. He clicks around, choosing the folder with yesterday’s date on it and drags the scrubber across until the timestamp is around the time he left for the convenience store.
He watches himself kiss you goodbye. You had stood on your toes to hug and send him off. It didn’t matter that he would only be gone for maybe thirty minutes at most, you still felt better when he was home. Being alone in this apartment only reminded you of the endless days that blur together when he doesn’t come back at all. This was different, though. A new step in your, albeit unconventional, relationship that was going to make it feel even more substantial. Real. A softness in his actions, the intimacy of him wanting to be near you and help you do one of your chores. It was going to be a dream.
In the footage, he leaves with a small grin across his face. None the wiser of what he will come home to. Of what he will do to his manager in just thirty minutes.
You stood in the living room for a few moments after he left, seemingly until you heard the elevator ding, signalling that he wasn’t going to come back for anything he may have forgotten. With a light giddiness in your step, you almost floated to the bedroom, straightening the sheets and pillows out from a day of cuddling and him eating you out until you cried. When the bed was nice and neat, you grabbed your journal from your small vanity and flopped down on your stomach with your legs bent, careful not to let your feet touch any of the pillows.
For the next twenty-seven minutes, you wrote. You doodled, rested your cheek against the duvet, tapping your pen against the smooth lined paper, yawned and stretched. You don’t move.
Then the door opens. Slowly at first, only cracking open as if it couldn’t believe it could open in the first place, then a bit more and a bit more until it opened fully, creaking and announcing his entrance into the apartment.
Keys in hand.
Yunho’s heart sinks.
You perk up, stilling for a moment to confirm you’ve heard the door open before excitedly closing your journal, tossing it onto the vanity’s chair and bounding out of the bedroom.
Your cheerful, “Hi, Daddy!” died on your tongue as soon as it sinks in that… this was definitely not Yunho.
He watches the two of you freeze at the sight of the other.
“Y-you’re–” The man stammered, pulling his phone out of his pocket, rushing to dial the police.
You stepped back, face more frightened than he’s ever seen before. His eyes widen as he continues to watch you back away in fear, not knowing who this person is that is now in your home, and looking over his shoulder at the front door that you know Yunho is due to walk in through very soon. You were looking for Yunho to come save you from this man.
The timestamp continues to tick in the corner, closer and closer to when he knows roughly when he got home. Literally any second now. And then he knows what’s next. He skips ahead, not in the mood to relish in what he did to the manager, though now he wishes he did even more. All he thought about was you.
For the first time, he hears himself talk to you. Hissing venom, installing indescribable fear with just a tick in his jaw, an edge to his voice. He presses the spacebar, pausing the footage right after he calls you… that. His hand itches for his rosary again. On screen, the two of you are frozen together. Your eyes stuck wide and pleading, in the middle of begging him to let you tell him what actually happened, hands fumbling for his shirt.
Yunho takes a breath before pulling the rosary back out of the drawer, wrapping it around his hand and pressing his thumb to one of the beads. He needs this comfort right now to continue.
She thought it was me… he thinks to himself as he begins to shake. After a couple of deep breaths, sitting with the truth, he presses the spacebar again and the two of you onscreen jump back into motion.
The hit comes out of nowhere.
He leans closer to the laptop, wondering what the hell just happened. Why did you move like that? He clicks a button to back up about ten seconds before, watching more closely this time, ready to decipher what that was. The hand not holding you up by the hair clenches into a fist only for a split second before–
He hit you. It strikes you like a snake bite, no build up, just action.
His face drains of color, not quite believing what he just saw. He recoils away from the screen, moving the computer off of his lap, and standing up just to move just to get even further away from it.
What the fuck?
A wave of panic washes over him, his chest tightening and the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. He paces around, rubbing the back of his neck and staring wide eyed into the dark. A hand comes up to his mouth, pressing hard against his lips like he’s trying to keep something inside – a shout, another confession, maybe both. The beads and silver of his rosary jingle in his ears, overstimulating him as he inwardly freaks out.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
After nearly murdering San for pushing you off of him mere days ago… what a fucking hypocrite he is.
Of course, his first instinct is to go to you, scoop you up in his arms and kiss it all better, but he can barely think straight right now. Where would he begin to apologize? He’s never really apologized to you in the first place either, not genuinely – that’s not how this dynamic works. Not to mention the fact that he’s probably the last person you want to see right now. At least in terms of who you’d feel safe with.
No, he’ll break routine. He’ll give you your much needed space. Let you come to him whenever you’re ready. If he forces it, you could end up fighting back, and just go right back to square one. It was safer this way. But still, he wants someone to be here for you. He’s not completely heartless. He remembers everything about you, especially what makes you feel safe – you’re just like San, actually, needing to hold onto something to sleep. Or someone.
He stops in place near his bed. A sigh that would be exasperated almost leaves him but he bites down on his lip to keep it from escaping. and grabs his phone.
It rings three times before the line connects.
“Hello…?” A deep and sleepy voice answers, obvious that he has just woken up despite the early evening hour.
For a moment, Yunho doesn’t even know what to say, his eyes drifting back to his laptop. The footage still plays, by now you’re unconscious and being carried into the closet. He looks away again, pressing his lips together in a tight line. “Min… I…”
“Yun, what’s wrong?” Mingi sounds a bit more awake now, alert and ready.
“Can you come over?” Yunho manages out, ignoring his question. Even his voice is pale.
There’s a small beat before he can hear Mingi throwing his covers off on the other end of the line, sitting upright with a small cough, “Yeah, I can. I’ll be there in ten minutes. You’re gonna have to let me in though–”
“Yeah, I saw. It’s okay. See you soon.”
Yunho hangs up first. He idles in that spot for a couple more minutes, swaying slightly, like his body is trying to comfort itself with the slow movement. Then, on autopilot, he goes into the living room to sit and wait for Mingi to arrive.
Twelve minutes pass and he barely moves an inch. For twelve minutes he presses every single bead on his rosary until he gets back to the silver crucifix. Then he starts again. Every bead, every minute, he replays what he did to you last night. How stubborn he was. But every two or so, he would think to himself, ‘yes, but she still broke four rules’. His mind fights itself, each side of him fighting for dominance, for control of his emotions and actions for the future. He told you he doesn’t love you – that wasn’t part of the plan. He didn’t mean for you to find out like that. You didn’t let the manager in voluntarily, it was an accident. That wasn’t supposed to happen either. You told him you loved him on your deathbed. But you ran from him.
You ran from him.
That thought provokes the spiteful, draconian behavior within him to resurface. Deep down, he understands why. But you know better.
And then he remembers how you hesitated when he asked if you were afraid of him that night. In front of him, Mingi, Seonghwa, and Hongjoong. It was fucking killing him, wondering why you did if you weren’t lying to him all this time. And if you have been lying to him this whole time…
His fist clenches, the beads rubbing together under the pressure of his hand closing around them tighter. Once he remembers what happened last time he clenched his fist as he thought of you though, he relaxes again. Fucking hell. But he reminds himself he’s done, arguably, much worse than hit you in the past few months. All of it in the name of discipline, and it has worked. It’s effective. You can take it.
Knock, knock, knock.
He snaps out of it enough to stand but not quite enough to remember walking over to the door. It was shocking how much this was affecting him. The door opens with a small twist of his hand on the doorknob, Mingi looking over his shoulder as he comes in. Like he always does.
“What’s going on?” He asks, shaking the cold night air out of his jacket. Yunho holds his hand out, indicating that he wants Mingi to give him his jacket. Mingi shrugs it off and gives it over, also kicking off his shoes in the entranceway. His nose crinkles at the strong stench of bleach that drowns the apartment, and he tries his best to ignore it.
Yunho hangs the jacket up almost robotically. His mind is still at war, his eyes are almost unfocused and hazy. Mingi’s heart drops at the sight of his rosary dangling around his hand.
“What’s going on, Yun?” Mingi presses again, a wary concern saturating his tone. “Talk to me.” He looks past him towards his bedroom, wondering if you’re in there.
Yunho sighs, scratching the back of his neck. The softer side of him is taking priority now that Mingi’s here, reminding himself of why he called him over in the first place. Three words are waiting to be said by him, but he refuses to let them be heard by anyone. He can’t admit to this. He won’t. It will blow his perceived image, his control, his power, all of it sky high.
He can’t say, ‘I fucked up’. Even if he acknowledges what he’s done was wrong and harmful to you. To him, admitting that he was wrong is game over. But he forgets what an intricate web he’s spun already, not something easily undone. Saying it certainly wouldn’t remove the scars on Mingi’s arm, nor the trauma from Hongjoong’s mind. It wouldn’t make them any less scared of him. But he’s not thinking clearly right now. He’s in full damage control mode.
So he just inhales deeply and says, “I need you to stay with her. Can you do that?”
Mingi blinks. “I mean, yeah, but…?” He shifts his weight, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. His head tilts, obviously looking for more of the story. Whatever Yunho isn’t telling him.
“Do whatever she asks of you. Get her anything she wants. Text me if you need anything, I’ll get Yeosang to come over and help.”
“Yeosang?” Mingi asks, not expecting to hear that, “Why not you–?”
“Will you please just… listen to me, Min? Please?”
Mingi’s mouth opens slightly in shock. The desperation in Yunho’s face is so abnormal and despondent, it takes him aback. “Yeah,” he says, “yeah I’ll…” he cuts himself off, quickly heading towards the guestroom, stealing glances back towards Yunho as he walks.
“Oh–” Yunho says, stopping Mingi in his tracks. “Hang on just one minute.”
He disappears back into his room, leaving Mingi alone, wondering what the hell is going on. He returns quickly though, holding something in both hands, which he gives to Mingi. A few of the tealight candles from his drawer.
“She doesn’t like the dark, so…” Yunho explains. It dawns on him now that there are lamps, an overhead and bathroom light Mingi could have just turned on also. He feels a bit stupid, which he hates. But Mingi doesn’t look at him like he is, he just genuinely looks worried. For you and him. Without another word, Yunho steps back, nodding towards the guestroom. Mingi slips through the door quietly upon seeing how dark it has gotten inside, and closes the door as quiet as possible.
Again, Yunho idles in the living room. He hears your muffled, quiet voices talking to each other, and it’s not long after Mingi enters that you start to cry again. Of course, he wants to run in there, ready to blame Mingi for saying something to make you cry, kiss it better, but he doesn’t. He can’t. So he pries himself away, back to his room. His ears ring in the silence of it.
He needs to sleep.
No matter that it’s only seven o’clock, he wants to sleep this off now. Hopefully he’ll be able to think clearer when he wakes up.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
You zone out for the nth time, staring into the dark. You register the muffled voices in the living room, and you assume he got one of the members over to help him clean something, or just to fuck with them again. Who knows.
You’re blank. Numb. Devoid of any emotion, even though once in a while you’ll burst into tears. It’s possible your body is trying to make you feel something, but your brain switches off to protect you. You’ve been on your side for so long your shoulder starts to hurt, a dull ache that begs you to move off of it, or at least shift slightly and lessen the pressure. But you don’t.
Even now you still wait for what Yunho is going to do to you. Surely that can’t be the end of it, not for breaking – what he thinks are five – four rules. Every nightmare is the same: you’re in the woods, and he sets the forest on fire. There’s no one around for miles, no one to save you. No one hears you scream. No one cares.
Every lead has been exhausted. Active investigative avenues that have been worked to death by a small team somewhere in the city, dedicated to you. They’ve given up. Maybe even months ago. This is no longer an active investigation, in your bones you knew it. Two days ago, you probably wouldn’t have cared. Today, it’s your final straw. The last piece of hope you didn’t even know you were fighting to hold onto. It’s gone. It’s done.
You’re gone. You’re done.
The door opens and your body goes rigid. You can’t breathe, you just wait for him to take you back into that room. Throw you in the closet again. A silent scream prepares itself in your throat already, wondering what he has planned for you next.
But the energy in the room is different. It doesn’t feel as heavy.
Rather bravely, you turn just as he clicks the door shut, quietly in case you were sleeping.
You sit up so fast, your head spins.
“Mingi–?”
You can’t see him very well in the dark, and you suddenly realize you need a light on now. As if he was sent as the answer to your prayers, he switches on one of the tealights in his hand. He hurries over now that he knows you’re awake, setting the candles down on the nightstand.
“Hi princess,” he says softly, kneeling down next to the bed, resting his chin on his folded arms on the edge of the mattress. You can smell his shampoo from this close, his cologne. It makes you feel safe. For a moment, you don’t move. But your hands itch to touch him, pull him towards you – so you do just that. You grab his wrists, weakly pulling him up and he gets the message. He stands back up, lifting the corner of the duvet to get into bed next to you. It’s almost embarrassing how you instantly koala him, holding onto his body for dear life like he’s the only thing keeping you afloat.
Last night, you thought you’d never see him again. But here you are. And here he is.
“Min…” you mumble, hands still grappling to pull him closer, even though he’s pretty damn close already. His name tumbles from your lips just to say it, begging him to hold you tighter. Over and over like a mantra, “Mingi… Min… Min–”. On the last one, your voice breaks. You clutch him instead of just pulling him towards you.
He hears that slight change and reacts quickly. One of his large hands holds you by the back of your head, keeping you against his chest, the other wraps around your side, pressing into your lower back.
A rather pathetic sounding noise leaves you, and you sob even harder. More so because you’re just so happy that he’s here. You desperately needed him last night. He probably would’ve made the shock of what happened much easier just by being here with you. But he’s here now. And the rebuilding of you can begin, better late than never. He accepts that this is his role: picking up the pieces that Yunho breaks and leaves behind for him to fix.
Slowly, his voice sets in, the sound of it calming you down bit by bit. It starts in your chest, your breaths evening out gradually, coming down from borderline hyperventilating. From there, the calm spreads throughout your body, like blood being pumped from your heart. It’s easy, second nature. Your thoughts are sedated for the first time in almost twenty-four hours. Your body relaxes, every stiff muscle breathing a sigh of relief, sinking further into the mattress beneath you. You’re quieter now as he rubs your back, still whispering to you that you’re okay. Maybe you’re a little closer to ‘okay’ now.
Once you simmer down and stay like that, he tilts your chin up to look at him.
“Hi again,” he whispers, succeeding in making you grin, “wanna tell me what happened or do you just want to forget about it for now?”
You shift against him, not really knowing. He’s giving you a decision. Allowing you the freedom to choose without any corrections for choosing wrong. In fact, there is no right or wrong answer. It was not a test or trick, just… a question.
Sniffling again, you glance down at his chest for a second to think. Honestly, you don’t want to talk. Not right now. Besides, you don’t know how he will react to the truth of last night. It won’t possibly be calm, and you need calm right now.
So you shake your head ‘no’ against his chest, and he gently pats your upper back.
“Okay,” he says, shifting farther down the bed to get more comfy, “let’s just stay like this.”
No question. No judgement.
Neither of you sleep as the hours pass by. Mingi, because he wants to be ready to be there for you, and you because you were too afraid of the nightmare you’ll no doubt have again. You’re actively fighting off the Sandman, refusing to sleep despite the fact that your exhausted body is begging for it. Overnight, you’ll have to pretend to be asleep if Mingi wakes up, just so he doesn’t worry.
At around eleven-thirty, Mingi gets up to use the bathroom. The light switches on and you turn over to see him a bit more properly when he finishes. You’re slightly embarrassed that you think the way he stands while washing his hands is attractive. It just is. He looks over, catching you staring at him and gives you a half-smile. He quickly dries his hands on a towel and fixes his messy hair for a moment in the mirror before turning back to you.
But something stops him in the doorway.
The light from the bathroom also lets him see you clearer. The tip of your nose, the skin in between your nose and upper lip were… rather shiny? And something he had thought was just a weird shadow on your lower jaw remained there, darker in the light. His mouth dries. Though he’s not privy as to what happened, he can assume at least one thing that has occurred. He’ll focus on that first. You watch him walk slowly back to bed, keeping so that the bathroom light stays on your face, his shadow angling away.
You wince, flinching away from his light touch. That all but confirms it for him.
“Princess, what happened?”
“It’s nothing,” you say, covering the bruise with your hand, “I’m fine, it’s alright.”
Mingi hates to touch you like this, but he grabs your wrist and pulls it away from your jaw. His heart sinks.
“He hit you.”
As expected, you try to explain away his actions, placing the blame on yourself. “I… I didn’t answer him quick enough.”
“You don’t have to make excuses for him.” Mingi says, a bit sharper than he intended, “He hit you.”
“Really, Min, I promise. I’m fine. It was only that one time and I… he was madder than I’ve ever seen him, so I just… have to be… better.” You work out your tangled thoughts out loud, glancing up at him to see if he’s calmed down.
He sits down on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his just-fixed hair.
In this moment, he wants to tell you. He’s dying to tell you, let you in on the plan. But he can’t be sure you won’t tell Yunho, even if by accident. Every fiber of his being wants to warn you, to let you know that whatever happens, whatever they do is because of a greater good, a larger picture. A plan. He’s not sure if that will lessen the long-term effects it will have on you once you’re free, but it is worth a try. He has to get you out. Sooner rather than later.
Now.
But he grits his teeth, forces himself not to act. This is one of the worst things about the plan: he has to wait. He can’t just uproot you whenever, it all has to happen under the radar. Taking you out while Yunho is across the apartment isn’t exactly safe. Nor smart. Especially not when you’re in this state, and not by himself. He has to wait.
“You don’t have to be anything,” he whispers, taking your hand. He is going to kill Yunho, if he doesn’t get him first. Absentmindedly, he scratches around the markings on his arm. Seonghwa has told him to try and stop, that itching was only going to prolong the healing process, as well as increase scarring. Always the mother of the group. The trouble is that oftentimes, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
He catches you looking at his arm. He’s scratching a bit too long for it to just be one of those random itches that pop up randomly on your body. You look back up at him again.
“What’s wrong with–?” You finish your question by pointing at it. Mingi pauses. Does he tell you? He has kept it hidden from you so far, wrapped in a thin layer of gauze if he knew he was going to be taking his shirt off around you – which has been basically almost every time Yunho has asked him to come over during this hiatus. He weighs his options. If he shows it to you, it will definitely help to bring you back down to reality, shattering your learned perception of Yunho. But it might scare you too. If he doesn’t, you might talk yourself into reconciling with Yunho again, and he’ll be leaving you without answers again. You still have no idea what Yunho did to him that day in the guestroom, nor why Yeosang was so adamant to keep you from seeing Mingi after the fact.
The pros outweigh the cons. He clears his throat, fingers toying with the sleeve of his hoodie. For some reason, a twinge of embarrassment, or something akin to that feeling comes over him. Self-conscious maybe? He’s an idol. He’s not used to showing anyone outside of his members and staff any imperfections – and this one was grotesque and permanent. And he brought it on himself. But he has to rip the bandaid off.
Carefully, watching your reaction to be ready to pull his sleeve back down at the very first sign of any fear, he pushes his sleeve up. He hasn’t taken the time to look at it in a while, but he’s a little happy to see that it’s healing despite the itchiness. The scars are faded pink, becoming more and more closer to his skin tone, and raised a little due to the increased blood flow for it to heal. It’s still legible though, in its jagged letters: 공모자.
Your eyes widen at the sight of it, and you grab his wrist. Guilt engulfs you, swallowing you whole as the truth of what Yunho has done to him is revealed to you. The last one to find out. Memories of that night and the following morning flash through your mind, jumbling together out of order. Yeosang’s arms pulling you back from the door, Mingi’s temper flaring up, the wind you felt from the balcony, the screams, something cutting you in the drawer, how you kissed him…
“Mingi…” you breathe, looking up at him. Your eyes are glossy again. “Is this because of me?”
Mingi pulls his sleeve down immediately, moving a bit closer to you. “Absolutely not. This is not your fault. None of this is.”
Your hands still try to paw at his arm, “D-does it hurt? I– I’m so sorry–”
“Y/N, listen to me.” He says, a bit firmer now, holding your face with both hands to make you look at him.
Tell her, tell her, tell her.
“Hear me: this is not your fault. I’m alright. I didn’t show it to you to give you a guilty conscience, I did it so you know that you’re not alone in this. With him. Nothing bad that has ever happened to you here has ever been deserved. Corrections, punishments, none of it. That’s not how people show love, Y/N. Surely, you must know that.”
You hear him. You do. That voice within you is just so loud, it almost blocks him out when he says something it disagrees with.
You did deserve it, you broke the rules. It’s only fair. It’s how you learn. You’re not good enough for him yet. You love him.
But the car door closes in your head again, the echo of his words hitting you square in the chest in the backseat. The confession that he never said it back for a reason. It’s a pretty lie and an ugly truth. You may have tricked yourself into loving him, but he made it clear last night: he doesn’t love you.
After taking some time to sit with what Mingi says, you slowly nod to show that you understand him.
“Can I hear it from you, sweet girl? Can you do that for me?”
“Yes…” you manage, “I– I know that’s not… how people love.”
One of his hands leaves your face, threading through your hair. His gentle touch against your scalp soothes you, almost making your eyelids heavy. Both of you sigh.
“You trust me?” He asks.
“I do.” You blink a tad slower than usual as you look up at him. The tension between you rises with each intermingling breath. He caresses your cheek with his thumb. You lean into his touch, lips dangerously close to touching his palm.
Mingi takes a deep breath in.
“I don’t know if I have permission to kiss you,” he whispers, eyes never leaving your lips, “we’re not exactly being supervised.”
You shift even closer to him, closing the gap between you until you’re almost in his lap. In such close proximity, a breath away from each other, you ball up the fabric of his shirt again.
“We’re always being supervised.” He follows your gaze towards the camera in the corner. He exhales shakily, looking back down at you. Good point.
Yunho didn’t tell him not to… was he really gonna act on a practicality? At the risk of everything? With the way you’re looking at him? Yeah.
Okay.
You lean in first, just as he decides to go through with it. He whispers your name against your lips as his hands grip your sides to hold you in place on his lap. Absent of Yunho being physically there watching you both, this kiss is softer. Slower, like he wants to savor you. There’s no rush this time, no fear of a time limit, no chaperone. He lets you lead, gauging how far you want to take this, leaving it entirely up to you. He thinks he’s made a slight mistake in relinquishing control to you when you lightly nip his plush bottom lip. Again, you try to get impossibly closer to him, needing to feel him everywhere. By now you’re straddling him, fully on his lap with your hands in his hair. Mingi knows he’s made a mistake when he hears you moan against his lips, pressing your hips down onto his. His breath stutters and he breaks away to collect more air into his lungs.
“I’m sorry–” you begin to say, heat burning across your face in embarrassment. Maybe he doesn’t want you like that.
He’s quick to put right that thought, “No, princess, don’t be sorry. I– I’d love to, but I just… I don't want you to think that’s all I want.”
It’s like your whole body and its systems go on pause.
That’s the difference between them, isn’t it? Mingi doesn’t look at you from a place of lust or obsession. No, it’s something even more dangerous. More fatal. There’s nothing as treacherous as a man who wants your heart before your body. Hearing that rattles you down to the marrow. It’s a profound feeling, one you’re not used to after all of this time, but something you obviously desperately needed to hear and feel. How funny that it only makes you want him more.
But it can’t be real. You’ve given him no real reason to love you. The two of you have barely spent time alone together, always meeting in bed.
And who says it’s love?
Love may be too deep, too complex a feeling to label whatever this is as. An infatuation, perhaps. Intense, but short-lived. There’s definitely affection for each other. An attachment, a tenderness, warmth, an endearment, passion… yes. You care about him, and vice versa. There’s a natural spark, energy, whatever you wish to call it that is no doubt special to you both. But above all else, there’s an understanding. A kinship in suffering, care bonded by shared trauma.
It may not be ‘real’, but it’s no doubt the closest thing you have to real right now.
He caresses your cheek again, trying to refocus you from wherever you went just now. “Y/N? You okay?”
You nod, snapping out of it and exhaling a big puff of air you didn’t realize you were holding.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” You let out a small laugh, feeling a mix of comfort and vulnerability. “Just thinking.”
His hand lingers on your cheek, his touch grounding you. For a moment, everything else fades, leaving only the quiet understanding between you. He searches, but finds nothing concerning in your gaze. If anything, you seem a little bit better. Clearer, even.
“Of what?” He asks quietly.
You answer honestly, “You… us.”
Mingi nearly stops breathing. “What about me, princess?”
“Just…” you search for a good way to put it, “how you always treat me so well. How much I… don’t want you to leave whenever you’re here.” You pause a moment to look at him before continuing, “You make me feel like a human. Not like… a doll.”
His heart stutters over every beat even though he tries to stifle his emotions – something he’s gotten pretty good at recently.
“That’s what you deserve,” he says, maintaining eye contact with you to convey how serious he is.
All of this hits you hard and cuts deep… and yet there’s still a tightly wound cord that wants to stay attached to Yunho. To routine. You can’t forget how badly the outside world scares you now, nor how right at the brink of freedom, you had willingly turned around and went back to him because of that very fear. You can’t survive or function without Yunho. Even when he told you to sleep in the guestroom last night, your heart had plummeted down to your feet. You didn’t want more so than needed him to hold you anyway, despite everything because you still feel safe with him too. You needed to promise him that you’ll be better. Or… at least that’s what you thought you needed.
It’s all so confusing…
But Mingi’s words make you feel like you just came up for air after so long underwater. Something shifts in your brain. Yunho takes until there’s nothing left of you and then demands more. He threatened your life, gave you a mock execution in the forest, trapped you in here, stripped you of all dignity and free will, drugged and exploited you… Mingi has only ever tried to protect you, make things easier, ask for what you want or need from him. Maybe that’s what draws you to Mingi so much: you don’t fear him at all. He’s never hurt you outside of Yunho making him do so that one time with the belt. Never has he raised his voice or shown you anything that remotely resembles malice or disdain. He speaks to you softly, handles you the same. Touches you like you’re made of fragile glass. Like you’ll shatter if he presses too hard.
Mingi watches you in deep thought again, and he waits patiently for you to come back again.
To his relief, you nod in agreement.
“Yeah…” you admit, albeit not quite articulately portraying the whirlwind of conflicting thoughts raging in your mind at the moment. But Mingi knows. He understands, as he always seems to.
“You deserve to be treated like a human, not a doll,” he reiterates, “to be loved unconditionally. To be valued and respected, not as a transaction or a stress toy.” As he speaks, his hands trail down your body before resting on your hips again.
You hear him again. Like he’s speaking directly to that dormant part of your brain that you had switched off for survival. You know what the underlying message is: you have to get out of here. It’s just a terrifying thought – one you can’t even picture fully. Escape is almost impossible, and you can’t be alone in the world again. But as you wrap your arms around Mingi, pressing him in for a hug, you realize you wouldn’t be. Not completely. He rubs your back again, kissing you just below your ear.
A small noise escapes past your lips. You shift in his lap and he inhales sharply. You start to apologize, but he just shakes it off.
And a certain thought moves so quickly through your mind you barely notice you thought it in the first place. But you grab it by the tail and drag it back, ‘rereading’ it.
What if you… truly regained Yunho’s full trust in you. Be that perfect doll he wants, give him everything of yourself physically, but not mentally. You’ll say his favorite three words to him as much as he needs, before he can even think to ask for them. You’ll be perfect, but you’ll keep yourself. You’ll know you deserve better. The thought wavers as another comes up behind it, reminding you that that’s pretty much what your original plan was. However, you were more so just focusing on not getting harmed. You had to at least try. And if you feel yourself slipping, thinking about staying with Yunho, you know Mingi will be here to coax you back to reality.
You have to get out of here. You don’t deserve this.
You shift again, turning your head so that your lips are right next to Mingi’s ear. You whisper a summary of your plan to him and he stiffens under you. Worried, you pull back to try and gauge what exactly his reaction is.
“That’s…” he trails off, looking at you almost in shock.
“What? I’m sorry, is it– should I not–”
“No, no, it’s just… that’s what me and the others agreed to do.”
You blink. “Huh?”
“We, um, all seven of us had a meeting at our dorm about a week or so ago. They confronted me about my weird switch in behavior after…” he gestures to his arm. “We want to play along so we can help you.”
A rush of emotion hits you, but you don’t cry this time. It’s overwhelming gratitude. All seven of them are willing to risk so much on the smallest chance they’ll be able to help you. They’re all on your side. You’ve done nothing to earn their trust, nor their assistance and yet…
Mingi brushes your hair back over your shoulder, voice so quiet you can barely hear him. “We’re gonna help you. I promise.”
“Will you stay with me?” You ask, hoping he knows what you mean. Not just tonight, but… after.
“I will.”
Without thinking, you kiss him again. After a split second, he kisses you back, melting into you seamlessly. One of his hands drifts down to your thigh, the other to your shoulder. You barely feel his touch, it’s more so the heat of his hands that you feel the most. A shiver runs through you, and he groans against your mouth. You can feel the back of his neck heat up, your arms still around his shoulders. And when you press down again with your hips, something harder than before rubs right up against you.
And you want him.
Your last act of freedom in a long time. Your last choice before you immerse yourself back underwater for the foreseeable future: you want to be with him. Genuinely. Not because Yunho allows it, or because Yunho told you two to do so. This is your decision.
You grind down on him again, causing him to choke a little on his next intake of breath. His touch becomes a bit firmer, almost warning.
“Careful, princess,” Mingi whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth. But you don’t heed his warning, only craving to feel him again. You push your hips against him two more times, feeling yourself getting wetter, and him getting harder each time. By now, you’re whimpering into his mouth, chasing that slow burn high. One of your hands trails down from his shoulder, down his chest, to the waistband of his sweatpants. A sense of victory sweeps through you when he moans, breaking the kiss to watch you drag your clothed core against the bulge in his pants. Both of you start to breathe a bit more heavily, the energy between your bodies thick and sparking. Your hand dips lower, teasing him at the waistband only to drop down to wrap your hand around his cock as it presses against the soft fabric of his sweatpants. His head tilts back and he groans as you squeeze his length in your hand.
“Y/N,” he pants, biting his lip and squeezing his eyes shut, “mmh– wait…”
You pull back, just about to kiss his neck, and halt all movement on him.
Mingi takes a second to regain his composure, taking your hand off of his cock and interlocking your fingers with his. “Before I say this, I want you to know that I would love to be with you like that, and you’ve done nothing wrong. Okay?”
Your mouth dries, but you nod, squeezing his hand.
“But I just… not every act of intimacy has to be sexual. I don’t think he’s told you that. But, I’d like to show you, if you’ll let me.”
Though unsure of exactly what he means, you nod again. “Okay.”
You find yourself on your back again, Mingi hovering over you.
“If we get another chance like this,” he says, “alone together again, and it’s safe to do so, I promise you, I’ll let you take whatever you want from me. But not every time has to be like that. Okay?”
You blush and whisper, “Okay…”
He hums, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead and pulling back slightly to gauge your reaction. You close your eyes, body relaxing underneath the comforting weight of his. He takes this as a good sign and continues, kissing the same spot on your forehead again before travelling down to your cheek, your nose, skipping your lips for now to your jawline before hesitating once he gets to your throat. His breath is hot against your skin. You tilt your head back a little, granting him more room, and he takes advantage of it. You love his mouth; the pretty words that come out of it, as well as the softness of his lips when they kiss you, worshiping you.
“You’re so beautiful, my sweet girl,” he says against your skin, “so strong, so kind… you deserve to be worshiped like this. Treated like gold.”
A new kind of shiver traipses its way through your nervous system. The praises stay in your brain long after he says them. What you said earlier comes back to you: he treats you like a human, not a doll. Not a toy. You’re not solely here to be fucked or used. There’s more to you than that, and it’s still worthy of love. Even if Mingi has to remind you of that every day, you know he will.
Mingi shifts down, pushing your shirt up only high enough so he can kiss your stomach and your ribs. You make a small, strangled sound when he goes a bit lower, closer to your hipbone. He pauses, looking back up at you through his lashes.
“I’m thinking too much,” you whisper, heat spreading across your face.
“That’s okay, princess,” he assures, but his voice drops lower, quieter with his next sentence, “just as long as it’s about me.”
You can’t help the shocked laugh that bubbles up. He grins, pressing a kiss to your hipbone. His fingers also tease your waistband, and your hips react naturally, bucking up. He shushes you, rubbing his hand up and down your thigh, the opposite one his next target. You’re so soft, everywhere.
This must be torture, not body worship. Not when he’s kissing your inner thighs, lingering there just to drive you insane. Luckily, he moves when he sees you getting a bit restless, stopping his trail at your knee before coming back up. One more on your lower stomach, the slight pressure he applies there making your head spin, another in the center of your chest, the side of your neck, your nose, before coming back home to your lips once again. You must admit, you do feel even more relaxed, especially with his weight back on you. You feel less exposed, more protected like this. Or maybe it’s just because it’s him. He doesn’t expect anything in return, he just kisses you until your eyelids become heavy again, and your breathing slows and deepens.
He gets up to turn off the bathroom light before returning quickly to turn on a couple more tealight candles on the nightstand, keeping the darkness at bay. He pauses a moment when he sees you shiver. You’re dressed quite inadequately for the temperature outside that manages to slip in from under the sliding glass door. Without hesitation, he shrugs off his hoodie, taking care to get his phone out from the pocket of it, subtly hiding the screen from you, before handing the hoodie over for you to wear. He places his phone on the nightstand, and finally rejoins you in bed properly. Again, you cling to him, so happy that he’s here with you, grateful for everything he’s done tonight. And eventually, you allow yourself to sleep. This time, you’re not afraid of the nightmares.
And none come to haunt you.
Once you’re sleeping soundly, Mingi carefully reaches over you to grab his phone again, pressing a red button in the lower center of the screen to stop recording.
Two can play at this game, Yunho.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
They find the manager the next morning because pieces of the world refuse to keep silent. A good samaritan, who happened to actually have car troubles on the side of that bridge, finds him and calls it in. The discovery is blunt – the body on the shore, the injuries he must have sustained from a fall onto the rocks. Authorities move in with the efficiency of protocol: flashing lights, the murmur of uniforms, only a handful of reporters. Foul play is unclear, yet almost ruled out. The calls to his wife and his job almost confirm what they believe happened here.
Hongjoong gets the call and freezes the way people do when the ground collapses under them. He is tasked with telling Yunho because it was his manager, and since he – supposedly – is the leader, it’s up to him. He doesn’t know specifics beyond a few necessary facts: the manager is gone, the phone has been left unanswered, he made the calls the night before. The official line, issued later in the thin press release that follows, is cautious and bland: an unattended incident, under investigation. No conspiracy, they say. No clear motive. Nothing that looks like the neat villainy any of them have been living under.
But the boys see what the statements don’t say.
The company sends a heartfelt, standardly sterile message:
Hello. This is KQ Entertainment. We are deeply saddened to hear of the passing of one of our staff. We are working closely with the proper authorities in hopes of resolving this matter as soon as possible, and as painlessly as possible for the families and those who are hurting from the news. We ask that you please refrain from spreading any rumors or speculation about this matter, and to please respect the family’s privacy at this time. Thank you. KQ.
The company moves with cautious distance, the rehearsed grief of corporate statements saturating the halls.
In Seonghwa’s dorm, the boys meet altogether again in the late afternoon. Hongjoong’s hands are cold around the coffee cup he doesn’t remember taking. His face has gone hollow in the places where sleep should have been. Seonghwa is beside him, grounding him with just his presence. He had put the coffee cup in his best friend’s hands, if not to just stop them from shaking.
It isn’t just the manager’s death that crushes them. It’s the way the world accepts a conclusion without asking enough questions. It’s the sinking certainty that Yunho has stakes now that reach beyond their private ruin.
No proof ties Yunho to the death in the way they want. The official files will say the same. No signs of foul play. Any reliable evidence was washed away in the rushing river. There are no pictures of the blood-stained rug that Mingi reported seeing in the sink of the apartment. The grief is messy, slow. They all knew the manager well after so many years together. The guilt is worse; if they had just been able to keep their emotions and behavior in check on company time, perhaps none of this would have happened. No one would’ve gotten suspicious. They were the reason he stole that key. They were the reason he walked right into the middle of the wolf’s den. A killing ring.
Hongjoong presses his palms to his temples until it hurts. “This means we have to be smarter,” he says finally, voice brittle. “We have to be even more careful. He’s escalated. None of us are safe if this is what he’s capable of.”
It hurts to pretend to be a leader again, but Seonghwa’s encouragement has been just enough to get him out of bed. To speak to them all again with some level of authority.
Seonghwa’s reply is a small, steady nod. They will measure their words now, live in secret glances and coded messages. The plan to play along feels dead on the floor in front of them, an impossible task. How can they possibly pretend after knowing what Yunho has done? It’s a bitter truth, a pill that is infinitely hard to swallow.
“The more we gain his trust, the better chance we have of getting her the hell out of there, and him behind bars.” Mingi says, “Even if it ruins us. Even if we lose him. We can’t just let this continue.” He had left the apartment with a hushed promise to return against your lips, texting Yunho that he was going to go get something from his dorm.
The others nod, solemnly. Essentially, they’re all agreeing to forfeit their dreams, their careers. Everything they’ve hungered and worked for, all that they’ve achieved so far would now be looked upon with scorn, with disgust attached. It would end here.
“We have to be ready for the consequences,” Hongjoong says, looking at each of them individually, “gather as much evidence as we can so we can get the police to act quickly. The second Yunho knows we turned him in…”
He trails off. The six other men fill in the blanks all on their own. It’ll be bad. They imagine their own bodies in the river next.
Outside, the day keeps going. The cars zipping by, the people on the streets and offices, grabbing coffee after work or a treat after school. The manager’s name slides from the headlines into the police log and then, for most people, into a footnote. Just like yours had.
But for them it is not a footnote. It is a lesson. A warning carved into the backbone of each of them: some truths die with the person who knew them. Some people will not be allowed to speak again.
The room closes around their decision: watch, wait, and do not be found out.
A/N: i know you’re probably sick of Yungi but i can’t get enough. hahaha… this is inspired by scream which is one of my favorite movies of all time. Just something quick to end October with.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI!! there’s pre-consent but no asking during, established safe word, some knife play (NO BLOOD), choking, rope being used around wrists, a bit of a “struggle” (but again, there’s pre-consent), spit mentioned, masks used, no condoms (don’t do this irl people), and (spoiler alert the boys kind of kiss hehehe) anyway, i try not to be too harsh but here it is! enjoy!
“She thinks they’re hot!” Mingi announced to the room, a swift elbow to his forearm followed from you. Yunho simply giggled. The three of you were at the end of one of your favorite movies, Scream. “What!? It’s true!” Mingi teased.
“Not the murder part! Just the… mask… the voice.” You defend, “It’s hot… whatever.”
This must have ruminated with Mingi, because later in bed, he’s prodding you.
“What is it about the mask?” He asks, “Like the anonymity?”
“I don’t really know how to explain it.” You giggle, “It’s just hot.”
“If we did something like that how would I know if you were into it? Like… If I really leaned into it.”
You perked up, he was interested. “We would need a safe word… Though I think you’d know.”
“In theory what would our safe word be?”
“Something simple… Red.” You shrug, “or Pineapple.” you laugh.
He nods, slowly, his index finger running against his chin like he’s thinking.
That was the last he brought it up.
———
A week or two later you’re just getting out of the shower. Mingi had a long night at the studio, so you were alone. You took your time after, applying all of your skincare from your body to your face. Putting on some music while you danced around in your towel. Though outside your window thunder rumbled, and lighting flashed across the sky, it was a relaxing night.
Until, the electricity in your apartment is cut off.
Though odd, you snapped into action. You lit candles around the apartment and texted Mingi.
Storm cut the electric off :(
I’ll be home soon, don’t worry. he replied back.
You managed to grab a book, and a little battery powered light and climbed into bed.
A little bit of time passed but then you heard something. Like someone else was in the apartment with you. You waited to hear the familiar padding of your boyfriend’s feet down the hallway but nothing came.
“Mingi!?” You called. No answer. You sighed, the rain was coming down in buckets, hitting against the windows harshly. The lightning still flashed and the thunder seemed to get louder. Your mind is just playing tricks on you, you figured. But you swore you heard something again. “Mingi!?” You try again, louder this time. Still no response can be heard. You sigh, pushing yourself from the bed and opening your bedroom door, just listening. Beside the wind and rain whipping outside it was quiet, and you tried again. “Mingi? Is that you!?” Your phone began ringing in your palm, and you jumped back at the sudden vibration. Mingi’s name flashing across the screen.
“Hi baby.” He cooed, quietly. He was practically whispering, “I’m going to be a little longer than I thought.”
“Hi… Okay… I’ll probably just go to bed.” You looked down your dark hallway, as if you’d see something. Then you hear something down the hall again, “Shit.” You hiss.
“You okay?” He asked.
“Mhm. Yeah, I think the storm and the electricity being out just freaks me out a little.” You laugh, nervously, closing your bedroom door. “Just be safe getting home.”
“I love you.” he hums.
“I love you.” you respond.
Once you hang up you take a breath and sigh, shaking your head. Were you going crazy? You felt it, but you heard something down the hall, again. This time you walk toward it, slowly, quietly. Your eyes alert as the apartment lights up again from
the lightning, the thunder loud and angry. It makes you jump again. “Jesus Christ pull yourself together.” You scold yourself. Then you hear it, your entryway closet, a tap… another tap… and then again. You sigh, a wave of relief, it was probably just a mouse. You walk toward the closet and open it flashing your light onto the floor, expecting a mouse a smile on your face, but instead boots. Quickly your eyes pan up, towering over you, a mask. The ghostface mask. You jump back, “Mingi!?” You gulp, as the masked figure moves forward shaking its head, and something told you, that’s definitely not Mingi.
You back up, as he moves toward you, your heart beating rapidly against your sternum, so hard it might just break. As you go to grab your phone, he snatches it from your hand. Slowly he reveals something in his other hand, rope and a knife. You find yourself backed against the hallway wall, and the only alarm in your head tells you to run. The front door isn’t an option, so you bolt toward your room. You can feel him reaching out for you, just out of reach as you reach your bedroom door. You attempt to shut him out, but he’s strong. He pushes the door open with a harsh slam against the wall. You jump back again, weighing your options, the only one is to try and run or fight back, again you weigh your options and you move to the opposite side of your bed. He watches silently, his head tilting to the side as you try to jump across your bed, his hands wrapping around your waist as you wiggle away. When you get free you make a run for the door, but as you open in, you run into another tall masked figure. The man behind you wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you back toward the bed as the one in front of you pulled out a camera.
You watched as he placed it down on the nightstand, the man behind you pressing you down onto the bed and bounding your hands above your head. The one before you pulled out a matching knife, pointing it toward you. Your body warms as he uses the dull edge of the knife to press into your skin, firmly up your thigh to the shorts you had on, you whimpered as you felt the final pull of the rope around your wrist the man above you sinking down to your level grabbing a handful of your hair and holding your head up to watch the other man with the knife. He went just past your thighs up to your center, pressing the dull side into it just enough to make your hips sink into the mattress as you whimper more. He tosses the knife to the side of the bed, his gloved hands coming up to your waist band and slowly he pulls them down, your eyes going wide at the realization of what was coming. “So wet for us.” The voice comes out exactly like the one from the movies and you pull your thighs together more for relief than hiding it. “Keep those fucking legs open.” He hisses the demand, the man holding your hair pulling his knife back out, and holding it flush against your throat.
Your adrenaline is pumping, as the man in front of you pulls your legs back open, and you watch as he slowly unbuckles the pants he had on, letting them drop to the floor. With his cock now the only thing visible on him, you know, it’s Mingi. You bite into your bottom lip, as he climbs his way onto the bed, yanking your body toward him more, putting you into a position where he can line himself up with your eager pussy. No foreplay tonight, he begins to sink into you. You’re used to his thick cock and your breath hitches as he fully bottoms out into you in a quick thrust. The man at your head pushing your head forward to make you watch him disappear inside of you. You can feel his eyes on that too, but Mingi filling you is taking more of your attention as you shudder with a whine, clenching around him. He slams into you with a relentless pace, not giving you time to adjust or process how hes fucking you, Your eyes fluttering shut as your head falls back against the other masked man, his grasp on your hair tightening again, “Eyes on him.” You can hear the rasp beneath the altered voice and he pushes your head back up to watch as Mingi pounds into you. His hands tight around your thighs as he keeps them open for him. You moan, your mouth drooling as you watch him sink into you with hard and steady strokes, the sound purely wet and obscene.
The man behind you, places the knife down, his hand slowly gliding into place around your throat, your fingernails digging into your palms where your hands are bound. You let out a loud moan as the man behind you tightens his grip around your throat, you can still breathe fine but it makes you whine as your eyes stay on the man still fucking into you. Mingi pushes your thighs back more, opening you up further climbing higher on the bed so he can go even deeper and the second he slams his hips back into
you, you cry out even louder than before. “Fuck.” You cry, “Holy shit fuck.” You whimper as the man behind you tightens his hold around your throat, and you whimper as Mingi picks up his pace, you can hear his muffled growls beneath the mask as he moves relentlessly into you. You can feel your orgasm starting to blossom in your tummy, every inch of Mingi being felt as he pushes the tip of his cock against your spot with every movement of his hips. The way you’re being held around the throat is making you dizzy as your curses turn into whiny slurred noises. Your eyes fill with tears at every sensation as you attempt to shut your thighs back together with only one big obstruction in the way, Mingi. Your body is tingling when he pushes your knees back even further against the bed beside your hips, angling himself somehow even deeper than before. Your voice turns into a strangled mess of moans, and whimpering as he slams harder into you. It takes your breath away, and you can’t help your eyes fluttering shut as you bite hard into your bottom lip. You can feel your orgasm starting to peak over you, your body flushing red hot as you let out a strangled cry. Your legs trembling, your lips quivering as you let him ride out his own orgasm, you can feel his cum filling you from deep inside and his own deep moan as you clench around him, like your body doesn’t want him to pull out.
You try and catch your breath, your body still convulsing as the second man lets you breath fully now. You shake as Mingi pulls out of you, and then you realize they aren’t finished just yet. The man from behind you, moves to the opposite side as Mingi comes over to your head. His hand gently running over your forehead covered in a sheen of sweat. His thumb caressing your forehead and his fingers gently running down your cheek. That was your Mingi, his thumb gently pressing against your bottom lip as you try to find him behind the mask, but fail to do so. Then, you feel strange hands on your thighs, your eyes finding the second man just taking in the sight of you, the mixture of cum still slowly dropping out of you with your own arousal. You could almost feel him biting his own lip, as his thumb smooths up your center, his thumb pressing into your clit making you shake again. You’re sensitive and you whimper at the feeling of this strange hand making you feel so good immediately. He looks to you, and you find Mingi above you, behind the mask also watching your face, as if to ask permission. You nod, quickly and before you can do anything else you feel the second man flip you onto your stomach in one swift motion. He’s strong, he’s Mingi’s height, and then you process it… It’s Yunho.
You can hear his pants unbuckling behind you as Mingi pulls your bound hands toward him, giving you some room as you feel the strange and big hands pull your ass up and toward him. Mingi’s hands caressing your hair as Yunho props some pillows beneath your hips, how thoughtful. Then suddenly, a sharp slap is felt against one of your ass cheeks, the large hand smoothing over it before repeating the same motion on the other side. It makes you whimper, pressing your ass higher for him, arching your back to give him an even better view. You wondered how long he waited for a chance to do this, when he repeated the motion again. This time kneading the area, grabbing what he can, you can feel him admiring you, and though the room is only
lit by candles you know he’s observing the shade of red your cheeks are turning. Then you feel his fingers against using your arousal to feel you. He presses two into you without more prep, and after Mingi you don’t really need it, your back arching more as he pumps the long digits into you, curling them as you moan for him. You’re still sensitive so you shake as he toys with you, finding the spot that makes you feel good with ease as Mingi tilts your head up to him, now his hand wrapping around your throat. You clench around Yunho’s fingers, craving to be filled more but not wanting to let him go just yet. You can hear his muffled whimper as pumps his fingers a little bit longer, before sliding them out of you.
Yunho takes his time, sinking into you from behind. He’s not as thick as Mingi but he’s letting you feel everything as he slowly presses into you. Then you realize how big he is, when you think he’s bottomed out he keeps going. Your mouth falls open as you stretch around him and press yourself into Mingi further. When he finally fills you completely you don’t know how he can even move. His hands grip your waist so tightly, it hurts but you also kind of like it. Then he slowly and dreadfully pulls himself out half way, before slamming back into his hands bringing your hips back to meet with his thrust. You moan as Mingi’s grip on your throat tightens, and Yunho begins guiding your hips onto his length in a swift motion, his hips slamming into you hard. You moan and cry as he continues his pursuit then Mingi lets your throat go.
This time he stands up, holding his cock in his hand and you open your mouth, because you know exactly what he wants. “Good girl.” You hear his voice now that he’s closer, even if it’s distorted by the voice changer. He easily slides himself into your mouth, his hand curling into your hair helping you prop your mouth open even further. You don’t have to do much, Mingi starts slowly fucking into your mouth as Yunho continues pounding into you from behind. The taste of Mingi’s cock is familiar and it’s mixed with the taste of you as he slides himself against your tongue not quite back into your throat yet. You don’t have much control over your body at this point anyway, so you try to open further, the stretch around Mingi making your cheeks burn just slightly. You moan around him, clenching around Yunho simultaneously. You can hear both of them moan in perfect harmony as they feel you perfectly wrapped around both of them. Mingi pushes further into your throat and you gag around him as he holds your head in place, giving you a few seconds as your throat flexes around him. You take him back even further as your breath starts to shudder, another moan muffled by Mingi’s thick cock stuffed down your throat.
He pulls out of you completely letting you really breathe then, and you gasp for air as you let out a shallow moan because Yunho hadn’t stopped moving. You're drooling and you can feel how messy it is dripping down your chin as your eyes flutter shut, your moan strangled and weak. You’re close, easily, as your legs are shaking again, your body growing weak as your orgasm starts to boil up. Yunho’s holding you up, and Mingi holds your head back again before slipping his cock back into your throat. You moan around him again, and he slowly fucks himself back into your throat as your eyes tear up. Again you’re gagging around him once again, but you can take it, it’s what you’re used to. Though you can barely focus with your orgasm starting to spill over your eyes, find the black voids of the mask, and he lets out his own strangled moan as you bat your teary eyes up at him. You can feel that Yunho is close too, his cock twitching inside of you and you wonder where he’s going to finish at. It leaves your mind as Mingi’s cock chokes you again, and you still focus on your eyes staying looking up at him. It’s not long before they’re both coming, at the same time, both buried inside of you. Your own orgasm is muffled by Mingi’s cock as you gush around Yunho.
You’re a shaking and whimpering mess as they both pull out of you and let you shake beneath them. Mingi’s the first one to pull his mask over his head, his lips impatient and needy moving to kiss yours. You shake and whine into his mouth as his tongue presses into your mouth. Then, they both position you again, this time your head resting on the pillows at the head of the bed. Yunho reveals himself next, both of them moving to your thighs each on one side, lips pressing into your skin on fire. You don’t know what else they have in store but they’re both moving closer to your wet center. Both of their eyes on you as they begin to lap at your arousal and their cum. It’s overwhelming, your eyes tearing up just at the overstimulation alone, your hands still tied, your elbows and hips dig into the mattress as they take turns lapping at your hole and your clit. Their tongues swiping over each other as they move over your dripping cunt. It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen and you whimper and cry as Mingi takes your clit into his mouth sucking on you, as Yunho sinks two fingers back into you, curling them up to meet that spot. You’re close once again, easier than the last two times, this one making your vision white out. Then you feel it, your entire body letting go, your orgasm making you sob and soak the two men between your legs. Your body trembles as you feel them moving around again, this time Mingi is just coming up to wrap his arms around you, his lips pressing into your cheek, forehead, then down to your lips. Yunho’s grabbing at the phone on the nightstand, turning it off before sitting on the edge of the bed.
“How was that?” Mingi asks, “You okay?” You nod, unable to speak just yet. Yunho’s hands begin untangling the rope at your wrists, uncovering red indents, your hand reaching for him to join you and Mingi on the bed.
“I should’ve got something softer.” Yunho murmured his hand bringing your wrist up to his eyes, his lips pressing into the red marks and Mingi doing the same.
“No,” You breathe, “It was perfect.”
They both hum, content. They each nuzzle into the crook of your neck.
for mature audiences only, minors will be fed to wolves.
⟢ a/n: (hongjoong my love im SORRY) this does NOT in any way, shape, or form depict who / how any of ateez are irl. please do not take this fic as fact on their personalities, please and thank you.
⟢ summary: your wildest dream is realized.... and it's not what you've hoped it would be. san gets an unexpected phone call, mingi's loyalty is tested, and the kq staff are getting suspicious...
⟢ word count: 32.8k (73 pages.... i blacked out)
⟢ warnings: MINORS RUN FOR THE HILLS | swearing, captive reader, conditioning, use of names (daddy, doll, baby, good girl), blackmail, guilt, use of r*** word, smut, edging (f receiving), creampie, rejection, blowjob, emotional breakdown, physical violence (on and offscreen), hitting, blood, use of chloroform
The next morning arrives slowly. You’ve woken up alone again, a small feeling of relief sparking inside of you. He was gone. But he had neglected to tie your hands before he left, so you wonder if he was really at work, or somewhere in the apartment. It was still dark in the room, but you could see glimpses of sunlight peeking through on either side of the curtains. You wander out of his room with a horrible headache, disheveled and moving slowly. You drag your hand along the wall of the hallway as you pass through it, to stabilize yourself if anything. There’s nobody in the kitchen or the living room.
You can’t help it. Your gaze locks back onto the guestroom door.
Something tells you he’s still in there. A gut feeling, a sixth sense, whatever you want to call it, but you know he’s here. You wonder if Yeosang is still here too, ready to block you from coming in to see him. The thought is enough to make you rethink trying again. Once was enough. Twice was not going to be easily forgiven. You have to be good.
You square your shoulders and instead redirect yourself to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. You hadn’t eaten all day yesterday, and your stomach was beginning to rebel against you, growling and hurting. It’s a mundane enough task that your mind just floats, drifting from one thought to another. You drift along, gathering what you needed and wanted – bread, butter, fruit. While you wait for your toast to pop back up, you hop onto the kitchen counter, your heels knocking against the cupboards. The silence in the house feels stale, like anything could break it at any second now. The anticipation of something and not knowing what it could be makes your mouth dry, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up. It feels like you’re being watched from behind.
To combat the silence, your heels knock on the cupboards rhythmically, and you concentrate on counting how many times you do that while you wait – just to keep your mind from going where it shouldn’t. The guestroom… the woods.
Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine…
Knock-knock.
You straighten up, looking around for the source of the noise. But there’s nothing. Nobody. You hit the cupboard again, only once, testing to see if it was a one and done interruption, or if there was intent behind it.
Knock.
So, intentional then. You hop off the counter now, definitely hearing it coming from behind you. On your third step towards it, your toast springs up, scaring you half to death. Pinching the crust of it with your nails, you quickly throw both slices onto an awaiting plate so they can cool. They land haphazardly on the plate, but you don’t care. A feeling you can’t quite describe begins to rise in your chest. You find yourself in the living room, standing there waiting for another noise. After a while, you lean down to rap your knuckles against the coffee table.
A couple seconds later you get a reply, knock-knock-knock.
Your head snaps to the right, facing the wall. Without thinking, you kneel onto the couch and knock three times against the wall. The reply is immediate this time. The same three repeated back to you. Your heart wrenches.
“Mingi?” You say, voice just above a whisper.
Knock.
You take that as a yes.
You turn around and sit, feeling like you’ve just been punched in the chest. Now you’re playing with fire. Who knew if Yunho was watching you on the camera at this very moment? You need to stop. Leave him alone until Yunho tells you that you can talk to him.
Although… he never said you couldn’t.
Were you really daring to go behind his back again? Where did all of this misbehavior come from?
A flash of memory hits you like a brick. It appears so suddenly in your mind’s eye and disappears almost just as fast. Years and lifetimes ago, you had walked out of the house past curfew, shoes in hand to silence your escape, the air cool against your skin as the front door quietly clicked shut. Every step farther and farther from your house had felt like flying, like you’d stolen freedom right out from under someone’s nose. You remember giggling with your friends when you got to their awaiting car in your driveway, ready to see where the night would take you. Uncaring about the consequences if you were caught later. Your heart had pounded, each beat reverberating throughout your body. The thrill was addicting, you felt alive. An almost rite of passage of the teenage experience finally completed. And when you got home before dawn, with your parents none the wiser, it only fueled your desire to do it again if you could get away with it so easily.
You stand from the couch, hands shaking. That’s not you anymore. You’re good. You follow the rules, you don’t break them. That was just juvenile rebellion, reckless antics that you shouldn’t have done. Childish and dangerous.
You walk to the kitchen, falling back into your routine like nothing happened. You spread the butter onto the toast, chop up your fruit of choice and arrange it on the plate, and sit yourself down at the table. You eat in silence, chewing slowly. You glance at the clock every few minutes for no real reason – you weren’t waiting for anything – simply just to reassure yourself that time was really passing in the stillness of the apartment. It’s almost half past nine.
The sudden emptiness and quiet was jarring after everything that had happened recently. You look down at your plate, barely halfway through, and sigh. Your stomach was so angry at you for not feeding it anything for so long, it was cramping from having food in it again. Still, you kept eating. Yunho would want you to finish it.
So, you do.
You rest your head on your arm, on the table next to your plate, bringing the toast and fruit to your mouth. It was a rather childish way of eating, but your body was so exhausted that you didn’t care much. At least everything tastes good. You suppose anything would after more than twenty-four hours without food. Once the very last piece of fruit is gone, you gather your plate and swipe any crumbs on the table onto it, depositing it in the sink for you to wash later.
As you wash your hands in the sink, you hear it again.
Knock-knock.
You look over your shoulder, staring at the wall.
You’re not sure why, but you feel scared. Probably because you know Yunho wouldn’t like you two talking without his permission, even though you’ve already kind of broken that rule. So, you ignore it. You ignore him.
It’s for both of your sakes.
So you clean up the kitchen, wiping down the counters, placing the butter knife you had used into the sink alongside the dish, and cradling the butter in one hand while you open the fridge with the other.
This time, you notice something in the fridge. You wonder how you neglected to see it before, but you see it now. Up on one of the shelves was a plate covered in tinfoil, a bright pink sticky note stuck on top of it. You pluck the note off to read it, and notice it’s in Yunho’s handwriting.
Baby,
Leave outside Mingi’s door.
That’s all. You turn it over to see if there was more but found nothing. Short and to the point. Didn’t even sign his name – not that he really needed to, but it was just odd to you. Yunho had mentioned last night that he’d give you a small task in the morning. This must be it. You find yourself staring at the note. Several other small memories slip through the cracks in your mind – like baking brownies for your friend when she was going through a breakup, writing a sweet little message for her and sticking it to the tinfoil covered plate. You had written your name at the end, maybe even adding an ‘xoxo’ before it too. Your mother used to write little notes on baked goods, telling everyone to not eat them if they were meant for family friends or for her coworkers.
–Mom
You can’t remember her voice anymore.
Well… at least he called you ‘baby’ in the note, so you knew he wasn’t mad at you. You decide not to dwell on it, and wonder why you were even hung up about it in the first place as you gingerly take the plate out, setting it down on the counter for a moment while you close the fridge door.
Turning to face the guestroom door again, you square your shoulders again, suppressing any thoughts or actions Yunho would disapprove of. You walk towards it, plate in hand. Your exhaling breath hits the door. Do you knock? Let him know it’s there? Do you say something, voice aimed at the hinges so that it slips through easier? Maybe both?
You clear your throat, shifting your weight, “Sir, I’m leaving food out here for you… um, just… please wait t-ten seconds before opening the door.”
Ten should be enough for you to make your escape, you estimated. Yunho had been clear last night: you are not to let Mingi see you until he says it’s alright.
You crouch, setting the plate down with an echoing tink tink of the ceramic against the wood floor. When you stand up again, you know your time is running down. You have to force your legs to move, stepping backwards and bumping into the couch on your way back to Yunho’s room. You turn and run when you hear the doorknob start to turn, and when you turn again to close Yunho’s door, you catch just a small glimpse of Mingi.
In that split second you saw of him, he looks like a ghost. Pale, distant, aimless. Retrieving his food like a caged animal, a prisoner in solitary confinement. You saw some sort of bandage wrapped tight around his forearm, and some discoloration around his neck. You didn’t want to know. You even run the short distance to jump back into bed, as if it was home base while playing tag. But you’re safe. You hear his door close again, and you flop onto your back in bed.
Now what?
You glance at the clock on the nightstand. 10:17AM. Only ten? So you had about eight hours to wait and see if Yunho would come back tonight. Eight hours to think, to endure the mundane. The same sights every day, breathe in the same suffocating air, fall mindlessly into the same routine as if nothing had changed. You feel itchy. Like something underneath your skin is beginning to try and scratch its way out. You pull the blankets over you, curling up beneath them and closing your eyes to combat your headache. You regret not bringing in a bottle of water for yourself, but you don’t want to go out into the kitchen again. You can’t be tempted to have those thoughts again. Maybe later, closer to when Yunho potentially gets back, you’ll go out. But for now, you pull the duvet up over your head to block out any light that manages to make its way into the room, thankful now for the blackout curtains Yunho had bought only a couple days into you being here. Once he knew all of your stress manifested in headaches, he didn’t hesitate to buy them for you.
Plus, they are great for privacy.
Sleep fights you off for a frustrating hour and a half before caving in and pulling you down. There’s not much else to do other than sleep anyway. The birds chirp happily outside, but they’re keeping their distance.
One of your last conscious thoughts haunts you on the way under: you should’ve kept your distance too.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Yunho didn’t end up coming home that night. Nor the next. Hongjoong had come back to get Mingi out of there the first night at around midnight, bringing him back to his dorm. You hadn’t answered the door, following your rules. Hearing someone knock on the door though scared you to no end, almost heart attack level. You ran into Yunho’s closet and pressed your back against it, just like you had a couple nights earlier. It was Mingi who had gotten himself out, having received a text from Yunho that he was allowed to go home now. Hongjoong had to support him up, help him walk. He was lucky the KQ driver didn’t ask any questions, kept his nose in his phone, barely looking up at where they were exactly. He didn’t say anything about the state Mingi was in. The story was that Mingi had gotten very sick while visiting a friend, with what exactly, they kept vague. Mingi had been put on an indefinite health hiatus, and his Instagram was flooded with concerned fans, and messages of wishing him a fast recovery.
None of the staff knew about his arm yet. And if they’re lucky, it will stay that way.
The next three days went by even more slowly than the previous. You walked in aimless figure eights around the apartment after you completed all your chores, you slept, you doodled in your journal. Still, he didn’t come back.
On the seventh day, you were rationing food. You had no idea where he was or where the others were, no way of knowing when he’d return. You couldn’t make sense of why he’d disappear now, especially when he said he was going to reward you. Nothing made sense to you anymore really, the lack of stimulation and change in environment had made your brain quite foggy. You felt like you were deteriorating from the inside out.
You lay upside down off the couch, just to see the layout of the apartment in a somewhat new light. The blood rushes to your head painfully as you look around. You sleep, you eat, you wander, you watch the clock, you wait. Rinse and repeat. That’s all you can do. One hundred and eighty hours of nothing. Sleep became your only escape, and you started waking up at four in the afternoon. Plagued by nightmares, each one different, varying in levels of disturbance. Each time afterwards, there was no one there to console you.
Needless to say, you were rather restless. Maybe even a bit rebellious again as continued boredom fanned the flames of your anger.
You came up with the idea on the eighth morning. A little act of enticement to try and coax Yunho back to you. You knew it was risky and may end in a correction, especially with a reward on the line, but you felt like you were being corrected anyway. Besides, you weren’t planning on breaking any of the five main rules. No, no, you weren’t that stupid. Rather an unspoken one; an understanding the two of you held.
You almost skip into the closet in the evening, after six o’clock came and went, signaling another night alone for you.
It was time to put your plan into action.
Anxiety made your mouth tingle, your hands trembling slightly as you leaf through the top drawer of your dresser, searching for something in particular. Once you find it, you pull it out with a triumphant ‘ha!’ and quickly put it on. You admire yourself for a couple of minutes in the bathroom mirror, making sure everything looks good. Perfect. You did your makeup as always, before six o’clock, and you style your hair exactly how Yunho likes it. Now, standing in a white lace V-neck bodysuit that Yunho had brought home for you a few weeks ago, looking like an absolute dream, you dared to look up at one of the cameras. You simply acknowledge that it's there with a small grin before going back to ignoring them again. You take a deep breath before exiting the bathroom, knowing you have to put on a good show for him if he was watching. You have to persuade him to come back to you sooner.
The lights in his bedroom are out, the only light coming from those small candles you had brought out before when it had stormed. You had scattered them in different places in the room. The perfect setup, the light only just enough for Yunho to still be able to see you if he was watching on the cameras. Which, you hope he is. You’re desperate enough to attempt this in exchange for human interaction, even if it did end with a negative result. At least he’d be here.
You lay yourself down in the center of his bed, letting the cameras adapt and focus on you in the dark. After a couple of slow, deep breaths, you settle and relax, letting yourself sink into the memory foam. Soon enough, your hands start to wander, starting at your chest, trailing up and down your abdomen with a featherlight touch. Your wrist just barely brushes against one of your nipples and you shiver, directing your attention to those now. Circling, teasing, occasionally flicking over it to send that same shock down your spine. You imagine it’s Yunho that’s touching you like this, though he rarely was this patient when it came to foreplay. He saw it as a means to an end, something he had to get through in order to get to the main event. So you take your time, pretending Yunho was going to be gentle with you this time – really treat you like a princess.
Like Mingi did.
Okay–
You cover your face with your hands, inwardly groaning at yourself. You can’t be thinking about him in Yunho’s bed of all places.
And yet… if there was one place in this apartment where Yunho didn’t have a camera, it was in your mind.
Still, you try your best to focus solely on imagining Yunho and only Yunho. Like a good doll should. You cautiously resume, picking up where you left off. Only this time, you massage your breasts as well, sighing in content. Naturally, your hips start to roll up, your core seeking attention too. You mumble under your breath all the dirty things Yunho has said to get you wet for him, still ignoring where you actually want to be touched the most. It proves effective the more needy you got, even daring to moan his name out loud for the cameras to hear. The slight fear and thrill of it only encourages you more. You can almost feel each eye of every camera as they watch on like silent spectators, knowing Yunho might be behind each and every one.
It only fuels you more.
Finally, you let your hand trail down to where you need it most – and there was no turning back now, you’ve already gone this far. Your body nearly sings when you gently press your fingers down on your clit, a delightful shiver running up your spine. Dull heat begins to stir in your core as you keep imagining it’s Yunho that’s touching you like this. You can almost hear him telling you to relax for him more, to let him play with you. He’d tease you, dipping his fingers into your heat just enough to make you clench around him, only to withdraw and rub your clit again, using your juices as a natural lubricant.
‘You’re being such a good girl,’ he’d say, his lips barely touching your neck, making you wait for him to kiss you there too. You bite your lip, knowing full well you were being anything but good right now, but indulging in that fantasy of hearing him say it nevertheless.
‘You like being a good little doll for us?’
It’s such a small word but you take a brief pause once you notice it. ‘Us’. A small word with such a large connotation accompanying it.
You think back to when Yunho had spoken for you on the couch that night – ‘My girl would really love to play with you’, and ‘you like being shared, right?’. You wonder… do you like being shared? Or do you just like the attention you got from all of them – at least, before they knew who you really were?
It’s a question you’ll probably never get an answer for. Yet your mind offers you flashes of memories of Seonghwa’s angelic beauty and his eager-to-please nature, of Hongjoong’s gentleness which complemented his natural dominance, and of Yeosang’s shyness and patience. It’s easy for your thoughts to segue into wondering how it would’ve been if Mingi had been allowed to participate, though you heavily doubt he would’ve touched you at all unless Yunho made him.
As if your body wants you to remember your task at hand, you start to think about the more… intimate memories of them you still can vividly picture. Surely that is okay, right? Not that Yunho could ever know that that’s what you're thinking about. You sigh, almost dreamily, as you remember that night.
Seonghwa eating you out like a cat who had gotten into the cream, for example. Or how Hongjoong’s voice alone had been enough to make you wet, especially when he called you ‘darling’. And how Yeosang had held your hand, praising you quietly as he held you down on his cock. That time in bed had been both a sprint and a marathon. Reminiscing on it definitely helps, and you hurry to move the bodysuit to the side so you can dip your fingers inside of yourself.
Finally.
However, you’re immediately disappointed with how short your fingers are compared to Yunho’s or Mingi’s. They’re just not making you feel as full and they’re not hitting that spot that you always had a hard time finding by yourself. You whine, even more needy for Yunho to come home to you. For any of their hands to be on you right now, touching you again. It takes a frustratingly long time for you to feel even a hint of the beginning of an orgasm, but it does creep up eventually.
Your hips buck up occasionally, searching for what they’re used to. The more you remember, the more you replay that night… the more you want it to happen again. You were curious who the rest of the group were, and how they would treat you in bed. Though, judging by how the rest of the night went, you doubted whether you’d ever find out. There is no way Hongjoong will let those three anywhere near this apartment. Not if he can help it. You wondered with a pout whether you’d see him again. Or Seonghwa. For now, all you had was this one time experience to go off of.
Maybe you do like being shared. Your body craves all of them equally, if not Yunho a bit more than the rest.
Your hand speeds up, fingers pumping in and out of your pussy, chasing that good feeling. It was right there… so close to the edge. With perfect timing, you think of Mingi that day in the shower. He’d been standing so close to you as he took you apart on his hands, watching your reactions, and able to feel every shiver and hear every whimper and moan as clear as day. He wanted you to tell him how you felt, how he was making you feel the whole time...
You scrunch your nose a little, trying to think of something – or someone – else, but no matter what, your mind keeps drifting back to Mingi. You silently beg for another night with him and Yunho as the pleasure grows. Yunho had said that it may happen again in time, but never specified just how long that meant. Though you feel selfish for thinking it, you do hope that they all stop trying to fight Yunho… primarily because it’s useless, and also because you’d really like to see them all again.
Realistically, though, you know it was going to be a while until any of them willingly comes back here.
In the meantime, your hand speeds up, causing your lips to part slightly. The oncoming orgasm is not nearly as strong as it usually is with Yunho, but you’ll take it. Your mind races now, sifting through memories trying to find the best one that will help you cum. Your other hand resumes massaging your breast, swiping your thumb across your nipple. In the quiet of the apartment, you keep your moans relatively quiet, only wanting the cameras/Yunho to hear them. His name leaves your lips like a prayer, an incantation to bring him back to you.
It’s when you think about the first night with Yunho and Mingi that your mind betrays you.
You’re right there, just about to go over the edge when you see it. Flashes of red, discolored skin, bruises, bandages, specks of blood. You hear the pained screams loud and clear as if they were coming from Mingi’s room again. You rip your hand away, sitting upright as if you had woken up from another nightmare. Your heart beats about a thousand per minute, and you press your hand to your chest like that could help slow it. It takes a couple of minutes for your breaths to even out again. Even then, you can still taste the tanginess of adrenaline in the back of your mouth.
You exhale shakily as you lower yourself back down, curling into a ball on your side with your knees tucked into your chest. You're not very superstitious, but you take this as a clear sign that you should not have tried this. The air conditioning starts up again, rattling somewhere within the walls. You allow yourself a few moments to calm down before you opt to just sleep naked. The lingerie made you cringe now, and you feel embarrassed though you can’t quite understand why. Maybe it was because you always hated coming across as desperate… and that’s exactly what this act of defiance was. Desperate. Maybe even a bit performative. You toss the garment over the side of the bed. It can be dealt with in the morning.
Dragging yourself back into the bathroom to take your makeup off, your movements are slow and lethargic. You just feel… sad. Profoundly sad. It was a similar feeling to the one you had all those months ago, when you felt hopeless and trapped.
You stare at yourself in the mirror for longer than you care to admit. There was nothing to look at in your reflection. You were just empty. Flat. You wonder how the others had initially perceived you if you really looked this gaunt. In defense of itself, your body listening to your thoughts, your arms wrap around yourself in a tight hug.
The word parades through your mind: nothing. There was no Y/N anymore, at least not that you could see. That little rational voice that has tried to keep you conscious throughout all of this has been as silent as the grave. Everything that you know is in this apartment.
You tear away from the mirror, trudging back to bed, guided by the faux candlelight. You cover yourself with the duvet, pulling it right up to your chin, and close your eyes. It doesn’t take long for sleep to overtake you. You’re grateful for that. But you don’t know if you can bear another day alone.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
When you wake up, it’s significantly darker. Only one candle is still lit… which is very odd, unless all the others simply ran out of batteries. You stretch your arms above your head, yawning. You rub your eyes and prop yourself up a little, getting ready to get out of bed to try to find the candles in the dark and return them to the drawer.
You can hear something on your right. It’s faint, a little high-pitched and whiny and…
It’s your voice.
You almost give yourself whiplash by how fast you turn, only to find Yunho’s laptop inexplicably next to you on the bed with your image plastered on its screen, obvious what you are doing – as you intended. You gasp loudly, moving away from it like you had woken up to a large spider next to you instead. Stupefied, you watch the recording for a moment, your sleepy brain still trying to play catch up. You gulp uncomfortably, your throat drying rather quickly and you avert your eyes from the laptop, the brightness of the screen blinding as you turn back towards the dark of the room.
As your eyes gradually adjust, you can just make out a figure standing in the bathroom doorway.
You scream, shoving the covers off of you and scrambling to sit up, ready to defend yourself if necessary from this intruder or to run. Whichever one it came to. But he has you cornered. He yanks you towards him by your ankles and covers your eyes with one of his large hands. You scream again, struggling to break free.
“Did you think that was cute?” A gruff voice says, somehow easily finding your wrists in the dark and pinning them down above your head. He must’ve been in here for quite some time if his eyes have adjusted to the dark this well. The tiny, lone candle across the room did very little to aid your vision.
But the voice sounds familiar. And his words make no sense for a stranger to say to you. You gulp down another scream and whisper, “Daddy?”
“Oh, so you do remember me,” He says sarcastically. Yet, there’s no anger in his voice.
The fear only lessens slightly. You’ve misbehaved, and now you have to deal with the consequences of your actions. Though you couldn’t help but feel like you gambled and won. He may know you well, but you know him quite well too. It sparks a small, smug sense of pride within you.
“Fucking spoiled little brat, aren’t you?” The way he says it almost sounds like a purr, like he’s praising you, “Made you crave cock, didn’t I, baby?”
You blush profusely at his vulgar words, and you stutter a reply, “J-just y-yours, Daddy,”
Yunho hums, but you can tell he’s not convinced.
“Just mine, baby? You sure?” You gasp sharply as he starts to grind his hips into yours, pressing his hardening cock against your core. He loves catching you off guard like this, and he always enjoys teaching you a lesson or two, “‘Cause it sounds like you miss more than just mine.”
You whimper, not understanding or comprehending. Your brain was still processing that this was Yunho and not a random homicidal maniac that had broken in. His hand covering your eyes lifts off, but it doesn’t make much of a difference – you can barely see him even when he’s right in front of you.
He turns his laptop to face him, and in the soft glow of the screen, you can finally see him more clearly. Or at least, some of him. He’s in a simple white tee, an oversized flannel over it with the sleeves rolled up about midway. It’s probably getting colder outside. His hair is messy, like he had just woken up or had spent much of the day running his hands through his hair in frustration.
With a couple taps on the mousepad, you can hear your voice coming through the speakers again, still quiet, but a little clearer.
Oh.
You instantly want to curl into a ball and die. On the recording is your voice, mumbling and moaning several names. All of theirs. You hadn’t even realized you were doing so… you only noticed when Yunho’s name left your lips. Your cheeks instantly burn red, and you bite the inside of your cheek, waiting for him to turn it off. When you try to turn your head away in embarrassment, he grabs your jaw and forces you to keep watching.
“See how you couldn’t even make yourself cum without me? Can’t do anything without me, can you, doll?” His voice is a low murmur, not wanting to cover up the sounds on his laptop too much as he speaks.
You whimper pathetically, wanting to believe that that’s not true, but the evidence is quite literally right in front of you.
He finally ends it after you quiet down on the video again, hitting the pause button. The laptop shuts with a small click. Yunho’s movements slow. He gathers your wrists in his hand again, but less rough than before. Back in the pitch dark, you can only feel how close he is, leaning over you, his body pinning yours to the bed. His knee is now right in between your legs, pressing up against your bare core.
“I was gonna surprise you in the morning before work, give you your reward, but it looks like you need a little discipline first.” You can feel his breath against your neck.
At least he didn’t say ‘correction’. You dare to breathe just the tiniest bit easier, already guessing where he’s going with this. After all, it’s been almost two weeks since he’s touched you in that way.
You begin to stammer an agreement, but he shushes you. He can tell you’re nervous – you don’t know if you’re in trouble with him or not. And usually, he’d relish in your cluelessness, the tension and anxiety that radiates off of your trembling frame. But he doesn’t now.
“It’s okay, baby,” he reassures, his other hand brushing your hair away from your face, “that’s what I want – for you to want to see them again. As long as you know who you belong to.”
“I belong to you, Daddy,” you try to sound confident, but you can’t help but still feel nervous. You’re not entirely sure what type of Yunho you’ve earned just yet. Finally, after blinking away the last remnants of the glowing laptop screen, your eyes start to adjust. You can just make him out. The lone candle left alive across the room gives away his silhouette.
“And do you think you can touch what’s mine?” He whispers, only the slightest edge in his tone. He caresses you, knowing your face and body so well even in the dark.
“No, Da–”
“Then why did you?”
You bite your lip, embarrassment heating your cheeks once again.
He waits patiently for your answer. Biding his time.
Once you craft a carefully worded reply, you wet your bottom lip before saying, “I just… I just wanted–” you cut yourself off, rethinking your word choice. ‘Wanted’ sounds a bit selfish. Thinking quickly, you replace it with, “needed you home. I thought maybe if I did something reckless, you’d come back. I’m sorry, Daddy… I know better.”
Yunho relaxes somewhat. You can feel the tension within me drain away. He finds your cheek and kisses it softly. He moves down to your throat, where you’d expect him usually to bite and mark you – but he doesn’t. You’re puzzled as you feel how gentle his mouth is on your skin, but it’s a nice change.
“My precious girl,” he murmurs, the timbre of his voice vibrating against your neck, “I understand… but you can’t break Daddy’s rules – unspoken or not. Okay?”
You barely nod, mindful to not hit him with your chin as you do, “Yes, Daddy.”
“You definitely got my attention, though,” he purrs, his lips now moving down to ghost over your collarbone, “you looked so beautiful in that lingerie, baby.”
“Thank you, Daddy,” you breathe, tilting your chin up a little to give him more room.
He hums in response, his hand cupping your cheek. You lean into his hand, finding comfort in his touch. His thumb strokes your cheek as he continues to kiss you all over your collarbones, shoulders, throat.
Then, he pulls away completely. He stands from the bed, walking over to the last candle and steps in front of it. Slowly, one by one, the room is illuminated once again. Albeit a dim light, now you can see him better. Immediately, you feel better. You hate the dark, especially here. He turns and comes back to the bed, taking his time. He sits near the edge of the bed and helps you up, maneuvering you until you lay on your stomach, over his legs. You can feel his hard on pressing up against your lower stomach through his sweatpants, and it makes you shiver.
“You understand why I have to discipline you now?”
You nod, face partially buried in the sheets, “Yes, Daddy. I understand.”
A large hand trails up the back of one of your thighs, and you shiver again.
“Good girl,” he whispers, “just take it like I know you can, and all will be forgiven. Okay?”
“Okay…” your voice breaks a little in the last syllable.
“Deep breath for me, baby.” The hand on the back of your thigh leaves you. You know what’s coming.
You inhale as much as you can, body shaking with anticipation. Not knowing when or how hard he’s going to strike was difficult enough to deal with. You’re still unsure what level on the Pissed Off Yunho Scale he’s at. Words sharp, but tone kind. Your hands grip the sheets below you, already close to white-knuckling them as he makes you wait. The only thing you can hear is your heart hammering against the mattress, and the slow, steady sounds of Yunho breathing.
He waits another ten seconds. Then he strikes you hard, your body jolting over his lap.
“Remember to count, baby.” He reminds you as his hand pulls away again.
“One…” you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut in preparation. There’s no way of knowing how many times he’ll spank you unless he tells you outright or until he stops.
Two.
Three. A little harder.
Four. Much harder.
“Si–five, thank you, Daddy.” You stammer, close to drooling on the sheets below you, mouth stuck open from the force of each hit. You almost say six, probably subconsciously because you want this to be over sooner. But you knew damn well then, before you whored yourself out for the cameras, hoping he’d come back, that you’d be in trouble. So you grit your teeth and try to breathe through the pain.
“Am I making you all dumb, baby? Hm?” Yunho chuckles, catching your mistake. You’re so goddamn cute.
You whine in response, blinking away tears. Your hands clench and unclench into fists in the sheets. He soothes your skin, particularly the area where he had been hitting you over and over again, with a lighter touch of his hand. The electronic candlelight flickers, making shadows dance upon the walls. The hand he’s not using rests on your lower back, keeping you still beneath him. Not like you’re going anywhere anyway.
There’s a longer pause between hits, long enough to prompt you to look over your shoulder at him, curiosity getting the better of you. You can’t see much because of a strain in your neck, but it’s clear that he’s thinking about something. This isn’t over quite yet.
He catches you looking back at him and the corners of his mouth lift slightly as he exhales.
“Can you do something for me, baby?”
Do you have a choice?
“Yes, Daddy, of course.” You reply, voice a little unsteady.
What was he planning now?
Yunho trails his hand up and down the back of your thigh again, “The next five I don’t want you to count. I want you to say our names again. In order… one for each spank. Understand?”
‘In order’. You bury your face back into the bed, grateful for the head rush that occurs as it creates a temporary white noise in your ears that you can focus on instead of his words. A half-cry, half-whine escapes you, muffled by the bedding. The hand that rests on your lower back suddenly moves up to the back of your neck, pressing you down as his fingers dig into the sides of your throat, cutting off your air.
“Answer me. Yes or no?”
“Yes, Daddy,” you wheeze, barely audible, “I understand,”
The next spank comes fast after you tell him that you understand your new rules for tonight – your mouth is even still parted as you finish speaking. It’s hard enough to make you cry out before forcing yourself to pull it together. At least he’s spanking a new area now and not worsening the already deep red bruise you know must be blooming across your ass.
“Daddy~” You say as sweetly as you can. His cock twitches under your hip.
“Mhmm,” he hums, his hand pulling back again.
Seven. This one is the hardest of them all so far. You let out a short scream into the bed, the veins in your hands popping as you hold onto the sheets with a death grip. Whimpering and whining pathetically, you mumble out the next name, “M-Mingi.”
It’s a struggle to say anything clearly and to enunciate even just two syllables.
“Keep going, baby. Almost done.”
Eight. Hongjoong.
Nine. Seonghwa.
Ten. Yeosang.
You shake like a leaf, shoulders tense and up by your ears. And just when you think it is over, Yunho pushes you down by your lower back to make you arch for him, and nudges your legs apart.
“Apologize.”
You swallow hard, lifting your chin up so your mouth isn’t pressed against the mattress.
“I’m s-sorry, Daddy,”
“For what?” He asks, his hand groping your ass where he hit you.
You stifle a whine, resisting the need to try and get away from his touch on your tender skin, “I’m sorry for… touching what belongs to Daddy without permission.”
Yunho hums before he delivers two smacks directly to your pussy. You cry out his name again, wanting desperately to try and get away from the hits, but you stay as still as possible. Admittedly, even though it stings a little, it does make you wet again.
And he notices.
After the third smack, his hand stays, rubbing up and down your folds and lightly tapping his fingers against your clit. Now you’re shaking for a different reason. You want him now.
“Do you like being disciplined this much?” Yunho asks, gliding his fingers through your folds. You could hide your face all you want, but he had an unobstructed view, a front row seat watching exactly how much effect he had on your body.
He sighs, taking his time as he silently enjoys the barely audible sounds of how wet you’re becoming for him. He can’t wait to hear them increase in volume in just a few moments. Your hips instinctually and impatiently move backwards in hopes of increasing the pressure against you, but he pulls away each time. He’ll touch you on his own terms, not yours. You know that by now, it’s just hard to remember sometimes.
“Still don’t think you learned your lesson…” he mumbles, moreso to himself than to you. “Next time I have to be away you’ll just pull this little stunt again, won’t you?”
You try to be convincing, though you and him both know you’re lying, “No, Daddy.”
“No?” Yunho asks, slowly sinking a finger into you without warning, “Are you sure, doll?”
Your body tenses at the intrusion, and your jaw goes slack at the feeling. As expected, just one of his already feels so much better than your earlier attempt with two of your own. A wanton moan escapes you as you finally get what you’ve been craving all day.
He chuckles again, “My point exactly. It’s my responsibility to make sure you don’t want to try this again, right?” His finger curls upwards inside of you and your back arches, hips once again pushing back to try to get him even deeper. Yunho tuts in disapproval, shoving you back down and removing his hand from your core completely.
“I have to discourage this type of behavior, don’t I? Can’t have my doll acting like a needy whore every time I leave…”
Your breath catches in your throat at the word.
‘Whore’.
He’s never called or referred to you as that before. You aren’t sure if you like it – after all, you are devoted to him and him alone, but perhaps it’s fitting given your actions tonight as well as the times you’ve let Yunho’s friends use your body. But ‘let’ is an overstatement.
He doesn’t exactly give you much time to ruminate on the word, pulling you up and onto his lap. Without another word, he shrugs his flannel off of his shoulders, discarding it somewhere onto the floor, and leans back onto one hand while the other finds purchase in your hair, near the nape of your neck, holding you still. You try not to shy away from his gaze, but you’re still somewhat embarrassed.
“I’ll give you what you want, baby. But you’re not going to like it.”
You’re not sure what he means, but you know it can’t be good.
His smirk is lazy as he eyes you up and down like a starving man finally seeing a meal laid out in front of him. With his hands resting on your waist, he keeps you from moving too much. Guiding you towards him by the back of your head, your lips meet in the middle, melding together seamlessly.
His eyes flick down to his lap, where his cock is now tenting his sweatpants, rubbing up against your naked center. Pre-cum has already started to stain the fabric of it – but he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t also your juices.
Quicker than you can process, suddenly you’re underneath him, legs spread wide by his knees and pinned down by your wrists. Once he gathers your wrists in one hand again, he shoves his sweatpants down, followed by his boxers about mid-thigh. Too impatient to take them off fully for the time being.
Before you can dare to peek down to see what he’s doing, you feel the head of his cock pressing against you. Immediately you try to move your hands, wanting to push him away. You whine in panicked protest, looking up at him with round, frightened eyes.
“No. You don’t get any prep from me,” he says, a finality to his tone, running the head of his cock up and down your folds, collecting the wetness from there before lining himself up at your entrance, “you lost that privilege when you decided to act like a whore.”
There it is again. Your bottom lip trembles, the word cutting you deep. Luckily, your mind goes blank as he pushes in about halfway without warning. You can feel his cock nearly ripping apart your walls, completely unprepared to take him. Tears stream down your face already, pain searing through you.
“Daddy, please, please don’t–” you beg, thoughtlessly. You know it’s too late, and yet you still try to stop him.
“Are you really trying to say ‘no’ to me?” he growls.
Oh God–
He sinks deeper inside, watching your face contort in pain the whole time. Without prep, it feels like he’s taking your virginity all over again. His eyes threaten to roll back in his head at both the memory and the current feeling of your spasming pussy around his cock.
He hums when you don’t say anything, “That’s what I thought. It’s not my fault you didn’t prepare yourself sufficiently. Not my fault you decided to break the rules, right?”
You bite your lip so hard you almost draw blood as your body locks up in pain. There’s no adjustments you can make to take him easier, to lessen the aching discomfort. You can feel him everywhere. Even though his hands are nowhere near your throat, and there’s no pressure against your chest whatsoever, you feel suffocated. Only able to breathe in short gasps as he bottoms out.
The only mercy he shows you is when he shoves a pillow beneath your hips, both to aid him as well as make you the slightest bit more comfortable as he pounds into you. That’s the only comfort he offers you. Your poor center already feels sore and raw. You close your eyes, lips parted as you cry and moan.
What seems to be another kindness given to you quickly turns into something torturous; he trails a hand down your abdomen, pressing down on your lower stomach for a few moments, making you moan louder for him, and finally stops right at your clit. It helps take your mind off of the gradually receding pain, and you thank him accordingly. He doesn’t say anything back to you, but leans down to kiss your cheek.
He smirks when he feels you clench around him, bringing his hand up to his mouth to spit on his fingers before returning them to rub you again. He doesn’t look away from you. The bed creaks and groans, the headboard threatening to scrape the wall behind it.
Thanks to his administrations on your sensitive bundle of nerves, your legs start to shake as pleasure finally finds you. The pain is still there as he bullies his way deep inside of you, but it’s not as intense as it was. In no time at all, you can feel your climax building and building. And he can too.
Yunho groans at how even tighter you feel around him the closer you get to the edge.
“Close, doll? Hm?”
“Y-es, Daddy, I’m gonna…” you trail off as your body starts to lock up, back arching.
And then he pulls away completely.
Suddenly there’s nothing. You’re empty, forced to only feel your climax disintegrate within you, so unbearably close to the edge. Something between a gasp and a cry leaves your throat, but Yunho doesn’t react. He kisses your cheek again, his lips trailing to your ear.
“I told you that you weren’t gonna like it,” he reminds you, grinding against your pussy, but not pushing back inside just yet, “can’t have you pulling this shit again, so you’re not going to be coming tonight. At all.”
Here you were thinking your only expense was the no prep to take him. You feel so stupid.
The worst part is he waits. He waits until he knows for sure that the next time he touches you, he’s going to have to build up your orgasm from scratch.
When he pulls away for the fifth time, leaving you hanging on the edge with no relief, you loudly sob, “Please, Daddy, please I’m sorry! I won’t do it again, I’m so sorry.”
“I know you are, baby,” he hums, rubbing your inner thighs with his thumb, “just be quiet and let Daddy decide what’s best for your little body right now.”
After the seventh time he edges you, you’re just about ready to grovel at his feet, begging him to let you cum. But he was very clear: you’re not going to tonight. Meanwhile, he’s already cum inside you after the fourth round. Each time after he pulls away, he drags out the wait time less and less, making it harder for you to hold it back when he restarts.
Your eyes are glassy, unfocused, and you’re mumbling incoherent, rambling pleas that fall on deaf ears.
“You okay, doll?” He asks, petting your hair after the eighth time, his seed filling you up again.
“Mhm,” you sniffle, tears falling past your hairline. The ceiling blurs, offering nothing to try and concentrate on instead. Your whole body is a livewire, even the slightest touch can bring you right back to the edge once again. Now you just feel desperate in a whole other way.
“Good girl,” Yunho murmurs, teasing you just a bit more by slipping the same fingers he used to touch you into his mouth, licking them clean.
He gives you a small break, masquerading his need for one as well. He turns you onto your side and moves behind you, his arm draping over your hip and pressing you back towards him. For about a minute or two, you both just breathe. Refueling oxygen for whatever comes next.
You’ve successfully ignored the dull ache of being filled with his cum, with no release of your own. Another orgasm simmered below the surface this whole time, waiting to be denied again. It doesn’t help that his touch is electric.
After another moment, he breaks the silence as he always does: abruptly.
“Tell me exactly what you were thinking of earlier.” He says, keeping his lips pressed against the crown of your head.
Ah… shit.
You clear your throat to stall for time, delaying having to say it out loud, “Just… about you and um… that night with the others.”
Yunho hums, knowingly, “And did you enjoy yourself that night, baby?”
Blushing profusely, you reply with a shy nod. It’s enough to satisfy him for now. Gently, he turns your face up towards him so he can see you better.
“Yeah?” He asks, “You want it again?”
Again… yes, but altered, you think. Like how the first shared experience was: two and one. Smaller groups seem less daunting, less taxing on your body. Four was pushing your limits, especially if that’s how Yunho will end it. You imagine if, and or when, you meet the remaining three, he’ll want to show you off again. Two is a bit more intimate. No need for gravitas or anything extra, and you’re able to focus on each of them better. Only one other also might be easier for Yunho to keep control of everything. You squeeze your thighs together as subtly as possible.
He reads the initial look on your face, “No?”
You bite your lip at first, almost too timid to tell him your request, “No, no, it’s… maybe only two at a time next time?”
Nice. Very eloquent. God, Y/N.
Thankfully, he doesn’t look mad in any way, not even annoyed. He sits with your words, mulling them over for a few moments.
“Would that make you more comfortable, baby?” He asks.
You blink, not expecting that speaking up about what you’d like would go this smoothly. He’s definitely acting rather unpredictable tonight. Again, you just nod ‘yes’. You turn your body over so that you’re facing him, suddenly needing to be as close to him as possible, maybe to show your appreciation. His hand now presses into your back, keeping you close. Just as intended.
But he sighs. Vocally, to get your attention. Not that he didn’t have it in the first place.
“Daddy?” You look up at him with round, nervous eyes.
Yunho rubs your back as he says, “You were perfect with four, or… I thought you were. If you wanna go back to only two at a time, then that’s fine. But if you’re gonna be as good a doll as I think you can be, you’re gonna potentially need to be able to handle eight. Understand, baby?”
Your throat dries like the Sahara. Did he… not think you were perfect anymore because you said that? You don’t even register the part where he says eight.
“I understand, Daddy,” you sniffle, trying to hide your face in his chest.
He looks down, leaning back a little to try and see you properly. “What’s wrong, baby?”
But he knows full well what he says sets you off. It was meant to. He crafted his reply with articulate, hand-crafted manipulation, and it pays off beautifully. You whine against him, holding back tears – as you always seem to do around him – and holding him tighter, afraid he’ll let go first. In your defense though, you had just been edged about eight times, so your hormones were not particularly thrilled in the first place. You’re just overwhelmed.
“Aww, poor thing…” he coos, “Daddy’s still so proud of you. Needing to build up to it is okay, it’s gonna take time. But god, baby,” you feel his cock twitch against your stomach. Filthy images of you taking all of them flood his brain. He groans, sin incarnate. “You’re gonna look so good in the middle of all of us… fucked out and helpless. They’ll come around to the idea, don’t worry. And when they do, I’ll make sure you’re ready for them.”
He’s ready again, having worked himself up. You moan when his hand finds your nipple again, and soon he reconnects your lips to his.
“Can I fill you up one more time, baby?” He asks against your lips, already grinding into you again. He asks, but you don’t have a choice either way.
“Yes, Daddy. Please–” you barely finish your sentence before he’s on top of you once more, spitting onto his fingers to stroke his cock.
He doesn’t give you any preparation this time either. He sinks in, but not without resistance from your body. The grip around him almost chokes his cock, and he grunts as he forces himself deeper. You wince, nails digging into his shoulders. At least once he bottoms out, and the head of his cock hits that sweet spot deep inside, it feels a little better. You wrap your legs around his waist, and let him use you again. It’s hard to try to ignore how good he feels, willing your body to disregard everything.
But his filthy words that he mutters next to your ear are harder to avoid, “Pussy’s always so eager to take me, isn’t it? So fucking greedy… tight and wet for me. Fuck… gonna be such a good girl for us, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Daddy, I’ll be good,” you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut as the forbidden pleasure builds. He can feel it too as you tighten around him even more.
The harder he thrusts into you, the more of your mind you lose. It’s like he’s literally fucking all thoughts out of your head. All you can concentrate on is trying to not cum. It’s a torturous effort for the ninth time.
Luckily, he’s still somewhat sensitive from coming two times before. He pushes your legs back, your knees against your chest to get deeper, and you bite your lip in anguish. He swears under his breath, feeling more of your juices gush around his length. He almost feels bad for you, almost lets you cum. But then what about the point he’s trying to make? He taught it to Mingi, and now he is teaching you: do not touch what belongs to him without permission.
He kisses your calf, keeping his lips and cheek pressed against it. He looks up at you through his lashes.
“Don’t.” He growls when your legs start shaking violently, your back arching off the mattress. “Keep taking me, baby. ‘M almost there. Hold it for me.”
You suppress a moan, trying to tense your body, but that only proves to encourage Yunho more as your pussy contracts and pulses.
All hell threatens to break loose when he changes positions, trapping you in a mating press. If you thought it couldn’t get any more maddening, you are quickly proven wrong. You scream, forced to feel every single last inch of him pounding into you deep and hard. The wet, squelching sounds your pussy makes increase in volume, gushing around his cock.
“Daddy, please,” you try again, even though you know it’s hopeless, “please, I can’t–”
“Yes you can, doll. You can keep being good for me, right?”
It’s right there, just in reach. You wonder if you can try to fake that you didn’t cum, but you know he’ll know. He always will just know. All you can do is sob, pray that he’ll cum soon and you'll be spared any additional disciplining.
“Never gonna act like an attention whore again, are you, doll?” He groans, licking up the side of your neck.
You vehemently shake your head ‘no’, “No, Daddy, I promise!”
He swears under his breath, looking down to watch his whole length disappearing inside of you over and over again. Your hands move from his shoulders to his hair and his cheek, guiding him down to kiss him. You desperately need a distraction. He returns the kiss eagerly, moaning into your mouth.
“Please, Daddy, please please please–” you’re not sure exactly whether you’re begging him to cum or to let you cum, but either one you’ll gladly take, as long as either one happens right now. Now teetering on the edge, flirting with danger, you’re desperate.
“Shhh… good girl. My good girl. Want Daddy to cum inside? Hm?”
You almost swear too, but are able to bite your tongue. “Yes, Daddy, please, I want it.”
He slams into you, chasing his third high with a vengeance. Your hand in his hair grips it at the roots, but he doesn’t mind at all. If anything, it spurs him on even more. His possessiveness kicks into high gear as he finally releases inside of you, this time the hardest he’s cum so far tonight.
“Fuck, baby…” he groans, still languidly grinding into you, not letting a single drop go to waste. He makes sure he’s completely empty before he pulls out. Your body is on fire, so close to coming still, and so stiff as if in self-defense mode.
You’re not fully aware of everything around you for a long while. Occasionally, you can feel Yunho’s lips against your skin, kissing your jaw, mouthing at your chest. His hands keep your legs spread, and his dark eyes watch his cum try to drip out. You let him. You just drift, body still pleading for closure only to be left high and dry.
Maybe you are a bit spoiled… he’s never edged you like this before. Then again – you never did anything like what you did a couple hours ago before now either. You’re not used to this feeling. Almost empty, incomplete. Unsatisfied. It’s foreign to you, and even stranger still that it’s because of Yunho. But you broke the rules, and this is your hard-learned lesson, like it or not.
While you’re in your head, you can just barely hear him speaking to you. You fight through your fog to hear him, but truth be told, you have no idea what he just said. He smirks, thankfully finding your hazy stupor adorable. All his own work, his most promising work-in-progress.
“I asked you if you’d wanna meet Sannie, Wooyoung and Jongho soon.” He repeats, pulling the covers up and over your body.
“Yes… I’d like to.” You say without thinking, your brain is only now beginning to reconstruct itself from the mush it had been a couple minutes ago. Just three more to go… and then would he consider you perfect? You aren’t very sure. But thinking in depth really isn’t in the cards for you right this minute. The best you can do for now is to just let Yunho take care of it, like he always does, and relinquish control completely once more.
He holds you lazily in his arms, letting you make yourself comfortable in whatever position you choose, and kisses the crown of your head again, his mouth lingering there momentarily. You’re starting to think he somehow laces himself with Nyquil or something, because it seems like you pass out rather quickly after sex with him. Maybe it’s just physically taxing. You yawn as if to prove your own theory and nuzzle into him.
“Go to sleep, baby,” he says softly, “you’ll get your reward in the morning.”
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Nothing prepares you for the sunlight.
The backs of your eyelids are orange as you gradually wake up, feeling a warmth covering your face and shoulders. You blink into the light, shielding your eyes from the blinding, rising sun coming in through the window with your hand. It takes you a minute to realize the curtains are completely drawn back, the windows open almost halfway. You sit up, staring at it in disbelief.
The bedroom door is wide open, revealing more natural light pouring into the rest of the apartment as well. You tear the covers off of you, throwing on one of Yunho’s oversized t-shirts and heading out to investigate. You find him in the kitchen, making breakfast. A quick glance at the digital clock on the stove tells you that it’s six-thirty – very early for you, especially after last night. You would’ve imagined you’d sleep in, but maybe the smell of cooking woke you up early.
Yunho looks over his shoulder at you when he hears you enter. “Good morning, baby,” he smiles, wiping his hands with a paper towel before heading over to you. In the light, his beauty seems even more angelic. He picks you up and sets you on the counter, and you wrap your legs around him, giggling shyly. He kisses you tenderly, in no rush whatsoever. You hum against his mouth, giddy all of a sudden.
He smiles again, giving you one more peck before pulling away.
“Would you like your reward now?” He asks, tilting his head.
Your heart leaps in excitement. “Really? I’m getting it now?”
Yunho laughs at how cute you are, kissing you again. You throw your arms around his shoulders, hugging him tight.
“I promised you, didn’t I?” He brushes your hair back over your shoulder, exposing your neck a bit more. “Let me finish this first, and then you can have it. Alright?”
You nod, kicking your feet happily as you watch him continue cooking – it looks like gyeran bap and jeon from what you can see of it from this angle. It was rare for Yunho to make breakfast for you two, especially on the morning of a workday. In fact, you can’t remember the last time he’s done this. But that makes today all the more special. He was serious, and he kept his promise. You can’t wait to find out what the reward will be.
Once the stove is turned off, and all that’s left to be finished is the rice in the rice cooker, Yunho helps you off the counter and leads you into the living room.
“Close your eyes for me?” He prompts. You do so immediately. You can’t contain your excitement, a smile already threatening to crack open your lips. There’s a small clicking sound, followed by creaking hinges. Suddenly the apartment is colder, your small world louder than before. It’s the same rush of sound you heard when Yeosang came in from…
Yunho takes your hand, guiding you forward. You can feel the temperature shift even more. The flooring underneath your feet changes to something harder, more sturdy.
“You can have five minutes now, and ten tonight,” he says. You begin to shake, hoping against hope that this is really what you’ve been dreaming of for months. “Okay, open your eyes, baby.”
Oh…
Your lungs expel all the air inside of them at the sight. You’re outside. For the first couple seconds, you’re nervous, though you’re not quite sure why. The cold wind pushes your hair to the side, weaving through it, and makes you shiver. You take a small step back, completely overwhelmed.
The first full breath of fresh air almost breaks you. The air is unforgiving once in your lungs, freezing them over, but you don’t mind at all. In fact you inhale as much as you can until you physically can’t anymore, barely breathing out, wanting to hoard it all. You grip the cold railing with both hands, like a passenger on a sinking ship. Your head is dizzy from the height as you look down, higher above the city than you thought. It’s all sprawled out below you, still half-asleep and grey, oblivious to the awakening sky overhead. Early bird commuters crawl by in their cars below, another day of work ahead of them. Cafes rush to prepare for the onslaught of hungry, in need of caffeine customers, baking and cleaning in their regular routines. It’s still a bit too early for school, but you do see a couple students beginning their walk to the subway stations and bus stops. The Han River glistens bright orange under the sun, and drifts downstream, lapping lazily at the shores, and getting its picture taken by a couple of tourists and morning runners.
Glancing to your left, you see that it’s less so a balcony, and more like a mini terrace. You’d only ever seen just one angle of it, very briefly when the curtains weren’t drawn. It stretched out towards the left, two chairs with a little table between them sat outside the bedroom windows. Yeosang might’ve used one of them that night before he came back in. But you don’t explore this ‘new’ area. You just take it in visually. Now you know it’s there. Your hands slide over the railing absentmindedly, the smoothness of it calming down your hammering heart.
You can’t feel completely happy about it, like you thought you would be. What it really means to be let out onto the balcony is that everyone has stopped looking for you. The police have nothing, and the public forgot about you. It’s an empty happiness, a freedom that comes with a price. What would freedom even look like for you now? Being outside makes your stomach churn, and your nervous system spirals due to the overstimulation. It’s all suddenly too much. How would you survive outside like this? Anywhere for that matter? You craved to be out for so long, to taste the air once more, and all it does in the end is frighten you. Turns out that freedom suffocates you worse than confinement. He’s been right this whole time: you should stay here. You need to stay here.
You step back again. Yunho watches.
With two minutes left in your time, you take one more refreshing deep breath before turning to face him. Your bottom lip quivers a bit, but you hide it by smiling at him.
“Thank you,” you whisper, standing on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek, “can we go back in, please?”
Yunho blinks, surprised. He would’ve bet anything that you’d beg him for more time out here.
“It was only three minutes, baby.” He says, checking his watch to verify that he was right. “You sure?”
You nod, keeping your eyes cast downward, “It’s enough.”
In his temporary astonishment, he just nods and opens the door for you, eyes following you as the apartment swallows you up again. Yunho lingers on the balcony for half a moment longer. He watches you set the table for the breakfast he made, falling back into your regular routine like your biggest dream didn’t just come true. You turn your back on the dawn like it was the easiest decision in your life.
He isn’t sure what to think. But he knows he’ll just have to give you a part two to your reward later tonight. In fact, since he’s suddenly feeling extra nice, he might just give someone another chance with you tonight.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
ATEEZ: Netizens Spark Feud Rumors
Subtle Distance? ATEEZ Members’ Dynamic Sparks Debate After Latest Performance
Clip Goes Viral of ATEEZ Members Avoiding Yunho Onstage
ATEEZ Fans Worry: ‘Did Something Happen Between Them?’
Mr. Kim, the KQ CEO, takes off his glasses, attempting to rub the stress of the last couple weeks from his eyes. The other eight men in the room are avoiding eye contact with him anyway. The headlines stare back at them accusingly, blown up in size on the projector screen off to their right. They all look like kids who got sent to the Principal’s office, their mischief caught on tape and shown back to them so there’s nowhere to hide from the truth. Yeosang pulls his face mask up just a bit higher on his nose. The air in the soundproof conference room is tense, almost clinical in a way. The PR team waits in the corner like a jury, occasionally taking sips of their coffee, sitting with the silence as they wait for the final verdict of what they will tell the public.
Jongho and Seonghwa take turns glaring at Yunho after the headlines are read out to them, one by one. Hongjoong’s hands ball into fists, uncharacteristically keeping his head down. He took one for the team, sitting right next to Yunho at this emergency meeting. It was the least he could do.
“Can anyone tell me what this is all about?” Mr. Kim asks. His voice is tired, evident that he didn’t get much sleep last night. If he gives it two more days, the dark circles under his eyes will match Hongjoong’s.
Mingi stares out the window, his hand subconsciously protecting his forearm over his sweatshirt sleeve. He doesn’t plan to speak at all during this meeting, much like the rest of them. It’s Hongjoong that bears the weight of answering for all of them, even when it should be Yunho. He can’t watch it unfold – hearing it will be hard enough.
He’s hiding something from them all – not just his gruesome injuries from the fans and staff, but another thing entirely. He thinks Yeosang may have caught on already, but he refuses to tell anyone outright, his paranoia convincing him that Yunho will find out somehow. It’s too important to fail. So he keeps it close to the chest, not saying a damn word to anyone about it. Only providing hints through his actions the past few days – becoming Yunho’s little sycophant, a sidekick essentially for him. It didn’t happen overnight, no, it had to be gradual to be convincing. The rest of the group took it as a fear response and didn’t judge or say anything to him about it, accepting that it was just him trying to stay out of trouble, but little did they know it was much deeper than that.
San looks at Wooyoung and Yeosang out of the corner of his eye, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He mentioned to them that he wanted to tell the CEO everything. What could Yunho do to hurt them with their staff present? But Yeosang was scared. Yunho had a way of sweet-talking his way out of everything, surely he would be ready if they tried to do that to him. And then they’d all be screwed, and they’d end up like…
Well, it just wouldn’t end well.
So San bites his tongue for their sake, his foot touching Wooyoung’s under the table for some semblance of comfort. It doesn’t help much but it’s something. Like holding his favorite stuffed animal from childhood in the middle of a warzone – it will do nothing to protect him in the long run, but it’s a solace amidst the chaos. Especially when the enemy threat is sitting only two chairs away from him.
Hongjoong wets his bottom lip before finally speaking, trying to carefully craft an answer the CEO will believe while also appeasing Yunho, “We’ve been having some… personal disagreements and some internal conflict, but we’re working on that. The cameras just caught us on a rough week. I’m sorry for this.” He says, gesturing to the headlines. His voice is smaller than it usually is in previous meetings. Unwavering, steady guilt punctuates every word. The words sneer and laugh at him when he turns away. He folds his hands in his lap, making room to take all the guilt and blame that is surely coming his way for letting this get so out of hand, and not keeping everybody in check. For allowing the public to see cracks in their image.
“If you’ve been working on it, I would’ve expected some progress by now. You all have been acting like this for weeks. Most of your staff have expressed concern about you. If we see it, the fans sure as hell see it. And if the fans see it, the press sees it.”
Hongjoong nods, solemnly. All he can do is agree – Mr. Kim is exactly right. He was so focused on the members and their well-being that he neglected to preserve the picture-perfect idol image they had in public. He always meant to try and fix that next, but it just hasn’t been at the forefront of his mind lately, as it should’ve been. And now the world can see that they’re strained. They’re not the family they were only mere weeks ago.
Mr. Kim turns to Hongjoong. “If something or someone is disrupting the team dynamic, it’s your job to deal with it. So why haven’t you?”
Again, no one says a word. Not a single sound from the usually rambunctious, upbeat group. Even the PR team and the managers take notice of the strangeness in their sudden behavioral changes. Hongjoong nervously bounces his leg below the table. He can feel everyone looking at him and it causes the hair on the back of his neck to stand up. Yunho’s gaze on him is especially skin-crawling.
“I…” he clears his throat before continuing, “Yes sir, it is. I’ve been trying to take care of everyone and make sure we’re focused–”
“Obviously not trying hard enough.” Mr. Kim interrupts, side-eyeing Mingi who shrinks back in his seat. This whole ordeal must have really pissed their CEO off… plus the fact they can’t tell him what exactly is going on doesn’t help. They know he’s just stressed, and wants them to succeed. That’s all he wants to do: help them so they can get past this. But he has no way of knowing that this isn’t a simple dating scandal or a misunderstanding blown out of proportion – this is a crime syndicate built by coerced accomplices, complicit under duress.
The irritation Mr. Kim feels is clear to everyone in the room. It’s so tangible it makes everyone else afraid to speak unless spoken to.
Except for one.
“Mr. Kim?”
Jongho speaks up. All eyes snap to him, in fear, in surprise, in anticipation. He can almost feel all of them silently telling him to not say anything with their panicked gazes. But Jongho continues. It’s not what they fear it is.
“Sir, none of this started because of Hongjoong. He’s been doing his best to fix it.”
Yunho crosses his legs in his seat, his eyebrows raising a little as he looks between the CEO, Jongho, and Hongjoong.
‘Fix it’, huh? Interesting.
He drums his fingers against the tabletop, knowing he should cool his glare towards Hongjoong, but unable to help himself. Did he have to dig into his captain a little deeper? He doesn’t mind or care if he has to do it to every single one of them to get them to comply. It sure would make everything a whole lot easier. Seems like the maknae already forgot who’s actually in charge here as well.
Immediately, Mingi and Yeosang tense at Jongho’s wording. He’s implying it started because of someone else, which may be true, but is rather ballsy to place the blame right under Yunho’s nose, indirectly or not.
“I don’t care who started what, or even what this is all about. I care about who is letting this continue.” Mr. Kim says with a certain bite to his tone.
Six men split. Half looking to Yunho, the other looking to Hongjoong. Neither return their glances. Hongjoong’s jaw is set tight, staring at the table like it owed him money. Yunho simply leans back in his chair, listening to Mr. Kim like a student in a lecture hall. Unbothered. Bored, even.
Seonghwa tears his eyes from Yunho to look back at Mr. Kim, “Sir, it’s not just one of us, we’re all at some fault–”
“It’s fine.” Hongjoong murmurs to him. Seonghwa wants to argue, stand up for him more, but just by looking at his friend, he can tell that will only make him feel worse.
“What about you, Mingi? Care to explain any of this?” Mr. Kim addresses him directly, turning in his chair a little to face him head on.
Mingi freezes, looking up at the CEO like a deer in headlights before regaining some composure. From under the table, next to him, Yeosang places his hand on his knee in an attempt to comfort him under the sudden pressure. All the eyes in the room turn to him now.
“No, sir.” He manages, clearing his throat awkwardly.
Mr. Kim sighs in frustration, tapping his fingers along the tabletop. “No? Nothing to explain? No reason why you haven’t been able to do the choreo lately? No reason for the change in behavior?”
Mingi takes as deep a breath as he can, given his injury. Again, he insists, “No, sir.”
From the other end of the row of chairs, Yunho hides a smirk behind his hand, feigning a small yawn. He has to purse his lips a little in order to stop it from growing.
Mr. Kim sighs, “If no one can tell me what’s going on, then I have no choice but to put you all on hiatus. Effective immediately.”
The word hits the seven of them like a slap in the face. Hiatus? Now? With the comeback in just two months? He couldn’t be serious. The fans would be so worried, not to mention the speculation as to why the whole group has to step away so suddenly.
Alternatively, the word only serves to lift a weight from Yunho’s shoulders. This is exactly what he needs: time. Sure, he loves his job, loves performing onstage and going to events and meeting fans, but this could not have come at a better time. A chance to solely focus on you, and his plans for you and the group.
“For how long?” Wooyoung asks quietly, afraid to know the answer.
“Indefinitely,” Mr. Kim says, blunt and final, “unless someone wants to tell me how we can fix whatever’s going on right now.”
Isn’t that the million dollar question, San thinks bitterly.
There’s a thick silence that settles in the middle of them all. The PR team are busy in the corner, already drafting a notice, no doubt with surgically precise writing. Tailored to maintain the image and the fantasy of perfection. Nothing was wrong! It was a group decision to step back and take a small break. In fact, they won’t even call it a hiatus – it’ll be referred to as a break. An opportunity given to them to see family, unwind, mentally and physically relax. The company will reassure worried fans that this was a unanimous, amicable decision, and that the members will still be active on Fromm, TokToq, and Instagram from time to time. They will even give a rough estimate for the group’s return: We’ll welcome them back in two weeks! Please wait for ATEEZ~
“If no one else has anything to say, then this meeting is over. Your schedules today have been cancelled. Go home, rest. Take some time away, do whatever you need to pull yourselves together. I want us back here in two weeks, better than ever and ready to work as a team. Understand?”
They all mumble in reluctant agreement. The room empties slowly now that the meeting has concluded, the sound of chairs pushing back and mumbling ‘thank you’s’ during polite bows fading into silence.
Yunho is the only one seeming unbothered, and Mr. Kim notices. He watches him the whole time as he walks out first, shrugging his flannel on. Something tugs at the back of his mind. Something’s off. Yunho exits the room like he just landed a good business deal. Like nothing said in the conference room was any worry to him at all – in fact, on the contrary. It seems to be exactly what he wanted. Mingi follows behind him.
The PR team filters out as well, noses buried in notebooks and phones, scribbling and typing away, discussing word choice and social media strategy on how to announce the news. One manager, Yunho’s, hesitates before leaving. He steps aside a few feet from the doorway, looking back at his boss like he’d like to say something, but ultimately decides against it. He bows again when eye contact is briefly made between him and Mr. Kim and hurries out, rushing to catch up with Yunho before he leaves.
Hongjoong is the last to stand up, only snapping back into awareness when Seonghwa gingerly touches his shoulder. He’s shaking slightly, and his throat is dry. Even the CEO of the whole damn company doubts him. Seonghwa stays close to him, ready to attempt to comfort him once out of earshot of everyone else. But he knows it’s probably a lost cause. At least for now.
“Hongjoong,” calls Mr. Kim from the head of the table, “stay back for a minute, please.”
Oh, shit.
He sinks back down in his seat, unsure of how much more he can take. Running a hand through his messy hair, he takes a deep breath. He isn’t ready to hear what he knows Mr. Kim is going to say, but it’s not up to him to decide when he does hear it. In his head, he goes over the little script he and Seonghwa came up with in the case that anyone asks what is going on – be vague and deflect.
Mr. Kim doesn’t look up from his laptop at first. “Sit,” he says, voice flat but heavy with authority. Hongjoong obeys. His palms are damp, resting on his knees. Mr. Kim leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand down his face.
Only when the door clicks shut does Mr. Kim speak again. “Do you know what I see, Hongjoong?”
Hongjoong blinks, unsure if it’s rhetorical. “Sir–?”
“I’ve seen this happen before in this industry, and I’m watching it happen now. Your group is in a freefall,” he interrupts. “The weird tension on stage, cold shoulders in interviews, one of your members disappearing from himself entirely, and you sitting there pretending everything is normal.”
Hongjoong’s throat is tight. “It’s temporary,” he manages, “the group has been working through something personal recently, but I can–”
“No,” Mr. Kim says, cutting him off again, “whatever it is that you think you can do or are doing to fix this, you can’t. If you could, we wouldn’t be here discussing how bad it’s become.” His tone isn’t raised, but it’s almost worse that it’s calm. Matter-of-fact. “I trusted you to be the one that holds this group together. I trusted you to set the example. And I’m not seeing that from you lately.”
“And I am,” Hongjoong insists, the words tumbling out a bit too fast. “I promise I’m taking care of everything. I’m just trying to fix it without making things worse.”
Mr. Kim leans forward now, clasping his hands on the table.“Hongjoong, what is going on? What can’t you tell me?”
Hongjoong presses his lips into a thin line, looking down at the desk. “It’s just…” he begins to say, but he can’t find a suitable nor believable ending to his alibi.
The CEO sighs through his nose, fingers drumming once against the table before stopping. “If you can’t handle this,” he says, every word slow and precise, “I’ll find someone who can.”
The message hits him like a runaway train.
Hongjoong sits there, motionless. There’s nothing to say. He can’t tell him the truth. He can’t explain the cameras, or the fear, or the way Yunho’s shadow stretches over all of them even when he’s not in the same room. So he just nods, quietly, the weight of failure settling deep into his chest.
The CEO stands, straightening his jacket, having delivered the damage he meant to give to him. But before he leaves, he looks back at the man in the chair opposite his. He still sees the bright red hair, a mixtape, an enviable creativity and sense of responsibility, and a work ethic built from nothing but pure passion and drive. He knows first hand how hard Hongjoong works, often to the bone unless he’s forced to stop, how selfless a man he’s grown up to be. Mr. Kim hates to be hard on someone he considers to be like a son to him, but it’s tough love. Besides, when it comes to people like Hongjoong, when their abilities are questioned, they will often go out of their way to prove the world wrong.
Mr. Kim pats Hongjoong on the shoulder. “Take a couple weeks,” he suggests, “and come back when you remember how to lead.”
Hongjoong doesn’t move until the door closes again. Then, finally, he lets out the breath he’s been holding and stares down at his trembling hands. Isolated again. Singled out as the weak link. He’s not doing enough, clearly, but if that’s the case, why does he feel like he’s losing a part of himself with the stress every single day?
Seonghwa waits outside the door, listening to what the CEO says. His heart wrenches. If not Hongjoong then who? There was no one better suited for the role than him, there was just no way in hell the company would ever actually strip him of his role because of this one thing. He has hope. And that’s more than most of the rest of them can say right now.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Hongjoong spends most of the day in his studio, resistant to Seonghwa telling him to take a break. If he goes home, he’ll just lie awake and think himself into oblivion. He can’t do that. Instead, he pours all of his concentration and frustration into producing, writing, recording demos. Things he knows he’s good at.
After about six hours holed up in there, he finally takes the headphones off of his ears and sets them down on the desk next to his keyboard. He didn’t finish a single demo, his mind too all over the place to focus solely on one.
He and Wooyoung reconvene late that afternoon at Seonghwa’s, San’s, and Mingi’s dorm. They coordinate the time in a new group chat, excluding Yunho. It had been created once Hongjoong had returned Yeosang’s phone to him. Yeosang had shown up at Hongjoong’s dorm very late the night the last three found out, in search of it. Hongjoong was just thankful that he came back unharmed.
Jongho was staying back, claiming he was fine and just wanted to sleep today off. Yeosang says something to the same effect. No one can blame them for wanting time to themselves, just to sleep and escape thinking about their situation. San and Mingi stay in their rooms for the first hour that Hongjoong and Wooyoung are there, slowly emerging one by one into the living room and perching themselves on the couch.
Nothing new is really said, it’s less than an official meeting to talk about everything, and more so an opportunity for whoever needs it to not feel alone. The main topic is the hiatus, and how worried they are about their fans receiving the news. It’ll go live tomorrow morning, so they have the whole night ahead of them to dwell on it. They’re also concerned that now that there is more time in the day, Yunho might escalate. Mingi doesn’t say much outside of nodding along to something said that he agreed with from time to time.
Once it turns nine o’clock, San goes to bed quite early, bidding goodnights to the guys before disappearing back into his room. Wooyoung goes with him, just about ready to collapse into bed as well, even if it’s not his own. San doesn’t mind, he never really does. He automatically shifts over to make room for him, lifting the covers for him with his eyes closed when he hears his door open and close again.
In the living room, both Seonghwa and Hongjoong are surprised that Mingi doesn’t retreat to his room as well. He stays stock still on the couch, biting his lip like he’s not sure if he should say something on his mind or not. They don’t push him, but they do hope he says whatever it is. Seonghwa quietly gets up, volunteering to make ramen for them all, and goes into the kitchen to prepare the food, leaving just Hongjoong and Mingi together.
For a while, they just listen to the miscellaneous noises coming from the kitchen. Both of them have words on the tips of their tongues, but neither want to be the first to let them out. Hongjoong looks up at Seonghwa, aiming to watch him cook for a few moments, only to find that he’s looking at him over his shoulder as he stirs. His chin jerks up and he raises his eyebrows, indicating that he should say something to Mingi before turning back around to add the spices.
The best he can come up with to break the silence is, “How are you?”
Mingi shifts and clears his throat before answering.
“I’m okay. I mean, it’s healing kinda slow but.” He lifts his engraved arm a little off the couch, his opposite hand once again covering it to protect it once he lowers it back down.
“No, I mean you. Not your injuries.” Hongjoong clarifies, leaning forward a little.
At first, Mingi isn’t sure how to respond. He doesn’t have an immediate answer to his question. It’s weighted too heavily with complicated layers needed for the reply that Mingi just can’t bring himself to think through yet. His ribs still ache with every breath, every miniscule movement.
He supposes the short, honest answer is ‘no’. But after the meeting today, he’s not sure he can honestly tell Hongjoong that and discourage him even more. He truly has been doing so much for the group; being there for them, answering every question to the best of his ability, ordering them food without any of them needing to ask, and texting them each individually throughout the day to check in, offering support if they need it. All while trying to not crumble under the pressure of not letting them fall as best he can.
So he lies. As many of them are to him when asked the same question.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry.” Mingi tries a smile, but only manages to lift the corners of his mouth a little. Hongjoong doesn’t completely buy it, but again, he doesn’t push him.
They both watch Seonghwa for another few seconds in silence.
“Min, um…” Hongjoong mutters, “can I ask you a hard question?"
Uh oh. Mingi shifts again, uncomfortably and anxiously. This could be about anything, though he has an idea about what he’s going to ask. Something about you.
Seonghwa throws the last packet of ramen into the pot of boiling water, stirring it and humming quietly to himself. Anything to act normal. To act strong for his best friend. He’s glad his back is turned to him now, though.
Hongjoong picks at his nails, delaying himself. Not one single ounce of him wants to ask him this, but it’s something that’s been haunting him for the past couple weeks. The same question everyone’s been avoiding. Mingi nods once, looking down at the floor.
“Min, we… we raped her, didn’t we?”
The violent word hangs in the air between them. Something clatters to the floor in the kitchen, Seonghwa, instead of bending down to grab whatever fell, just looks over his shoulder again at the two of them.
He continues, his voice wavering, “I’ve been trying to tell myself we didn’t… but you can’t consent if you’re– you know I would have never– if I had known–”
It feels otherworldly to Seonghwa and Mingi to watch Hongjoong begin to break down. It’s such a shock to the system, they don't even know what to do at first. There’s absolutely no way to reassure him, not when it’s technically true. Seonghwa leans back against the counter in a daze. He’s had the same thought, but always pushed it away, talked himself out of it based on that technicality – they didn’t know, and it seemed to them that you genuinely wanted it to happen. How true that really was, they don’t know.
And that’s what eats them all alive.
Mingi had accepted it a while ago, hence his morose aura that looms over him like a permanent stormcloud above his head. He doesn’t need to say yes, he just needs to be here for Hongjoong as he finally says it out loud. Seonghwa wants to sprint to the shower, suddenly feeling unclean and disgusting, needing to scrub away any trace left of the truth of what he’s done. What he’s become. What Yunho turned him into.
Hongjoong can’t suppress the stray sob that leaps from his throat. It’s a broken, dejected sound that rips their hearts to pieces. Their leader, their captain, always the strong foundation of the group, always the backbone, now sat brittle on the couch, like one more strained word will cause him to disintegrate before their eyes. He covers his face with his hand, ashamed of himself for crying in front of the two of them. Ashamed of being weak.
How is he supposed to protect them when he can’t even protect himself?
Mingi wordlessly moves to sit next to Hongjoong, throwing an arm around his shoulders. It’s not long until Seonghwa joins as well, rubbing his back and letting him lean into his side.
“No matter what, we’ll always have that on our backs,” Hongjoong continues, managing to speak beneath his tears, “we’ll always be that.”
“We’re not bad people…” Seonghwa says as he tries to believe it himself. Mingi wants to scoff through his nose, to laugh bitterly, but thinks twice before doing so. There was no room for pessimism right now. Instead, keeping quiet forces him to sit with Seonghwa’s words. He’s so convinced that he’s a bad person himself, but he refuses to believe any of the others caught in the same trap are at any fault whatsoever. He wonders if anyone else thinks the same as him, particularly Hongjoong. It’s a tricky thing. A powerful kind of self-reflection that latches itself in the back of their minds for later.
“Are we good people just because we know what we did was wrong?” Hongjoong laments. It’s a struggle to get each word out as he cries while simultaneously trying to pull himself together.
After another couple of minutes, he exhales. “I just… I can’t stop thinking about what she must’ve felt. What she must still be feeling. How afraid she must be that it’ll happen again.”
Mingi looks down, fingers tightening around his knee.
“To be fair, I don’t think it’s us she’s afraid of,” he says. Hongjoong half-heartedly shrugs, but nods anyway. Maybe he’s right.
“She’s just trying to survive him, like we all are, but… I don’t know, I just… I just want her to feel safe again.”
His words carry the same effect as a confession. Seonghwa’s eyes meet Mingi’s. He studies him for a moment, the way his voice softens when he says her. The way the guilt twists into something gentler, something that he’s heard from him before whenever the subject of you is brought up. And from what he saw between you two that night. He and Yeosang had talked about it, albeit vaguely – the less people that know, the safer they’d be. Yeosang had only mentioned that he too noticed a deeper dynamic going on, but he had no idea what it truly was.
Half-true.
Seonghwa takes a deep breath. “Min… please don’t tell me you have feelings for her. It can’t be genuine. Not like this.”
Mingi doesn’t say anything. He picks at the fraying hem of his hoodie, suddenly solely interested in that. For some reason, he’s embarrassed to all hell. Like a teenager getting teased for who his crush is at school. Hongjoong straightens a little, also turning to look at him.
“Either way, you know you can’t actually pursue this… right?” Seonghwa continues.
Still, Mingi remains quiet. But he nods slowly after a beat. He knows. Realistically, logically, why would you ever want to stay close to someone who is best friends with the man who kidnapped, tortured, and whored you out to half of his friend group? To choose him would be to choose a life of consistent unpleasant memories and nightmares. You can’t fix each other with wounds this deep.
“Yeah, I know.” He says, forcing a short laugh as if to brush it all away.
He tilts his head back slightly, turning away from Seonghwa and Hongjoong. It’s nothing he hasn’t already told himself. Still, it hurts to hear when it’s said by someone else. He runs a hand through his hair, unsure of what to do with his hands right now. Thankfully, Hongjoong and Seonghwa look away from him, lessening the pressure.
No one else has anything to say. It’s asked, answered and settled. Mingi knows there’s no way anything between you can possibly grow from what it is now.
He’d still like to ask what you think about the subject though.
“Are you gonna stay?” Seonghwa asks Hongjoong, leaning down a little to try and meet his eyes.
Hongjoong hesitates. “I might. I’ll text Jongho and ask if he’s okay being alone for the night.” It’s such a parental thing to say to another grown man, especially one of the more independent members like Jongho, but it’s just his natural instinct to make sure everyone is okay before he focuses on himself at all.
“Okay…” Seonghwa waits a beat longer before getting up to go back to the kitchen, retrieving the ramen for them. When he turns back around, managing to balance the three bowls in both hands, Mingi’s standing up too.
“I’ll um. I’ll eat in my room.”
Seonghwa nods, extending one of his hands to him so he can take a bowl. Once he makes his selection – the one that looks the most spicy – he thanks him before turning on his heel and disappearing into his bedroom. When the door clicks shut, Seonghwa keeps walking, setting a bowl of ramen in front of Hongjoong on the coffee table.
“Eat.” He says, knowing he’ll only pick at it unless nagged into taking care of himself. He knows him too well.
Miraculously, Hongjoong manages a small laugh. Seonghwa’s shoulders drop in relief, not realizing he had been so tense this whole time. He slurps his own ramen, bringing the bowl onto his lap and leaning back on the couch. In spite of everything, he is determined to have a normal night. His hand fishes around in between the couch cushions for the TV remote, finding it stuffed between the arm and the end cushion. The TV blinks awake, and Seonghwa opens Netflix, looking for a K-Drama to watch while they eat.
Hongjoong shoots a quick text to both Jongho and Yeosang, just checking in one more time to see if they need anything. Yeosang texts back quickly.
I’m okay! He won’t be back tonight or tomorrow. Gonna shower soon and then go to bed. Goodnight, hyung.
The response from Jongho comes in a couple of minutes later, in two parts.
I’m okay too.
Thank you, capt.
He looks away from that specific word as soon as he reads it. To distract himself, he shoves a large portion of ramen into his mouth, tongue going numb from the heat and spiciness.
Gradually, it does start to feel like a normal night. And it’s something Hongjoong didn’t know he desperately needed until now. He eventually leans back as well, willing his stiff body to relax as he eats. Right now, no one expects anything of him. Everyone’s safe, accounted for. He dares to settle down, to forget about today, try to be present while letting his mind clear at the same time as he watches the drama Seonghwa picks. It’s nice to just… be. To only worry about the two main characters’ cliche miscommunication and the drama – pun intended – that follows.
There’s a pleasant warmth in his stomach when he finishes his food, setting the bowl onto the coffee table and resting his head on a pillow from the couch, slightly propped up against the arm of it. Seonghwa does the same on the opposite side, pulling the blanket down from the back of the couch and spreading it out over both of their legs. Neither means to fall asleep so fast. Who knew that feeling safe could save you from stress-induced insomnia? It’s equally as nice to sleep for the first time in days, and not just a lapse of consciousness, but a deep R.E.M – something quite rare for idols.
But like all good things, it doesn’t last long.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Almost to the end of the second episode, San hurries out of his room, stopping abruptly when he sees the TV on. He stands as still as a statue, watching Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s forms on the couch. Unmoving, not noticing him. San slowly steps forward, leaning to see if they’re awake or not.
Not. Both of them are passed out already, exhausted. The light from the television bathes them in dark red light.
San takes another step towards them, his lips parting, about to wake them up. At the last minute, he rethinks it. He retracts his hand, only inches away from Hongjoong’s shoulder, about to shake him awake to tell him. But there was no time to argue with him whether or not it was safe to go.
Come on! Even his thoughts whisper, urging him on, moving him towards the front door. There’s no time.
Quickly and quietly, he gets his sneakers on and pulls his hoodie up to cover his head. He slips out the door as if he was never there in the first place. The cool night air makes him cross his arms across his chests for warmth. He looks down at his phone, the maps app pulled up with an address already typed into it. Only about a ten minute walk. Probably less if he hurries.
The unfamiliar voice rings in his ears still. Hurry, hurry, hurry.
‘Please help me’.
It had been a short call when he finally picked up. The first time, he had missed it, only catching the tail-end of his ringtone as he woke up. The second time came almost immediately after the first one resulted in no response. That time, it was on purpose that he ignored it. Specifically because of the caller ID: Jeong Yunho. San had no desire to talk to him, and couldn’t figure out why he was calling him at half past midnight. Probably nothing good. He presses the power button in the middle of his phone ringing, silencing it and just letting the call go through unanswered again. He looked over his shoulder to see if it had woken up Wooyoung, but only saw his back facing him. The third time, again in rapid succession of the other, struck a chord of fear within him. It only rang twice before he answered, giving in to his curiosity.
“Hello?”
“San?”
The voice on the other end was the exact opposite of what he expected. It’s higher-pitched, terrified but trying to stay quiet. This had to be her. It’s difficult to even process that he was now talking to the girl at the center of everything, the one that Hongjoong vowed to keep the three remaining members away from.
You.
He almost hung up again, but you begged him not to as if you could read his mind, feel his panic through the phone.
“Please don’t hang up, I’m sorry,” your words were rushed, trying to keep the urgency in your voice while staying quiet, like someone else was trying to listen in, “I’m sorry, it was the first name on his phone I saw.”
Okay… San sat up, again looking over his shoulder to see if Wooyoung had woken up. Not yet. He rubbed his eyes, still not fully awake yet.
“Why are you–”
But you cut him off before he can ask, “Please help me, I-I wanna go home,” your voice broke on the word home, a small sob escaping you. There were a few beats of silence and some rustling, until your voice came back. “He’s asleep right now, please, please get me out of here,” you begged, the uncontrollable waver in your voice giving away that you’re crying.
San stood up then, his mouth running dry. “Do you know the address?” He asked as he grabbed a hoodie thick enough to protect him from the night air.
Once he had the address in his phone, his decision was made. The die was cast.
“You’re gonna be okay,” he said, already making promises he cannot keep, “I’ll be there soon.”
He heard you move again on the other side of the phone, and then your voice crackled through his receiver, your tone more frantic than before, “San please hurry, he’ll kill me if–”
And the line went dead.
He didn’t stop to think. Not wondering why you weren’t calling the police instead, nor how you managed to get into Yunho’s phone to make a call in the first place. Not considering you could be lying at all. All he could think was that he could end this. Get you away from Yunho, deal with the consequences later. For a split second, his brain tries to make him remember the sight of Mingi’s arm in the group chat, and when he had reluctantly shown it to him one night. He shook it off, only naively thinking of one thing: not only could he save you, he could also save everyone else. Perhaps especially Hongjoong. No matter how hard he tries to hide it, everyone can see the steady decline he’s taken due to the astronomical stress. At this point, he doesn’t care if Yunho goes to jail, or any of them. If he hurts that girl in any way, San is going to make sure he does something about it. No more standing by and letting this happen.
The wind is against him the whole way there. It shoves him backwards, yanks his hood off multiple times until he just decides to keep it down. He searches the black sky for any clouds that would indicate a storm being the reason for the strong winds, but sees none. The farther he gets from the dorms, the tighter the knot in his throat becomes. He shoves his hands in his pockets, looks over his shoulder. He keeps moving.
As expected, the lobby of the apartment building is dead, save for one tired looking front desk receptionist with her back turned to the door, on the phone. He shakes the cold off of him as he heads straight for the elevator, mumbling the apartment number under his breath over and over again. Something makes his skin crawl as he presses the button in the elevator, even worse when the doors close and he’s isolated, realizing what he’s doing and where he is.
San has no idea what awaits him on that floor. Within that apartment. The tightness in his throat is almost suffocating him now, and he can’t help but feel like he’s made a mistake. He should just call the police, tell them everything, and be done with it. But the way the call had ended so abruptly… it told him that he didn’t have time to wait around for the police to get there. That thought puts another spring in his step once the doors open again, feeling much less claustrophobic.
It’s eerily quiet in the hallway. The area itself is long, but seemingly only has about four apartments on this floor. He can guess why: privacy. The apartment is at the very end of the hallway, the door tucked away around a corner. It’s a strange faceoff, an uneven match of competitors. His heart stutters in his chest. Fully awake now, he takes a moment to once again realize where he is, and who is behind that door.
He’s inches away from the door, unsure whether or not to knock. He tries the knob and twists it, not expecting much to happen.
But it turns and pushes open. And that right there should be his biggest red flag that something is wrong, and to his credit it is. Swallowing down his anxiety, he dares to push it open a bit more, seeing how dark it is inside. Should he call out for you? Opening a bit more, the darkness flickers blue, then purple before staying a consistent white-ish color. In the thick silence he can just hear the faint sound of the TV in the living room. He glances at the door, quadruple checking that this was the right apartment, and that he’s not breaking into some poor stranger’s instead.
One step at a time, each one spiking his heart rate. The show playing on the TV gets clearer and clearer – it’s some drama he’s never seen before – and his eyes adjust to the dark blue light the screen covers the layout of the apartment in. San’s hand drifts to his pocket, where his phone is. No one’s in the kitchen nor the living room. There’s no other signs of life in here. San wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he assumed he’d run into you by now, though he’s not familiar as to what you look like exactly. The more he strains his eyes to see, the more he realizes he’s giving his nightmares an even stronger foundation: now he knows what it smells like, what it looks like, even how it feels to be in here.
He searches in the dark for that pinpoint red light that he heard Yeosang talk about – the cameras. When he eventually finds one tucked in the corner of the kitchen, his breath catches. Everything he was warned about, right in front of him. He takes a step back, staring at the tiny red light. It blinks at him. Throat drying, he realizes what a terrible mistake he’s made, and turns on his heel to get out as fast as he can.
But he’s too late as the door swings shut.
Once again adjusting his eyes to the dark, the light from the hallway no longer aiding him, his heart pounds rapidly in his chest as he comes face to face with–
“Mingi?”
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
“HONGJOONG!”
Wooyoung’s voice rings through the apartment like an alarm bell, his cry quickly followed by noises of him scrambling to get out of bed and out into the living room. Hongjoong jolts awake, his heart in his throat, trying to look everywhere at once for any immediate danger to him or the others. Seonghwa also wakes up, kicking his blanket off as he sits straight as Wooyoung runs into the room, near incoherent in his panic and worry.
“What? What is it?” Hongjoong tries to ask calmly, but his fear is obvious. Wooyoung drops to the floor, tears darkening his sleeve as he tries to wipe them away. “Where’s San?” Hongjoong asks, looking past the trembling younger man in front of him, towards San’s room.
Wooyoung coughs, crying harder. Without another word, he gives Hongjoong his phone, his phone unlocked and showing his text messages with San. Seonghwa scoots closer to see.
[Sannie] Woo she called me to come help her – I have to try and end this
[Sannie] I’ll be back soon
The timestamps say he sent those over an hour ago. All of them feel sick to their stomachs. Seonghwa takes a deep breath, his gaze flickering over to his right to gauge Hongjoong’s reaction.
As expected, it’s not great.
His own gaze is somewhere far away, unblinking, the reality of what San has done hits him right smack in the face. One of his hands reaches up to fix his messy hair, smoothing the back of it down. It was an act of comforting himself more than vanity. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he ignores it. His ears are ringing, like when you get up too fast and your head starts to go all fuzzy. He knows they’re both looking to him on what to do next, how to fix this, how to get him back unharmed; but he’s just blank. He can’t think past his own self-deprecating thoughts, the conversation earlier with the CEO replaying over and over again in his head. Though he’d tried to defend himself, and Jongho and Seonghwa had stood up for him, everything Mr. Kim had said turned out to be right: he wasn’t trying hard enough. He’s letting this continue. He’s incapable of holding his group together like this. If he’s compromised, then who will be there for the younger members?
Hongjoong doesn’t realize he’s started pulling at the roots of his hair until Seonghwa stops him, grabbing his wrist and lowering it. Still, he remains motionless. His phone vibrates once more. What could have possibly possessed San to go to that apartment, knowing everything he does about it? Especially after what happened to Mingi.
Wait.
He bolts upright, his heart freezing mid-beat. At the same time, Seonghwa realizes the exact same thing. His head snaps towards Mingi’s room, mouth drying instantly. The dorm itself settles and creaks twice like the tick of a clock, tapping against their ears. Wooyoung is too busy trying to call San for what may be the twentieth time in the span of five minutes. Hongjoong doesn’t remember walking towards Mingi’s door, but suddenly he’s directly in front of it, his hand twitching slightly on the doorknob. It pushes open easily.
And it reveals exactly everything Hongjoong feared.
Both of them are gone, like they were stolen right out from under his nose. On his watch. He slumps against the doorway, Seonghwa rushing forward to catch him and keep him upright.
“Oh god– oh no…” Seonghwa mumbles, looking into Mingi’s room as well.
Again, his phone vibrates. With trembling hands, he finally takes it out of his pocket, swallowing down the lump in his throat as best he can.
Three texts from Yunho. His divine timing truly knew no limits in moments such as these.
[Yunho]: It’s sweet you still think they’re yours to protect.
[Yunho]: Attachment 1: [Image]
[Yunho]: They came running to her so easily.
The image he sends twists the knife even harder than the words do. It’s at a specific angle, like he purposefully raised and tilted his phone a certain way to capture everything he wanted Hongjoong to see. San and Mingi on the same couch he, Seonghwa, and Yeosang had been on, and in the foreground of the photo, Yunho’s hand on your thigh. In your hand, you’re holding both Mingi’s and San’s phones.
Hongjoong nearly loses it then. It is all just way too much to realize how easily Yunho can pick them off one by one, bend everyone to his will. Do anything he wants, manipulate his friends, exploit you. He can’t hear Seonghwa as he tries to calm him down, nor Wooyoung frantically asking what was wrong, his panic only growing as he’s ignored for the time being. All he can think about is his failures.
Trying to protect his group is useless.
He sees that now.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
It’s been months since you’ve held a phone. Now with two in hand, neither belonging to you, you’re not quite sure what to do. Occasionally, one of them lights up and you stare down at it almost in wonder, getting to know exactly what time it was without needing to get up and go to the kitchen to look at the stove clock, or crane your neck to see the digital clock on Yunho’s nightstand. But it’s rude to touch someone else’s property, so you resist tapping on the screen to bring it to life, just so you can see the time again.
You’re in the middle of a stale lull in a primarily one-sided conversation. San hasn’t said much since he found out the truth of the situation – you weren’t in danger, Yunho wasn’t asleep, you had no intentions of escaping. It was all a charade. He keeps his head down, legs itching to run out of there as fast as he can, his mind berating him over and over again at how foolish he is.
Mingi knows the routine by now, and he just sits quietly, waiting to do whatever he is told to do by Yunho. Obviously, he had been called here first. The reason behind the call to get Mingi here had been different, however. It was you on the other line as well, but you weren’t begging for a hero. When he heard your voice on the other line he knew it was a scheme of some kind. You’d simply asked him to come over. You said you wanted him there with you. At first he made an excuse, saying that it would be hard to sneak out without Hongjoong and Seonghwa seeing him leave the dorm, but when he looked outside of his door and saw them asleep, he didn’t lie to you and say they were still awake. He could’ve. What would Yunho have done to him then? Mingi just wanted to avoid getting in another carving situation if possible, and lying to Yunho would’ve probably stamped his ticket back there. At least he believed so.
And that’s exactly what Yunho wants: fear. Control. Absolute power.
San’s a bit restless, eyes still exploring the unfamiliar surroundings, averting his gaze from you as much as possible, and yet curious to look closer and find out just what exactly it is about you that caused Yunho to do all of this. He wanted to believe he could still help you, and help the group as a result. But it’s clear now: the thought of rescue, and the hope he’d harbored for a fleeting moment, was all a facade. The guilty look on your face when you and Yunho walked out of his bedroom had told him all he needed to know about the reality of all of this.
Yunho shrugs when no one says anything in response to him. He’d been wondering aloud, hypothesizing and visualizing Hongjoong’s reaction to the fact that they were both here. San especially. You’re staring at your lap still, one of your thumbs absentmindedly running along the smooth side of a phone case, the softness of it providing you a small comfort. Of course, you feel partially responsible for Hongjoong’s torment, and Mingi’s and San’s as well. While you’re at it, might as well throw all seven of them into your apology too.
Yunho’s eyes flicker over to you again and he watches you fidget with the phones. As if he hasn’t been planning something for the night all along, he fakes a defeated sigh.
“You know,” he starts, voice deceptively light, “I almost feel bad for him. Really. Hongjoong’s been working himself to death trying to ‘protect’ everyone, and yet… look where you are. Willingly too.”
“Shut up, Yunho,” San snaps, blood boiling, “keep Hongjoong’s name out of your mouth.”
Yunho levels San with just his eyes, his lips curling into something halfway between a smirk and a sneer. “You didn’t even hesitate when she called. Didn’t question it, just ran straight here. Honestly, I didn’t think it would be that easy.”
San glares at him, teeth clenched so tight his jaw trembles. “You had to trick us to get us here,” he bites down on each word, “you used her. Is that what you call ‘willing’?”
Yunho laughs quietly, genuinely amused by San trying to snap back at him. It was reminding him of Mingi trying to do the same thing before he got corrected. He gets up off the couch and takes a step closer to him, and though San doesn’t shrink away, his shoulders stiffen.
“Don’t act like you’re some kind of savior, Sannie. You came running because you wanted to believe you could still fix something. But you can’t.”
San’s glare falters for half a second, just enough for Yunho to notice. The satisfaction flickers across Yunho’s face like a spark catching dry grass. It’s more than enough to kindle the arrogant flame within him. There’s blood in the water, and Yunho can smell it from miles away.
Mingi watches it all from the corner of his eye, head down, trying to think past the pounding in his ribs. Every instinct tells him to stay quiet – to not make this worse. Yunho’s not just talking; he’s watching, cataloguing every twitch, every reaction. Dangerously analytical and observant. Nothing will go unnoticed.
Yunho looks at you next, eyes darkening. “Hongjoong hasn’t even stopped to factor you in, has he? Always so eager to please me. So willing to do whatever I ask of you to help me get anything I want.”
You manage a small grin, and Yunho catches it, his smile sharpening.
“Not like she has much of a choice.” San bites again, sick of Yunho’s delusional based arrogance.
Oh shit. You gulp, now watching Yunho, preparing yourself for his reaction. If there is one thing he dislikes most, it is any of them questioning him when it comes to how he treats you. He knows what he’s doing. They have no say in the matter whatsoever. Again, he’s doing this for them, goddammit! Ungrateful bastards, all of them. His jaw twitches, and it’s painfully obvious that San has hit a nerve.
And you and Mingi know full well what comes next when someone talks back. Mingi touches San’s arm as a silent warning.
“Don’t.” He whispers. But it’s too late.
“You know what? C’mere, baby. Maybe you can help make a point for me.” Yunho holds his hand out for you to take, which you do of course.
With his hand in yours, he helps you stand from the couch, and you look up at him now too, your body stiffening slightly. Mingi cards a hand through his hair – this seems more familiar. He isn’t sure he can withstand another night spent in the guestroom, listening to him drag San down to his level. Not that he has much of a choice if that’s what Yunho wants to happen.
“Sannie doesn’t believe you want this of your own volition. Maybe I should show him what you were doing last night?”
Your eyes widen like saucers, and you gasp, knowing full well he will. But you can’t say ‘no’ to him. All you can do is grip his shirt in your hands, silently begging him not to. He just smirks down at you in a silent response of his own. Both Mingi and San can see the way your cheeks immediately flush bright red, and how frightened you look. Maybe not ‘frightened’ per say, but definitely nervous that Yunho will follow through on his suggestion. They have no idea what Yunho is talking about though, and are unsure if they want to find out.
Yunho just tucks your hair back behind your ear.
“Wanna show Sannie instead?”
“Yes, Daddy.” Anything but showing them the video. You’d gone through enough humiliation by now. You can’t imagine the look on poor San’s face if he was made to watch it. Nor Mingi’s.
He hums, kissing your forehead softly. “Mingi first,” he whispers, ensuring only you can hear him, “show Sannie what he could have.”
At first, you’re surprised that he’s letting Mingi have you first, but you suppose ever since… that day, there’s been a small guilty conscience following Yunho around. Additionally, Mingi has been pretty ‘good’, according to Yunho’s standards since then as well. Perhaps his probationary period is over.
Maybe it’s a peace offering of sorts.
Yunho’s gaze lingers on the two men on the couch, then shifts back to you. He doesn’t even need to say it now.
You nod once, slow to move away from him, walking the short distance over to the two men only to drop down to your knees between them. San stares at you like you’ve suddenly grown two additional heads. You turn to look at Yunho over your shoulder, silently seeking permission to begin. Once he gives you the ‘go ahead’, you turn back and go for Mingi.
At first it’s hard to move under the combined weight of both of their gazes. But you push yourself forward, settling directly in front of him. You lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his knee, parting the other with your hand to make room. His breath catches in his throat. He makes no move to touch you, wary of Yunho. Any and all touch will come from you and you only.
Mingi swallows hard. His mind is working a mile a minute as he watches you kneeling in front of him. If they resist, Yunho wins. If they do nothing, Yunho wins. There’s only one way to make it through this without getting hurt again. He just hopes San catches on.
His eyes squeeze shut for a moment, abandoning himself entirely.
He then exhales shakily and opens his eyes, looking first towards you, then to Yunho. “Thank you,” he mutters, voice low but steady and loud enough to be heard.
Yunho perks up. “For what?”
“For…” he clears his throat, “giving me another chance. It’s very kind of you.”
It’s the first time in quite a while that Yunho’s smile actually looks genuine, almost like he’s relieved. “Of course, Min.”
San blinks, staring in complete bafflement at his friend. He knows he might just be playing along to stay out of trouble, but thanking Yunho? It makes him sick.
Mingi looks at San for a split second out of the corner of his eye. There’s something else hidden beneath his expression that Yunho cannot see. But thankfully, San sees it right away.
It’s not surrender. It’s strategy.
Your hands shake slightly as you drag your hands up and down his thick thighs. He takes a deep breath, affected by your touch, but able to keep his composure. Still, San doesn’t move. For what reason, no one is sure, even San, but he solely keeps his gaze either on you, Yunho, or the floor.
Not looking to waste time nor drag this out any longer, your hands creep up to the waistband of Mingi’s sweatpants. He helps you by lifting his hips up just enough so you can coax them down, revealing a growing tent in his boxers. Part of him hates himself for doing this in front of San, another part of him echoes Yunho’s words from that night: “...you guys could’ve said no. You could’ve left.” San can leave right now. He can stand right up and walk out the door – no one will stop him. Maybe a sly remark or two will be thrown his way, but that would be the worst of it. Yunho knows better than to go beyond that when it comes to persuading each of them to partake in his sick little fantasy he’s curating. So he’ll take this one tonight, give San time and an out, play a nauseating compliant role, live with the guilt of you pleasuring him again.
The pressure of your small, warm palm against him sends a shudder through him that he can’t hide or contain. How long has it been since you’ve been allowed to touch him like this? Too fuckin’ long. You scoot in closer on your knees, applying more pressure onto his clothed length, even letting some spit drip down onto the fabric, just to mess with him a little. His hands clench into fists from the strain of holding himself back when your hands finally pull his boxers down as well, his cock heavy as it bobs up once freed. You grip his length and slowly begin to stroke him, spitting onto the tip and letting it run down. Mingi already is close to panting, but he makes himself take deep breaths whenever he remembers to. His mind wanders back to that time in the shower. He has to look.
His whole body tenses when he looks down at you, your hand so small around him, long eyelashes dusting the tops of your cheeks as you rest your head against one of his thighs. Your mouth is so tantalizingly close to his dick that he just wants to push you closer by the back of your head. Luckily for him, you’re just as impatient. You’re not sure how far Yunho will make you two go, but hopefully if he lets this go further, maybe he’ll let you cum tonight. But in order for that to happen, you know you have to earn it first. Eager to prove you deserve it, you lick a slow, long, wet stripe up his entire length, only to wrap your lips around the tip. You fall into routine, humming around him at his familiar taste, your hand still grips him at the base, massaging and stroking him as your mouth envelops him more than halfway down. When your nose hits your hand, you hum around him again, and his hips buck upwards, accidentally shoving more of his cock down your throat. You splutter and cough, and he pulls you off by your hair, giving your throat a break for a moment.
“See, Sannie? If you just behaved like Mingi you could be getting her mouth too.”
In all honesty, for a minute you forget San is right there next to him until your eyes open to find him looking straight at you. His face is red, and his whole body is tense. You cough again, dragging your soft lips up Mingi’s cock, worshipping it. Knowing Yunho will love this, you maintain eye contact with San as you take Mingi deep into your mouth again. A whimper escapes you when he breaches the back of your throat, but you breathe through your nose and calm your racing heart just like Yunho taught you. San finally tears his gaze away from you at the sound, his morbid curiosity having gotten the better of him in that moment. You close your eyes again once he looks away, focusing solely back on Mingi.
“Min, keep your eyes open.” Yunho instructs, expression unreadable but not hostile. It’s clear he’s testing him now, seeing just how compliant he’ll be.
Mingi listens, keeping his gaze locked on you. His hand brushes through your hair, occasionally lingering on the back of your head like he wants to push you down and hold you there. Your mouth is so soft and warm around him, and he can feel himself leaking into your throat. The obscene noises your throat makes make your cheeks heat up, but to Yunho and Mingi it only charges the atmosphere of the room even more. He watches you handle him like he’s worth millions, your little pink tongue kitten-licking the tip every so often, making him twitch and shiver as an immediate result. You grin in between licks, knowing the effect you have on him. He has the same one on you.
Again, he has that horrible little intrusive thought: Yunho has trained you so well.
He groans deeply, his hips threatening to buck up again. You press down on his hipbone with your free hand, moving even closer to him if possible. You take your hand around his cock away and slow your pace down almost to a halt. Slowly, inch by inch, you take him all the way down your throat until your nose is pressing up against his lower stomach. Mingi sinks back further into the couch, his head resting against the back of it.
From behind you, Yunho hums, “Good girl, there you go.”
His praise sends a shiver down your spine. You can feel how tense San is even though you’re not touching him. He’s barely breathing. Mingi, still unclear of his limits when it comes to you, hides you from San’s view a little, using one of his large hands to cup your cheek, threading his fingers in your hair. You lean into his palm, sighing through your nose. The tension in the room is palpable, an unspoken energy that could be cut with a knife. Mingi’s hand in your hair tightens slightly, guiding your movements as you continue. San’s breath hitches, and you know he’s still watching, even if he can’t see everything.
None of them look away from you. Even when Mingi’s eyelids turn heavy, and his eyes threaten to roll back at the intense pleasure you’re giving him, he’s determined to not look away. He shuts the two others out. It’s just you and him. His focus on you is unwavering, his grip tightening even more as he loses himself in the moment. The intensity of his gaze and the way his body reacts make it clear that, in this instant, nothing else matters but the connection between you. Likewise, your primary focus is on him. Of course, needing to do well in front of Yunho is always on your mind, but in order to do that, you have to turn all of your thoughts and attention into whoever you’re with.
You can tell he’s close. The telltale signs are there without him needing to verbalize it. You know. His breathing becomes less rhythmic, and his hand flexes in your hair, signaling his impending release. You double down, drawing him closer to the edge. A couple unchecked moans and other small sounds escape him, and his body begins to tremble due to your administrations. The sounds coming from your mouth are filthy, pornographic in nature.
Remembering to ask, he fights back another moan before asking Yunho where he’s allowed to cum. Mercifully, Yunho doesn’t make him wait for an answer.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his legs. “In her mouth is fine.”
Turns out sucking up to Yunho – or at least pretending to as self-preservation – has its bonuses. Mingi twitches at your response to that, a small hum around him, hollowing your cheeks around his length to encourage him further.
As he finally lets go, you feel the intensity of the moment reverberate through both of you. He tastes just as good as you remember, filling your mouth as you slowly pump him, milking him for every drop of cum he has to give. Mingi's body relaxes as he lets out a deep, shaky breath, his hold on your hair loosening gently. You both take a moment to catch your breath, the air heavy with the remnants of shared intensity. He wipes the corner of your mouth with his thumb before pushing it into your mouth for a few seconds, relishing on the feeling of you sucking on that as well. You peek over your shoulder at Yunho again, mouth still closed, keeping Mingi’s cum on your tongue.
“Swallow it, baby.” He says, his eyes darkening. You obey immediately, showing your now empty mouth to both Yunho and Mingi. They groan at the sight, Mingi petting your hair and praising you under his breath. His ribs start hurting again now that he’s coming down from his high, and he realizes he’s been breathing a bit too deeply while his adrenaline took over. He winces as he straightens up, tucking himself back into his underwear and sweatpants. He slumps back against the couch, hand over his ribs as he pants and occasionally groaning from the aftershocks.
You’ve since moved over to San, albeit cautiously.
Yunho leans back, his foot resting on his opposite knee as he watches his favorite show.
“I’m sorry for lying to you, Sir. I wanna make it up to you.” You dare to look up at San.
The bewilderment and fear in his expression is more than obvious as he watches you shift closer towards him. You can’t meet his eyes for more than a split second. Though a few attempts are made to do so, you just can’t bring yourself to this time. You’re not sure why, however it may be because Mingi is right there. Like with the others, you whisper a tiny, barely audible apology to him and gently run your hands up his thighs as well. Your mascara ran a little bit during your time with Mingi, coating the skin just underneath your eyes black.
He’s too shocked to move away for now, though he desperately wants to. Realizing this is exactly what happened to his groupmates, it dawns on him like a rude awakening. Ever the gentleman his family raised him to be, he can’t make himself shove you away. Add in the fear of what Yunho will do if he refuses you, and the imagery of Mingi’s arm in the group chat, and you get a freeze response. And admittedly, watching you with Mingi had turned him on, though he feels absolutely horrible about it. But hey, he’s just a man.
But when your hands stray a bit too close to his crotch, he reacts abruptly.
Dangerously.
“Don’t–!” He exclaims. Your hands are shoved back with such force you have to catch yourself on the floor. You yelp, moreso from shock, and whimper when you feel a sharp pain run up your wrist, landing on your hand at a weird angle. He almost kicks you, moving back further into the couch to get away from you, bringing his feet up onto the cushions so you can’t touch him like that anymore. Mingi jolts in surprise, quickly looking back and forth between San and Yunho, not expecting San to push you away like that.
Shame rattles through you, permeating deep in your marrow. You feel… disgusting. The way San is looking at you only exacerbates that feeling. You look back at Yunho again, and he visibly tenses, having not seen that look on your face in quite some time. That pained, self-conscious look.
“That’s enough, princess. Come back to me.” Yunho says flatly, his sharpened gaze never leaving San once.
If looks could kill, San would be a dead man.
You quickly push yourself up off the floor, already starting to cry, and hurry back to his side, hiding your face behind his shoulder.
Mingi stops breathing. Talking back is one thing. Pushing you is quite another. He dares to look at Yunho, unprepared for the violence he is sure is coming. Trying to glean anything in regards to what he’ll do is useless. Yunho locks onto San like a heat-seeking missile. His eyes follow every miniscule movement, and his jaw clenches so hard he feels like he’ll break some molars any second. With practiced, yet fragmented control, he inhales deeply, letting you hide behind him, and he lifts one of his hands to pet your hair as you try not to cry. You don’t want to get San in trouble, but it’s already far too late for that.
His eyes are dead again.
“San, go wait in Mingi’s room.” Using his actual name instead of ‘Sannie’ is not a good sign. Even his voice is deadened, monotone. Lifeless and cold.
San stands shakily, knowing he just punched his ticket. If Yunho didn’t kill him tonight, Hongjoong sure as hell will. He turns to Mingi, helpless, not knowing the layout like he does.
“Behind you.” Mingi clarifies before he can even ask.
Their eyes meet for a fraction of a second – enough for Mingi to plead silently: don’t fight back.
He hesitates for a moment longer, not wanting to accept his fate before finally turning and disappearing into the guestroom, shutting the door behind him.
There’s a long pause once the door clicks shut.
“Did he hurt you, baby?” Yunho asks you, every syllable clipped. It’s evident he’s trying to keep himself as calm as possible, so as to not make you think his anger is directed towards something you did. But it’s also clear that he’s about ten seconds away from blowing up.
The ghost of San’s shove still lingers on your skin. Do you condemn him to a fate probably worse than Mingi’s? What would he do to him? None of them had shoved you or touched you like that before…
You cradle the wrist you fell onto, trying to stop crying. You keep yourself hidden behind him, not wanting Mingi to see you condemn his friend. Though you don’t respond verbally, Yunho feels you nod against his shoulder.
And that seals it.
But he doesn’t launch into action just yet. He looks back at Mingi, face still flushed and body twitching every so often from the aftershocks of his orgasm. He does his best to comfort you by kissing you on the forehead, whispering reassurances to you.
Daintily brushing his fingers along your jaw, he murmurs, “Princess, go lie down and rest for me. I’ve gotta talk to Mingi about something. Daddy will bring you something for your wrist in just a minute, okay?”
Acknowledging that you heard his direction with a pitiful “Okay, Daddy”, you sniffle and try to compose yourself. You’re embarrassed beyond measure, though again you’re not sure why. Probably because it was blatant sexual rejection. You wipe away your tears with your non-injured wrist and shakily stand from the couch, trudging back into Yunho’s room. Once that door shuts, and your blubbering becomes muffled, Yunho’s hands clench into fists.
“You know what, Min?” He says, laughing without humor, “Funnily enough, I’m starting to think you’re the only person I can trust with her.”
Unsure of how to respond, Mingi just remains quiet.
Yunho continues, “Sure, I thought you were crossing a line with her, but at least I know you’d never hurt her.” His gaze wanders back to the door, burning holes through it.
“And I’m sorry for that,” Mingi says, “for forgetting my place here. I got too carried away, started thinking I knew better than you. I confused compassion for something else.” He swallows hard, forcing his voice to stay level. “You were right to correct me. I needed to remember who’s in control.”
A smile tugs faintly at the corner of Yunho’s mouth – not warmth, exactly, but satisfaction. He leans back, studying Mingi as if weighing the sincerity behind the words.
“And do you remember now?” he asks quietly.
Mingi meets his eyes just long enough to sell it. “Yes. I do.”
Yunho nods once, slow and pleased. “Good. Because I don’t like repeating lessons.”
“I understand.”
“You’ve done well, though. Owning up. Taking responsibility. That’s the kind of maturity I respect.”
Mingi nods again, forcing himself to look up at Yunho. If resistance only tightens the leash, then maybe compliance can loosen it.
After another pause, Yunho says, “I think I’ll let you have your privileges back. Supervised, of course… but I think you’ve earned that much.”
Mingi bows his head in gratitude, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you.”
He doesn’t look up again until he knows that Yunho had turned away. The moment he does, his eyes flicker with something Yunho doesn’t catch – not relief, not gratitude. Just quiet resolve. There is a large part of him that’s relieved that Yunho trusts him again, and a smaller yet prominent part that despises what he’s had to say and do so far to gain that trust back again. What he will have to say and do as well.
And speaking of…
“You’ll handle him for me, won’t you?”
It’s not a question, it’s an expectation. A test masquerading as trust. A chance for Mingi to prove himself as a mindless, loyal follower. Yes, Yunho, of course I’ll physically threaten one of my best friends for you.
Mingi’s throat closes. Every part of him screams no, but he forces his head to move up and down. He knows he has to agree to keep this fragile trust intact.
“Yes.”
Yunho nods once, satisfied. “Good.”
He looks up towards one of the cameras and then back down to Mingi. The unspoken message is clear: he’ll be watching. He has to do it.
Yunho stands up, pausing for a fraction of a second, staring at the guestroom door before heading into the kitchen to retrieve an ice pack for you. Mingi stands too, slowly so as to not trigger another sharp stabbing pain in his side, and wipes his sweaty palms against his sweatpants. He turns towards the door to the guestroom, knowing exactly what waits behind it. What will happen behind it. He tries to come up with different ways he can avoid actually hurting San, but making it look like he has. Unfortunately for the both of them, he’s coming up short.
San’s defiance had been brave. Stupid, but brave. No one else had said 'no' before. And now it’s Mingi’s job to fix it – or at least make it look like he did, if he can manage to fool Yunho. Which he doubts. No, in the unblinking red eye of the cameras, he’s going to have to put on a real show.
Mingi jumps about a mile in the air when he feels Yunho touch his shoulder. It’s like getting struck by lightning; his heart stops in its tracks, his hair stands on end. He turns to look at him.
“Make sure he understands where he went wrong.”
The handle of a knife is pressed into his hand.
And with that, he’s gone from the room too, leaving Mingi standing alone, the weight of the order sinking into him like a stone dropped into deep water, pulling him down before he can take a breath. The cold handle of the knife burns his skin, and memories wash over him like a tidal wave before he can even attempt to keep them at bay.
It’s the same one.
The sharp end of it points directly towards the door, as if egging him on. Seeking its target, already knowing where he is. The last of the air in his lungs escapes him involuntarily. His arm feels like it’s being reopened, and he wouldn’t be surprised to see blood dripping down onto the floor.
Trembling with a heavy dread he’s never had to bear before, he turns the knob and pushes the door open, not ready at all for what he has to do.
And neither is San.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
San jolts at the sound of someone outside the door.
He’d been standing in the middle of Mingi’s room almost in amazement; it was almost similarly furnished to his actual room in the dorm. Only a couple items were missing like most of his clothes, and his laptop, and of course the different bedding. But even the position of the bed itself was the same, a desk in the same spot, his extra pair of headphones, an outrageously expensive plushie San had trouble fathoming why or how it could be that costly. In fact, all of them had given him shit about it – purely all in good fun. Must be why he keeps it here, he thinks with a small grin.
He didn’t mean to push you. He panicked. In that moment, he was so overwhelmed, afraid, baffled, an amalgamation of emotion. Yunho should know full well San would never push or shove anyone except in fun. And even then, it would be light. He’d never hurt you on purpose. But Yunho doesn’t see that. He sees that San pushed you, and that’s all he will focus on. End of story.
While he waited, he replayed the morning he found out about all of this, as he often does. However, this time, he imagined it was him. Every story he’s heard about Yunho and what he’s done, what he’s seen so far, his mind spins and creates with how he’ll be the next example. There’s no doubt in his mind. And what he keeps circling back to is imagining the look on poor Hongjoong’s face. He’s already at the end of his rope, and no one is quite sure how much more he can take. San certainly is not doing him any favors by being here. Somewhat voluntarily, at that.
So when the door opens, and he fully expects it to be Yunho, it only worsens the ache in Mingi’s heart that San looks so relieved at the sight of him instead. Out of habit, he side-eyes the cameras. Each of them jeer at his misfortune, laughing at how clueless San is. Mingi’s presence instead of Yunho’s isn’t a saving grace. It’s a placeholder for the real thing.
San realizes that all too late when Mingi shoves him up against the door, a rather large knife held up to his throat. Mingi presses hard enough for him to try and pry him off, but not enough to cut him. Not enough to make it real, but just the right amount to get him to react accordingly. The look of utter betrayal in San’s eyes sears into Mingi’s memory. His mouth opens in confusion, eyes flashing between anger and disbelief.
“Min, what the hell–?!”
“Don’t. Just listen to me.” Mingi grits out, voice low and dangerous. The knife doesn’t move even one centimeter from where it lightly presses against his throat. “Don’t you ever put your hands on her like that.”
The words burn his tongue as he says them. He can feel the camera’s unblinking stare on the back of his neck, the invisible disciplinarian that keeps them both in check. Every syllable needs to sound real within earshot of it. He has to be convincing.
San pushes weakly against him, trying to get air, to get away from the cold steel of the knife, but Mingi leans in closer, jaw tightening.
“Do you hear me, San?” He bites, just loud enough for the microphones to catch. His breath shakes as it leaves him, but his tone stays sharp and controlled. “Touch her like that again, and you’ll get a hell of a lot worse than what I went through.”
He’d like to believe he’s showing San mercy, even if it’s hard to categorize this as anything but assault and threats of physical violence. On the surface, this is textbook betrayal. The ultimate mutiny, siding with the villain of the story whose reputation is notoriously violent and manipulative. Brother turning against brother. The list could go on.
He hates every word spilling out of his mouth, even if what he’s saying is true. Each word has to be forced out as soon as he thinks of them – he can’t afford to hesitate or hold back what he thinks Yunho will want to hear. San’s throat moves beneath the blade, a faint rasp escaping as he struggles to breathe evenly. Though the pressure Mingi applies isn’t meant to hurt, it still feels like too much. Every instinct in him screams to stop. To pull away. He wants San to put up a fight like he did, and walk away unharmed. They need a win.
But he doesn’t listen to instinct. He listens to what he’s been told to do. He knows Yunho wants to see hesitation, to catch the faintest flicker of rebellion in his eyes. One wrong twitch, one ounce of visible resistance, and he’d know it was all an act.
So Mingi keeps his face impassive. Keeps his grip firm on the handle, his elbow digging into San’s shoulder to keep him still. His tone stays steady and sharp.
But his eyes tell a different story.
San glares at him, his eyebrows knitting together as he searches Mingi’s face for any sign that will tell him that he doesn’t mean what he’s saying. He finds none. When he manages to speak, his voice comes out rough. Uncertain. He doesn’t believe what Mingi is saying or doing. Nor how he is acting. This isn’t like him at all…
“You’re not serious.” He says, but he’s not completely sure.
Mingi only presses harder against San’s throat, now cutting off much needed air. He doesn’t press the blade, but the handle instead. He doesn’t blink.
“Try me.”
Those two words land like large stones at San’s feet. A long silence stretches between them, thick enough to choke on. Mingi can practically feel the camera lens narrowing in on them, hungry for violence, waiting for him to take it further. He can’t. He won’t. This is as far down to Yunho’s level he will ever allow himself to go.
San’s eyes are wide, a profound hurt swimming just beneath the surface, but there’s something else too – an understanding. It’s faint, but it’s there. The smallest flicker that maybe, just maybe, San knows what this really is. Or, the message Mingi is passing along is being acknowledged and sinking in. No matter what he says, the underlying tone is the same: everyone has to be careful with how they treat you. Especially in front of Yunho.
He lets the tension drag just a second too long before stepping back. Once the pressure lifts from San’s throat, he coughs, rubbing at his neck to check for any blood and hunching over, eyes still locked on him in disbelief. Mingi doesn’t look away. He has to sell it to the end.
He pushes San down to his knees, ignoring his coughing and surprised yelp as he hits the hard wood. He takes one step back, angling his body ever so slightly so that the camera in the upper corner of the room can view everything.
“I just didn’t want her to touch me like that–” San tries to defend himself, not looking at him anymore.
“You think that matters?” Mingi flares. The words come out harsher than he meant them to, desperate for San to understand the gravity of what he’s done. Mingi’s not sure he completely understands how serious an offense he’s just committed. “You don’t want something, you say so. You will not do that again. Am I clear?”
San’s jaw locks, but he nods. Not particularly loving the lecture he’s being given from the younger man.
“Crystal.” He says through his teeth. Mingi almost falters, wanting so badly to tell him why he’s doing this. But he can’t. He has to continue. To push it one step further to satiate Yunho for now.
He exhales through his nose, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “Look at the camera.”
San hesitates. His eyes dart to the tiny red light glowing high in the corner. He’s trembling now, forced to acknowledge the camera dead on. Another devastating reminder that he’s being recorded. He’s being watched.
Mingi points right at it.
“Beg him to forgive you.” A small, almost audible to the camera waver in his voice is heard by San. He looks at him inquisitively. Little things like that that Mingi lets slip are adding up in San’s head, casting a hint of doubt that Mingi is actually betraying him, or any of the others. Hoping he’s right based solely on a slightly unsteady voice, he does as he’s told.
“I’m sorry,” San says finally, staring into the lens. The lump in his throat increases in size.
“Again,” Mingi mutters, quieter.
“I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have pushed her. Please forgive me, both of you… please. I promise I won’t ever do it again.”
Mingi forces himself to look away, jaw tightening as he listens to San’s trembling voice. It’s the only thing he can do to not shatter the act he’s putting on. His chest feels heavy. His grip on the knife loosens, like he wants to drop it as soon as possible.
He adds one more line because he knows Yunho will expect it. “You’ll treat her better next time?”
“Y-Yes.”
“Say it and mean it.”
San lets out a breath, similar to the one someone might exhale right before they start crying, “I promise I’ll treat her better.”
There’s a long silence after that. The kind that tastes like blood in the back of the throat. Treating you right can mean multiple things at once. Neither of them want to think about which one it’ll mean for next time.
“You don’t know how lucky you are, San.” Mingi says it before he can stop himself. It’s the most like himself that he’s sounded all night. Admittedly, there’s a small part of him that feels a bit resentful that San’s getting off so easily when he had to suffer so much. Arguably for something much less serious.
But it’s the truest thing he’s said to him so far. San is lucky. Because next time, it might not be Mingi who is sent to deal with him. Though he thoroughly doubts San will ever come back here again. Ever. Unless dragged, kicking and screaming. Nevertheless, in order to save him from his experience, this is what he has to do. Hopefully he’ll be able to explain himself later in private, where he knows Yunho can’t overhear, but right now he can tell it’ll be hard for San to even be near him after this.
He prays Yunho accepts his performance. At least if he does, this will have been for something.
He’s still catching his breath when the realization creeps up on him, slow and suffocating. He replays the moment – the way Yunho’s voice had been calm, measured. The faint satisfaction behind his order. You’ll handle him for me, won’t you?
At first, Mingi thought it was another one of his tests – a way for Yunho to see if he’d obey. But now, in the heavy quiet that follows, something clicks into place. The pieces line up too neatly, too profoundly: Yunho hadn’t made him do this because he wanted to see loyalty. He’d made him do it because if Mingi hadn’t… Yunho would’ve done it himself.
And San wouldn’t have come out of it alive.
It dawns on Mingi that Yunho asked him to do it so he wouldn’t kill him.
His hands are shaking so hard, San can’t help but notice. His throat tightens around a sigh he can’t release. The act’s over. He’s done what he needed to do – or rather, what Yunho wanted him to do. That should be enough.
Good, he thinks, bitterly. He got his show.
Mingi forces himself to take a step back, every muscle in his body stiff and aching from restraint. He’s careful not to let the exhaustion show in his face. Not to let his true feelings creep into his expression. This must be how you’ve been operating every single day.
As Mingi reaches for the doorknob, San flinches back. His eyes are still wide, whole body on alert, ready to defend himself from any more attacks to his throat. The knife is too close to him again. At this angle, Mingi leans in close enough for the camera to see but low enough for only San to hear.
“Just keep your head down,” he murmurs, voice barely audible, “please.”
It’s his voice again, not someone else’s words he was expected to recite. This was real.
When the door pushes open again, Mingi’s not surprised in the slightest when he sees Yunho already making his way back into the living room. A spike of fear of not being convincing enough stabs through Mingi, and he grabs San’s shirt to drag him out of the room.
San doesn’t put up a fight. He lets himself be manhandled into the room, shrinking under Yunho’s steely gaze.
He even stumbles a little as he’s pushed towards him. Once within reach, Mingi sets the knife down on the coffee table, not missing how it felt in his hand whatsoever.
Yunho looks San up and down. Analyzing, absorbing the confusion, the shock in his face. He had hoped Mingi would do a little more to discipline him, but… he can always do that himself later.
The quiet fury he felt hasn’t completely gone away yet.
Unbeknownst to Mingi, he was right: Yunho had to step away, go back to you and calm down enough to not want to kill him anymore. He’d seen red as he walked into his bedroom, your glossy eyes cast downwards at your wrist. He could barely look at you without feeling that familiar burn start to spark in his chest, the kind that always ends with an eruption if left unchecked. Or worse, provoked. He’d made himself sit down, count his breaths, press the heels of his palms into his eyes until the static ringing in his head faded to a low hum. You nuzzled into his shoulder, seeking comfort of your own, but also because you knew it would help him extinguish some of the fire that was raging through him.
“I’m okay, Daddy. Promise.” You whispered, kissing his shoulder for good measure.
But he cracked his knuckles and stared off into space, unblinking. “No you’re not,” he said in a monotone voice, looking down at your wrist again, “that fucker hurt you. He–” he had to cut himself off in the middle of speaking.
You attempt to roll your wrist, maybe to try and show him that you really were okay, but you wince when it gets to a certain angle. You cease all attempts to prove that you’re not hurt, as it’s only serving to make him angrier. The two best things to do in these types of situations are always: be quiet, be there for him. So you held his hand and promptly shut up. You leaned into him as he watched the camera feed on his laptop, your eyes closed.
You didn’t want to see.
With an icy kiss to the back of your hand, Yunho made you an even colder promise.
“I will never let anyone think they can touch you like that again.”
By penalty of death.
Now face to face with San again, Yunho feels that same anger flaring up again. Yunho’s jaw clenches tight, every ounce of self-control is working to stay his hand. But the more he looks at San, the more he’s reminded that you’re in his bed right now, gingerly resting your wrist on an ice pack, trying to hide your tears from him.
“That’s all, San.” He says, lethally calm like an emperor deciding to spare a gladiator’s life in the colosseum, “Go home.”
He tosses San’s phone onto the coffee table, and it lands with a loud bang!
San blinks once. Twice. Three times. Did he hear that correctly?
He doesn’t move at first. No one does. No one dares. San from fear, Mingi from experience. It was never this easy. They both wait specifically for the catch, the final word, anything more, but nothing else comes. What they do get is a noticeable rise in anger from Yunho, the longer San stays put.
Sparing one last look at Mingi out of the corner of his eye, San hurriedly snatches his phone and makes for the door, panic rising in his throat every second longer he stays in there. Even though Yunho doesn’t move towards him whatsoever, it feels like he’s chasing him down the hallway. San can’t breathe properly until the elevator doors close and send him back down. Each floor taking him further and further away.
The cold air outside swipes at him, trying to pull him apart as he walks through it. At times, he breaks into a run. Both to beat the cold, and to put even more distance between him and that place. He just wants to go home. He needs to be home now. He’ll take the lecture from Hongjoong anyday, no matter how severe it will be.
Around the corner from the dorms, he finally has the thought to check his phone.
Eighteen missed calls from Wooyoung. Five texts from Yeosang. Three from Jongho. Two voicemails from Seonghwa.
Nothing from Hongjoong.
Somehow, that’s worse than anything.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Walking back into the dorms, he’s hit full force with a frantic Wooyoung, nearly tackling him in a hug as soon as he crosses the threshold. The entire dorm comes alive with questions, loud voices overlapping each other, each one fighting for an answer first. It takes him a minute to realize everyone is there now – Jongho and Yeosang must have come over while he was gone. The thought reignites the avalanche of guilt, that they were called to make sure they didn’t leave either. But it’s nothing compared to how he feels when he sees Hongjoong.
He stands apart from the others, Seonghwa, as always, by his side. Ever still the parents of the group. He doesn’t look away from San, nor does the cold glare subside one bit when their eyes meet. Wooyoung is still clinging to him, demanding to know what happened, voice cracking between relief and panic, but San can’t hear any of it. Everything narrows to Hongjoong. In the meantime, he placates Wooyoung by mumbling a half-hearted, “I’m fine”, ignoring his questions about why his throat is so red.
Meeting Hongjoong’s eyes again, he finds he can’t bring himself to explain anything. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. What could he even say? That he’s sorry? That he thought he was helping? That he didn’t even think twice before running there like an idiot? Every excuse that flashes through his head sounds pathetic before it even reaches his tongue.
Hongjoong finally moves, slow and deliberate, pushing past Wooyoung and Yeosang until he’s standing right in front of him. The exhaustion etched into his face makes San’s stomach twist – the insane amount of stress and lack of sleep manifest in the deep, dark circles under his eyes, and in the way he can barely stand without shaking.
He grabs San by the shoulder, nails digging into his skin through his hoodie, “Why would you ever go there? Why?”
San’s mouth dries instantly. Now’s the time to pick the best excuse, but he can’t bring himself to lie to him. The truth is terrifyingly plain and simple. He tears his gaze away from Hongjoong’s, unable to look him in the eyes after what he’s done.
“I… she called me.”
“Yes, I know,” Hongjoong says, his voice raising slightly, looking at Wooyoung from the corner of his eye, “but my question remains the same: why the fuck would you go there without telling anyone?”
San shifts his weight, bowing his head. “She begged me to help her…”
Seonghwa crosses his arms across his chest, one of his hands rubbing his temples as he listens.
“Wouldn’t the first person she calls be Mingi, and not someone she hasn’t met yet?” Hongjoong asks, fighting to keep his emotions under control. He’s close to failing.
The mention of Mingi’s name makes him subconsciously rub at his throat again, the phantom pains of being held up against the door coming back as he recalls the memory.
“She– she said she just clicked on the first name she saw, hyung. I’m sorry–”
“Bullshit, your name was first. Fucking think, San!” Hongjoong pushes him back by the shoulder, every bottled emotion finally exploding out of him at once for all to see. Yeosang steps back further, away from the eruption. Jongho and Wooyoung do as well, getting further from the blast zone, away from the shrapnel as their leader unravels before them. Seonghwa doesn’t move, eyes wide and fearful. It’s rare that Hongjoong raises his voice to this level, that he gets pushed over the edge into a freefall.
No one knows quite what to do but to let the flames die out naturally.
He just has to burn first.
San’s heart is in his throat now, beating him from the inside out and choking him.
Hongjoong continues, “What if he had hurt you like he hurt Mingi? You know I can’t call the police, you know that I can’t protect you–”
He turns away from him abruptly then, hiding his face as tears race to his eyes. It’s one thing to hear it from someone else, another to hear it inside his head, but something else entirely to say it out loud. To admit defeat.
At that moment, San realizes it isn’t anger behind Hongjoong’s tone. It’s fear.
Fear that they’re losing. Fear that he’s losing control. Fear that maybe he’s already lost it. Or never even had it to begin with.
“I can’t stand this anymore,” Hongjoong admits, the words falling out of him like they’ve been clawing their way up for days, “I can’t stand knowing I let this happen to all of you… I can’t do it.”
The message echoes and dies against the walls.
The air in the dorm stills, the intense silence settling like the aftermath of an atomic bomb. The fallout seeps into their clothes, their skin, their lungs, covering them head to toe and inside out. A shaky, broken exhale forces its way out of Hongjoong’s chest, and he covers his mouth to try and force it back in.
No one knows what to do, nor what to say. Even Seonghwa, who stands as still as stone behind his best friend, is unsure on how to navigate this.
Hongjoong only feels worse that he’s made everyone uncomfortable, and he turns away, hiding his face in his hands as he tries to pull himself together. But it’s too late, everything that he’s repressed is coming out, demanding to be felt, seen, and heard with or without witnesses. Seonghwa finally is able to step forward, wrapping his arms around the poor leader and gingerly bringing him into a hug.
They stay like that, the dorm quickly becoming a museum of statues. Everyone sits with their own thoughts and feelings in the fallout.
“Come on,” Seonghwa murmurs after a few minutes, low enough that only Hongjoong can really hear, “you don’t have to fix it right now.”
He nods towards his room, only as a suggestion. If he’d like to stay out here with them, he won’t push him against it. But Hongjoong lets his hands fall to his sides, head still bowed and turns towards Seonghwa’s door. Without another word, he guides the crumbling man from the room with a practiced gentleness, and an innate protectiveness for those he loves most. He blocks him from view as much as he can, all the while telling him that ‘it’s okay’ under his breath. Once he opens the door, he turns back to look at the other four. An unspoken ‘don’t move’ is clear in his expression, even if he doesn’t say it outright. They hear it loud and clear nonetheless.
Once the two of them are out of the room, the others exhale the breaths they’ve been holding. Wooyoung finally breaks the stillness of the room by collapsing onto the living room chair, slumped further down than one would sit normally. Jongho begins to pace, every once in a while looking up at San before quickly looking away. Neither Yeosang and San move yet. Yeosang watches San, San watches the floor. His head is swimming, vision blurring. He needs to sit down and have a drink of water, but it’s like there’s a concrete block weighing his feet down. Rooted to the spot. He blinks and suddenly feels Yeosang’s hand on one of his wrists and an arm wrapping around his shoulders, keeping him upright. The adrenaline crash nearly makes him pass out, not trusting his feet to hold his weight as he’s guided to the couch to sit and take deep breaths.
The silence that follows is thick and disoriented. They’re all waiting for someone to fill it, but… the person who usually would is currently out of commission. No one will volunteer. No one wants the job. To take it from Hongjoong is to tell him that they no longer trust him with the position, when in fact he’s the only one that could possibly save them. They need their guiding light, the one they’ve poured their trust in all these years to do what’s best. As of right now, they’re rudderless.
A ship without a captain…
Behind the left ajar door of Seonghwa’s room, he sits his best friend down on his bed, crouching in front of him.
“What do you need most right now?”
Hongjoong doesn’t answer immediately. His eyes flicker towards the door they came through, registering the lack of voices outside. They need him. He knows. It’s so tempting to put on another brave face, but he’s already worn through his inventory. The lie sits right there, at the tip of his tongue, waiting to be said.
Making a decision of any kind is too overwhelming.
“I need to not be the leader. Just for a couple hours.” He may as well practice. Mr. Kim’s criticism still rings in his ears, buzzing around him like a mosquito.
Seonghwa nods once, with no hesitation. “Then you’re not.”
No question. No judgement.
“Do you need me to stay?” Seonghwa asks, ready to stay and begin this Everest climb of damage control, or to disappear like smoke. Like he was never here. Whatever he needs, he’ll do it quickly, and without question or judgement. All he waits on is his word.
He only receives a small, barely noticeable shrug in response. But he can work with that. Although it’s not often that Hongjoong doesn’t say outright exactly what he wants, Seonghwa is a good reader of body language and he knows his friend like the back of his hand.
He rephrases his question, “Would you like to be alone for a minute?”
It’s less pressure, less judgement. And it pays off. Hongjoong nods, wiping under his eyes with his sleeve, wanting nothing more than a softer silence. No more voices in his head than his own, even if the things he says to himself aren’t the prettiest. A chance to regroup, come back to himself if he can, knowing everyone is safe and within shouting distance so he can focus on being the leader they need him to be. There’s a part of him that screams at him to act now, to devise a perfect plan now, but it would be no use to push himself again. There’s simply no gas left in the tank for strategizing anything. So he looks up at Seonghwa, nodding again, this time more clearly. More sure of his decision.
“Okay,” Seonghwa says, his knees popping a little as he stands back up and heads towards the door, “we’ll be right outside if you need anything.” We. Such a small word makes a world of a difference. Letting him know that not just one person has his back, but all five, just beyond the door. They’ll do anything for him.
“Hwa…” he calls to him softly, right before he leaves. Seonghwa turns around, one hand staying on the doorknob, “tell San…”
He doesn’t have to say it.
“I’ll take care of it,” Seonghwa says, closing the door behind him.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
They were so quiet, Seonghwa didn’t even realize they were in the middle of a serious conversation just outside.
Wooyoung perks up when he notices his return, “Hyung, you won’t believe what San’s saying about–”
“I probably can.” Seonghwa interrupts with a sigh, setting himself down on the same couch he fell asleep on earlier, next to San and Yeosang. Nothing Yunho has done can really surprise him anymore after tonight.
At least, he hopes that remains the case.
“No,” Wooyoung insists, “it’s about Mingi.”
This piques his interest tenfold. What about him? What happened now? Seonghwa leans forward, keeping his eyes on the younger man. Wooyoung looks over at San, his hands clasped together, hunched forward with his elbows resting on his legs. Still, he stares at the floor, unsure of what to make of his memories.
“He…” he’s unsure how to put it, or how to begin relaying the information to him, “I don’t know, it’s like he was… suddenly on his side.”
Seonghwa blinks. “What do you mean?”
San quickly retells the story of what happened since the phone call that got him to leave in the first place, almost down to the minute. He skips around when it comes to Yunho having you give Mingi head mere feet from San. Touching on it, but not exactly giving him a play by play. He doesn’t miss the sharp intake of breath from Seonghwa when he admits that he may have pushed you away from him.
He can’t help but wonder how he’s sitting here, living to tell the tale.
“You did what we couldn’t do. You said ‘no’.” Seonghwa says eventually, after a brief pause, taking all the information in.
“In a suicidal way, yes.” Yeosang mutters under his breath.
San just ignores him and continues, “But anyway, it was Mingi who came in and… I guess ‘corrected’ me. And he seemed pretty damn serious about it.”
“It is pretty damn serious when you’re dealing with a fucking psychopath–” Wooyoung quips.
Jongho shushes him.
“Even his threats were serious-sounding…” San continues, “but I couldn’t help but feel that he didn’t genuinely mean anything he was saying. I know how he looks when he’s dead serious about what he says, and I didn’t see that at all. The volume was there, and the harsh words but… I don’t know. There was also something he said right before letting me out. He said, ‘just keep your head down, please’. Like after all that he did, he was trying to help me.”
Seonghwa leans back against the couch, mind working overtime to try and piece everything together. There was definitely something more to Mingi’s sudden switch in loyalty, he knew there had to be a good reason. Not just fear, but something more.
Please. That’s the word that stuck out the most. It wasn’t a warning nor a threat from Mingi, moreso a plea. He was begging him to keep quiet, stay small, get out as quickly as possible.
“There’s something more to it,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. “If Yunho was watching, Mingi wouldn’t risk saying anything that could look disobedient. So why say that at all?”
“You think it was some sort of hint?” Yeosang asks, looking around at the others to see if they’re asking the same question themselves.
Seonghwa doesn’t answer right away. He runs a hand down his face, feeling the exhaustion in his bones, the fog of too many sleepless nights. But through it, the pattern starts to emerge, everything lining up to make sense the more he thinks about it. If he’s right, and he prays that he is, then Mingi has started a dangerous game.
And they need to help him.
“He’s playing along,” Seonghwa says finally, his tone careful, like he’s testing the words out loud for the first time. “If Yunho thinks he’s got him back under control, Mingi can get closer. Gain his trust again.”
Jongho blinks. “You really think that’s what he’s doing?”
“I know that’s what he’s doing,” Seonghwa replies, a bit firmer now. “He knows Yunho better than any of us. He knows exactly how to act to make him believe it. There must be some sort of plan or strategy he has to gain his trust and get her out.”
The room shifts. Not in sound, but in energy. A fragile kind of hope begins to form, cautious and newly born.
San breaks the silence, his voice quiet. “We have to trust him.”
Seonghwa nods in agreement.
“We should ask him whenever he gets back.” Yeosang suggests, checking the time on his phone.
More nods of agreement. They won’t pass judgement yet, not until they hear from Mingi what they hope to be the truth.
The room is no longer tense, nor thick with fear. It’s anticipation, a glimmer of hope that they have been craving for a sign of. That fabled light at the end of the tunnel. No one wants to get their hopes up before they confront Mingi and get to the bottom of his behavior, but…
If San and Seonghwa are right, the first step to ending this has begun.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Yunho’s manager has been watching him for weeks. All of them, really. It’s his job to make sure his idol is at the top of his game, on time, the peak of his health, etc. It helps to be behind the scenes, an inside look on the group as the cracks begin to form. The way the whole room quiets when Yunho walks in, the subtle distancing in the dance practice room and during variety shows. The way Mingi flinches and has to calm himself down any time someone appears behind him unannounced.
He’s been hopeful that the hiatus will sort things out. But a week has already passed, and Yunho is nowhere to be found, once again. Only Hongjoong still comes to the KQ building, to lock himself in his studio and not come out until the sun rises again. Mingi had come in once, throwing his jacket onto the back of a chair in the practice room. He didn’t even practice, just sat there in peace and quiet. Nothing in here gave him trauma flashbacks. He locks the doors so no one can surprise him or interrupt him. It’s almost therapeutic. There are good memories within these walls. He focuses on them more than anything else, and it makes him feel like himself again. At least for a while.
Yunho’s manager had started to follow both Yunho and Mingi. Not every day, but just enough to see the patterns. Always the same route, the same apartment complex deep within the city, far from the dorms, far from the company.
Mingi rarely goes in unless Yunho’s already there.
The manager happened to be there the day that Mingi left his jacket in the practice room. He knew it wasn’t right to snoop, and he hadn’t meant to. He simply had picked it up, with every intention of putting it in Mingi’s studio so it’s safe. The jingling of keys in the pocket made him curious. At first, he assumed it would be his dorm key, but these ones didn’t look like those at all. Not even close.
This one had a number attached to it. He knows exactly what it stands for, too: the room number in that apartment.
Without thinking, he pockets it.
Yunho had told him that he was going to go visit his family for the week. He checks his phone. Yunho typically leaves his family home to come back to Seoul in the mid-afternoon to get ahead of rush hour traffic, and it’s already almost a quarter to six o’clock. There’s no text saying anything about coming back yet, so he assumes he’s still in Gwangju. And Mingi had poked his head into Hongjoong’s studio before he left, asking if he would like anything from the convenience store near the dorms.
It was now or never.
He knows it's technically breaking and entering. A tremendous breach of trust and privacy that he has sworn to protect, and not easily gained from Yunho.
But the hallway is empty. The key fits in the door perfectly. It opens without resistance, into the unfamiliar environment of a clearly lived-in area. The air inside feels stale, like it’s been trapped inside for months. The curtains are drawn tight, blocking the daylight. The interior is immaculate, like whoever owns the apartment cleans for sport every day. Everything appears almost normal, except for the faint trace of perfume and something metallic in the air. The walls, though painted white, are greyed by what they’ve seen. What they’ve been reluctant witnesses to.
Then he hears someone hurry to their feet from behind a door left slightly ajar. There’s no time to turn and run before you dash out to the common area, ready to greet Yunho home.
Or, who you thought was Yunho.
Your cheerful, “Hi, Daddy!” dies on your tongue as soon as it sinks in that… this is definitely not Yunho.
Once your eyes meet, you freeze in place. Your eyes are stuck wide, afraid to move or even make a sound, your cheery smile fades instantaneously. The two of you stare at each other, both wondering if the other is really here. The manager recognizes you immediately. It creeps up on him after months of not seeing your case in the public eye, but he knows who you are. The reddened marks around your wrists, and the gaunt, haunted look you wear permanently tell him everything he needs to know. The strange behavior from the group all makes sense now. They must all know about you. His face drains of color.
Your stomach churns violently. You’ve let someone see you. And the look on his face lets you know full well that he knows you’re not supposed to be here either.
“Y-you’re–” The man stammers, looking all around the apartment, suddenly registering how empty it is. How much like an oversized prison cell you’re both in.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket, rushing to dial the police.
Panicked, and frightened beyond comprehension, you take a step back. Yunho was literally due back any second, having just gone to the store to get food for you both so you could make dinner together. You were looking forward to something so… domestic. So close to a normal, cute relationship. Now it was all crumbling down. And if the police were notified, you’d be forced back out into the world. Ripped away from Yunho forever. The thought mortifies you.
“Please,” you whisper, but the urgency in your voice is akin to a scream, “please don’t, he’ll–”
If nothing else scared him, the look on your face as you see something over his shoulder chills him to the bone.
Instantly you drop down to your knees, face pale and body shaking uncontrollably. He pauses, his finger hovering over the call button on his phone. The police just one tap away. An end, so close it frightens you.
But it’s nothing compared to the horror of Yunho appearing in the doorway behind the stranger. At least, to you he was a stranger.
The man stumbles backward, nearly tripping over his own feet in shock. “Yunho–!”
“Hyung.” The word sounds like a threat itself. His voice is so dark, you’ve never heard him like this before. This is another level of angry Yunho. Somehow beyond fury, beyond rage. This was nuclear.
This was wrath.
“Doll.” Yunho snarls, stalking towards his manager like a wolf about to rip apart his prey, “Go to my room. Now.”
The last word hits like a bullet, causing you to sprint back where you came from, closing the door quickly. You hide on your side of the bed, furthest from the door. You bring your knees up to your chest, rocking yourself back and forth as a comfort, but nothing can possibly help you now. No matter how many deep breaths you take, you cannot stop shaking. The burns on your legs start to itch, reminding you of the fire. The lengths Yunho will go to punish you for something like this.
What could possibly be worse than setting the bed on fire?
Unfortunately, it dawns on you that you’re going to find out.
The muffled sounds of pleas and begs fall on two pairs of deaf ears. It’s selfish, but you just know whatever he does to him is mere child’s play compared to what awaits you. A sickening crack coming from the living room churns your already weakened stomach, and you press down on the center of your wrist, trying to find that pressure point that relieves nausea, if just a little bit. Your teeth begin to chatter, your heart rate quickly approaches mach speeds the more you think yourself into a spiral.
You desperately want someone to show up and hold you. Convince you beyond hope that you’re going to be okay. You stare at the door over your shoulder, willing someone to be on the other side, just about to open it and let you crawl into their awaiting arms, safe and warm.
But no one comes.
And no one will.
No one but Yunho.
The bedroom door bursts open, and you shriek in surprise at the sight of him.
Blood stains his hands, parts of his clothes, crawling about halfway up his forearms. There are small flecks of blood spatter across his neck, and along his right cheekbone. The strong scent of copper invades your nostrils, metallic and strong. You instinctively shrink further back as he stalks right up to you.
He crouches down directly in front of you, staring you down, his breathing erratic and heavy. There’s no emotion behind his eyes, only pure fire. Wrath.
“You let him see you.” It’s more of a statement than a question.
Your heart sinks all the way down to the lobby. Sheer panic engulfs you, like the fire almost did. Your skin crawls. The body remembers.
“I– I–” How will you charm your way out of this one, Y/N? You look up at him dumbly, about to make your excuses. Innocently, you thought it was him. No one else had a key to the apartment, it wasn’t outrageous that you would trust that it was him. The manager had caught you by surprise.
Suddenly, he yanks you up to stand by your hair. You bite back a yelp of pain, knowing far worse is heading straight for you.
“Bet you wanted him to see you. Call the police. You wanna leave me? Hm?” His fist flexes, burning your scalp as he pulls at your roots.
“No! No, Daddy, I don’t want to leave you, please, I promise–”
“You know,” he says with a humorless laugh, “you almost convinced me of that. But you’re just a lying little slut, aren’t you?”
Your vision blurs as tears spring to your eyes.
“No, Daddy, no– e-everything happened so–” you swallow, heart leaping into your throat in the middle of your sentence, “so fast, I– thought you– he was–”
It’s then that your head is violently turned to the side. The world is knocked sideways, and you don’t recall wanting to turn your head for any reason. You don’t even realize he had hit you until a few seconds later. Completely dazed, you blink in surprise.
He’s never punched you before. Ever. You cradle your cheek with a trembling hand, already feeling your jaw begin to swell. The pain blooms and pulses, discoloring your skin. Your eyes swim with tears now, flowing freely down your cheeks as you look back at him, stunned. Heartbroken.
“Daddy…” you try again, hands desperate to hold onto his shirt, pull him closer, convince him again, but he doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want you to touch him. He even smacks your hand away from him, keeping you at arm’s length like you’re contagious.
One more try. One more desperate plea. “I love you.”
Yunho’s jaw clenches.
“No, you don’t.”
You’re too busy trying to convince him otherwise, begging him silently with your eyes to believe you again, that you don’t notice what he holds in his other hand.
He presses it to your face, and your skin burns. You try to push whatever it is away, but you instantly go lightheaded the more you breathe in. It’s sweet. Sickly sweet, to the point of nauseating.
A violent rush of memories floods your brain. You’d met up with him somewhere… you can’t remember where. The music was deafening, not your scene. He was beautiful under the colored lights of the club. Maybe you had one too many drinks, but you felt off. The night was swirling around you, your face burned, you asked him to drive you home…
You woke up here.
He’s strong enough to keep you from moving him away from you at all. You try not to breathe for as long as you can, but that only exacerbates the situation. When your lungs force you to take a breath, they’re deep, inhaling as much of the toxins as they can before you restrict them again in a vicious cycle. You scream against the rag. But Yunho is deceptively patient. Especially when it comes to punishments.
WARNINGS: Explicit Language, Smut/Explicit Sexual Content, Filthy Sex (Everyone here is feral, and somehow the narratives are worse than the sex itself; Turn your brain off for this one please because this is meant to read like a pornhwa LMAO); Specific Content Tags and Warning Expansions are at the bottom (for the love of all things good please read them if there are things you have hard limits on. Assume the worst.)
WC: 17.7k
SUMMARY: Just a girl getting her dose of vitamin sea and vitamin D… Or would D’s be more appropriate?
A/N: Back early but I have an exam tomorrow so I’m just dropping this as a surprise then disappearing again 🥲 Tried my best to make this a light fun read instead of my usual chunks of paragraphs 😅 (I failed halfway, clearly.) This one is so bad, but it’s October so I’ll take it as a free pass, thanks. Also, this was made based on a request from a lovely moot of mine. Hope y’all enjoy!
Strong independent woman.
It’s what friends, family, and even strangers would call you. With a pretty face and an even prettier salary, you’re the kind of woman that men avoid because they know better than to punch above their weight. You are, as the younger folks like to say it, the baddest bitch incarnate.
You like to think that they were just exaggerating it.
Everything you are now is just a consequence of your passion, your drive. You knew what you wanted, and you did everything you could to get it. With a stroke of luck, a dash of opportunity, and a shit ton of hard work, you managed to land the job of your dreams that fulfilled you. However, as much as you love your job, constantly grinding through the hours and coming home to nothing for support is bound to burn anyone out, even if you make it look effortless. You’ve piled up leaves, you deserve a break.
Plus, sometimes a girl just wants to have fun.
It was time for another retreat, another escape, and this year you find that you’re craving a little vitamin sea, and who knows? Maybe a pretty woman like you could get a bit of that vitamin D. It wouldn’t be hard to drag some poor unwitting soul into your orbit. The true difficulty lied in finding someone worth pulling.
(Men are often disappointments.)
When you pull up at the resort in your black Jeep, the first thing you notice is the eyes. It isn’t uncommon, you’re sort of used to it, but the obvious gazes and the hushed whispers always have you torn between feeling like shit and the shit.
You’re the hottest woman here.
(What if they all thought you were hideous?)
It’s a tough life, really, but women power through. You’ve worked hard to get this far up, and you weren’t about to let the doubt tear you down.
“Can I help you with that car, ma’am?” One of the hotel staff, a young man with a bright grin says as he approaches you.
“Oh, please do. If you don’t mind,” You say with a soft smile as you hand the man—Chan, his nameplate reads—your keys. “Thank you, Chan.”
The tip of his ears are quick to turn red as he takes the keys. “N-No problem, ma’am!”
When Chan scurries away—how cute, you think—another member of the staff named Seungkwan is quick to take his place. He’s cute too, and you’re starting to wonder if this hotel was just hiring visuals left and right.
“Do you need help with your bags as well?” Seungkwan asks, hands already on your heavy luggages.
“If it’s not too much trouble, dear,” You say, and Seungkwan is quick to straighten up and hoist your bags onto the luggage cart like he’s ready to carry the entire world for you if you asked him to.
What a sweet boy.
(What would it be like to ruin him, you wonder?)
You can’t help but find yourself filled with excitement as you follow Seungkwan into the hotel lobby. The energy is good, great even, and you were already looking forward to how the rest of your stay would unfold.
—
“Hyung, can you check-in? I really need to pee,” Mingyu says, one hand tight on Seungcheol’s shoulder with the other clutching at his hip as he squirms.
“Go,” Seungcheol waves the younger man off with a snort.
“Thanks, hyung.”
Seungcheol’s starting to wonder just how urgent Mingyu’s bladder problem is considering the man had the audacity to wink at the women he passes by on his way to the restroom.
Smug little shit, Seungcheol thinks fondly as he laughs quietly to himself.
Not like he’s any better because when the same women catch his gaze, he’s quick to give them a smile. Not quite like the wink Mingyu gave out like the heartthrob he is, but it’s a soft, dashing smile that screams reliable, respectable gentleman.
Seungcheol and Mingyu are just self-absorbed in different fonts.
He knows.
But could anyone really blame him when people always seemed to stop and stare whenever one or two of them were around? They’re good-looking men draped in luxury, good-looking men with an aura that oozes confidence. One would have to be blind and numb to not be affected by their flow, their vibe.
Call it arrogant, but Seungcheol likes to call it honest.
He’s worked hard to get to where he is, and it’s only natural that he took pride in it. He and Mingyu are self-made, clawed their way from middle-class to the top, and he likes to think that being confident is only a natural companion to the tenacity and drive that got them to where they are today.
“Good morning, Mr. Choi,” The receptionist greets as Seungcheol goes up to the desk. “It’s nice to have you back.”
The process is swift, barely lasting a few seconds. It’s a privilege only few get even among the select. He and Mingyu are here every summer, after all. Their days are spent swimming, surfing, and maximizing the resort's amenities while their nights are spent partying at nearby clubs, throwing shots, and making out with some strangers in the dark. Sometimes it led to more, most of the time it didn’t. They may like the fun, but the two still had standards to uphold and reputations to protect.
Seungcheol goes to the couches to wait for Mingyu, and that’s when he sees you.
You’re exactly the kind of woman he likes.
Beautiful wasn’t enough to describe you, but divine might just be close enough. It’s only fitting considering how many heads you’ve turned, how many men have stumbled over their feet at your entrance, and how many women have looked at you with either envy or awe. Only divinity incites rage and adoration all at once. Your ethereal glow is only enhanced by your movement, your graceful strides. You move with confidence, the kind that flows the way water does: naturally. Your presence doesn’t scream, doesn’t cry for attention, it just magnetizes.
And boy was Seungcheol magnetized.
Even when Mingyu comes back from the washroom talking about the new activities the resort is offering, Seungcheol finds his eyes glued onto you and the way you’re smiling and talking to the receptionist like she’s an old friend.
Beautiful, polite, and charismatic? Slow down before you bring a man to his knees, god damn.
However, Seungcheol’s little staring session is abruptly cut off when Mingyu starts dragging him to the restaurant, complaining about how long the drive was and how much food he’s going to be scarfing down before hitting the waves and swimming to his heart’s content.
Seungcheol could not care less when his mind was still on you, wondering if the universe would be kind enough to let him get another glimpse of you.
(He hopes it is.)
The next day, Seungcheol decides that he’s going for a swim while Mingyu dozes away in their hotel room after soaring through the water like a dolphin on steroids the entire day yesterday.
Mingyu probably wasn’t going to wake up until lunch, or maybe even up until after it. As much as he loved that man, Seungcheol was not about to waste an entire morning waiting for Mingyu to wake up when he could be enjoying the sun, the water, and the breeze.
When he gets there, however, he’s met by red.
A sultry, skin-tight, swimshort-tightening red one-piece with tasteful cut-outs clad to your body that had Seungcheol buffering and choking on air as he wonders what nation he saved in a past life to be bestowed with such a sight.
You’re lounging on the beach chair, reading through a book with your shades on while the sun kisses your skin like a devoted follower, and it’s taking everything in Seungcheol not to stumble over like an idiot and say something stupid to get your attention.
Instead of doing that and embarrassing himself, Seungcheol sits on the beach chair near you, not quite beside you, but close enough to get him in your orbit. He’s into you, yes, but he isn’t about to ruin the day of such a gorgeous woman with his advances.
He’s just taking a tiny step in.
(And hoping that maybe you’ll give him an opportunity, an entrance.)
Fuck, he’d take such good care of a woman like you if you’d just let him. Dates to a fine-dining restaurant? Check. Driving you wherever you want him to? Check. Designer goods and just because flowers? Check. Debauched sex by the beach and the softest aftercare right after? Check, check, check.
Okay, maybe he had to pull his shit together first—
“It’s a nice resort, no?
God, even your voice was gorgeous. Seuncheol feels like he’s listening to a siren’s song, and given his proximity to the open sea, he thinks he may not be far off in his conclusion, no matter how illogical.
“It is,” Seungcheol says, trying to think of what to add to the sentence to get the conversation to last longer. “It’s why I come back every year.”
“Urgh, must be a dream,” You reply with a sigh. “You know, I might just do that too.”
Seungcheol hopes you do because it’s one more thing to look forward to.
“Have you looked around?” Seungcheol asks, planting the first seeds of what he hopes will be a bountiful… harvest. “I’d be glad to show you around, if you’d like.”
“I don’t even know your name yet, Mr. Stranger,” You giggle, and Seungcheol can feel it echo in his stomach like little butterflies fluttering around flying straight down to his c—
“Seungcheol, but you can call me Cheol,” Seungcheol says as he sits up and reaches out for a handshake that you gladly take. “Can the pretty lady in red give me her name?”
Wow, your skin is soft.
“The pretty lady in red would like to tell you that it’s a secret,” You wink, withdrawing your hand away and shutting your book. “I’ll see you around, Cheol.”
And with that, you walk off.
If Seungcheol thought you looked good from the front, then he sure as hell thought you looked even better from the back. It has him revolted at himself for being reduced to such baser instincts, but he can’t help but lock his eyes onto the swing of your hips, each step revealing a mouth-watering jiggle that has Seungcheol wanting to gnaw on his fist before banging it onto the nearest table—
Fuck, you’re perfect.
That confidence, that air of mystery, the denial. Seungcheol hates beating around the bush, and he’s a believer of the idea that all consenting adults should just be honest about what they want but this? Seungcheol likes this. Likes the chase you’ve set him on, likes the idea of whatever’s waiting for him at the end of it.
Ok, pretty lady in red, Seungcheol thinks.
Challenge accepted.
—
Kim Mingyu likes this place.
Like really likes this place. It’s luxurious without being too suffocating, relaxing without being too boring, and it’s lively without being too chaotic. He can swim at the pool, surf at the beach, get massages at the spa, eat at the restaurant, and even go out to party if the itch was just too strong.
It’s a great place! 10 out of 10, no notes, just applause.
What he likes most, however, is the waves. They’re perfect, not too large to drown him, not too small to provide little to no thrill. There were areas of the sea that were better suited for advanced folks like him, but there were also sections that even children could navigate, and Mingyu thinks that’s great because everyone gets a taste of the sports he just loves. But upon arriving at the beach, he thinks he might have just found something he liked more.
Because the only thing he liked more than the thrill of the waves, is the sight of a bombshell riding it.
The light blue tankini you’re wearing looks absolutely good on you. It makes you look like a goddess of the seas as you rip through the waves with a bright, victorious grin that has Mingyu’s heart stuttering in his chest.
All thoughts of surfing wash out of Mingyu’s head, the man choosing to sit on the sand and people-watch—though person-watch is more accurate—instead of going into the waves and trying his hand. The sea would be there forever, the waves are bound to return, but the woman bending it to her will is a rare sighting that Mingyu doesn’t often have the opportunity to marvel at.
It’s just harmless looking, he justifies.. It’s not like he’s about to stroll up to you and ask you to fuck, marry, or maybe even kill him. Though he has to admit, the sight of your thighs makes even death look tempting—
No, he’s just here to observe.
But it doesn’t take long before he’s retracting that statement.
“Do you need help, cutie?”
Mingyu feels like a dog with how sharp his hearing suddenly is at the sound of your voice.
You’re kneeling beside a little girl whose gaze is filled with worry as she eyes the waves. The little girl nods in response to your question, and Mingyu feels his heart clench for her at the clear sight of anxiety in her eyes.
“Eonnie, I don’t know how to surf,” The little girl says meekly, and Mingyu almost loses it at the way your eyes soften at the girl’s confession.
“I can teach you, if you’d like?” You offer with a bright smile that has Mingyu’s heart skipping.
“Really?” The worry on the child’s face melts away into excitement after hearing your words. “Thank you, eonnie!”
“You’re welcome, cutie.”
Mingyu’s almost tempted to step in like a bumbling idiot and pretend to not know how to surf if it meant you’d guide him like that.
The rest of Mingyu’s morning passes by like that, surfboard discarded like a large plastic pollutant in the sand as he watches you teach the girl with soft smiles and bright giggles. He probably looked like a creep with how often he’s stealing glances at you, but he can’t help the way his eyes seem to keep going back to you. Unable to handle any more of it, Mingyu lays back on the sand.
You’re pretty and kind. The way you’re treating the little girl with gentleness and patience has Mingyu’s heart swelling. It’s a little parasocial to be thinking about you like this when you didn’t even know his name and vice versa, but Mingyu’s weak.
That pretty face of yours was the first attack, and that kindness of yours was the final blow, and now, Mingyu’s sprawled across the sand, clutching at his heart, begging for it to slow. Who needed cardio when he could just look at you? Though he doesn’t mind getting some other kind of cardio done with you—
Enough. Mingyu has done enough pining. Approaching people has never been difficult for him, and he refuses to let it be difficult now that he’s found what may just be the woman of his dreams.
Mingyu sits up abruptly, and an unmanly shriek escapes from his throat in time with a woman’s yelp when he comes face-to-face with…
You?
You.
“Oh my gosh, you scared me,” You say with a sigh of relief followed by a quick giggle. “I thought you were dead.”
Mingyu can’t believe this is happening, can’t believe that you’re standing in front of him, can’t believe that you’re talking to him.
“No, not dead,” Mingyu laughs awkwardly. “Just relaxing.”
“That’s… That’s unique,” You laugh lightly, and Mingyu has stop himself from combusting. “Sorry for disturbing you. I was a little worried because you weren’t moving, but anyway, happy relaxing—“
“What’s your name?” Mingyu asks, blurts. He refused to let you go. “Sorry if it’s a little too forward—“
“Y/N,” You smile at him, reaching your hand out, and Mingyu has to stare at it for a few seconds to wonder if he’s dreaming this up or if it’s reality before he’s taking your hand. “Yours?”
“Mingyu,” He replies, tone stable like he isn’t giggling and kicking his feet internally at the softness of your palm. “And don’t worry, you didn’t disturb anything.”
“Mingyu,” You repeat as you pull your hand away, and the man has to stop himself from marrying you then and there. The way it fell from your mouth felt like Mingyu’s name was only created so it could roll off your tongue. “I’ll look forward to seeing you around then.”
“Me too.”
Thank fuck he didn’t skip the beach this year.
—
“Girl, how’s the beach? Sorry I couldn’t come,” Jihyo says, pouting at you through the video call.
“It’s great,” You reply with a dreamy sigh as you pour yourself a glass of wine. “You would’ve really liked it here”
“Damn it, don’t remind me,” Jihyo whines, and you’re quick to laugh at her. “Any hotties?”
“Girl—“ You take a sip from your glass, throat suddenly dry as memories from the past two days flood you. “Yes. The men here are so good looking that it should be illegal for them to be walking around like that without a warning. I’m not kidding.”
“Bitch, spill,” Jihyo says. “Why didn’t I go? Drag me next time, okay? Do everything you can.”
You then proceed to tell Jihyo about the two men you met, ensuring that every detail of the interaction is shared with an excruciating attention to detail. She has to understand after all, has to understand why the very memory of these men had a woman like you frothing at the mouth and gnawing at the bars of your mental enclosure.
You tell her about Seungcheol first. You tell her about his big strong biceps that you’d probably chew on the moment he grants you an opportunity. You tell her about his smile, his deep dimples that had you wanting to poke his soft cheeks. You tell her about his eyes, the way their softness perfectly contrasted the strength of his brow. You then proceed to tell her how you wished he would have just fucked you in prone bone on the beach chair you were lounging on when you met him.
(Jihyo supports.)
After that, you tell her about Mingyu. You tell her about his big frame that took so much space on the sand. You tell her about his chest, the fullness of it inviting you to gnaw on it like you’re a dog and he’s your favorite chew toy. You tell her about his clumsy charm, the confidence and awkwardness that struck a perfect balance. You then proceed to tell her how badly you wanted to lick all over his tanned skin while you rode his dick like a fiend on the beach.
(Jihyo also supports this.)
But alas, they’re just fantasies. You know you won’t actually be getting yourself involved with them. You doubt your paths will cross again with how huge the resort was, and you can only ever dream of the what if’s.
When your call with Jihyo ends, you find that your mind is still plagued by memories of your encounter with Seungcheol and Mingyu. It’s not often that you come across men like that, after all, with most of the male population disappointing you with their antics or their audacity.
Oh well, better luck next time, you think.
(You really wanted that Vitamin D though.)
On your third morning at the resort, you decide that it’s time to try out the pool. You’re quick to shower, the cool water refreshing you as it washes over your skin. After that, you’re changing into a two-piece, a cute lavender bikini that exposes enough skin to ensure that the sun could evenly shine on your skin to give you that summer glow. Once that’s done, you’re quick to throw on a white beach dress to cover yourself and shades to block the sun that would soon be blinding you if you didn’t prepare.
The adults-only section of the pool is great. It’s quiet with only a few people around, and the best part of it was the little bar near the pool. You’re not an alcoholic, but something about sipping on a flute of mimosa while you lounged by the poolside was definitely a very tempting idea.
You’ll save it for later.
Wordlessly, you drop your bag on the table, sitting on the pool lounger before laying back completely, legs straightened in front of you as you stretch and get settled. The summer sun is gentle, and the soothing winds that breeze from the sea only heighten the relaxing sensation.
There’s enough people to breathe life and bring energy to the place, but even then the morning is slow, calm. A few ladies are chattering loudly on the other side, and you’re almost tempted to lean in their direction just to get in on the juicy gossip. When you get tired of watching them you move your gaze to the side a few paces from the women, and you’re met with the sigh of a couple getting a little handsy, and even from here, you can already feel the tension.
Fuck, you when?
It’s too early to be thinking about getting laid, but it’s… It’s been a while. Your job didn’t give you much down time except for rare opportunities like this, and the only thing that’s been inside you for the past few months was your fingers. The little dry spell was only made worse when you encountered those two dreamy strangers and further aggravated by the sight of the couple and their poorly concealed PDA.
You’re almost tempted to go back to your room, but damn it, the weather’s too good to pass up.
You weren’t about to waste the gentle heat of the sun and the cool breeze coming from the sea just to take the edge off only to end up craving more because honestly? It wasn’t even the orgasm you wanted, it was just the feeling of being stretched open by dick—
The inappropriate thoughts running through your head pause when you spot him on the other side.
Seungcheol is a sight for sore eyes as he sets his bag on the table, claiming the lounger that sits right across from yours. The two of you are separated by a wide expanse of pool and chlorine, but the distance does nothing to deter your searching gaze.
The man still looks good, and honestly speaking, he looks even better. Short bleached cut that makes his handsome feature pop, loose muscle tee that bares his biceps, and swim shorts that cling to his ass—the sight of Seungcheol has you heating up, has you throwing one leg over the other to let you squeeze and ease the growing heat between your thighs—
You freeze when your eyes lock, and even through your shades, you can feel the heat of Seungcheol’s gaze.
There’s a smirk on his face as he eyes you, and much to the detriment of your already throbbing core, Seungcheol’s pulling at the hem of his shirt and removing it, and fuck—
You want to chew on his pecs.
The heat in your core only grows when Seungcheol sits on the lounger, laying back on the thing with his hands behind his head in a way that has his biceps bulging and practically calling out for you. He looks at you through half-lidded eyes, gaze challenging you to come over.
Like hell you will.
Smug bastard, you think. Two can play that game.
Slowly, you sit up, raising them of your dress to uncover your thighs then your hips then your stomach until you’re gathering all the fabric and removing it completely to bare your revealing little number. You move with a slight exaggeration, loud enough to be tantalizing, quiet enough to only be perceptible to those who are really watching.
From the corner of your eye, you see Seungcheol’s smirk drop. The smug look on his face quickly replaced by a dark look that reeked of hunger.
Good, you think as you dip your toes into the pool, keep watching.
The water is cool as it envelops you, and you almost forget your initial agenda. It moves, swirls, and presses against your form from all angles, but you think the water’s pressure against your skin is nothing compared to the weight of Seungcheol’s gaze as he eyes you from his lounger.
It’s your turn to smirk when your eyes meet.
The man—with no other way of putting it in a way that isn’t crude—is fucking you with his eyes. You’re not dumb, you can tell. You’ve been subjected to that gaze many times, by many other men, but you think it’s the first time you’re returning it so earnestly.
Honestly, Seungcheol needed to stop doing it with his eyes and start doing it with… Something else.
When you get out of the pool, you let your hips sway in a way you know will catch Seungcheol’s eyes. He’s a man, after all, and when it comes to this, they’re simple creatures. It doesn’t take much effort, really.
To make things even worse—for him, not for you—you place your bag on the lounger to ‘look’ for your towel, bending over and sticking your ass out to give Seungcheol the perfect view of what he could be having if he stopped being stubborn and came over—
“Oh, Y/N!” Another familiar voice greets you, and it has you straightening up, towel in hand. “We meet again.”
Perfect timing, you think to yourself with a grin.
Two big strong birds with one scantily-clad stone.
—
Seungcheol’s pissed.
Why the fuck was Kim Mingyu chatting with you like he knows you?
He’s already on edge from all the teasing you’ve been doing, swim shorts unbearably tight from the sight of prancing around like a little nymph in the water before you practically flash him by bending over and exposing your scantily clad lips.
Fucking shit.
Your attention is no longer on him as you chat away with Mingyu, smile bright and eyes crinkled as you laugh at whatever stupid shit his best friend said. Mingyu’s funny, but not nearly funny enough to have you bent over and slapping at the man’s bicep like he’s the world’s greatest comedian.
What pisses Seungcheol off more is that Mingyu is clearly enjoying all the attention, the touching. His friend’s chest is puffed out like a bird that’s trying to court, biceps clearly flexed under your touch in a way that Seungcheol knows is meant to showcase his god-like physique.
Asshole.
It has the competitive spirit in Seungcheol flaring, has him rising to his feet and walking over to where you’re chatting with Mingyu on the lounger.
The man is quick to spot him, smile bright and unassuming. Seungcheol knows that’s the last time it’ll ever be that way when Seungcheol starts showing interest in you.
They’re both territorial, after all.
And you’re unfortunate enough to be the one in the middle of it all.
“Oh, hyung!” Mingyu waves at him, and Seungcheol doesn’t miss the way you freeze when your eyes land on him. “Come, meet Y/N. She’s staying at the resort too.”
Seungcheol almost wants to clap back and say obviously, but he holds his tongue. So Mingyu gets to know your name, but he can’t?
Okay, brat.
“We’ve met,” Seungcheol says, staring at Mingyu with that look he knows the man will understand. “Didn’t think you two knew each other though.”
“We met yesterday, at the beach,” You explain.
“Ah, you two know each other?” Mingyu says with a look that tells Seungcheol the younger man has caught on. “Wanna join us for lunch, Y/N? It’ll be nice to have a new face around.”
You look between them, and Seungcheol wonders if you’re already catching onto the clear tension between the men whose egos were clashing against each other like the waves that crash on the resort’s shore.
“If you guys don’t mind—“
“Not at all, Y/N,” Seungcheol says, and relishes in the way you tense at the sound of your name falling from his mouth. He finally had something to call the pretty lady in red, and fuck, did the name suit her. “It’ll be a pleasure to have you.”
In more ways than one.
—
This is the tensest lunch Mingyu’s ever had the misfortune of going through.
Not because of you though. You’re not the problem, never the problem. You’re eating happily, digging into the meal and letting out hums and comments of approval that Mingyu responds to with just as much enthusiasm before he’s shutting his mouth because of the true problem.
Choi Seungcheol.
His hyung’s glaring at him when you aren’t looking, sending him looks that are screaming at Mingyu to cut it, to stop being so friendly. It doesn't deter him though. If anything, Seungcheol’s clear displeasure only makes Mingyu friendlier, more over the top with entertaining you with his stories while Seungcheol chimed in every once in a while.
And it’s not like it’s just Seungcheol that’s pissed. Mingyu is too! Well, not really, but still. He had found the woman of his dreams on the beach only to find out that his hyung had his eyes on her too. Mingyu can tell this little tension between them is going to turn into a pissing contest soon enough, but he refuses to back down, refuses to give you up.
It’s not the first time they’ve set their eyes on the same woman, but it’s definitely the first time they’ve been this possessive.
Because honestly, who wouldn’t be when it’s you?
“Excuse me. I’m just gonna go to the bathroom real quick,” You say with a small polite, rising to your feet and walking to the bathroom. Mingyu finds himself mesmerized, eyes captured wholly by the sway—
“Ouch, hyung!” Mingyu cries out, rubbing at his shoulder with a pout. “What was that for—“
“Watch your eyes,” Seungcheol huffs, and Mingyu is quick to gape.
“Me? Me?” Mingyu says in disbelief as he turns to the man. “Yah, you were staring at her boobs half the time we were eating—“
“I was not—“
“Liar,” Mingyu says with a roll of his eyes, and Seungcheol is quick to give it up. No use in denying when he’d already been caught. “You’re gonna scare her off with how hostile you’re being.”
“Back off so I don’t have to be,” Seungcheol replies with a tick in his jaw. “It’s that simple.”
“Hell no,” Mingyu shakes his head. “Hyung, I just met the girl of my dreams, and you want me to give up? Nope, not doing it—“
“You met her yesterday,” Seungcheol says with a raised eyebrow. “I met her first.”
“Okay, and?” Mingyu says childishly. “I’m still going after her, hyung.”
“You’re really not gonna give up?” Seungcheol asks, and Mingyu is quick to nod. “Fine.“
“May the best man win.”
—
This was not on the itinerary, you think.
Getting two ridiculously attractive men to chase after you and set aside their friendship during what was meant to be a little getaway between bros was definitely not on your list. It’s a little cute, though a little stupid considering that two grown men were stumbling over themselves like idiots trying to get your approval.
They’re trying to hide it, dirty looks and silent swears flung at each other when they think you aren’t looking, but they’re doing a terrible job. It’s a little funny, you think. Because why bother fighting over you when they could just share? Didn’t they teach that in primary school? You’ve got more than enough holes—
You don’t tell them that though. They’d have to find that out for themselves. There was no way in hell that you were going to be the one to bring that up. No matter how much the idea plagues your head.
Plus, it was fun watching them try so hard and with such different techniques too.
Mingyu goes for the playful, charismatic route. He jokes and teases, touches respectful but strategic. Soft nudges of his shoulder, light brushes against your waist—Mingyu is the master of casual touch, the kind that could be friendly or flirty, the kind that’s always teetering on the edge of something more. He has you swooning, has you giggling, has you wanting to do something as reckless as pulling him to the closest bathroom and riding him on the toilet with no regard for who might enter.
Seungcheol, on the other hand, is a force to be reckoned with. He talks, but not too much. He listens, remembers. He’s the kind of guy that makes you feel like you’re his woman. Seungcheol has the kind of aura that makes you want to submit, that makes you want to surrender all control because you just know that Seungcheol can do it all for you. He has you shifting, has you squeezing your thighs, has you wanting to get on all fours on his bed and let him use you to his heart’s content.
It's a little frustrating when you think about it. You want them, they want you, what else did they need? At this point, the only thing stopping you from knocking on their hotel room and stripping was the fact that doing that felt a little too tacky for your taste, but at the rate they’re going, you think it won’t be long before you actually do that.
You decide then and there that if they’re not going to make a move, then you’ll just have to push them to their limits until they do.
Divide and conquer.
—
Mingyu’s going to die.
When you asked him to go swimming, Mingyu thought it would be fun, thought that he’d be swimming and paddling around in the sea while you guys chatted and got to know each other better. Cute! Wholesome!
Not.
You’re on your stomach, lying on a towel as Mingyu summoned every bit of self control while he untied the string of your tiny bikini. You haven’t even gotten to the swimming part and Mingyu thinks his shorts are already wet.
“Here’s the sunblock,” You say casually like you aren’t practically half-naked underneath Mingyu who’s struggling to understand common words.
“Thanks,” Mingyu says, taking the sunblock from your hands, electricity zapping his fingers at where your skin brushes against his. He was not going to survive this. “Just your back?”
“The entire backside, if it’s okay,” You reply, and Mingyu’s glad you aren’t looking at him because the implication of your words has Mingyu swallowing the knot in his throat as his eyes flicker to your poorly concealed cheeks.
“As in all?” Mingyu clarifies one last time as he flips the cap open and squeezes sunblock onto his palm.
“Yes, Gyu,” You giggle, and Mingyu hates the way his eyes are quick to jump to your ass. “All. I need to be covered from head to toe.”
“Okay,” Mingyu replies brightly like his fingers aren’t shaking and his dick isn’t twitching.
Fuck this shit.
Mingyu has to bite his tongue when his fingers land on the skin of your back. You’re soft, impeccably soft, and Mingyu’s almost tempted to dig his nails and squeeze just to see how much softer you feel—
But he’s a gentleman, and he wasn’t about to break your trust or touch you like that without clear consent. Mingyu’s here to cover you in sunblock, and he’s gonna lather that shit on you so well that you’re gonna look like a freshly painted house. Ok, weird analogy, but Mingyu likes to think that it’s only because he’s in the face of such a pretty woman.
He was bound to do stupid shit.
“Haa, your fingers feel so nice,” You sigh, and Mingyu’s quick to malfunction. It’s an innocent comment, but it’s easy to take in the wrong way. Surely, you knew? Surely, you had an idea?
“Thanks,” Mingyu says stupidly, but the words that come out next are even stupider. “I get that a lot.”
Dumb fuck, Mingyu thinks to himself, and he knows the memory of this encounter will be something that haunts him for the rest of his sorry life.
You laugh at that, “Glad I got a chance to experience it then.”
“Well, we just started so buckle up,” Mingyu jokes, trying to ease the tension growing in the air. Was it tension? Was it attraction? Were you flirting? Was this even still flirting when he was touching you so… Intimately? Maybe it’s foreplay? Fuck he hopes it’s not cause you’re in the middle of a fucking beach.
(Though he wouldn’t mind…)
Mingyu nearly combusts when you tilt to the side and look at him. The action has Mingyu getting a glimpse of the curve of your breast, and he knows that if you pulled away further than that, he’d be getting a clear view of your nipple—
“Are you giving me the full experience, Gyu?” You ask, eyes half-lidded with a suggestive smile playing on your lips, and that’s when Mingyu realizes that nope, the tension is not a figment of his imagination.
Well fuck, might as well match your freak.
“Do you want me to?” Mingyu says, squeezing your waist. He better not be imagining this shit. He doesn’t think he’s going to be able to live this down if he misread everything—
“Yes.”
Every touch after that is charged.
It’s no longer just a little sunblock session, it’s—as Mingyu feared while simultaneously praying for—foreplay. The sighs that leave you are louder, lewder, and in turn Mingyu fingers get bolder. He’s covered the entirety of your back, and now, he’s lathering your calves with sunblock.
It’s a little odd to start from the back then move to legs, but Mingyu reasons that he’s saving the best for last.
Mingyu’s hands creep higher until he’s rubbing at your thighs, and he—ever attuned to you—is quick to pick up the hitch in your breath and the tension of your legs.
“Good?” Mingyu asks, preparing to withdraw in case you change your mind. “You’re a little tense.”
You’re quiet for a while, and Mingyu’s almost scared he pushed you too far but the words that leave your lips have him losing the last bit of restraint he had left, “Higher, Gyu.”
“Fuck,” Mingyu swears to himself, but you hear him anyway. He knows because you’re giggling at him. Cute, he thinks. You won’t be giggling by the time he’s done with you.
Mingyu, like a criminal of opportunity, is quick to scan his surroundings, and when he finds that there’s barely anyone—save for a few individuals though they were very far away—he’s quick to bring his hands higher until they’re resting on the part of your thighs that was right below your asscheeks and fuck—
You were even softer here, and Mingyu’s almost tempted to take a bite.
He kneads, squeezes, and gropes until he’s sure your flesh is tender. He gropes until he hears you whine, until he hears you moan.
You’re quick to subtly press a hand on your mouth, and Mingyu only grins. Too late, he thinks, he’s already heard you.
Boldly, Mingyu gropes at the lower curve of your ass, his fingers disappearing into the fat and flesh. It’s taking everything in Mingyu not to groan at the sensation, but he powers through. The last thing he wanted was to get caught because he couldn’t shut his mouth.
And you weren’t even touching him yet.
“Gyu,” You whine, and Mingyu’s immediately perking up, but his hands don’t stop. “Please.”
That’s the final push, Mingyu thinks, because before he can even stop himself, he’s already pulling the fabric aside with one thumb while the other dips inside and fuck—
You’re dripping.
“Shit, Y/N, you’re so wet,” Mingyu says, thumb continuing to stroke up and down while you struggled to compose yourself.
“More—“
“We might get caught, though?” Mingyu asks like he isn’t already taking his thumb out and replacing it with his index finger. Sure, there’s an umbrella obscuring some part of this debauchery, but Mingyu wasn’t going to bank on that.
“Then do it faster,” You complain petulantly.
“Okay,” Mingyu says, taking one final look around. “Stay quiet, then.”
Mingyu drives his fingers in and out of you, slow and precise as he curls his digits to rub at the patch that had you jolting and gripping harder onto the beach towel. You’re looking at him, pupils blown wide open as you let out soft whines and moans that are for his ears only.
The clenching of your walls are starting to get sporadic, your thighs twitching around his hands and—
“Gyu, I’m cumming~”
Mingyu presses his thumb onto your clit as the words leave your mouth, and he’s rewarded with the sight of your brutally coming undone, your eyes rolling back and your brows furrowing as your mouth falls open, body spasming on the towel as you clamp down on Mingyu’s fingers.
He lets you ride out your high for a few seconds before he’s pulling his fingers out and licking them clean.
Fuck, you tasted good.
“Wanna go swimming?”
Unfortunately, the encounter doesn’t lead to anything more, but Mingyu doesn’t mind because even this was more than enough to power him for the rest of his life. Once you had gathered your bearings and once Mingyu finally calmed his little—not really—problem, the two of your were quick to jump into the water and goof around like Mingyu didn’t just finger-fuck you on the beach, in public. It’s fun, and it’s the first time in a while that Mingyu finds himself enjoying someone—that isn’t Seungcheol or his other friends—else’s company.
Mingyu is so screwed.
—
Seungcheol knows you’ve got something up your sleeve.
From the moment you invited him to swim after dinner up until the moment he watched you remove your cover-up to reveal a cherry red bikini, Seungcheol has known that you’re up to something. He just doesn’t have the evidence to prove it yet.
But he has a feeling he’s about to get it soon.
So Seungcheol swims, swims just like you invited him to do. He paddles and dives through the cold water while you sit on the edge of the pool with your calves submerged in the water. You’re drinking a bottle of Seungcheol’s favorite beer, and the man is torn between taking the bottle away or shoving his tongue into your mouth to get a taste.
Damn, he needed to get a grip.
(Your grip.)
Seungcheol busies himself with the water, diving and floating to pass the time while ignoring the tension that seems to hang in the air. He’s not imagining it. He knows it’s there, but he’a not going to be the one to break it.
He’d leave that to you.
(He needs you to want him too.)
For the nth time that night, Seungcheol’s eyes flicker to the bottle in your hand, and before he can stop himself, he’s swimming over to where you are. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes flicker down when he rises from the water to stand, doesn’t miss the way you’re eyeing the line of water that lapped at his waist.
Seungcheol takes the risk, standing in the water between your knees until his stomach’s pressed against the pool’s walls. The way your breath hitches has Seungcheol grinning to himself, and to make matters worse—for you, not for him—he rests his hands on the pool ledge, forearms intentionally pressed against your thigh.
He doesn’t know if you’re avoiding his touch or retaliating, but Seungcheol’s pleasantly surprised when you attempt to close your legs, knees pressing against his sides.
“Mind if I get a sip?” Seungcheol asks, nodding towards the bottle in your hand.
“Sure,” You reply casually, but Seungcheol can see the heat in your eyes, the desire.
You bring the mouth of the bottle to Seungcheol’s lips, tipping it back into his mouth to let the beer flow. Your control on the bottle only lasts so long before Seungcheol’s putting his hand over yours, gaze boring straight into your eyes as he swallows down the beer. When Seungcheol pushes the bottle away, he feels a bit of it dribble down his chin to his throat—
A light touch. Seungcheol’s breast hitches as he feels your finger drag up from the bump on his throat to the bottom of his lips. It’s slow, torturous, and the sensation has Seungcheol steeling himself.
Minx, Seungcheol thinks, eyes wholly captivated by the way you take the digit into your mouth and suck.
Fuck being patient.
“How much longer are you going to keep this up?” Seungcheol asks, leaning closer until the tip of his nose was only a breadth away from grazing against yours.
You look flustered, like you didn’t expect him to snap so suddenly, and Seungcheol’s almost tempted to ask where all your bravado went now that he’s close enough to do damage.
There’s no distance left to protect you from the consequences of your teasing actions, no time to run from Seungcheol, and no Mingyu left to block Seungcheol from finally getting what he wanted
“Keep what up?” You ask, and Seungcheol can see the way your flustered gaze quickly melts into something else, something meant to provoke.
“Playing innocent doesn’t suit you, sweetheart,” Seungcheol whispers in a low tone as his hands boldly come to rest at your knee. “You know what I mean.”
“But I don’t, Cheol,” You smile sweetly.
Seungcheol scoffs, body pulling away and hands retreating. “Okay then.”
You want to be stubborn? Fine. Be Seungcheol’s guest and keep up the little virgin act for as long as you can. Your resistance would only make your eventual break more satisfying—
“So quick to give up from a little teasing,” You say suddenly, and Seungcheol’s quick to raise a brow. “You’re really letting Mingyu get that far ahead?”
Mingyu? Get that far ahead? To where? To what?
“What?” Seungcheol asks, and though some part of him is annoyed at the sudden mention of his friend, he finds that he’s too captivated by the sight of you entering the water.
Your arms come up to wrap around Seungcheol’s neck, and despite the cool water that surrounds him, he can feel his body heating, can feel all the blood rushing down south as you press yourself against him until your chest presses against his.
“Wanna know what Mingyu did yesterday, Cheol?” You ask, eyes dripping with mischief as you play with the drenched tips of Seungcheol’s hair. “Wanna know just how far he got ahead?”
Despite the pool’s blue glow, Seungcheol sees red. A million different scenarios runs through his head, each picture getting worse than the last as Seungcheol torments himself with images of Mingyu sweet-talking you, touching you, kissing you, fucking you—
“Did you fuck him?” Seungcheol asks, hands moving through the water to come up to your bare waist. He pushes you, pushes you until your back is pressed against the cold tiles of the pool.
Your smile only widens, and Seungcheol knows that you’ve gotten him right where you wanted him but he doesn’t care. He needs answers, and he needs them now.
“Not quite,” You grin, and it’s taking everything in Seungcheol not to shiver as you draw circles onto his chest.
(He wonders what it would be like to have you scratch down his back.)
“What did he do then, hm?” Seungcheol asks, hands moving lower to raise your thigh, wrapping your leg around his hip.
“Secret—“
Seungcheol grinds himself against the space between your legs, and he watches as you throw your head back and moan at the sudden sensation.
Feel it, Seungcheol thinks. Get a feel for what’ll be inside you.
“Answer me while I’m asking nicely,” Seungcheol says, reaching down again to put your other thigh around him so that you’re left with nothing but his body and the pool to keep yourself upright. “What did Mingyu do to you?”
“He sunblock on my back,” You answer breathily, and Seungcheol’s wondering how you’re going to take him if a single grind was enough to get you this fucked out. Not that he was doing any better. Seungcheol feels like he’s going to combust as he resists the urge to slide your bikini to the side and fuck you right there in the pool. “He touched me everywhere—“
“Where?” Seungcheol asks, grinding against your core with slow, steady drags of his hips that have you whimpering and sighing.
Heavens, you looked good, and you felt even better.
“My thighs, my ass—“ You moan when Seungcheol gives you a particularly rough grind to signal his displeasure. “My…”
“Your what?” Seungcheol asks darkly as he noses at the pulse of your throat.
“My pussy,” You say it like a confession, say it like you did something bad, say it like it was a sin against Seungcheol.
It might as well have been.
Seungcheol’s grinding stills as he envisions you on the beach, Mingyu’s wandering hands touching every inch of your body before his fingers wander into your bottoms, and it pisses the shit out of Seungcheol.
But fuck, did the idea of it turn him on even more.
Seungcheol thinks of Mingyu defiling you, thinks of his dear friend loosening your cunt with his large fingers, curling and dragging against your walls with precision. Your fingers are nothing compared to Mingyu’s, and you might as well have taken dick—
“Are you mad, Cheol?” You ask, eyes filled with genuine worry like you didn’t set things up to be this way.
Seungcheol’s not mad. Not anymore, at least. Better Mingyu than some other fucking loser. At least Seungcheol knew that Mingyu could fuck, knew from all the years they spent in college when Mingyu would bring over some girl and Seungcheol could hear her screams through the walls. It only ever ended with Seungcheol fucking the woman under him with more vigor until he’s sure Mingyu could hear her too.
“Mad? No,” Seungcheol says as he unwraps your legs and starts dragging you out of the water to the direction of the bathrooms nearby. “But I am getting even.”
The next thing Seungcheol knows, you’re bent over the sink in the bathroom near the pool, and his fingers are driving themselves in and out of you as he forces you—with a gentle pull of your hair—to watch yourself in the mirror.
“Whose fingers do you like better?” Seungcheol asks, fingers slowing. “Come on, answer.”
“Yours!” You cry out, and Seungcheol doesn’t really care if you’re just saying things to secure your orgasm because it felt really good to hear.
“Why?” Seungcheol asks, fingers getting rougher.
“Mingyu was—hnng—too soft—shit!” You slam your fist onto the sink as Seungcheol grazes against a rough patch. “Cheol, please right there please please—“
“Fuck, you’re so pretty when you beg,” Seungcheol groans as he watches you twitch and shake. It’s odd that you think Mingyu’s soft, considering how rough the man can get when he wants to be, but Seungcheol doesn’t dwell on it. Maybe you’ll just have to find that out for yourself. “Mingyu or me?”
“Why choose?” You ask, gaze dark through the mirror as you take Seungcheol’s thick fingers like a champ. Your words have Seungcheol’s fingers pausing, has him short-circuiting as you present a debauched idea that he hadn’t considered. “I want you both.”
Seungcheol thinks he might just cum from the images that flood his mind. For someone who looked so clean and put-together the first time he saw you, you were filthy. Getting fingered by Seungcheol literally a day after having Mingyu do the same was bad enough, but wanting them both, at the same time?
“What a fucking slut,” Seungcheol’s a little terrified as the words leave his mouth, but you only whimper, and Seungcheol’s starting to realize what he got himself into.
He fucking loves it.
“You wanna get passed around, sweetheart?” Seungcheol says, fingers resuming their pace. His words have you grinning, have you getting wetter around his fingers as you nod and whimper. “One dick’s not enough so you want us both? Want us to take turns, baby? Want us to fuck you until you forget your name—“
“At the same time,” You breathe out, and Seungcheol groans. “Want you both at the same time.”
“Shit, you think you can take us, huh?” Seungcheol hisses as his fingers pick up the pace. “You’re so tight around my fingers, sweetheart. Do you really think you can take our cocks? Baby, you’re not walking after that.”
“Good,” You moan, brows furrowing as Seugcheol feels you start to spasm around his finger. “That’s the goal.”
“Cheol, cumming—“
Seungcheol rips his fingers out of you, and the way you whine and cry out at the ruined orgasm only has Seungcheol’s grin growing darker, hungrier.
“Cheol, I was gonna cum!” You whine out as you try to stand up on your shaky legs. “What are you doing—“
Your words pause when Seungcheol brings his soaked digits to your mouth. “Clean them for me, sweetheart.”
And you do.
Without hesitation, you take his fingers into your mouth, sucking and licking diligently like its cock. Seungcheol groans at the sensation, and he swears that if he concentrates hard enough, he could probably feel your tongue dragging all over his cock.
He’ll save that for later.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Seungcheol says as he pulls his fingers out of your mouth and gives you a harsh pinch to your cheek. Cute, he thinks as he watches you frown and slap petulantly at his hand.
“You’re just leaving like that?” You ask in disbelief as Seungcheol starts walking out like his dick isn’t straining against his swim trunks. Not like anyone would see. It’s late.
“Don’t worry,” Seungcheol says with one final glance towards you. “Tomorrow you’ll be begging for us to leave.”
Seungcheol doesn’t miss the way your face morphs into confusion.
—
Fuck you, Choi Seungcheol.
It’s the only thing running through your head as you stomp back to your hotel room, the only thing runing through your head as you shower and rub at your clit, the only thing running through your head when you’re on the bed face down ass up with your fingers buried deep into your cunt as you flood your mind with images of Seungcheol’s cocky gaze through the bathroom mirror.
It’s not enough. In such little time you had gotten so used to Seungcheol’s thick fingers, the rough pads, and the even rougher touch, and now that you were stuck with your fingers, it’s no longer enough.
It pisses you off. You’re doing everything you can to recreate the sensation, but each orgasm you give yourself is disappointing. It’s good, pleasurable, but you just know that it would have been so much better if Seungcheol was the one making you cum.
Asshole.
Pissed and absolutely disappointed from the orgasm you just had, you pull your fingers out and stomp over to the sink to wash your hands. You don’t even bother dressing properly, pulling on a little nightslip just to ensure that you have clear access to yourself in case you woke up feeling frustrated.
Fuck you, Choi Seungcheol.
It’s the last thing on your mind before you go to sleep.
Pitch black and dreamless, that’s how the rest of your night passes, and the next thing you know, you’re rudely awakened by a knock on your door. The sound has your blood pressure spiking, has you rolling over and groaning into the sheets as you try to get yourself together before having to face whoever had the audacity to be knocking on your door this early in the morning.
You’re seriously not in the mood—
The door swings open, and you’re met by the sight of Mingyu grinning brightly as he holds up a bag of what looked like take-out.
“Good morning,” Mingyu greets cheerfully but you don’t miss the way his expression flickers when he looks down. “Can I come in? I brought breakfast.”
Breakfast is honestly the last thing on your mind as you step aside and eye Mingyu like he’s breakfast as he sets the takeout on the table and motions for you to come over. You don’t waste a second, shutting the door behind you and walking to where Mingyu stands in his white tank top and grey sweats that leave only a fraction for your imagination to run wild.
Screw the take-out, you need to get taken.
But a girl’s got to be demure.
(For now.)
“What’s all this for?” You ask with a yawn, sitting on the sofa and unwrapping the food like you weren’t mentally unwrapping something bigger and better than fried rice and orange chicken. “Isn’t this too heavy for breakfast?”
“You’ll need the carbs,” is all Mingyu says in reply as he plops beside you, one arm falling behind you on the sofa while his other raises itself while he flips through the channels of the TV. He’s pressing against you despite the wideness of the sofa, but you don’t mind. You like to think that getting fingered by the man grants him the privilege to be a little touchy.
(Especially when he looked like that.)
You’re too lost in the food to pay attention to Mingyu’s words, the hunger finally kicking in at the first taste of citrus on your tongue. Maybe orgasming over and over really did deplete you because the moment you swallow the first bite, you’re already digging your chopsticks in for more.
“You like it?” Mingyu asks, and you’re quick to raise a piece of the chicken to his mouth. He doesn’t hesitate in taking the piece from your chopsticks, eyes lightening up as he chews through the food.
“It’s really good,” You say, getting more of the chicken. The chicken and the rice does a good job of shooing the little grumpy orgasm-deprived monster in your head, mellowing you out until you feel like you could just melt into Mingyu’s side and forget all about Seungcheol’s little orgasm denial session last night—
“Where’s Cheol?” You ask, suddenly reminded of the man. They’re usually together, so it’s odd that Mingyu’s here alone.
“Sorting stuff,” Mingyu replies. “He’ll be here in a while… If you don’t mind.”
“I don’t,” You shrug, but you can’t help but wonder why they decided that coming over to your hotel room was a great idea to spend the morning. “What are you guys doing today?”
“We’re only doing one thing today,” Mingyu says with a grin.
“Wow, are you guys finally tired from all the activities?” You joke, shoving the last piece of chicken into your mouth. “Can I come?”
“Oh, you’re coming alright.”
The tone Mingyu uses has you pausing your chewing, your head turning to the side to look at the man only to be met with a grin that promises nothing but trouble. There’s a dark look in Mingyu’s eyes that feels awfully out of place as he looks at you. You think you’ve gotten so used to his boyish smiles and cheerful looks that seeing his expression doused with something darker, more mature has you intrigued, afraid, and ridiculously turned on all at once.
“Chew, Y/N,” Mingyu says with a tap to your puffed out cheek. “If I were you I’d swallow all of that before hyung arrives.”
You did not have to be told twice.
The moment you swallow the last piece, you’re quick to stand and take a bottle of water from the mini-fridge. After that, you’re quick to rush to bathroom—
“Where are you going?” Mingyu asks, and you’re quick to still.
How do you tell this man that you think you’re going to get fucked six ways to Sunday the moment Seungcheol arrives so you wanted to make sure that you were fresh enough before they completely soiled you?
“…Freshening up,” is all you say in reply before entering the bathroom and locking the door behind you.
You’re quick to brush your teeth and wash your face, thoroughly washing and cleaning until you’re sure that no remainder of sleep rests on your face.
You got this, you think to yourself as you stare at your reflection in the mirror. You got your vitamin sea, and one day before you leave and go back home, you’re finally getting your vitamin D. Who cares if it’s a little insane? You’re single and at your prime, you deserve to have a little bit of fun.
It’s not like you’re ever going to see them again.
(The thought both relieves and disappoints you.)
When you open the bathroom door, you’re met by the sight of Mingyu, and the man doesn’t even give you enough time to speak before he’s pulling you out and pressing you against the wall.
The roughness is unusual, but it isn’t unwelcome.
“You’ve got 5 seconds to push me away,” Mingyu says in a tone that feels like it’s meant to warn, but it only has you getting damper between your legs. “We can end this and do literally anything else. If you want me to leave—“
You don’t let Mingyu finish. You take his face into your hands and crash your lips against his the way you’ve been wanting to. It’s electric, and you’re not sure how you’re going to survive more when a single kiss from Mingyu already had your legs growing weaker and your mind getting foggier.
Mingyu is quick to reciprocate, the man kissing you with even greater fervor as he pulls you closer to him by the waist. His tongue clashes with yours, licking inside your mouth like he’s marking his territory.
A moan leaves your mouth when Mingyu gives your breasts a squeeze, and the next thing you know, the man is pulling away, lifting you bridal style, throwing you onto the bed, and crawling over you like you’re prey.
Holy shit.
“Getting a little rough, no?” You joke with a giggle, trying to ease the heavy tension that weighs the air down.
“Can’t have you thinking I’m too soft,” Mingyu says with a grin, and you realize that you’re fucked.
So Seungcheol really told him everything, huh?
You’re quick to address the little problem, “Gyu, soft is okay too—“
“It is, but you don’t need soft, no?” Mingyu says as he grabs you by the hip and flips you onto your stomach. “You need to get fucked.”
It’s the only warning you get before Mingyu’s raising your hips and groping your ass, “You weren’t wearing panties, pretty girl?”
“No,” You whine out, the sensation of Mingyu’s warm breath against your cunt sending tingles down your spine.
“No bra, no panties. What if it hadn’t been me at the door, huh?” Mingyu says. “You like people seeing this body, hm? Like teasing everyone like you’ve been doing to me and hyung, is that it?”
“Yes,” You confess. “But only you guys can touch.”
“That’s right,” Mingyu groans. “Only us.”
A whine breaks free from your lips when you feel Mingyu’s tongue drag through your folds. His saliva mixes with your wetness, and it doesn’t take long before the sounds of him eating you out becomes an audible, obscene mess that only has you moaning louder.
Mingyu’s good at it, really good at it. He’s devouring your pussy like it’s the first thing he’s eating today, making out with your cunt like he’s trying to cover every inch of you in his spit.
“Gyu, that feels so good~” You breathe out through moans, hand reaching back to card through the man’s hair as you move your hips against his face.
Mingyu’s vigor only grows, the man meeting every shift of your hips with dips of his tongue into your cunt. The actions only have you getting closer to your high. Mingyu’s tongue was so fucking good that you think it’ll only take a few more licks before—
A knock to your door.
Mingyu pulls away just as you’re about to come and a long whine leaves you at the sudden loss of your orgasm.
“Sorry, baby,” Mingyu says before giving your cunt a little kiss that’s meant to appease. “Hyung’s here.”
The words have you straightening.
You’re quick to sit up and pull the hem of your nightslip down, tidying your appearance like any of it would hide the spit and slick covering your thighs. Quickly, you sit on the edge of the bed, hands folding on top of your lap as you wait for Mingyu to come back with Seungcheol in tow. You’re not sure why Seungcheol’s presence had such an effect on you. It just does.
“Why’s your face wet?” You hear Seungcheol ask followed by a snort from Mingyu.
“Guess, hyung,”
“Ah.”
Is it natural to be this aware of your heartbeat? Why are you nervous? Why is your body revving up like you’re about to go on a marathon—
“Good morning,” Seungcheol says, and you’re quick to look up. He looks just as sinful, if not worse. Yellow cap, muscle tee, and shorts. It’s casual, comfortable, but the sight of him in it only has you throbbing as you eye his arms and the curve of his pecs with hunger.
“Hope you know it’s the second time I’ve been denied an orgasm because of you,” You scoff, the frown on your lips clear as day.
“You didn’t even let her cum, Gyu?” Seungcheol pouts mockingly, and Mingyu only shrugs before sitting behind you on the bed.
“I was about to, but you came,” Mingyu replies, one arm wrapping around you to pull you into him. He noses at your shoulder before rubbing his cheek affectionately against yours, and fuck, it’s not good. It has you feeling things not only with your pussy but with that treacherous beating organ in your chest as well. “Sorry about that, baby.”
“Make me cum, and I’ll forgive you,” You reply, and Seungcheol is quick to grin.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Seungcheol says, grabbing your chin to make you look up at him. “You’ll be cumming so much that you’ll beg us to stop.”
“But we won’t,” Mingyu whispers against your ear, and you’re not sure if you’re going to run or get on all fours. “You think you can play with us like that and not face the consequences, pretty girl? You can’t.”
It’s the only warning you get before Mingyu lets go of you and Seungcheol pushes you to the floor onto your knees. The man is quick to squat down until your eyes are level, and with all the sincerity he had left that had yet to be consumed by hunger, he speaks, “Do you want this?”
You don’t miss a beat as you nod.
“Words,” Seungcheol warns.
“Yes, I want this,” You reply quickly. “Want you both at the same time.”
You hear Mingyu curse audibly in the background, but you’re too lost in Seungcheol’s hungry gaze to pay it any attention. The man’s eyes always had a way of pulling you in even from across a room, and having to face it with such proximity only had you weaker, mindless.
“Okay,” Seungcheol nods as he stands up and starts pushing his shorts down with Mingyu quick to follow. “But you can back out at any time.”
Like hell you would.
(Though the sight in front of you might just make you reconsider.)
Mingyu’s longer, Seungcheol’s thicker, but you think that having either inside you was a guaranteed trip to the emergency room because what the fuck? How the hell were you going to fit any of that? Where the hell was all of that gonna go—
“Still with us, pretty girl?” Mingyu asks, and you know it’s meant to be out of concern but his words only serve to stroke your competitive side.
You only nod before you spit on your hands. You wanted this. You wanted both at the same damn time, so you weren’t about to quit like a loser that got chased off by the sight of cocks too big for her to handle.
You’ve got this.
Groans simultaneously leave the men when you wrap your hands around their cocks, and the sounds are quick to shoot straight into your core. It’s even more intimidating now that they’re in your hands, the situation finally, truly dawning onto you as you take the heavy weights into your palms and stroke up, down, up, down, up—
“Shit!” Mingyu hisses when you lick at the tip of his cock, and you don’t miss the way Seungcheol’s eyes narrow when you stare at him tauntingly as you wrap your mouth around Mingyu’s tip.
Fuck you, Choi Seungcheol, you think. It’s what you get for leaving.
You continue to suck at Mingyu’s cock while you stroke Seungcheol’s. You’ve never done this, never had to juggle two guys at once, but fuck, you might just get addicted to it if it’s these two that you have to deal with.
Mingyu continues to moan, a gentle hand guiding your head as you try to fit half of him in your mouth. It’s difficult, but you’re not a quitter.
“Baby, that mouth, fuck—“ Mingyu’s hips buck into your mouth, and it has you gagging, has tears springing up in your eyes, but you don’t quit. You continue to suck, continue to bob up and down with obscene moans and gags as you try to shove all of him down your throat. “Fuck, I think I’m gonna—“
You pull away, and Mingyu’s eyes that were screwed shut are quick to open as he whines at the loss. You only grin at him before moving to Seungcheol who looks extremely amused by your actions.
“Tease,” Seungcheol laughs, but his laughter is quick to morph into a moan when you lay your tongue flat against his balls and drag it up until you're sucking on the tip of his flushed cock. “Fuck.”
“Not so funny now, huh?” Mingyu snarks, watching with a pout as you suck on Seungcheol’s cock. “Yah, what about me—“
Mingyu’s complaints are quick to die when you get your hand on his cock again, stroking him at the pace that Seungcheol’s cock was going in and out of your mouth.
“You mouth feels so good, fuck,” Seungcheol moans out as he meets your bobs with gentle thrusts of his hips. “For someone so pretty you’ve got the mouth of a whore.”
The words only make you moan.
You do feel like a whore as you pull away, feel like a whore as you alternate between sucking Seungcheol’s cock and Mingyu’s cock, but honestly? You don’t think you mind getting down and dirty like this as long as it’s these two.
“Shit, hyung. I think I’m gonna cum—“
“Mingyu, shut up and let me cum in peace—“
You give Seungcheol’s cock one final suck and Mingyu’s cock one final squeeze before spurts of white cover your face. You lick and suck at what you can, moaning and whining when the heady taste of male starts fogging your brain with nothing but the lecherous desire to be fucked and claimed.
Mingyu and Seungcheol look absolutely gone as they come all over your face, eyes locked onto the sight of you squeezing them dry. Deep moans fall from their gaping mouths, and the sound is so primal that it has you squeezing your legs and alternating between sucking on the tips of their cocks.
When the two men reach the end of their high, you don’t get a second to recover before the men completely strip themselves and you. Mingyu’s quick to drag you to bed as soon as your nightslip is off, resting his back against the headboard as he shoves his tongue into your mouth while his arms pull you in to lean back against him.
Seungcheol, on the other hand, is quick to crawl onto the bed in front of you, strong hands gripping your knees before peeling them open to reveal your sopping core.
The action has you whining into Mingyu’s mouth, hands moving to cover your cunt because holy shit why the hell did Seungcheol have to spread you out like that?
“Gyu, her hands,” Seungcheol says, and you watch with betrayal in your eyes as Mingyu grabs both of your wrists with one hand and presses them tightly to your chest.
“No use being shy when you’re already drenched in our cum, baby,” Mingyu says before licking a long stripe from your jaw to your cheek, the mix of his and Seungcheol’s cum coating his tongue. He wipes the cum with his free hand. “Let go, pretty. Let us do all the work.”
“It’s embarrassing—“
Mingyu shoves his cum-coated fingers into your mouth at the same time Seungcheol sucks on your clit. The sudden onslaught of sensations has you moaning around Mingyu’s fingers as you squirm and jolt from Seungcheol’s relentless lapping at your folds.
“Shh,” Mingyu says, easing you with rubs to your tongue as he lets go of your wrists to wrap an arm around you. You’re caged with nowhere left to run. “Just take it, pretty girl.”
And that you do.
When Mingyu takes his fingers out to grope your tits, there’s nothing left to keep you quiet. You moan and cry out, shame absolutely gone as Seungcheol slips his fingers into your cunt while he sucks your clit. You think it’s a little unfair that these two ate pussy so well when they already looked like that. Hell, it doesn’t feel right. With cocks and faces like that, the two can probably get away with any level of incompetence in the bed but no.
Fuck, you’re never going back from this.
“Cheol, cumming~” You whine out as you feel the knot in your stomach begin to tighten uncontrollably. Seungcheol keeps his pace consistent, but the sucks to your clit have gotten harsher and holy shit—
Mingyu shoves his tongue into your mouth the moment your vision goes white, swallowing all your whines and moans as he gives your nipples a harsh pinch that has jolting and squirming.
Seungcheol lets you ride out your high, slowing his fingers and giving your clit soft kisses as his eyes bore into yours, gauging your reaction, gauging your limits.
“Good?” Seungcheol asks as he pulls his fingers out and sucks them dry.
“Hyung, I think you sucked her soul out,” Mingyu snickers against your neck as he grounds you with soothing rubs up and down your waist. “Baby, hyung asked you a question.”
“Good,” You breathe out as you nod, melting against Mingyu’s warm frame. “Give me a minute though.”
“As long as you need, sweetheart,” Seungcheol says with a kiss on your knees. “But who do you want to take first?”
“Both.”
“Y/N, no,” Seungcheol says, and you’re quick to pout. “We’ll work our way towards that, but for now, one at a time.”
“Fine, Mingyu then,” You huff, every bit of your choice driven by the desire to get back at Seungcheol for denying you what you wanted. He can go fuck himself while Mingyu made sweet sweet love to your dripping cunt.
Unfortunately, your words don’t piss Seungcheol off. If anything, it only has him grinning as he gets off the bed and settles on the sofa like a cuck.
This is not the reaction you expected.
“Good luck then,” Seungcheol says, tone dripping with amusement and anticipation. “I may be rough but Mingyu’s fucking feral.”
The words have you freezing, and like the final nail on your coffin, Mingyu’s arms tighten around your waist like he’s telling you that there’s nowhere to run.
There probably isn’t.
“Don’t let hyung scare you, pretty girl,” Mingyu says with a kiss to your temple like his eyes aren’t dripping with bad intention. “Just tell me when you’re ready.”
You give yourself a few more seconds before you’re looking up at Mingyu, “Ready.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
The next thing you know, you’re on your back with Mingyu hovering on top of you. It’s a little daunting now that you’re made aware of just how much stronger and sturdier he is compared to you, but you’re honestly too turned on by the contrast to care.
“Missionary? Classic,” Seungcheol quips like a piece of shit from the side, and you’re quick to turn your head to him with a glare.
“Sorry not everyone’s a sex fiend like you,” You hiss.
“Says the woman who sucked two cocks just a few minutes ago.”
“Says the asshole who settled for a threesome—“
“Are you guys done?” Mingyu huffs, condom now fully rolled onto his cock. “Eyes on me, pretty girl. It’s my cock you're taking, not his.”
“Sorry,” You mumble out as you reach up to grab and squeeze at Mingyu’s shoulders. “Can you fuck me now, Gyu?”
“With pleasure, baby,” Mingyu says as he runs the tip of his cock through your folds before popping the head in and fuck,
You’ve been waiting for this.
After a long period of only having fingers and tongues up your cunt you’re finally getting some cock.
“Loosen up, baby,” Mingyu groans as he eases more of his cock inside. The stretch is insane. The man in front of you is only halfway in but the sting is already greater than all the other times you’ve taken other men to the hilt. “Come on, pretty girl. Don’t you wanna take all of me?”
“Too big, Gyu,” You whimper, nails digging into his shoulders as you try to relax. No breathing exercise or mental relaxation technique was going to ease you enough to accommodate more of this man’s cock, but fuck you refuse to end this without having Mingyu burying himself so deep in your guts that you’ll feel him in your throat.
“I know, baby, sorry,” Mingyu says with a kiss to your forehead. Fuck, he needed to stop doing that shit before you fell in love. “But you can take all of me, right? My girl’s not a quitter, no?”
“No,” You whine out, cunt clenching at the man’s words. “Gyu just shove all of it in.”
“Baby, it might hurt—“
You wrap you legs around Mingyu and pull him in, a cry of the man’s name leaving you when his balls slap against you, his cock finally buried to the hilt.
“Fuck—“ Mingyu chokes on his words, fingers crumpling the sheets underneath him as he loses himself in the feeling of your cunt.
You’d die a happy woman after this.
“You want my dick that badly, pretty girl?” Mingyu says in a low tone that has a primal fear settling into your bones. His eyes are dark, pupils blown out with lust, and the way he’s gripping your hips is starting to feel like a threat. “Take it, then.”
Mingyu pulls out until only the tip remains before he’s slamming back in like he’s trying to mold your walls around his cock. The pace is rough right from the start, and you’re starting to realize that Seungcheol wasn’t exaggerating when he said that Mingyu was feral.
The man isn’t isn’t fucking into you. He’s fucking through you. Every stroke of Mingyu’s hips, every plunge of his thick cock is a mix of pain and pleasure that has your mind blanking and your pussy quivering.
Okay, maybe you can’t actually take two.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Mingyu hisses through gritted teeth as he digs his fingers into your waist, using the tight grip as leverage to fuck into you harder. “Has no one been fucking you right, pretty girl? No one to loosen this sweet little cunt?”
“No!” You cry out. “Not enough time—“
“Don’t worry, baby. We’ve got all day,” Mingyu grins as he continues to pound your cunt. “I’m gonna make you cum on this bed, then hyung’s gonna fuck you too. Then we’ll fuck you together, and we’ll do it all over again until you’re crying for us to stop.”
“Big words,” You moan out, every bit of it intending to provoke. “Sure you can live up to them, pretty boy?”
Mingyu groans at your words, hips stuttering at the little nickname that falls from your mouth. “Heard that, hyung? I think she’s challenging us.”
“Let her learn the hard way.”
Seungcheol’s words only have you clenching harder, your high quickly approaching thanks to Mingyu’s merciless strokes and the filth of their words.
“Gyu, close,” You whine out, reaching for the man. “Hold me, please.”
Mingyu’s quick to listen, leaning down to wrap his arms around you and pull you close to him until the boundaries between your bodies became indistinguishable. “I’ve got you, pretty girl. Just let go for me, okay? Cum for me, soak this cock, baby—“
“Gyu, cumming!” You cry out, back bowing off the bed as your mind blanks. The orgasm hits you brutally, hits you like it has no plans of ever letting you get back up.
Mingyu’s thrusts get harsher as he chases his high, deep groans and moans of your name falling from his lips before his hips lose their rhythm and he’s burying himself all the way inside.
“Fuck, I love your cunt,” Mingyu groans as he pulls out, smacking his lips against your cheek. He rolls the condom off and ties it before dangling it in front of you. “Congrats, pretty girl. I don’t think I’ve ever cum that hard.”
“Me too,” You reply before Mingyu’s absence has your tone quickly turning into a whine. “Gyu, come back.”
Mingyu sets the used condom down on the nightstand before he’s laying down beside you and taking you into his arms. “Who would’ve thought the little tease would be this clingy after sex?”
“Fine, leave.”
“Kidding, pretty girl,” Mingyu laughs as he nuzzles into your neck. “I like it when you cling.”
You giggle at the ticklish sensation. “Good because I’ll be clinging for the next few minutes—“
Your laughter pauses when the bed dips beside you, Seungcheol finally making his presence apparent.
Damn, you almost forgot about him.
“How are you?” Seungcheol asks, fingers tenderly tucking your hair back. “We can stop here if it’s too much—“
“I’m fine,” You cut him off. “Just give me a minute. You weren’t kidding when you said Mingyu was feral.”
Seungcheol only chuckles as Mingyu mutters apologies into your neck.
“Can you hold me, Cheol?” You ask.
“Mingyu’s not enough?” Seungcheol snorts, but he’s settling beside you anyway.
“Want you both to hold me,” You reply, a purr practically leaving your throat when Seungcheol presses against you.
“Greedy,” Mingyu mutters against your neck.
“I know,” You giggle, arms wrapping around Seungcheol as you bury your face between the man's pecs. Only the universe knows how long you’ve been waiting to do that.
“Comfy?” Seungcheol asks, tone dripping with amusement as he scratches your scalp.
You feel like a dog getting scratches but you don’t think it’s that far off from the truth because you’d honestly let this man make you his bitc—
“Mhm,” You nod against Seungcheol’s chest.
“Okay then,” Seungcheol laughs.
It only takes a few more minutes before you’re giving Seungcheol the signal and he’s kicking Mingyu out of the bed, the taller man pouting as he walks to the couch and plops down onto it like a dejected puppy.
How cute.
“Get on all fours, sweetheart.”
Oh fuck.
Like a puppet on strings controlled by Seungcheol’s words, you’re quick to follow. It’s a little demeaning, you think, but Seungcheol’s natural dominance only has your pussy clenching on nothing, every inch of your quivering wetness craving to get filled—
“Cheol!” You cry out at the sudden intrusion, your cunt suddenly stretched wide around Seungcheol’s cock as he buries himself into the hilt. It's a good thing you were still loose and dripping from the orgasm Mingyu gave you because holy shit, Seungcheol’s cock would have ripped you apart from the sheer girth of it.
“Oh fuck, you weren’t lying, Gyu,” Seungcheol moans as he starts a slow, rough pace that has every inch, every vein, every ridge of his cock catching onto your walls. “How are you still so tight? Mingyu already fucked you open and you’re still clinging like a fucking vice.”
Seungcheol’s words go in one ear before they fly out through the other. Your brain can’t process anything, can’t register Seungcheol’s words, can’t think of a proper response. The only thing that keeps you functioning is the blood that’s rapidly pumping desire into every fiber of your body.
You can only moan uselessly. Whines and whimpers of what sounds like Seungcheol’s name falling from your lips as you press your cheek against the sheets and arch to get Seungcheol’s cock deeper into you.
“Look at that fucking arch,” Seungcheol hisses, hips driving harder in and out of you as he gropes and kneads the globes of your ass. “You’re made for this, baby.”
You practically purr when you feel Seungcheol press his chest against your back, the weight of him turning your brain into a mushy mess of desire and submission.
“Made to please, made to get fucked, made to take my fucking cock—“ Seungcheol’s words are cut off by a loud approving whine from you throat. “You like hearing that, sweetheart? Like me treating you like you’re nothing more than a way to get off—fuck, you do. I can feel you tightening.”
“Hyung, I think you’ve fucked her dumb.”
“Have I, sweetheart?” Seungcheol whispers into your ear, asking like you haven’t been incoherent for the past few minutes. “Use your words, pretty. Unless, I’ve really fucked you dumb.”
“Fuck—hnng—“ You struggle to get the words out from how brutally Seungcheol pounds your cunt. “Harder, Cheol.”
“What an overachiever,” Seungcheol hisses, but he obliges. His strokes don’t lose their strength even as he picks up speed, and if the man didn’t fuck you dumb previously, then he’ll probably fuck you dumb now.
It’s exactly what you need. Just a moment to relax, let go, turn off your brain, and let a big man fuck an even bigger cock into your cunt until you were drooling on the sheets.
“Wanna fuck her mouth, Gyu?” Seungcheol suddenly asks as he peels himself away from you, and without missing a beat, Mingyu’s already settling in front of you with a bright grin.
“Don’t have to ask me twice, hyung.”
Fucking finally, you think as you raise your head from the sheets.
“Open up, pretty girl,” Mingyu says as he taps the flushed head of his cock against your lips.
You’re quick to open your mouth. The familiar taste of Mingyu has you moaning, has you pushing forward to get more of him down your throat. The man only moans, hands guiding your head up and down in a gentle manner that wholly contrasts Seungcheol’s rough thrusts from the back.
It’s dirty, debauched, and you’re being filled from both ends like a slut, but fuck was it good. Two ridiculously good-looking men had their cocks inside you, who the hell were you to complain? You think the dry spell’s worth it, think that the months of having nothing but your fingers to fuck yourself was worth it because now you were being stuffed full.
And it’s only 9:30 AM.
You almost feel sorry for whoever’s in the next room for having to keep up with this debauchery so early in the day.
“What a good girl,” Seungcheol rasps. “Taking cock like a champ and sucking cock like a whore.”
The words only egg you on to suck harder and clamp down tighter, every cell in your body filled with the eagerness to please and prove just how well you could treat these two.
No words are exchanged as the three of you work to chase your highs, Seungcheol pounding his cock faster while Mingyu grabbed your by the head to fuck your face. The three you have become the prime embodiment of lust with skin meeting skin in obscene slaps and moans falling from lips like speech no longer existed.
The next thing you know, the world is black with stars exploding all over the void as warmth floods your mouth and wetness bursts from your cunt.
A whine leaves your throat when Mingyu and Seungcheol withdraw, and your body is quick to collapse onto the bed with neither man supporting you. However, the absence of their touch only lasts so long before Seungcheol’s pulling you to lay back on his chest as Mingyu walks over to the mini-fridge and gets you a bottle of water.
“Drink up, pretty girl,” Mingyu says as he opens the bottle and brings the mouth to your lips.
You don’t realize how thirsty—actually thirsty—you are until the first cool gulp eases your throat, and before you know it, you’ve finished the entire bottle.
“You okay?” Seungcheol mutters against your neck while Mingyu goes to throw the bottle in the trash.
“Yeah,” You reply, melting into Seungcheol’s embrace. “That was the best sex I’ve had, I think.”
“You’re talking like we’re finished,” Seungcheol giggles, and you freeze.
Were you guys… Not finished?
“You still have to take us both, pretty girl,” Mingyu says as he sits in front of you on the bed.
Your gaze flickers between the two men, and despite just cumming, you can already feel the heat build up in your stomach again. It gnaws, claws, and it has you cooking up a hundred different scenarios as to what both could mean. “Okay.”
The next thing you know, Mingyu’s easing you down his cock, the man guiding you down by the hips until he’s buried all the way inside. “Gyu, too deep.”
Mingyu reaches even further inside now that gravity aided him. Every shift has you feeling him all the way to your guts, has wetness seeping from your cunt as his dick easily presses against that one spot you struggled to reach.
“Is it, really?” Mingyu asks with a teasing grin and a thrust of his hips that has you yelping and falling over, hands shooting out to brace yourself on Mingyu’s chest. There’s barely any distance between your faces like this. “Your pussy seems to like it though.”
Your pussy does, and you do too, but you’re not about stroke this man’s ego more than you already have.
“Kiss me, pretty girl,” Mingyu whispers, his hot breath dancing across your lips like a sinful invitation.
You do just as asked, lips pressing against Mingyu’s in a kiss that’s all spit, tongue, and sin as you moan into his mouth while circling your hips. Mingyu lets his hands explore your body, lets them wander from your face down your chest to your back and down your ass.
An embarrassed whine leaves your throat when Mingyu spreads your cheeks apart, blood rushing to your face when you realize that Seungcheol is literally behind you with a perfect view of the way Mingyu’s cock is lodged inside you—
“Cheol!” You cry out the man’s name when you feel a glob of wetness drop onto your ass, and you attempt to turn, but Mingyu doesn’t let you, chasing your lips with his own until you have no choice but to kiss him back while Seungcheol carried on with his debauchery.
There’s a hot breath on your cunt before Mingyu’s moaning and swearing into your mouth, and the next thing you know, Seungcheol’s dragging his tongue from where you and Mingyu meet before licking up your taint to—
A moan leaves your mouth when you feel Seungcheol’s tongue drag across your other hole, and he doesn’t give you enough time to process it before he’s sticking a finger in.
“Fuck, you’re even tighter here,” Seungcheol groans as he slowly plunges his finger in and out of you. “Anyone ever fuck you here, sweetheart?”
“No,” You breathe out burying your face into Mingyu’s neck as the foreign sensation creeps throughout your body. It’s weird, really weird, and you hate that your nerves are firing signals of pleasure throughout your body, hate that you’re feeling good from it.
“I’ll be your first then,” Seungcheol says before spitting again. “Are you okay with that? We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
For someone so stubborn and rough, Choi Seungcheol sure had a way of being soft. You’ve lost count of all the check-in’s, of all the ways out he’s given you. If you wanted out, you would’ve long kicked them out of your room.
“Fuck me in the ass, Cheol,” You whimper, and you swear you feel Mingyu’s dick twitch inside you.
Freak, you think.
(You’re no better.)
“God, your mouth, Y/N,” Seungcheol groans, adding another finger that has you gripping tighter on Mingyu’s shoulders for support. The man underneath you only presses soothing kisses all over your throat, hands too occupied with spreading you open for his hyung to offer you any other comfort. “Wanna get double-stuffed, sweetheart? Are you sure you can take it—“
“Yes, Cheol, just shove it in!” You cry out desperately. The frustration in your tone only makes the men laugh.
“Baby, be careful what you wish for,” Mingyu whispers into your ear at the same time he squeezes your ass. “You might not be able to sit properly after this.”
“If I can sit without crying then the two of you are doing something wrong—Shit!”
Full.
Impossibly full.
There’s nothing running through your mind but cock, cock, cock—
“Holy fuck,” Seungcheol moans, cock slowly spearing through the walls of your hole that no one—not even you—has dared to explore.
Choi Seungcheol is the first to get all of you.
“Hyung, her pussy got tighter,” Mingyu whimpers, arms wrapping around your waist like you’re a lifeline, like he’s trying his best not to bust then and there.
None of it registers in your mind. You can’t speak, can’t moan, can’t think. Your head’s a mess of desire and debauchery, the painful sensation of Seungcheol stretching you wide contrasting against the pleasurable rub of Mingyu’s cock against your walls.
“You okay?” Seungcheol asks, leaning down to press apologetic kisses against the back of your ear. “Y/N, you have to answer me before we can continue.”
“I’m fine,” You manage to breathe out, propping yourself up on shaky arms as you pull away from Mingyu. “Just—just do it slowly.”
“We’ll go as slow as you want, sweetheart,” Seungcheol says, giving you an experimental thrust to test the waters.
The action has you whining, has tears pooling in your eyes as the sting becomes more apparent. Who decided that taking a cock this thick for your first backdoor experience would be a good idea? Not that it would be better if it was Mingyu in Seungcheol’s place. The cock in your ass already feels like it’s knocking at your guts, Mingyu would fucking tear through you if it was him in there.
As promised, Seungcheol and Mingyu take it slow, fucking you with gentle, shallow thrusts that are less for their pleasure and more for your adjustment. They make a good team, their chemistry and their attunement to your body both bringing you into a cockdrunk headspace where you can only moan and whimper.
“Doing so well, pretty girl,” Mingyu says as he runs his large hands from your thighs up your waist and over your chest before he’s squeezing and kneading the globes of fat. “So pretty when you’re moaning, so pretty when you’re taking cock, fuck.”
Mingyu continues to praise you, continues to let the stream of encouraging, pussy-clenching compliments fall from his lips even as he’s sucking and groping your tits.
Their combined efforts quickly have the sting turning into pleasure, and before you can even stop yourself, your hips are already moving back to meet their thrusts, each bounce and slap driving their cocks deeper into your holes until you can feel their balls hit the skin of your cunt in alternating slaps.
“Harder,” You moan out like you weren’t just crying from the intrusion a few seconds ago. “I’m not gonna break, please fuck me harder.”
“You beg so well, sweetheart,” Seungcheol groans, hands continuing to knead and squeeze your ass as he and Mingyu take turns going in and out of you. “Who am I to deny you when you plead all pretty like that?”
It’s the only warning you get before Seungcheol starts a harsh pace, Mingyu following suit to match his hyung’s strokes so that their cocks drive in and out of you at the same time.
The pleasure you get from it is out of this world. One second you’re empty with nothing but their thick heads to stretch you out, and the next second you’re struggling to breathe from how impossibly full your cunt and ass are.
You’ve gone feral, every setting on your body switched to a primal state where you can only moan, whine, and shriek out words that resembled ‘please!’, ‘more!’, ‘don’t stop!’—
“More? Baby, you’re already drooling,” Mingyu laughs out in disbelief as he continues to fuck you, one hand reaching up to wipe your chin. “You’re already so messy, pretty girl, and you want more? Want us to ruin you? Want us to fuck you until you can’t think, hm?”
“Yes!”
“Don’t fucking worry, sweetheart, you’ll get what you asked for,” Seungcheol rasps behind you, his thrusts not faltering once. “I’m gonna fuck you till you’re gaping, gonna fuck you until you’re crying for me to fucking stop. Everytime you sit, it’s gonna sting and you’re gonna fucking remember who fucked this tight little ass open—shit.”
“Oh, hyung I think she likes it when you talk to her like that,” Mingyu groans, eyes boring into yours. “Should’ve known you were into this shit.”
“She probably planned all of this, Gyu,” Seungcheol moans. “Probably brought her skimpiest fucking swimsuits so that someone would just lose control and fuck her. Congratulations, sweetheart, you’re getting what you wanted.”
“I think we deserve a little thanks, no?” Mingyu says, and you’re quick to oblige.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you—“
“Good girl,” Seungcheol says. “But what are you thankful for, sweetheart? You’ll have to be specific.”
“Thank you for—hnng—fucking me,” You whimper out, the knot in your stomach becoming unbearably tight as the men continue to drive their cocks in and out of you. “Thank you for stretching my cunt, thank you for fucking my ass—“
Stars burst beneath your lids as your orgasm hits you unexpectedly, moans and swears coming from the men at your sudden clench and collapse onto Mingyu’s chest.
“Fuck, hyung she just came—“
“I know, shit, I’m close.”
“Me too, fuck.”
You can only lay limply in Mingyu’s arms as the two men use your body to get themselves off. The overstimulation has you crying, has you whimpering and whining into Mingyu’s ear, but all the fucking has made you boneless, and you can’t find it in yourself to push either men away.
Especially not when you could feel another orgasm building up.
Greedy, you know.
Mingyu’s the first to break, “Fuck, I’m so close—“
“Inside Gyu,” You whimper weakly. “Take the condom off.”
“Pretty girl, that’s not a good idea—“
“Please.” You whimper.
“You heard her, Gyu,” Seungcheol says. “I hope you don’t mind me doing the same, sweetheart.”
“I’d be mad if you didn’t,” You reply with a grin, watching as Seungcheol pulls his cock out and rolls the condom off before he’s plunging back inside, bare.
“Fuck, okay,” Mingyu is quick to give in, pulling out the way his hyung did before he’s sticking his bare cock back inside of you. “Please tell me you’re on birth control.”
“I’ll get Plan B later,” You reply, and you don’t miss the way Mingyu’s eyes darken.
“Fuck, you’re asking me to fuck this cunt unprotected and you’re not on birth control?” Mingyu hisses but he fucks you anyway, nails digging into your hips as he brings you down on his cock every time he thrusts up.
“Hope you’re ready to become a father, Gyu,” Seungcheol snickers from behind you. “Haa, fuck I’m close.”
“Don’t you want a mini-me, Gyu?” You tease further, and Mingyu only swears as he thrusts even harder. “This pussy’s all yours if you get me pregnant—“
“Don’t joke about that shit or I really will, slut,” Mingyu rasps. “Keep teasing me and you won’t be leaving this bed until I’m sure it fucking sticks.”
Mingyu’s words push you off the edge, and your orgasm is quick to set off Seungcheol’s and Mingyu’s, moans, swears, and hisses escaping their lips until they bury themselves deep inside you with one final thrust that has your toes curling and your eyes crossing.
Warmth blooms inside you as you get impossibly full with the men’s spunk, satisfied sighs and whimpers falling from your lips as you nuzzle into Mingyu’s chest while Seungcheol rests his forehead against your back.
Fuck, you really needed to get plan B after this.
(The idea of a mini-Gyu is cute, but you’re not about to trade your successful career and your carefree lifestyle to bear the child of a man you barely know.)
(Even if he’s hot as fuck.)
The two men pull out, and it’s not long before you feel the warmth of their cum ooze out of you in thick globs.
Seungcheol is quick to slap Mingyu’s shoulder. “Gyu, get a towel. We need to clean her up—“
Mingyu doesn’t waste a second before he’s settling between your legs, tongue darting out to clean the cum streaming out of you.
“Well, that works too,” Seungcheol says as he settles beside your body that was jolting and twitching from the stimulation of Mingyu’s tongue.
“How are you?” Seungcheol asks as he takes you into his arms. “Fine? Good? Does anything hurt?”
“I’m fine,” You mumble. “But I don’t think I can go to the pharmacy right now.”
“Ah fuck, almost forgot about that,” Seungcheol says. “Gyu, go get plan B.”
“Hyung, I’m busy eating. Why me—“
“It’s your cum, asshole,” Seungcheol scolds. “Unless you really want a kid, then be my fucking guest—“
“We’re at that age anyway—“
“Mingyu.”
“On it.”
You only giggle as the men bicker, nuzzling into Seungcheol’s chest and watching with sleepy eyes as Mingyu grabs his clothes from the floor.
“I’ll be back,” Mingyu says with a kiss to your cheek before he’s rushing to the door of your hotel room. “Don’t hog her too much, hyung. I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
It’s the last thing you hear before the world goes black.
—
It’s been two weeks since your little summer escapade, and you’re still not over it.
You had left the day following your debauched threesome, and you had left without a word. No exchange of numbers, no exchange of details. The only evidence of your little tryst was the memories and the few pictures on your phone that the men had taken while ruining you for everybody else that came after them.
A fuck-and-run is what you liked to call it, and though it makes you feel a little guilty to leave without saying goodbye, you’re sure it won’t take long before the two find another pretty thing to take your place.
(Sure, you’re a little jealous at the thought, but it’s not like you’ll ever see them again.)
Honestly though, you feel a little empty.
In more ways than one.
They were good in bed, but they were even better outside of it. Mingyu and Seungcheol were the perfect mix of gentleman and freak, the two men treating you with utmost care and attention outside of the bedroom while treating you like a ragdoll inside of it. Their absence and your isolation only becomes more apparent whenever you get home and there’s nothing to greet you but the luxurious walls of your apartment and the pretty city view that cost you an even prettier penny just to get.
How sad.
(Fuck, you needed to settle down soon.)
A frustrated sigh falls from your lips when you find that your kitchen is empty. Well, not really, but there aren't enough ingredients to make a decent dish. The last thing you wanted was to eat horribly when you were already down in the dumps.
Damn it.
You’re quick to throw your heels back on and walk out of your apartment before driving to the closest supermarket.
It only takes a short while before you’re halfway through your list, the cart filled with a mix of fresh ingredients for less busy days and processed goods for when you need something quick. You can’t help the envy that flares inside you when you see a couple doing their shopping together.
Fuck, you when?
With a sigh, you turn to the little stack of grocery items, your annoyance only growing when you realize that the pack of spicy noodles you really liked were placed all the way up on the top shelf that was conveniently out of your reach.
Way to make a bad day worse, really.
You feel a little pathetic as you tiptoe and reach for the noodles, feel even worse when you realize that you’re in heels and yet you’re still in this stupid situation. Who the hell decided that that was the best place to stack food that was high in demand—
A hand reaches out to get the pack before it’s held out to you.
Bless their soul, really.
You take the pack of noodles gratefully before looking up to thank the stranger, “Thank you—“
Oh god.
Tall, check. Ridiculously lean, check. Pretty eyes, check. Sharp fangs poking out as he grins, check.
Kim Mingyu stands before you like a knight in sagging sweatpants, and Seungcheol stands right behind him, hands on the cart and eyes filled with recognition and something darker as he stares at you.
“Long time no see, pretty girl,” Mingyu says.
“Wow,” You laugh a little—extremely—awkwardly as you set the pack of noodles down in your cart. “Didn’t know you guys did your grocery here.”
“We live nearby,” Mingyu replies, hand holding your cart, and you know it’s intentional.
“Seems like you do too,” Seungcheol adds with a smirk.
The message underlying their words is clear.
Found you.
Specific Tags: Horny thoughts from everyone, Return of the sunblock scene but it’s Gyu this time (see: Imperfect love PT. 1), Public fingering (I get worse every time), Masturbation, Oral Sex (f and m receiving), Threesome, Double Blowjob (KILL ME IT LOOKS LIKE THE TAGS SECTION OF A PORN SITE), Bukkake (Every day I learn a new term), Degradation, Dumbification, Mildly Homoerotic Themes (Aka me opening up the door for poly), Mild Rimming (f receiving, CRYING AS WE SPEAK), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Double Penetration, Protected Sex Quickly turning Unprotected, Mild allusions to babytrapping, Mild breeding kink, Creampie (Both holes)
A/N: Hope y’all missed me cause once my thesis and exam are done, I’m gonna be clicking the hell out of that post button and replying to the requests and asks that have piled up 🥰 (They keep adjusting deadlines omygod set me free from this prolonged agony)
when your super sexy hot boyfriend comes home tipsy after not calling you for fourteen hours and you can’t help but be pissed off — wc 4.3k, jyh x fem!reader, smut minors dni, ANGST (hehe), idol au, dom!yunho, degradation, raw (my bad), spanking, dom yunho agenda lives on. mentions of yungi bc im insane! last shottie before kinktober starts 🫡
You haven’t heard a singular word that’s left the TV screen in an hour. Sitting with your knees bent up to your chest, your arms crossed over them, your hair tied up, jaw set in anger, the silly sitcom on the screen couldn’t even pull a huff of amusement from your nose.
He was late. Again. Hours this time.
It seemed to be happening more often than not lately, with a comeback right around the corner he was holed up at the company building every day, dance practice, meetings, last minute promo recordings. You understood, being with him for years now, this isn’t your first comeback with him, nor is it your last.
But for some reason, this one had steam coming out of your ears, your mind betraying you, telling you he was out with his friends for drinks, he was hanging out in the practice room doing overtime, all because he didn’t want to come home to you.
It didn’t have sadness sitting heavy in your gut. It had ice cold rage burning through your veins, sweat nipping at your neck, your fingertips ice cold. How dare he leave you at home by yourself for hours while you waited for him? For him to be out at a bar, with friends? For him to be lingering at the studio without a care in the world that you were home, on the couch, patiently waiting for his arrival?
You were mid-sigh when you heard the keys in the door handle. You stood on socked feet as the door groaned open, the knob bouncing off the wall. You barely reacted, arms so tightly bound over your chest, mind whirling with your starting accusation.
Your six-foot oaf of a fucking boyfriend tumbled through the doorframe, already smiling, pink dusted over his cheeks. Your eyebrows shot to your hairline– You thought him being drunk was a long shot, your mind jumping to conclusions because you couldn’t get a hold on your emotions, but you were fucking right!?
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” your arms uncurl from your chest as you make your way towards him, feet sliding over the hardwood in quick steps.
“Baby!” His grin widens, throwing his bag to the floor, his jacket falling on top, completely missing how your eyebrows were slanted downward, how your lips pursed in a heart at the center of your face. “I missed you, today was so long. Mingi, Wooyoung and I went to the bar across the street and had a few beers to unwind after work, talk about the day.”
You keep your distance, a few feet away, arms curling over your chest again, weight shifting to one leg. You tilted your head, voice coming out in a tone of false amusement, “Have fun?”
He giggles, a soft sound, light and bubbly, your favorite song of his. Not right now.
“Yeah,” he nods, “Wooyoung and Mingi are so fucking funny when they’re together, I swore I was gonna pee my pants at one point.”
You nod slowly, lips pursed atop each other, eyes low and pointed, “That’s great.”
He pauses where he stands, one shoe off, the other halfway on. He furrows his brows, “You’re pissed.”
“No shit I’m pissed.”
His head tips back in a groan, arms falling limp at his sides as he kicks his other shoe off. Your hands start flying. “I don’t understand, Yunho, do you even think of me during the day? No text, no call, no nothing while I sit here and wait for you!”
He starts for the kitchen, long legs quickly carrying him there, you follow on his heel. “Do you even think of maybe letting me know?” He opens the cabinet, grabbing a glass of water. Your eyes follow him. “Tell me, Yunho, am I even a thought in your mind?”
“I think about you all the time, you know that, I’ve told you a thousand times,” his words have a soft, tired bite to them as he places his glass in the fridge, water pouring from the dispenser built into the door.
“Then why don’t you let me know you won’t be home so I don’t make double the dinner I made for myself?” Your voice raises, each word emphasizing the rage slicing through your body, “Or I don’t sit here on the couch like a fucking idiot, waiting for you to walk through the door to watch our show?”
He turns on his heel, droplets of water landing on the hardwood surrounding you. His voice matches yours, loud, strong enough to cut steel, “I just worked,” his tone lowers, punching every single syllable, “Fourteen fucking hours.”
“And I didn’t receive,” you raise up a hand, counting on your fingers, “A call, a voicemail, a text, a fucking Instagram DM. Did you message on Fromm today? Did your fans get a message when I didn’t?”
His eyes widen, lips curling at the corner, a laugh falling from his lips so empty that it hurts like a slap to the face. He walks away, a hand flying in the open space over his head as he heads for the living room, “Oh, you’ve fucking lost it.”
“I’ve lost it!?” You yell, still on his heel, “Excuse me for wanting to hear from my boyfriend of four fucking years while he’s gone for fourteen hours of the day!”
He sits down on the couch, knees spread, drinking from his glass. You stand before him, hands on your hips, rage steaming your skin, the room feeling ten degrees hotter. He chugs the glass, head leaning back into the couch, staring at you through lowered brows. His voice drops, low and steady, the type of anger that makes him calm. You don’t let it phase you.
“You need to stop yelling at me,” he said simply, “You’re being ridiculous.”
“What’s ridiculous is you not giving a fuck about me,” your tone is harsh, and as much as in your soul you know your words aren’t true, you say them like you mean it. “But by all means, go to the bar after work, get some drinks with your friends! Maybe you can even find a woman there to fuck you, or better yet, maybe you should have gone home with Mingi.”
“You’re losing your fucking mind,” he shakes his head with another laugh, “I worked my ass off today, I’m exhausted, I wanted a few beers to decompress so I didn’t come home and put a load on you when you’ve been waiting for me.”
“That’s what I’m fucking here for, Yunho,” your hands find your hair, tugging at your roots, head tipping up to face the beige, popcorned ceiling. “I’m here to help you decompress, I’m here to share your struggles, your hardships. What the fuck am I to you?”
“You’re my girlfriend that has her own struggles and hardships,” he leans forward, his eyebrows in his hairline, his words coming out strained. “You’re not here for me to put all of mine on you! I have coworkers and friends for that, I come home to forget about the bullshit–”
“You come home to get fucked,” you’re seething now, words harsh and low, “You go to work, sing and dance all day, and come home after a few beers looking for a hole to stick your cock in.”
His eyes nearly bulge out of his head. “You did not just say that.”
You point to the floor beneath your feet, “And I meant Every. Fucking. Word.”
Within a blink he’s standing before you, so close you can feel his breath on your skin, pink-tipped, long fingers wrapped around your jaw. He’s staring at you through lowered brows, his eyes heavy and cold, a darkness within the deep chocolate that sends a shiver down your spine, breath catching in your throat.
“You think I’ve been with you four years just for sex?” His voice is quiet, low, terrifying, his torso pressed to yours. Your eyes flare with anger, subtle excitement, socked toes curling into the hardwood, but you don’t answer. His smile is dangerous, it should have you nervous, scared, anything but the rush of adrenaline that floods you. “You think that’s all you’re good for? A hole to stick my cock in?”
“Fuck no,” you hiss, lips squished from his fingers cutting into your skin, “I think that’s all you’re good for.”
He drops your jaw, knees bending to grab you by the thighs, throwing you over his shoulder in one quick motion. Your stomach drops, a high-pitched yell leaving your throat as his legs bring you to the bedroom in long, quick strides, heart rising to your throat when he throws you on the perfectly made bed, his six-foot built towering over you.
You sit up immediately, jaw locked, steam pouring from your nostrils, “Don’t even think about touching me.”
His lips curve in a smile, amusement in his eyes, piercing through the irritation that squares his shoulders. “That’s all I’m fucking good for?” He takes a step closer to the bed, leaning down until his pink-dusted cheeks are centimeters from yours. You don’t move, eyes locked on his and jaw set, heart pounding against your chest. He smiles. “I work every damn day to make money for you, and that’s all I’m good for?”
Your lashes barely touch in a fast blink, ignoring how your stomach drops. That smile, his tone, he’s pissed. Fear licks up your spine, your forehead feeling damp under his gaze. You tilt your chin up, voice losing all its bite, “Yes.”
In a navy hoodie and sweatpants, black hair messily sprawled across his forehead, eyes crazed and wild and maybe half-deranged, the fear that nipped at your spine got confused with the excitement rippling on your skin. His grin spreads wide, and before you know it he’s pushing you back by your shoulders, head bouncing against the mattress. A hand curls under your torso, flipping you onto your stomach, and your eyes squeeze shut. Fuck.
“If that’s all I’m good for,” he starts, thumbs curling into the yoga pants on your waist, pulling them down just enough to expose your ass. “Then maybe I’ll remind you who the fuck I am. Who it is you’re speaking to like that.”
“I know damn well who I’m talking to,” your words come out airy, shuddering as he lifts your hoodie up to mid-back, pulling your pants down just a little more, chuckling when your squished thighs show him a peek of wetness between your legs, no panties to hide it.
“Hmm, I think you like it,” you can hear his smile as his warm palms run over your ass, squeezing the skin, “Being the hole I use when I come home. Being nothing but my fucking cocksleeve.”
You bite your lip to hide your whine, voice strained, “Fuck you, Yunho.”
“Fuck me?” His hands mid-squeeze, grip firm, “I thought you told me not to touch you. Didn’t think you wanted to fuck me.”
Your lips purse, fingers digging into the sheets below you, anticipation biting every inch of skin exposed, “I don’t. I don’t want anything to fucking do with you.”
He laughs and it’s a low, gravelled thing, laced with mischief like he could taste the lies on your tongue. He digs a knee into the bed, leaning down close to your ear, breath hot on your cheek, “You think I have the energy to put you in your place tonight?”
Your thighs clench together, a small whimper escaping your lips. You squeeze your face together, pissed that your body betrayed you, anger and anticipation and arousal mixing together to a cocktail between your legs.
He kneels off the bed, voice steady and sharp, “Count, or I won’t go any farther than this. You won’t get the privilege of being the hole I use tonight.”
Your eyebrows furrow before the first harsh smack lands on your ass. You cry out, head jerking up, bottom lip dragging against the sheets, the word count doesn’t process in your overstimulated mind.
“Oh, I must have misread the situation,” his voice is taunting now, the inflection of his tone rising and falling. “Thought you were just being a brat. You really don’t want to get fucked tonight, huh?”
Your mouth moves before you can think, “I- I do, I do.”
He lands another, right below your ass, the sensitive skin of your thigh. You cry out again, face hot, throat tight.
“Yelling at me on some stupid shit right when I get home, are you really that stupid? Did you forget how to count, too?”
“Two!” You squeal, legs bending at the foot of the bed, your toes just barely gripping the floor to hold you up.
“There you go, baby,” his hands running over where he had just hit you, a stinging heat in his palms now as he attempts to soothe the skin. “Knew you weren’t completely stupid.”
You choke out a quiet moan, body betraying you, temple falling to the mattress again. You have only a moment of recovery before he’s striking you again, harder this time, on the opposite, unmarred cheek, the loud slap ringing through the room.
You whimper, voice quieter, nearly broken, “Three.”
“You can take more,” he’s squeezing the skin again, voice a song of amusement and faux encouragement, “Keep up so you can earn my cock.”
He hits you again, followed by Four. Then again, followed by Five. He gets all the way to Ten before tears are streaming down your cheeks, darkening the comforter beneath your face, sobs shaking your shoulders. It hurts, but it hurts so fucking good you’re left confused and utterly brainless. Pain and pleasure morphing together, you wanted to cum, you wanted to sit in ice-cold water, you wanted him to tell you that you did a good job. You wanted your reward.
Why did you want a reward? Why did you get punished in the first place? You’re the one that’s mad at him.
He’s already tugging you towards him before you can get the words out, shaky and harsh but weakened by the tears streaming down your face, “F-Fuck you, Yunho.”
Pulling you into his lap, his lips bend in a pout as he wipes the tears from your cheeks with two thumbs, “Hm? Still? Thought for sure I would have spanked the brat out of you.”
“You heard me,” your voice is raw, anger returning with how your burning cheeks sting, “Fuck you.”
“Oh,” is all he says as he lays you on your back again, you hiss when the comforter hits your behind. His face reads nothing while he moves you as if you didn’t have any will of your own, pulling the hoodie over your head, ripping the hair-tie from your bun.
“I said don’t fucking touch me,” you bite as your hair falls around your face, “I’m not yours to use.”
He laughs at that, genuine and bright, “That’s exactly what you are, my love, you’re mine. I can do whatever the fuck I want to you.”
“No you can’t,” you move up the bed, wincing as your ass drags across the sheets, “I’m not playing this game with you tonight. All I wanted was a text.”
“Do you not hear yourself when you speak?” He crawls over you, hands sliding your yoga pants down your legs, “Remember when I asked you if you wanted to be fucked and you said yes?”
Your cheeks heat as he slides you down the mattress again, head landing in the pillows. You tip your chin, “It was a moment of weakness.”
“It was you giving in like you always do,” his hands land on your thighs, one sliding down to your pulsing core, “Because at your core you’re nothing but a fucking slut.” His fingers slip into your folds, spreading your wetness, “Ain’t that right?”
Your back arches involuntarily, catching your lip between your teeth to fight a moan. His thumb circles around your clit, tongue poking out to wet his lips, staring at you through lowered brows. He tilts his head when your breath catches in your lungs, “Answer me. Aren’t I right?”
Your hips buck into him, eyes dancing between his hand between your legs and his gaze that was cold and pointed. He smacks his teeth with his lips, pulling his hand away from your core to land a quick slap against your center. You gasp a moan, hips jerking, and his lips curve in a smile, “You answer when I speak to you.”
“Yes, fuck, Yunho, you’re right,” you gasp out, body twitching now, fingers twisting in the sheets below you.
“What am I right about?”
“I’m a slut!” You cry out as his thumb meets your clit again. Your head digs into the pillows, eyes fluttering shut at the pleasure, how his finger moves at the perfect pace with perfect pressure.
He uses his other hand to slip a finger inside you, curling slowly, his lips parting as he watches your body arch, relaxing into the bed, face morphing into sweet pleasure.
“That’s right,” he nods, voice taunting, “You’re a slut, my fucking slut. You don’t talk back to me, you don’t speak to me disrespectfully, do you?”
You shake your head quickly, eyebrows twisted in pleasure, hips bucking against his fingers. The sting in your ass adds to the pleasure at your core, mixing together in a bubble of euphoria, the pit in your stomach tightens. He adds another finger and fucks into you faster, thumb circling with harder pressure, voice still taunting as he asks, “Do you have anything you want to say to me?”
“I’m sorry,” you open your eyes, words coming out in a rushed, strained breath, “I’m sorry, Yunho.”
His grin spreads wide. He slips his fingers out, maneuvering you onto your front again, grabbing a pillow from beside your head to slide under your hips. “You don’t get to be stretched out.”
“Fuck,” you mutter absent-mindedly into the cotton pillows, hands coming up to grip at the plush. The stretch was always so much worse without an orgasm first, his cock was too long, too thick.
“Maybe if you’re good for me I’ll pretend you never said a word, maybe I’ll even let you cum,” his hands curl into your cheeks, spreading you open, ignoring how you hiss at the sting. He leans down, landing a fat glob of spit to drip down your folds before you hear him pull down his sweats, his briefs, no doubt just low enough to get his cock out, scrunched around his thighs.
“Take a deep breath for me baby,” his voice is soft for the first time tonight as he lines himself up, his tip spreading his own spit along your core, slapping his cock against you twice before prodding at your entrance.
You suck a deep breath in as he pushes into you slowly, whimpering at the stretch, at the sting. Always so fucking big, even after four years, you weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to it.
“Hah, fuck,” he drags out the words, low and velvety, his pleasure verbal. “Sucking me in like you always do, piss me off just to get fucked like a slut. I know you.”
You cry out a choked moan as he sheathes himself inside you slowly, letting you feel the curve of his cock, each pulsing vein, the mushroom tip settling deep inside you. You feel his hair on your stinging cheeks, eyes screwed shut, rolled back behind your lids, the pain so hot it sears your skin.
“Not gonna fight back?” He huffs a breath of pleasure and amusement, “Too fucked out to speak already?”
Your knees dig into the mattress, hips pressing back against him, “Move.”
He lands another harsh smack on your ass, your wail is immediate, piercing through the room. His voice is sharp, “Thought we went over how you fuckin’ speak to me. You wanna be used, left here without an orgasm and a cunt pumped full of cum?”
You shake your head, tears stinging your waterline again, “No! No, I’m sorry.”
“Act like it,” he pulls out just to slide back in, harsher this time, “Don’t just fucking say it.”
“I’m sorry,” you wail as he picks up the pace, building a rhythm as your fingertips claw at the pillows beneath you, “I’ll be good– I’ll be good, I swear!”
“I know you will,” his hands run over your hips, watching as your hot-red ass bounces against his cock, “This pussy wants to cum, that’s why you were acting up, right? Just missed me?”
Tears dampen the pillows beneath your cheeks, sobs racking through your chest, shoulders shaking as much as your ass bounced against him, “Y-Yes, Yun, just missed you, miss- missed your cock.”
His fingers tighten around your hips, a low groan tumbling through his lips as he fucks into you harder, “I know, baby, I know.”
Your hips fuck back onto him, accepting every inch of his cock, letting the overwhelming pleasure settle into your core. Tears spill down your cheeks as moan after moan slips from your lips, his cock bruising your cervix, curving so deliciously against the front of your walls.
“Fuck, Yunho,” you whimper, voice muffled by the pillows, “Wanna see you, need to see you.”
“Yeah?” He asks, taunting tone dulled by his pleasure-filled breath, “Gonna be a good girl?”
“Yes,” you cry, choking on the spit in your throat, “Gonna be good, g-gonna be your good girl.”
He pulls out at that, slipping the pillow from beneath you and throwing it off the bed, flipping you for the final time tonight. With one look at your splotchy, tear-stained cheeks he’s leaning down, connecting his lips with yours. It’s messy, hot, wet, teeth colliding and tongues trying to swallow each other whole. Your hands immediately slide under his hoodie, feeling the muscled, chiseled abdomen beneath, beckoning him to take it off.
He pulls it over his head and your arms slide over his shoulders, fingers twisting together at the base of his neck, tugging at the hairs that curl around his ears. He moans into your lips, cock grinding against your slippery folds, tip catching on your entrance.
“Please,” you whisper into his lips, a string of spit connecting your lips, “Inside.”
He reaches down, shimmying his sweats down to his ankles, then uses one hand to line himself up and you both watch as he slowly pushes himself inside, eyebrows twisting together and lips falling open in a silent moan.
“So fucking good,” he groans into you, “Pussy so sweet, missed it, missed you.”
You whine as he reaches the hilt, “So fucking deep, Yunho, fuck.”
“All yours, baby,” he catches your lips again, his skin pressed to yours, pelvis so heavy against yours as he builds a new slow, antagonizing rhythm, “All fucking yours.”
Your thighs wrap around his, hips meeting his thrusts, his cock barely sliding out of you with how close you keep him. So close together you don’t know where he ends and you begin, your moans pour into one melody, breaths hot on each other’s faces. Your nails claw into his skin, cries growing higher in pitch as his cock drags against your walls, massaging that spongy spot just behind your clit.
“Right there,” you breathe, head tipping back, and Yunho dips his head down to press his tongue to the column of your throat. Your toes curl, whining, “Shit, Yunho, fuck, missed you s’much.”
“My good girl,” he mumbles into your skin, picking up his pace, never missing the spot you think he was built to hit. “So fuckin’ bratty when she doesn’t get her way, just needed something to fill this tight lil’ pussy up.”
“Yes,” you’re reeling, gasping, your orgasm building steadily in your gut, “Needed you, needed this.”
“I’m sorry,” he finds your mouth again, kissing you harshly, muffling your moans. “‘M sorry I didn’t call.”
“It’s okay, shit,” you gasp, “I’m gonna cum.”
Your thighs unclasp from his back as he fucks into you harder, cock bullying that spot inside you, and your breath hitches in your throat as the pleasure finally spills, clenching around him, nails clawing into him so hard you’re sure you’ll leave red crescents in his back.
“Fuck,” he hisses, “So good for me baby, so tight, you want me to fill you up?”
You nod against his lips, mouth hanging slack against his, body still clenched tight around him, orgasm still flowing through you. “Yes, yes, need it.”
He chokes out a groan, staggered and broken, hips twitching as he loses his rhythm, fucking into you wildly. You cry out, “Yes, baby, so good– so good, stretching me out, cum inside.”
He moans at that, head dipping into your shoulder as he pounds his cock into you, broken thrusts turning to a nasty, slow grind. He whimpers as he spills into you, “I love you, I love you– so much.”
Your hands slide into his hair, scratching at his scalp as you feel his load fill you up, “I love you too, baby.”
Warm, heavy, full. You both catch your breath for a few, he lays with his head in your neck, your thighs lazily thrown over his, both of you ignoring the stick between you.
“Sorry for flipping out when you got home,” you finally mumble, voice coy.
He smiles into your neck, a warm, close-mouthed grin, “It’s okay, I gave you a valid reason to.”
“You should do it more often,” a smile grows on your own cheeks, “If it means you’ll fuck me like this.”
He laughs into your neck, sweet and light, your favorite song. “I fuck you like this without you being mad at me.”
“It adds to it tho, yanno?” You turn your head, kissing his hair. “Maybe next time you’ll have someone else with you when you walk through the door and I can berate him, too.”
“Like who? Mingi?”
You shrug, a smirk on your lips. He lifts his head, meeting your eye, reading the amusement but seriousness laying behind them. He blinks at you for a second, before his lips curl in a nasty smirk, too.
summary: yunho and mingi will do anything for her. their best friend. the girl they love. even if that means turning their entire college campus into her favorite slasher flick.
warning: mingi and yunho are both killers, strong descriptions of death, blood, gore and violence, slight toxic relationship, power play, dom yunho, soft dom mingi, switch reader, threesome, unprotected sex, choking, oral, tongue fucking, double penetration, anal, overstimulation, multiple orgasm, creampie
genre: horror, dark romance, smut
pairing: ghostface yunho x afab reader x ghostface mingi
word count: 21k
part three
part five coming soon
masterlist
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Her thighs ached. That was the first thing she noticed when she stirred, dull soreness blooming between her legs like a reminder that last night had not been a dream. The second thing she noticed was the weight of an arm draped across her waist, warm and possessive even in sleep. Mingi. His breathing was steady behind her, chest rising and falling against her back, the room still dim with morning light. She could smell him on her pillow. Taste him on her tongue. She smiled. And then someone knocked.
A sharp, echoing rap, rap, rap that startled her halfway upright. Mingi didn’t move, dead to the world, one leg tangled with hers, one hand curled against her stomach like he’d chained her in place. The knock came again, more insistent. “Shit,” she muttered, peeling his arm off gently and sliding out of bed. One of her hoodies was halfway across the floor, crumpled near her desk chair, so she grabbed that and tugged it on, no shorts, no shame. She padded barefoot to the door, muttering, “If this is my RA again, I swear to God….”
“Morning,” Jongho said, holding a plastic bag of snacks and a bottle of iced coffee like he was making a pit stop, not dropping a bomb. “You look like you just got laid.” She blinked, furrowing her brows. “I did,” she said, before her brain caught up to her mouth. Jongho raised an eyebrow, his gaze dropping casually past her shoulder to where Mingi’s tall form was sprawled across the bed, sheets low on his hips, his boxer briefs not doing much to hide anything. He nodded once, like this was completely expected. “Good for you.”
“Do you want something?” Y/N stared at her best friend, eying him as Jongho nodded. “Yeah. You’re gonna want to sit down.” Her stomach dipped. “Why?” Jongho reached into the plastic bag, handed her the coffee like this was just part of the routine. “Because the police chief is dead.” She stared at him. “I’m sorry…. what?” Jongho leaned against the doorway, voice calm but eyes too sharp. “They found the body this morning. He was strung up in front of the precinct. Mask on his face. You want details or you want to wake up Mingi first?”
She turned around and Mingi was already up. Sitting on the edge of the bed, face unreadable, eyes locked on Jongho like he’d been listening the whole time. No one spoke for a moment. Then Mingi stood, dragging a hand through his hair. He looked agitated, annoyed, as he blinked at Jongho. “You bring me coffee too?”
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The apartment door creaked open with a soft groan, Yunho never locked it. Mingi stepped inside quietly, dropping his keys on the counter beside the half empty whiskey bottle Yunho had barely touched the night before. There were boots on the floor, a bloodstained hoodie draped across the arm of the couch, the smell of sweat and metal still hanging in the air like it belonged there. He followed the sound of slow, shallow breathing to Yunho’s room. Door cracked open. Curtains drawn halfway. Light slipping across the floor.
Yunho was facedown, arm hanging off the side of the bed, shirtless, jeans half undone. His knuckles were still raw, blood crusted just beneath the nails. Mingi leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. Not mad. Just… Quiet. “You couldn’t wait?” he said softly making Yunho shift but he didn’t sit up. A beat passed before he muttered into the pillow, voice scratchy and smug, “Well… you were with her all night.” He rolled onto his back now, meeting Mingi’s gaze with a lazy smirk. “Maybe I got bored.” Mingi huffed, stepping further into the room. “You serious?”
“No,” Yunho yawned. “I’m still sleep deprived and running on adrenaline. Don’t expect honesty until at least after lunch.” Mingi stepped closer, not amused but not upset either. Just tired. “Was it messy?” Yunho let out a soft chuckle. “Nah. Quick. Clean. You know how I like it.” Mingi sat on the edge of the bed, eyes scanning him. No injuries. No signs of panic. Just that usual post kill calm Yunho wore like cologne. Mingi let out a slow breath. “That just leaves Cassie, Darren’s dad, and Darren.” Yunho smiled, eyes finally meeting his. “Mmm. You want the dad or the kid?”
Mingi rolled his eyes but smirked. A beat passed. Then Yunho tapped Mingi’s thigh lazily. “You mad?” Mingi’s eyes lingered on the mask on Yunho’s desk. “Only that you didn’t leave me anything.” Yunho snorted. “Next time, I’ll gift wrap a finger.” Mingi made a face. “You’re disgusting.” Yunho rolled his eyes, scoffing. “And you love it.” Mingi didn’t deny it as the teasing faded. His fingers slowed where they were absently drumming against his thigh, and for a moment the room was filled with nothing but the soft hum of the fridge and the distant sounds of traffic bleeding through the window.
Then, finally, Yunho muttered, “I don’t think our little display at the mall worked too well….” Mingi glanced over, brows lifting slightly as Yunho sat up, rubbing his hands over his face before reaching for the folded sling on his nightstand. “We’re gonna have to come up with something else to get these detectives off our asses.” Mingi didn’t even have time to reply. Three knocks. Firm. Measured. Authority in rhythm. They froze for just a second, exchanging a glance. Yunho rolled his eyes and slipped into character, slinging the strap over his shoulder and looping his arm through it. “Perfect timing.” Mingi moved toward the front door while Yunho padded quietly behind him, expression already shifting, pain lines forming between his brows, a faint wince in the corner of his mouth. Performance mode, fully activated.
Mingi opened the door to find exactly what they expected. Detective Kim Hongjoong. Detective Park Seonghwa. No badges this time, just tired eyes and sharp expressions. Hongjoong offered a lazy smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Morning, boys.” Mingi leaned on the doorframe like this was routine. “You’re early.” Seonghwa’s gaze dropped briefly to the sling on Yunho’s arm as he stepped into view behind Hongjoong. “You look better than you did on the mall footage.” Yunho appeared behind Mingi, perfectly disheveled, the picture of a sleep deprived college student nursing a healing injury. “Guess the meds are working.” Hongjoong didn’t blink. “We need you both to come down to the station.”
“For questions?” Mingi asked, tone light but eyes sharp. “Thought Y/N covered everything.” Seonghwa raised a brow. “Just tying up loose ends.” Hongjoong added, “We’ll drive. Be quick.” Yunho glanced between them, then looked to Mingi with a twitch of a smile. “Guess class can wait.” They stepped aside, letting the detectives in. Hongjoong’s gaze lingered on the drying boots by the door. Seonghwa looked briefly toward the hallway before settling his eyes back on Yunho’s arm. None of them spoke for a moment. And even though they weren’t cuffed, weren’t read rights, weren’t technically under arrest… both Yunho and Mingi knew, This was the beginning of the game.
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The room was cold. The kind of cold that felt deliberate, like discomfort was part of the strategy. Mingi sat back in the plastic chair, legs spread wide, hands resting on his thighs like he had all the time in the world. He didn’t bother touching the coffee. He hated the bitter shit anyway. Detective Kim Hongjoong dropped a thin folder on the table, the thud more theatrical than necessary. He sat across from Mingi and let the silence stretch, eyes scanning him like a puzzle with half the pieces hidden. “Where were you last night?” Hongjoong finally asked, tone casual, too casual. Mingi blinked slow. “With Y/N.”
Hongjoong’s brow ticked. “All night?” Mingi’s smile was lazy. “’Til the sun came up.” Hongjoong leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Funny… a couple nights ago Yunho just happened to be with her all night too…” Mingi didn’t flinch, but the corners of his mouth curved up, barely as Hongjoong kept going, voice smooth as poison. “Tell me, Mingi… how long do you think whatever the three of you have going on is gonna last? You know… until either you or Yunho gets jealous and snaps…” He let that hang in the air like smoke and Mingi tilted his head slightly. “Is this your tactic? Stirring the pot? Trying to make us doubt each other?”
“No tactic,” Hongjoong said with a shrug. “Just an observation. Statistically, these kinds of arrangements don’t end well. Someone always breaks first.” Mingi gave him a long, unreadable look. “You done playing therapist, Detective?” Meanwhile, across the hall, Detective Park Seonghwa sat across from Yunho, who looked every inch the picture of exhaustion. Sling in place. Hood up. Seonghwa, on the other hand, looked painfully sharp. Crisp collar. Rolled up sleeves. Watch ticking loud in the quiet. “Where were you last night?” he asked.
Yunho didn’t even look up at first. “Home. Sleeping. What’s this about?” Seonghwa leaned forward, fingers steepled. “We’re trying to put together a full timeline. And… well. It’s starting to look like the people around you two keep ending up dead. Stringing the police chief up…” Yunho scoffed, finally glancing up. “You think I killed someone with one arm?” He held up his sling as if Seonghwa needed the visual aid. “I’m not exactly capable of stringing someone up right now, Detective.” Seonghwa gave him a dry smile. “You and Mingi are close. I imagine you’d help each other when needed.”
“Sure,” Yunho said. “He helps me carry groceries.” Seonghwa didn’t laugh. “How long have you been sleeping with Y/N?” Yunho tilted his head. “Is that relevant to your murder investigation, or are you just nosy?” Seonghwa didn’t blink. “You think Mingi’s the jealous type?” There it was. The same tactic Hongjoong was using on Mingi. “Not when it comes to me,” Yunho said easily, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You trying to turn us against each other?” Seonghwa leaned back, arms crossed. “Would it work?” Yunho just smiled wider.
Back in the windowless room with Hongjoong and Mingi, the room buzzed under fluorescent lights, every corner suffocatingly plain, except for the folder on the table between them. Thick, overstuffed, bursting with truths dressed as evidence. Hongjoong opened it slowly. Like a magician with a deck of murder. He didn’t speak right away. Just pulled out the first photo and slid it forward. A girl. Wide eyes frozen mid scream. Head lolled against the steering wheel in her. Cassie’s best friend. “Pretty, wasn’t she?” Hongjoong said softly.
Mingi said nothing as Hongjoong’s fingers danced across the folder again. “Then we have the doctor from student health,” he murmured, sliding the next photo. After that was Professor Schultz, Darren’s uncle. “And then there’s Aaron.” Hongjoong’s voice tightened just slightly. “Head took clean off…. Well, not clean exactly.” Still, Mingi didn’t flinch as Hongjoong flipped another photo forward. Kai. Throat slit. Then the latest. The police chief. Found this morning. Hanging in front of the police station. “You know what all these people had in common?” Hongjoong asked. “Besides being torn up like confetti?”
Mingi stared. “They all had some connection to Y/N. So I’m going to ask again, tell me, Mingi…” Hongjoong folded his hands, voice going low and sharp. “How long do you think whatever the three of you have going on is gonna last?“ Mingi’s eyes flickered once. “Oh, am I hitting a nerve now?” Hongjoong smiled, shark like. “Come on. Yunho was with her the other night, right? All night?” Mingi didn’t answer. “I bet that burns. You might be okay sharing her now, but the second he does something you wouldn’t, say, leaves a mark she didn’t ask for, are you still gonna play nice?”
Mingi leaned forward slightly, arms on the table, tone flat. “You sound jealous, Detective.” Hongjoong grinned, teeth flashing. “I just want to know what happens when she’s the next name in this folder.” That made the smile on Mingi’s face completely disappear.
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“Do you know what happens when you cut a man’s throat with a knife?” Seonghwa asked, holding up the photo of Kai. Yunho’s gaze didn’t waver. Yunho raised an arm, wiggled his fingers in his sling once again. “Not exactly in slashing condition, am I?” Seonghwa ignored him and place a crime scene picture of every murder out before him. “Should I be showing you these one by one, or do you already know how they died?” Seonghwa asked, voice quiet. Yunho didn’t answer. “You and Mingi,” Seonghwa said. “People think you’re close. Ride or die, right?” Yunho’s lips quirked. “Something like that.”
“And yet,” Seonghwa went on, “he’s with Y/N. Last night. All night. Same way you were with her when Kai was killed.” Yunho didn’t flinch. “I told you, jealousy’s not really our thing.” Seonghwa’s brow arched. “No?” He leaned in. “Not even when the girl you both seem obsessed with could be next?” That made something flicker in Yunho’s gaze. “You think that doesn’t keep me up?” Yunho said finally. “You think I’d let anyone get near her?”
“So what happens when someone does?” Seonghwa asked. “What happens when it’s not you or Mingi watching over her?” Yunho’s reply came low and lethal. “Then they’re the next body you’ll find.”
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The heavy steel doors of the station clunked shut behind them. Outside, the day had turned bitter, wind skimming along the wet pavement as Yunho adjusted the sling on his arm with practiced ease. Mingi lit a cigarette with shaking fingers, not from fear, but from the frustration of keeping still for that long. The interrogation room always reeked of stale coffee and something worse. Suspicion. They walked in silence for a moment, the crunch of gravel underfoot the only sound. Across the street, a cruiser sat parked, engine idling, headlights off. Watching.
“They think we’re stupid,” Mingi muttered. “No,” Yunho said, voice calm, “they think we’re impulsive.” Mingi gave him a sideways glance. “They’re trying to turn us against each other.” Yunho exhaled, fog curling in the air like smoke. “Divide and conquer.“ Mingi exhaled smoke from his nose, biting hos bottom lip. “So what now?” he asked. Yunho’s eyes gleamed as he stepped close. “That Halloween party. The sorority one. The one everyone is going to….” Mingi’s brow arched. “You planning to carve a path through Greek life?”
“No,” Yunho said smoothly, “I’m planning to give us the perfect alibi.” He reached into his hoodie, pulling out something small, black latex and cold steel. The Ghostface voice changer. “We need a distraction. Something big. Scary. Chaotic. A death where the detectives will 100% know we didn’t do it.” He slid it back into his pocket. Mingi could already feel the pulse of adrenaline rising in his chest as Yunho looked at him, something dangerous and calm flickering in his gaze. “I have a plan.”
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The bell above the café door jingled softly as Y/N and Jongho stepped inside, a gust of crisp autumn air following them. It was the kind of place with too many hanging plants, indie music that sounded like rain, and baristas who looked like they judged your soul based on your latte order. Jongho ordered a black coffee, as always. Y/N got a dirty chai with oat milk and an extra shot, her hands jittery before she’d even taken a sip. They slid into a corner booth by the window, the sun slicing across the table in warm gold bars. Jongho raised a brow when she didn’t speak right away. “Alright. You’ve been acting weird since we left the dorm. Spit it out.” She stared down at her cup, lips pressing into a thin line. “I slept with both of them,” she blurted out. Jongho blinked. “Both?”
“Yunho and Mingi,” she clarified, cheeks burning. “Not at the same time. I mean, not yet. God.” She rubbed her temples. “I don’t even know what’s happening anymore.” Jongho took a long sip of his coffee like he needed caffeine to process this. “Okay. First of all, I’m not surprised. Second of all… are you okay with that?” Y/N shrugged. “I thought I was,” she muttered. “But lately they’ve been acting… different. Like they’re hiding something. And last night, I…” She stopped, shaking her head. “Never mind.” Before Jongho could press further, the door jangled again. “Of course,” Jongho muttered as Darren strolled in. He didn’t saunter over with a smirk. He didn’t even glance at Jongho. Instead, he ordered his drink quietly, waited, then drifted toward their table without invitation, coffee in hand, expression unreadable.
“You hear about Yunho and Mingi?” he asked. Calm. Even. No smugness, just the self assured satisfaction of someone who’d warned her already. Y/N stiffened. “What about them?” She hated the way her ex found it ok to approach her again and again after everything. “The cops brought them in this morning,” Darren said. “Took them in for questioning. Something about the police chief.” Jongho’s entire body tensed. “When?”
“Couple hours ago. Detectives showed up at their place.” Y/N’s hand shook. Her cup clinked back against the saucer. “Did they… arrest them?” Darren shrugged. “No, Not yet.” Then he looked at her. “You remember what I said, Y/N. About them.” And with that, he left. The air felt thin, like someone had cracked a window in a pressurized cabin as Y/N stared down at her drink, throat tight. Jongho finally spoke, voice low.
“You think he’s right?” Y/N stared at her hands, heart racing. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to think anymore.” Y/N didn’t speak for a long moment after Darren left. She just sat there, staring out the window, watching him disappear down the sidewalk with his coffee like he hadn’t just cracked her entire world open with a single sentence.
Jongho didn’t rush her. He sat still, fingers tapping idly against his cup, waiting for her to breathe again. Finally, she did. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Do you…” She paused, fingers knotting in her lap before she forced herself to look at him. “Do you think Yunho and Mingi could actually be capable of killing someone?” Jongho’s gaze didn’t waver. Not for a second. He didn’t scoff, didn’t try to lighten the moment, didn’t even blink it away like it was too heavy to hold. Instead, he set his coffee down and leaned forward just enough for his voice to carry only to her. “I think we’ve all got sides of ourselves we hide from people. Even the ones we care about.”
“But,” he added, “I also know you. And you wouldn’t be asking that question unless some part of you already thinks the answer might be yes.” That hit like a gut punch making Y/N look away. “I don’t want to believe it,” she said. “But lately… it’s like they’re not even trying to hide it anymore. They’re close, closer than they’ve ever been. And not just with each other.” Jongho tilted his head. “You mean with you?”
She nodded, slow. “They keep pulling me in, and I…. I keep letting them. But what if I’m just some piece on their board? Some alibi or distraction or… I don’t even know.” He was quiet for a beat, then said, “If you really believe they’re capable of that… you need to figure out whether you’re scared of them or scared for them.” Y/N blinked. That distinction cut deep.
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The sun had started to dip, casting golden streaks across the hallway as Y/N climbed the stairs to her dorm, her fingers curled tight around her phone. She’d checked it three times on the walk back. Nothing from Yunho. Nothing from Mingi. Nothing from anyone, really. Except Jongho, a simple “Let me know if you need anything.” She stepped inside her dorm and paused. Her roommate was already packing. Suitcase half zipped. Makeup bag open on the bed. That frantic energy of someone trying to get the hell out without causing a scene.
“Hey,” Y/N said slowly, setting her keys down. “You heading somewhere again?” Her roommate didn’t look at her. Just shoved a sweatshirt into her bag and said, “Yeah. I’m going to stay at Kyle’s for a while.” Y/N blinked. “Why?” That finally earned her eye contact. And it wasn’t warm. “You haven’t seen the news?” she asked. Y/N stayed quiet. Her roommate zipped the bag the rest of the way. “People are saying it’s connected. All of it. That everyone who died was linked somehow.”
“To me?” Y/N asked, voice barely a whisper. Her roommate’s silence was answer enough. “It’s just until things calm down,” she added, like that made it better. “I just… don’t think it’s safe being around you right now. Not like I was actually staying here much anyways.” Y/N didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. She just watched her walk across the room, bag slung over her shoulder, hair tied back in a nervous knots she opened the door and Yunho was standing there. Leaning against the frame, dressed in black, hair slightly tousled like he hadn’t slept in days. His sling was still on, but his eyes… his eyes were wide awake.
Her roommate froze. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath, brushing past him without a word. He didn’t spare her a glance. Only looked at Y/N. One brow lifted. “Rough day?” Y/N just stared at him. Heart slamming. Mouth dry. Because Yunho, standing in her doorway with the setting sun bleeding behind him, looked calm. Too calm. Like the kind of calm that only comes after chaos. And she couldn’t tell if it comforted her… Or terrified her.
Her dorm door clicked shut behind him. Yunho didn’t ask to come in. He just… did. Smooth. Familiar. Like he belonged there. Y/N didn’t stop him either. He walked in slow, eyes skating over the now empty side of the dorm room, lingering for a beat too long on the half made bed her roommate had abandoned. “I think she finally moved out,” Y/N said, voice quiet, almost brittle. “Said it’s not safe to be around me.” Yunho gave a soft huff of amusement, turning to face her. “Smart girl.”
Y/N blinked at his words, biting at her bottom lip, fidgeting with her hands. “So… I heard you and Mingi got brought in.” That made him still. He looked at her carefully, then tilted his head. “From who?” She swallowed. “Darren.” The name hit the air like a dropped knife. And for just a second, just a flicker, Yunho’s face shifted. His jaw tensed. His eyes flashed, not with rage… but something colder. Something calculating. It passed as fast as it came, like a ripple smoothed over the surface of a still lake.
But Y/N saw it. She felt it. Yunho didn’t speak right away. He just stepped a little closer, the distance between them shrinking with each casual footfall. “That guy’s got a real thing for inserting himself into situations he doesn’t belong in,” he muttered, gaze dropping to her lips, then back up. “You know that, right?” Y/N’s heart thudded as she nodded slowly. “He’s just been… around a lot lately.” Yunho smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I’ve noticed.”
Yunho’s smile stayed, lazy and low, as he took another step toward her, close enough now that she could see the way his lashes curled, how relaxed he looked despite everything. But Y/N wasn’t relaxed. Not even a little. Something was tugging at her brain, hard, and it finally clicked. “How’s your arm?” she asked, voice more curious than casual. He blinked. “What?”
“Your arm.” She motioned vaguely at his sling. “I saw you without it the other day.” Yunho’s jaw didn’t clench this time. He didn’t flinch or fumble. He just blinked slowly and said, “It’s healing.” Y/N didn’t reply as he stepped a little closer. “You caught that, huh?” he asked, voice dipped in amusement. “You always were good at remembering things.” Y/N didn’t know whether to take that as a compliment or a warning. She crossed her arms. “So is the sling just for show?”
Yunho didn’t answer right away. He looked at her for a long moment, that unreadable expression sitting just beneath the curve of his mouth. Then, with a soft shrug of the very same “injured” arm, he said, “Depends on who’s watching.” That shut her up. Not because she didn’t have questions, because she suddenly had too many as Yunho tilted his head. “You scared of me?” Her breath caught. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t smiling. He was just asking.
Yunho’s question hung in the air like smoke. Are you scared of me? Y/N opened her mouth, but nothing came out at first. Her brain was running faster than her heartbeat, flipping through every moment, every look, every touch, every almost between them. She thought about the mall. The sling. The moment he flinched at Darren’s name. She thought about the blood. The deaths. The rumors. The questions no one wanted to answer. She thought about Mingi. Her lips parted, a breath catching in her throat. “No.” Soft. Certain. Like a vow she didn’t quite believe yet.
Yunho didn’t answer her right away. Instead, he reached up with his free hand and began to undo the sling around his arm, fingers moving with practiced ease. Y/N watched, her breath catching when the fabric slipped free, revealing the truth she hadn’t been prepared for. His arm was fine. There was a cut, jagged, maybe an inch long, barely scabbed, but it wasn’t bad. Not bad enough for a sling anymore. Not enough to play the sympathy card. Not enough for the lie. “You…” she started, but stopped herself, eyes flicking up to meet his. Too late.
Yunho stepped into her space again, this time fully. One hand braced beside her on the desk. The other… found her hip. Fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt. And then, slowly, deliberately, his other hand came up, cradling her jaw with unsettling tenderness making her pulse stutter. She should push him away. Should move. Say something. Do something.
Anything but stand there like this while Yunho’s thumb brushed across her cheek like he wasn’t the most terrifying person in the building right now. But her body didn’t listen.
Because despite everything, despite the police station, despite Darren, despite the blood and the mounting list of bodies, her skin still burned where he touched her. His hand gripping her shirt moved to her hip, the other still holding her jaw, fingers lightly splayed under her ear, thumb brushing along the curve of her cheek like she was something fragile. Like he hadn’t just confirmed he’d been lying to her. Like he didn’t see the war happening behind her eyes. “Still trying to decide if I’m the bad guy?” he asked softly, tilting his head like he was genuinely curious. Y/N didn’t answer. Not out loud.
Because yes. She was. The question had been crawling around her skull since Jongho bought her that coffee and Darren opened his mouth. But even now, especially now, with Yunho pressing in close, his body a familiar heat against hers, she couldn’t make herself say it. “Relax,” he said, reading her silence like a book. “I would never hurt you.” Her stomach twisted at that as he leaned in, mouth brushing just beside her ear, voice dropping into something molten. “You remember the other night?” Y/N’s throat went dry. She didn’t have to ask which night. Not with the way his hand slid from her jaw down to the base of her throat, fingertips resting lightly over the spot where her pulse betrayed her. “You were so fucking soft for me,” he murmured. “So pretty. Letting me ruin you like you wanted it.”
Her knees nearly buckled and he smiled. Like he knew. Then he pulled back just enough to look at her again, eyes sharp, unflinching. “Then you fucked Mingi the next night.” She stared at him, stunned into silence. Yunho shrugged, letting go of her hip just long enough to trail that hand up the curve of her waist. “He wants you. So do I. And we don’t really like to share… but for you?” He leaned in, forehead nearly touching hers now. “For you, we’d make an exception.” Her heart was beating so loud it might’ve drowned out every siren in the city. “What if…” she wet her lips, felt his eyes follow the movement like a shark scenting blood. “What if I don’t want to share? What if I only want one of you?”
Yunho didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t even breathe for a second. Her words were a test. A line drawn in the sand with a trembling hand. She wanted to see what side he stepped on. Wanted to see what lurked under that calm, seductive exterior. Wanted to know if he’d snap. But Yunho just stared at her. And then, slowly, agonizingly slow, he smiled. Not the playful one he gave her when he was teasing. Not the charming one that made her forget what his hands could do. No, this one was lazy. Dangerous. Like he already knew her bluff before she played it. “You don’t,” he said simply, voice thick as honey and twice as sticky.
She opened her mouth to argue, but he kept going. “You think choosing just one of us gives you back control. You think it’ll make this less complicated. Safer.” His hand drifted up her spine. “But sweetheart…” He leaned in, lips brushing her ear now. “You’re already ours.” The words sent a chill skating down her back. “I could walk away,” she said, even though her spine was pressed to the desk and she hadn’t moved an inch. Yunho chuckled softly. “No, you couldn’t. And not because we wouldn’t let you.” He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “But because you don’t want to.”
His hand found her hip again, fingers curling around her skin like he was proving a point. “You wanted me. You wanted Mingi. You want both of us. Even now, you’re wondering what it’d be like to have us at the same time.” Her cheeks burned. And still, she didn’t move away. Didn’t deny it. Because he was right. And that made her hate him a little more. And want him even more than that. Yunho stared at her for a beat longer, eyes unreadable. Then, with a quiet, dark laugh that curled against her spine, he dropped the tension like a weight. His shoulders relaxed. His grip softened. And before she could even register the change…. His lips were on her neck.
Gentle. Familiar. Infuriatingly casual. Like he hadn’t just cornered her with words that twisted knots into her gut. Like he hadn’t just peeled her open with a gaze sharper than any knife. His mouth ghosted down the side of her throat, the tip of his nose nudging her jaw. His breath was warm, his lips softer than she remembered. And the whiplash of it, this sudden shift from dark predator to lazy lover, to her Yunho, made her heart stutter in her chest. “See?” he murmured, voice low and velvet smooth against her skin. “You like it when I’m soft, too.”
Y/N’s fingers clenched the edge of her desk. “You’re insane,” she whispered, but her voice lacked conviction. Yunho’s smile widened against her collarbone. His teeth grazed her pulse, just enough to make her jump. Not in fear. In need. “You’re impossible,” she managed, heat pooling in her gut as his hands explored with a laziness that was anything but innocent. “And yet,” he whispered, dragging his lips back up to her ear, “you’re still not pushing me away.” Her pulse was a mess, rapid, uneven, electric. Maybe it was the tension. Maybe it was the suspicion still curling in the back of her mind. Or maybe it was just Yunho, leaned in, kissed drunk off her skin, acting like he wasn’t the most dangerous thing in the room.
Y/N’s hands found his face, fingers threading through the dark strands of his hair as she kissed him. Not soft. Not slow. A kiss meant to remind them both who actually had control here. Yunho groaned into it, low and guttural, as if she’d just hit a nerve that he didn’t even know was exposed. His hands instinctively slid under the hem of her shirt, splayed wide against her skin, palms warm, reverent even as they pushed upward. “You’re not helping,” she whispered against his lips, pulling back just enough to fumble with the button of his jeans.
“I wasn’t trying to,” he muttered, helping her shove them down his hips, not even pretending to be shy about the way his dick sprang free, already hard, already so ready. Her shirt came off next. His fingers made quick work of her bra, thumbs brushing over her nipples just to watch her gasp, and then her pants. Gone. The rest? A blur. Until she shoved him. Yunho barely had time to hit the mattress before she was crawling up into his lap, straddling him like this was her idea all along, like she was the threat now.
His hands settled at her hips, grip firm but not controlling. His eyes, though? Hazed. Heated. Unhinged. And absolutely locked on her. “You sure about this?” he asked, voice rough, but his hips already rising to meet the heat of her core. Y/N leaned in, kissing him again, slower this time. “I’m sure you’ll keep up.” Yunho laughed into her mouth, hoarse, amused, and so damn turned on. She didn’t hesitate. Not when she had him like this, flat on his back, shirtless, dick hard and waiting. Not when his eyes followed her like she was the one he’d come to hunt.
Her fingers wrapped around the base of him, guiding him to her entrance with a slow drag that made Yunho’s head tip back, a curse slipping past his lips. “Fuck, Y/N…” She sank down onto him. One smooth, aching slide until he was buried inside her. Her jaw dropped, a soft moan punching from her chest at the stretch. He was thick, filling her in a way that made her thighs tremble already, and he didn’t even have to move. But oh, he wanted to. “God, look at you,” Yunho muttered, his hands flying to her ass, gripping both cheeks hard enough to leave bruises. “You ride me like it’s all you know.”
She didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Instead, she leaned forward, one hand braced on his chest, and the other? Wrapped right around his throat. Not choking, not tight. Just… claiming. Possessive. Yunho moaned, deep and surprised, his eyes fluttering like that one move short circuited him. His hips twitched up into hers, sharp, needy. She moaned, rolling her hips slow, building a rhythm that made her whimper each time he hit deeper, made his grip on her ass tighten until he was guiding her, lifting her, slamming her back down. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, wet, desperate, brutal. But his eyes? Still on hers. Even with her hand on his throat.
Even with her doubts. Even with the knife sharp question still stuck in the back of her mind, Could Yunho kill someone? But right now? She didn’t want to ask. She just wanted to feel. And Yunho letting her take him apart, looked like he was ready to give her everything. His eyes were glassy, half lidded, his breath catching in his throat as she bounced on him, pace quickening with every slap of skin, every breathy curse she let slip. “Baby…..” His voice cracked, raw and desperate. She was a vision above him, sweat damp, hair wild, lips parted as she rode him harder now, rhythm ruthless and unrelenting. And that hand, God, that hand still wrapped around his throat, thumb pressing just enough to make his moan come out choked.
“Harder,” he gasped, the word punched out like it hurt to say. “Choke me harder, fuck, please.” The plea lit something electric in her chest. Her fingers tightened, just enough to make his eyes flutter shut, a ragged groan spilling from his lips as her thighs flexed, riding him harder, faster. Every bounce drove him deeper. Every snap of her hips had her gasping. And Yunho, hands gripping her ass like lifelines, met her thrusts with brutal ones of his own, his body jerking beneath hers like he was about to lose his mind. She could feel it building now. The heat. The pressure. That first orgasm coiling low in her stomach, sharp and addictive and blinding. “Yunho….” she moaned, her voice breaking, hand still around his throat, feeling the frantic thud of his pulse under her palm. “I’m…. fuck… I’m so close.”
“Don’t stop,” he rasped, eyes blown wide open now, his voice guttural and ruined. “Don’t you fucking stop….. use me…” And she did. God, she did. Because control had never tasted so good, never felt so much like power and lust and raw danger wrapped in the perfect body begging beneath her as her orgasm hit like a car crash, sudden, blinding, and all consuming. Her body trembled, thighs clamping around Yunho as her head fell back, a cry ripped from her throat as she came hard on top of him, hand still barely clutching his throat like she couldn’t let go of the power even as it shattered her.
And Yunho let her ride it out, moaning through gritted teeth, the sight of her unraveling above him enough to make his chest tighten with restraint. But he wasn’t about to let her keep the reins for long. He gripped her hips hard and flipped her in one smooth motion, her back hitting the bed with a soft thud, breath stolen from her lungs as he hovered above. Still connected. Still hard. Still starving. Yunho hooked his arms under her knees and shoved her legs up and open, folding her in half. He was already sliding back inside, slow at first, grinding, letting her feel every thick inch of him stretch her all over again.
“Yunho…” she gasped, dazed and slick, body still twitching as he started to move. Slowly at first, hips rolling like waves, dragging moans from her chest with every press of his dick so deep it felt like he was marking her insides. Then harder. Then faster. Until the sound of skin against skin filled the room again. Until the bed shook. Until all she could do was hold on. “Say it,” he growled, voice rough and wild, sweat slick hair falling in his eyes. She whimpered beneath him, hands clutching the sheets, already spiraling again. “Yours,” she moaned, breath ragged, eyes glazed.
But it wasn’t enough. Yunho stopped. Completely. Still buried to the hilt, pulsing hard inside her. Not moving an inch. Her eyes flew open in question. “And who else’s?” he asked, quieter this time, but somehow more dangerous. His voice dropped low, his jaw flexing, and his grip on her thighs tightened just a bit. “Say it.” Y/N blinked up at him, body still trembling, mind barely registering, until it clicked. She swallowed hard. “Mingi’s. Yours… and Mingi’s.” That crooked smile slid across his lips like sin. “Good girl.”
And then he was moving again, no, pounding into her now, brutal and relentless, his name and Mingi’s name tumbling from her lips like a prayer and a curse at once. Her orgasm crashed into her without warning, sharp and sweet and overwhelming, her body arching off the bed as she screamed his name, eyes squeezed shut. Yunho wasn’t far behind. His rhythm stuttered, breath caught, and with one final thrust so deep it stole the air from both of them, he came, hard, growling her name as he buried himself in her, body shaking, every muscle in him tense. And for a moment… everything was still. Just heavy breathing. Sweat. Silence. And the quiet, dangerous thrill of knowing exactly who she belonged to now.
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It was already dark outside. The pale glow from the dorm desk lamp lit half the room in gold, casting long shadows over tangled sheets and the half zipped hoodie tossed across her desk chair. Yunho sat at the edge of Y/N’s bed, dragging his shirt back over his head. His expression was unreadable, but something in the way his jaw kept flexing gave him away, something had shifted. The knock on the door hadn’t surprised him. It was Mingi. Of course it was. He barely spoke when Yunho let him in, just stepped through the door with tension stiff in his shoulders.
“She didn’t answer any of my calls,” Mingi finally muttered, glancing around like she might appear out of thin air. “I haven’t seen her since this morning.“ Yunho didn’t look at him. He was too busy tying his shoes. “She’s at work,” he said simply, then paused. “Left without saying anything.” Mingi exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand down his face. “You think she’s avoiding us?” The silence between them grew thick for a moment. “I think,” Yunho said as he stood, adjusting the hem of his shirt, “she suspects us.”
Mingi’s head turned fast and Yunho met his gaze now, eyes dark and certain. “The way she looked at me when I showed up. The questions. Her hesitation. She’s not stupid.” There was a beat of silence. Then Mingi’s brow arched. “And she still slept with you?” Yunho’s lips twitched into a dry, humorless smile. “Yeah,” he said. “She did.” He could still feel the way she choked him, a part of him needing to feel it again. Mingi let that sit for a second. Processing. Turning it over in his head. “If she really thinks we’re the ones doing this,” he murmured, voice low, “and she still wanted you anyway…” Yunho nodded, finishing the thought for him. “then maybe we don’t have anything to worry about.”
“Other than,” Mingi added, stepping toward the bed and staring down at the dent in the mattress where her body had been hours ago, “finishing what we started.” The room went quiet. Outside, the faint hum of traffic passed, sirens in the distance, wind shaking the window just enough to rattle the frame. Inside, it was just the two of them, and the echo of a girl who was growing more dangerous the more they underestimated her.
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The clink of wine glasses. The low hum of classical music filtering through the air. And the ever present weight in her chest that refused to ease, not since that morning. Y/N set down a tray of appetizers at a table near the front window, her smile practiced, polite. Her mind, however, was nowhere near the menu specials or wine pairings. She hadn’t checked her phone in over an hour. She couldn’t. Not without seeing their names. Yunho. Mingi. She shook the thought away, adjusting her apron as she turned toward the next table, only to freeze mid step.
The hostess was smiling brightly at two very tall, very familiar figures. Yunho and Mingi. Both in black. Both calm. Both looking directly at her. Her breath caught for a second before she forced her feet to move. No reaction. No flinch. She had to act like it was nothing. Like she hadn’t choked Yunho until he begged for more on a couple of hours ago. Like she hadn’t moaned both their names. Like she didn’t suspect them. As the waitress seated them toward the middle of the restaurant, Y/N dipped to the opposite side, taking her assigned tables with extra care. Too careful, really. Her hands shook a little as she poured wine. She laughed too quickly at a customer’s joke. She didn’t have to look to know they were watching. Their presence clung to her skin like smoke. And just when she thought the moment couldn’t tighten further, they walked in. Darren and his father. Mr. Shultz, still dressed like he thought he ran the world, barked something and Darren, slouched and miserable, looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. They were arguing already. Loudly. Over steak, the murders, or college or whatever excuse they could find to hate each other today.
Y/N didn’t wait. She took the long way around the dining room, weaving through tables until she landed at the far side of the restaurant, away from them. She didn’t want to deal with Darren’s smug little “I told you so” smirk or his father. But her change in position didn’t go unnoticed. From across the room, Yunho shifted slightly in his chair, eyes locked on the father son pair. Mingi leaned back, resting one arm on the back of the booth, his gaze cool and flat like a hunter just waiting for the right angle. Neither of them blinked. Neither of them spoke. Two lions. Silent. Focused. Starving and Darren still hadn’t noticed them. But Yunho and Mingi had already decided they didn’t need to be noticed to be a threat.
Mingi didn’t look away from Darren. Didn’t even blink as the other man rolled his eyes at something his father said, pushing his glass of water across the table in frustration. The tension between them was loud. Clumsy. Embarrassing, really. Mingi leaned in, voice low and lazy. “Can I kill him?” Yunho smiled without showing his teeth. Calm. Like he hadn’t just committed multiple murders in the last couple weeks. His gaze never left Darren’s profile. And when Darren did finally look over and notice them, freezing mid sentence, Yunho’s smile only widened. “Not yet.”
Darren’s eyes lingered. Uneasy. Recognition flickered behind them like a faulty lightbulb. But he didn’t say anything. Not with his father still yelling about how the filet wasn’t medium rare last time, how his uncle’s life insurance was being a pain in the ass. He just quickly looked away. Coward. Their waitress finally arrived, peppy and unknowing. Yunho turned to her with a pleasant grin and ordered for both of them, voice smooth, polite, even charming. She walked away without a clue, giddy from nothing but eye contact.
Y/N passed their table just as she left. Tray in hand, head slightly turned, pretending they weren’t even there. Not even a glance. Not after last night. Not after the station. Not after earlier. Not after the way her lips had said yours while her eyes had said maybe. Yunho’s fingers tapped twice against the polished wood of the table. He didn’t say anything until she was completely out of earshot. “She’s avoiding us.” Mingi’s jaw ticked, resting his chin on his hand. “Think she’s scared?” Yunho’s eyes lingered on her silhouette, tense shoulders, that nervous little glance she threw over her own shoulder as she headed to the back when she thought no one was watching.
Y/N pushed through the back door of the restaurant, letting it swing shut behind her with more force than necessary. The cool night air hit her lungs like a slap, sharp and unrelenting as she pressed her palms to the stone wall, breathing hard. Not from running. Just… from thinking. From knowing they were there. Yunho and Mingi. Sitting at that table like they hadn’t just been interrogated this morning. Like Yunho hadn’t been in her bed a few hours ago, moaning her name while she gripped his throat. Like they weren’t the prime suspects in a string of increasingly brutal murders.
And still… she wasn’t scared. That’s what was really fucking her up. She wasn’t scared. Just spiraling. “You’re gonna give yourself wrinkles if you keep thinking that hard.” Her head jerked up. Mingi. Leaning against the brick wall a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, dark hoodie pulled low over his face like it belonged there. Like he didn’t just materialize from the shadows like a fucking slasher villain. She didn’t hear the door open. She never hears him coming. Y/N blinked, startled but not surprised. Of course he followed her. Of course it was him. “Did you really come out here for air,” Mingi asked, “or just to get away from us?”
Y/N didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. The way she looked at him said enough. Mingi pushed off the wall, slow and loose limbed, like he had all the time in the world. He stopped a step too close. Tilted his head. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he murmured. “Or… maybe you’re starting to wonder if you’re fucking one.” Y/N flinched, just barely and Mingi smiled. Not cruel. Not sharp. Something worse, that softness. That fondness. The kind that made her chest ache. “Don’t do that,” she whispered. His brow rose. “Do what?”
“That….” she swallowed, eyes flicking down to his hands, his jaw, the lips that kissed her breathless, “pretend you’re not hiding something.” The streetlight outside cast a warm amber glow through the slats of the back fence, slicing across Mingi’s face in golden stripes. He looked unreal like that, like something out of a fever dream. Or a nightmare she hadn’t woken up from yet. “What if I asked you?” she said quietly. “Point blank.” He blinked. “Asked me what?”
“If you killed them.” He words made his jaw twitch. Just for a second. And she caught it and took a step forward. “You’ve always been a shitty liar, Mingi,” she said, voice gentle. “Remember when you tried to convince me you weren’t drunk at that frat party last year and walked straight into the door?” His smile came slow, like molasses, but his eyes didn’t soften this time as his gaze dropped to her mouth. Y/N didn’t let him look too long before speaking again, soft and sharp like a knife to the gut. “If I asked you,” she whispered, “right now, to tell me the truth… would you?”
Mingi’s throat bobbed. She didn’t look away. Didn’t blink. She saw it happen in his eyes, the flicker of something. Not guilt. Not fear. Conflict. She was testing him. And he knew it. And he hated that part of him wanted to give in. “I’d tell you whatever you wanted to hear,” he said finally. That made her pause. Because she knew he meant it. Every damn word. The ground under her feet shifted. Mingi didn’t move toward her. Didn’t try to touch her. But somehow, that made it worse. Because now she wanted to. She didn’t know if it was fear or power pulsing through her chest, but it felt like control. “Mingi…” she said carefully, testing him. “If I asked you to stay away from me… would you?” He laughed. Soft. Almost fond. “You wouldn’t ask me that.”
“But if I did?” He looked at her for a long moment. Then stepped in. Close. So close, his mouth next to her ear, voice low and wrecked. “I’d try.” Y/N’s fingers were clenched so tightly into fists that her nails dug crescents into her palms. Her brain felt like it was rattling inside her skull, thoughts crashing into each other like waves in a storm. She should’ve turned around. Walked back inside. Called Jongho. Packed her shit and ran. Instead… Mingi stepped back. And she grabbed him.
Her fingers curled in the front of his shirt, yanking him toward her, crashing her mouth to his like the answer was buried on his tongue. Maybe it was. Maybe she didn’t want the truth, maybe she didn’t care, maybe she just wanted him. Wanted them. Mingi groaned into it, one hand flying to her waist, the other fisting in her hair, but she pulled away first. Breathless. Scared. Needy. Spinning. And suddenly…. She knew. She didn’t need the mask or the knife or the confession. She knew.
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The music overhead hummed soft jazz, the clinking of silverware filling the air as guests murmured over candlelit meals. At one corner table, Yunho’s gaze was still trained on the back patio door where Mingi had followed after Y/N, but his jaw ticked as he sipped his water, eyes sliding toward the hallway leading to the restrooms. That would do. He stood and walked casually through the dining room.
Darren was already inside the restroom, splashing water on his face, gripping the sides of the porcelain sink like it was the only thing keeping him upright. He was spiraling. He’d seen the way Yunho and Mingi looked at him. Like they were sizing him up for a grave. His dad didn’t believe him, no one believed him, except maybe Cassie, but he knew. They were the killers. They had to be. His heart nearly stopped when the door creaked open. Footsteps behind him. He looked up into the mirror and saw Yunho. Alone. Calm. Casual. Too calm. Darren spun around, swallowing thickly. “I’m just trying to wash my hands, man.” Yunho raised his hands. “Of course. Just a coincidence.”
“Right.” Darren tried to move past him but Yunho didn’t let him. “You know,” Yunho said quietly, tilting his head, “you’ve got a little something…” He reached out and brushed Darren’s shirt collar like there was lint there. There wasn’t. “You’ve been awfully chatty lately.” Darren froze and Yunho smiled. Friendly. Harmless. That smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“People get nervous. Say things they shouldn’t. Especially when they’re scared.” Darren swallowed again. “I’m not scared.” Yunho’s smile widened. “You should be.” He turned then, like he hadn’t just dropped a knife shaped sentence onto the tile floor. “Enjoy your dinner, Darren.” And then he was gone. The bathroom door swung shut behind him with a click and Darren’s hands trembled where they braced the sink.
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Y/N stepped back into the restaurant through the side door, cool night air still clinging to her skin, lips tingling from what she’d just done. What she’d just confirmed without a word being said. Mingi was already back at their table. Yunho too. Both sitting there like they hadn’t just spent the day under police lights, like her body hadn’t just been beneath Yunho’s a few hours ago, like Mingi hadn’t kissed her outside with all the restraint of someone who would kill for her. And maybe he would. She hovered near the edge of the servers’ station, half shielded by a tall partition of frosted glass. Her eyes moved between them and the table just twenty feet away.
Darren and his dad. Still arguing, faces red with the tension that never seemed to ease between them. Darren was leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, scowling. His father was gesturing with a fork, face tight, eyes narrowed behind thin gold rimmed glasses. Y/N’s gaze flicked to Yunho. Then Mingi. Yunho’s posture was relaxed, dangerously so. Arm thrown over the back of his chair, lips pressed to the rim of his water glass as he took a slow sip, his gaze never leaving Darren’s table. Mingi sat with his fingers laced, thumbs tapping against each other like he was timing a countdown. A waiter spoke to them briefly, jotting something down, then walked away. Neither of them seemed to notice.
Y/N’s chest tightened. Would they? If they were the killers, if the masks, the knives, the bodies were all them… Would they actually kill Darren? He’d been running his mouth for weeks. Accusing them. Digging. Stirring. Would they? Her brain whispered, Yes. Her heart pounded, No. Because no, not Yunho. Not the man who kissed her like he couldn’t breathe without her. Not Mingi, who looked at her like the sun rose and set from her mouth. They wouldn’t. But what if she was wrong? What if they were just waiting for the perfect moment? A table of two lions. A table of two lambs. And Y/N? Stuck in the middle.
The shift dragged on, every minute of it stitched with nerves and suspicion. By the time Y/N stepped out of the restaurant, apron stuffed in her bag and hair pulled loose from its bun, the sun was long gone. The sky was ink black, the air cool against her skin. And there it was, Yunho’s Jeep. Parked under a crooked lamppost like it had been waiting there for hours. She hesitated. For just a second. Then got in. The backseat was quiet, dim, the hum of the engine low as Yunho drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily in his lap. Mingi sat in the passenger seat, legs spread like always, scrolling his phone before tucking it away and slouching further down.
They didn’t speak right away. The silence was tense, suffocating. Y/N kept her eyes forward, but her hand brushed something soft on the floorboard near her feet. She glanced down. Black fabric. Thick. Heavy. Her fingers froze, just for a breath, as she realized what it was. Not just a jacket. A cloak. A black cloak. Her pulse spiked so suddenly she thought she might be sick. She slid her hand back into her lap, eyes snapping up to the windshield. “So you’re seriously trying to tell me Halloween is better than Scream?” Yunho scoffed, glancing at Mingi like he’d just committed treason.
“Scream has like, what, five sequels? Michael Myers has the endurance of a roach on Red Bull.” Mingi argued. “Oh, come on,” Yunho laughed. “It’s not about endurance. It’s about style. The phone calls. The mask. The mind games. You’re with me, right, Y/N?” He looked at her in the rearview mirror. Eyes dark. Expectant. “Scream is the only correct answer.” Y/N felt her blood run cold. They weren’t just debating horror movies. This wasn’t some random late night conversation. They were telling her. Without telling her. And now she had to respond. She swallowed. Her lips parted. Her eyes met Yunho’s in the mirror. A slow, knowing smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.
Y/N exhaled, shaky. “Yeah,” she said softly. “It’s my favorite movie.” Yunho grinned, turning back to the road. “Exactly.” Mingi chuckled. “You only like it because Ghostface is hot.” Yunho snorted. “Jealous?” Y/N’s hands twisted in her lap. Her heart was pounding. She didn’t know if she should be terrified… Or turned on. Because now, she really knew. They weren’t just pretending. They were the killers. And they were taking her home.
The Jeep rolled to a slow stop in front of her dorm building, headlights cutting through the quiet. Y/N opened the back door and stepped out, bag slung over her shoulder, the cold night air slapping her awake, but not nearly as much as the weight of what had just happened inside that car. She was halfway to the entrance when…. “Y/N.” She turned. Yunho had leaned out the driver’s side window, his elbow resting casually along the frame, head tilted slightly like this was just any other night. Like they hadn’t just confirmed everything without saying a word. His voice was low. Casual. But the look in his eyes was anything but. “You going to that Halloween party tomorrow night?” he asked.
She blinked. The sorority party. The one Jongho had been trying to get her to go to all week. “Yeah,” she said, adjusting her bag strap. “With Jongho.” Yunho smiled, slow and dangerous. Mingi said nothing from the passenger seat, but his jaw flexed just once. Yunho’s gaze didn’t move from hers. “We’re not going,” he said, voice even. Y/N’s brow lifted. “No?” He shook his head. “We have other plans.” That smirk curled at his lips again, sharp and soft at the same time. Her heart skipped. Other plans. She didn’t ask what. She didn’t need to.
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The bass from the sorority house vibrated through the sidewalk, muffled thumps of music thudding in Y/N’s chest as she approached with Jongho. Orange and purple lights flashed through the windows, fake cobwebs stretched over the banisters, and a row of carved jack o lanterns lined the porch like grinning sentinels. Y/N smoothed down the white fabric of her angel costume, the satin slipping between her fingers like water. Her wings brushed lightly against her arms, feathers soft, delicate. Ironic, really, she looked pure, radiant, untouched. If only she felt that way.
Beside her, Jongho adjusted the collar of his blood splattered button up and flicked one of his fake fangs into place. Vampire Jongho was a little too realistic, honestly, with his dark contacts and casually tousled hair. He glanced at her sideways as they stepped inside. “You okay?” he asked, raising his voice over the music. “You’ve been spaced out all day.” Y/N forced a smile. One of those brittle, practiced ones. “I’m fine,” she lied, her voice quiet under the thudding beat. “I just… I don’t want to think about everything right now.” Jongho nodded, clearly not believing her but not pushing either. “Alright. I’ll go get us drinks,” he said, already disappearing into the crowd with a playful flap of his vampire cape.
Y/N exhaled, watching him go, then let herself wander further inside. The house was packed, witches, devils, pirates, cats. Couples grinding. Laughter. Screams from the horror movie marathon playing on the wall projector in the living room. Her head buzzed like a hive. Then her phone rang. She froze. The name on the screen was Unknown Number. She didn’t answer and it rang again. Her thumb hovered, heartbeat thudding faster now than the bass. Y/N looked around, too many people. Too loud. Her chest tightened.
Slipping away from the crowd, she climbed the stairs, heels clicking lightly against the wood as she ducked into a hallway with fewer people, the noise dimming behind her as she answered on the fourth ring. “Hello?” There was a pause before the voice spoke. “Hello, Y/N.” Her breath caught. “Who is this?” she demanded and a soft, mocking chuckle. Like the voice already knew it didn’t need to tell her anything. “Who do you think?” Her fingers tightened around the phone. “What do you want?”
“Nothing much… I just need you to get Cassie alone.” Y/N blinked, furrowing her brows. “What?” The voice repeated itself, tone syrupy with venom. “Cassie, You remember her. Ex friend of yours. Fucked your boyfriend behind your back and then watched him toss you down the stairs? Ring any bells?” Y/N’s blood ran cold. “What?” she whispered. “You want me to lure her so you can kill her?” Another chuckle, lower this time. “I feel like you’ve been doing pretty well on your own… but which one is this, anyway? Yunho? Or Mingi?” There was a pause on the other end again before the voice spoke and made her heart stop. “Oh… Y/N… I’m not your boyfriends. They’re sitting at a diner right now. Being watched by those detectives you like so much.” She staggered back a step, leaning against the wall, one hand pressing to her chest. “And to think… you really started believing it was them.”
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The fluorescent lights of the 24 hour diner buzzed faintly above, casting a sterile glow over the red vinyl booth. The smell of fried grease and old coffee hung in the air like a second skin. Mingi sat slouched in the corner, legs spread comfortably wide, absolutely wrecking a plate of cheese fries like he hadn’t eaten in days. He licked some melted cheddar from his thumb and reached for another fry, dunking it in ketchup without looking. He wore all black, sleeves pushed up, a few strands of hair falling over his brow as he chewed like this was any other lazy Saturday night. “Do we seriously have to stay here all night?” he groaned, dragging the plate closer and glancing out the window, where a black unmarked sedan was parked across the street. Two silhouettes sat inside, unmoving. “They’ve been watching us for hours. My ass is going numb.”
Yunho didn’t look at him as he stirred his straw through the ice in his drink, his gaze locked on the detectives’ car outside. His other hand tapped a slow rhythm against the table. “No,” he said coolly. “Just until after Cassie’s dead.” Mingi paused mid chew. Then he smirked. “Guess I should’ve ordered dessert.” Yunho finally turned his head, expression unreadable but eyes glinting with that familiar darkness. The same look he wore behind the mask. Calm. Focused. Deadly. “You’re sweet enough,” he murmured. Mingi snorted, tossing a napkin at him. Outside, the detectives remained in their car. Inside, the real killers waited.
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Y/N pushed through the crowd, the sorority house packed to capacity, music thumping loud enough to shake the walls. Laughter. Screams. Costume wings and glitter brushing against her shoulders. She scanned every face, heart pounding. Where the hell was Jongho? Her phone was still in her hand, the recent call burning in her palm. Unknown number. That voice. That taunt. And now…. “Y/N.” She turned too quickly. Cassie. Wearing a skintight devil costume, complete with glittering red horns and an expression that could’ve curdled milk. Her smirk was sharp, cruel. “Didn’t think you had the balls to show up tonight. But then again, you never did have self respect.”
Y/N’s throat tightened. “Stay away from me.” A scoff and eye roll left her ex friend. “Oh please. Like I’m the one who needs to be scared right now.” Cassie laughed, flipping her long hair over one shoulder. “Word is you’ve got killers wrapped around your finger. Should I be worried?” Y/N’s jaw clenched. She didn’t respond, just pushed past, heading toward the stairs. She pulled her phone up again. Calling Jongho. Straight to voicemail. Cassie followed. “Wait…. seriously?” she said with a mocking chuckle, trailing behind Y/N in her heels. “You’re gonna walk away from me? After everything we’ve been through? Come on. You’re the one with a body count now.”
Y/N spun around halfway up the stairs, eyes wide and glittering. “I said stay the hell away from me.” Cassie cocked her head. “Why? You trying to protect me now?” She let out another scoff. “Don’t tell me this is about guilt. You didn’t seem too guilty with those freaks. Mingi one night, Yunho the next? Pretty sure even Ghostface’s impressed.” Y/N’s stomach turned as Cassie took another step up, eyes narrowing. “So… where are your murder boyfriends, huh? You gonna get them to kill Darren next? Or am I next on the list?” Y/N didn’t answer. Because the truth? She didn’t know the answer anymore. And that silence, that pause, made Cassie’s smile falter just a little.
The music cut mid beat. The house plunged into darkness, and instantly a wave of groans and laughter erupted from downstairs. “Who the hell blew the fuse? I think someone plugged in a fog machine and a damn air fryer! I can’t see shit!” Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as the crowd below rippled with movement, everyone fumbling for their phones or calling out to friends. The only illumination now came from the flicker of orange solar powered jack o lantern lights strung along the banister, casting weak, jumpy shadows across the hallway. Y/N quickly yanked her phone out again, calling Jongho. Still no answer.
Her heart was in her throat now, buzzing in her ears louder than the dying speaker system. She turned, eyes darting around the upper floor, but Cassie was still there, leaning against the wall, annoyed but amused. “Wow. Spooky,” Cassie said sarcastically, folding her arms. “Let me guess, you think this is them again? Your little slasher boyfriends pulling a prank?” Y/N still didn’t answer. She was already backing up, toward the window, her thumb trembling as she hit redial again. Voicemail. She turned. And froze as Cassie was still talking, “Honestly, Y/N, I think you want to be the Final Girl so bad…”
“Cassie,” Y/N whispered making her snap. “What?” Y/N voice came out low, warning. “Don’t move.” Cassie laughed again, until she saw the look on Y/N’s face. Y/N was staring past her. And when Cassie finally turned, she let out a sharp gasp. There, at the top of the stairs, blocking the only way back down, stood Ghostface. Black robes blending into the shadows. Mask catching the dim Halloween glow. Blade already drawn. Silent. Still. Deadly. Cassie’s breath hitched. “No. No, no…” Y/N grabbed her arm and Ghostface tilted his head as below them, the party raged on, none the wiser.
Cassie shoved Y/N with a strength born of pure panic, sending her stumbling into the wall. “CASSIE…. wait!” But she was already sprinting down the hall in her heels, frantic, throwing open random doors. “GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME, Y/N! MAKE THEM STOP! I SWEAR TO GOD!”
“That’s NOT Yunho and Mingi!” Y/N yelled, chasing her, feet thudding down the hallway. “I don’t know who that is but it’s NOT THEM!” Cassie didn’t listen, maybe couldn’t. Ghostface was still behind them, walking with that eerie, steady pace like he knew they weren’t getting away. The robe swept across the hardwood like a shadow come to life, blade glinting each time they passed another flickering window. “CASSIE, GO LEFT!” Cassie ducked into a room at the end of the hall, and Y/N followed close behind. She slammed the door shut behind them, hand shaking as she twisted the lock, the metal clicking into place just as…. THUMP. Something heavy hit the other side of the door making Cassie jump, gasping, scrambling backward and knocking over a lamp in the dark. Y/N’s back was flat to the door, breathing hard, heartbeat thundering in her ears. “Okay. Okay… okay. We just need to stay quiet. We’ll wait until…”
“You think a lock is gonna stop him?!” Cassie hissed. “If it’s not Yunho or Mingi, then who the hell is it? Huh? WHO?” Y/N shook her head. “I don’t know,” She whispered, her voice barely holding together. “I don’t know anymore…” They both stared at the door, at the single weak lock and thin wood standing between them and the killer. Another THUMP. Cassie flinched. Then silence. Long, suffocating silence before Cassie looked at Y/N, wild eyed. “You’re lying.” Y/N shook her head, but Cassie was already backing away like a cornered animal. “If you’re lying and they’re really doing this because of me… if they’re out there right now…..” Her voice cracked.
“I’m not lying,” Y/N said, firmer now. “I know them. Yunho and Mingi wouldn’t do this. Not like this.” But even as she said it, the doubt returned, sharp and sudden. Because the truth was… She didn’t know anymore. And neither did Cassie. Not as the silence stretched. Not as the doorknob twitched once… then twice. Then stopped again as Cassie started to pace near the bed, arms crossed tight over her chest. “This is all your fault,” she spat suddenly, voice cutting through the quiet like a knife. Y/N blinked. “Excuse me?” Cassie whirled on her. “Don’t act innocent. You’re the one walking around like some tragic heroine. Like you didn’t drive him crazy. Like you’re the victim.”
Y/N scoffed, stepping toward her. “I am the victim, Cassie. Or did you block out the part where Darren threw me down the fucking stairs?” Cassie hesitated, but only for a second. “He was angry. You pushed him.” Y/N eyes darkened, glaring at her. “You were in his bed,” She hissed, shaking with rage now. “I walked in, and you were fucking him! like it was just some joke, like I wasn’t even real to either of you.” Cassie shook her head. “It wasn’t like that,” She snapped. “He said you were crazy. That he was going to break up with you anyway. You were already spiraling.” Y/N laughed bitterly. “So that makes it okay? You fucked my boyfriend, watched him toss me down the stairs, and then lied to my face like it was all in my head?”
“I did what I had to do!” Cassie screamed. “You think anyone was gonna believe you? Everyone thought you were losing it, still do!” Y/N snapped. “No. You don’t get to blame me for this. You set the match. You stood there and let me burn.” Cassie looked ready to snap back, jaw clenched, when a crack echoed from behind her. Blood suddenly sprayed from her mouth and Y/N’s blood ran cold. “Cassie?” she whispered, eyes locking on the silhouette just behind the glass. The lighting was dim, shadows playing tricks, but then she saw it. Ghostface. CRASH. The glass exploded. Shards flew as a gloved hand punched through the pane, yanking Cassie backward with brutal force.
She choked once, twice, blood still bubbling from her mouth, as her body slammed into the jagged frame. “Cassie!” Y/N screamed, rushing forward too late, hands outstretched. But Cassie was already being dragged out the window, her scream cutting through the air like the snap of a wire. Y/N stood frozen by the broken window, her chest heaving, blood roaring in her ears. The glass crunched beneath her shoes as she stepped back, the night air sharp against her skin. Somewhere below, the crowd was still laughing, music thumping faintly through the floor like a second heartbeat. And then a scream. “Please!” Cassie’s voice. From outside. “Help me! Somebody, please….”
Y/N’s breath hitched. Her hand tightened on the doorknob. She didn’t move. “Y/N!” Cassie’s voice cracked. “Please…. help me!” But she didn’t. She closed the door behind her and walked away. Down the hall. Down the stairs. Step by step, her angel wings brushing the walls, a smear of blood glistening faintly across one of the feathers. Her hands shook, but she kept them at her sides. Her face was blank, cold. Her mind louder than the music, louder than the rising noise outside as she stepped down the final steps and suddenly, FLASH. The lights snapped back on with a burst of brightness.
The party roared to life, the crowd erupting in cheers and laughter as if it had all been part of the show. Someone restarted the music. Plastic cups lifted. Costumes glittered under the sudden glow as Y/N squinted, shoving through the crowd, heart pounding. “Jongho!” she called, but the noise swallowed her voice. Her head whipped around, trying to find his face, trying to make sense of anything at all…. CRASH. The crowd screamed as something heavy hit the floor in the center of the main room with a sickening thud. The music cut again. People screamed louder now.
Y/N turned toward the commotion just as the sea of partygoers split apart in horror. There, in the middle of the room was Cassie. Her devil costume torn, her hair soaked in red, limbs bent wrong, blood pooling fast beneath her like spilled wine on marble. She’d been thrown. From the second floor. Tossed like trash. Screams echoed off the walls. Phones came out. People shoved back. A girl fainted. Someone slipped in the blood. And Y/N stood at the edge of it all, staring. Still no sign of Jongho. Still no idea who was behind the mask. Still trying to remember when she stopped feeling anything at all because….. Y/N didn’t care.
Cassie had fucked Darren behind her back. Had stood there at the top of the stairs, watching him shove Y/N. Had lied to everyone afterward, pretending she hadn’t seen a thing. So no…. Y/N didn’t care. Whoever is behind that Ghostface mask? They’re just finishing what karma started. She turned and walked away, feet carrying her with the crowd outside. The porch lights flickered as Y/N stepped into the cool night air. She didn’t rush. Didn’t stumble. Her steps were quiet, careful, like the air itself was waiting for her to shatter. People were screaming inside. Chaos. Sirens in the distance now. But out here, it was quieter. She walked a few steps off the porch, the grass still damp from an earlier rain, the glow of a carved pumpkin casting crooked shadows across her bare legs. Her halo had tilted sideways. Her lipstick was smudged.
“Y/N!” She turned slowly. Jongho was running up from the side of the house, costume cloak flaring behind him. His face was panicked, hands immediately gripping her arms as if to make sure she was real. Still here. “Fuck, are you okay?” he breathed, looking her over. “When the power went out I…. I couldn’t find you anywhere. I’ve been looking everywhere since…” He paused, swallowing. “I thought something happened.” Y/N just looked at him. Her eyes wide but unreadable. “I’m fine,” she said, though her voice was quieter than usual. “I just needed air.” Jongho was about to say something else when the sirens hit full force, bright red and blue strobing across their faces. An ambulance. Two cop cars. People scrambling inside the house. Someone sobbing on the front lawn. Cassie was gone. And Y/N didn’t feel anything.
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The red neon buzzed faintly in the window beside their booth. Mingi was halfway through his milkshake, picking at the remnants of his second basket of fries as Yunho sipped his coffee, eyes trained on the street outside. Across the way, the black sedan hadn’t moved in hours. Parked just outside the convenience store next door. Inside, the two detectives, barely pretending not to watch them until suddenly, the sedan’s headlights flared to life. The engine turned over. Tires screeched. The car peeled away, turning fast down the street, sirens echoing faintly in the distance. Yunho smiled around the rim of his mug. “Guess Cassie’s dead.”
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A stretcher rolls by. Cassie’s body bag is zipped. Y/N stood a few feet from the ambulance, arms folded, her halo askew, the white feather trim of her costume stained red. She didn’t seem to notice. Or care. Jongho stood at her side like a shield, like a soldier who hadn’t left her side since finding her. The moment they stepped onto the scene, Seonghwa and Hongjoong were magnets, pulled straight to her through the crowd. Seonghwa’s blazer flared in the breeze as he approached, jaw tight, black gloves already pulled on. Hongjoong was just a step behind, coat over one shoulder, his expression unreadable as his eyes scanned the scene, then fixed on her.
“Y/N,” Seonghwa said, calm but direct. “We need to ask you what happened.” She blinked at him, lips parted slightly. Her voice didn’t shake. “Ghostface chased us,” she said. “Me and Cassie. Upstairs. We ran into a room and locked the door.” Seonghwa’s jaw ticked. “And then?” Y/N glanced away, just once. Then back. “He pulled her through the window,” she said flatly. “I… I didn’t even know what was happening until I turned around. There was… glass. And blood. He just….. took her.” Jongho shifted beside her, protective as ever, and Hongjoong eyed the both of them with a quiet intensity. “She didn’t see his face,” Jongho added. “She’s still in shock.”
Hongjoong tilted his head slightly, like he didn’t quite believe it. But he didn’t push. Not yet. Seonghwa’s eyes were scanning Y/N’s face, her arms, her clothes, like he was filing every detail into his brain. He saw the blood on her wing. The slight tremble of her fingers. “You’re sure you didn’t see anything else?” he asked, gently now. “No voice? No detail? Anything could help.” Y/N licked her lips. “Nothing,” she said. “Just… black cloak. The mask.” Hongjoong hummed under his breath, quiet and sharp. “Ghostface,” he murmured. “Always where the drama is.” Seonghwa’s tone softened. “We’ll need to follow up with you in the next day or two. Is that alright?” Y/N just nodded as Jongho pulled her closer. And neither detective noticed the faint smile ghosting her lips when she looked down, like someone who’d decided something.
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Seonghwa ducked beneath the yellow tape as they entered the room where it happened. Glass crunched under his shoes. The window was wide open, moonlight pouring in like a spotlight. A smear of blood dragged across the sill to the shattered shards on the roof below. Hongjoong exhaled slowly, surveying the chaos. Cassie’s phone lay cracked on the floor. The bed was untouched. No signs of struggle, just panic. Just glass and blood and a storm that came and went in seconds.
Seonghwa ran a gloved hand along the edge of the window frame. “Too fast,” he murmured. “Too clean.” Hongjoong stepped further into the room, looking over the scene with sharp, calculating eyes. Then he spoke, voice low and certain. “Either there’s a third one to the party now… or Yunho and Mingi aren’t the killers.” Seonghwa looked at him. Hongjoong’s brow furrowed slightly, like the admission tasted strange in his mouth. “We watched them for hours,” he said. “They never left that diner. Not once.” Seonghwa straightened. “You think someone’s trying to throw us off?”
“I think someone is throwing us off,” Hongjoong corrected, eyes narrowing at the open window. “And doing a damn good job of it.” A pause. Then Seonghwa muttered, “Or they were never our killers to begin with.” Hongjoong didn’t respond to that. Not out loud.
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The sirens had finally faded. Cassie’s body was long gone, zipped into a bag and wheeled into the back of a coroner’s van, the last echo of her life swallowed by flashing red and blue lights. Y/N stood just outside the chaos, arms crossed, face unreadable. “Hey,” Jongho said softly. “You good?” She nodded once, but didn’t say anything as Jongho stepped closer. “Let me walk you back to your dorm.” Y/N hesitated. Then shook her head. “I’m not going back there.” He tilted his head. “Then where?” She looked off down the road, past the lit up quad, beyond the streetlamps, toward the older apartment buildings just a block off campus. “I want to see Yunho and Mingi.” Jongho blinked. “Right now?”
“They’re the only ones I feel like seeing.” She didn’t mean for it to sound like a confession. But maybe it was. Jongho opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, then shut it. Instead, he just fell in step beside her without another word. They walked in silence under the cold glow of the streetlights. Leaves scraped across the pavement. Distant laughter echoed from another party that hadn’t ended in blood. Yunho and Mingi’s building came into view, tall, old brick, the kind of place with a flickering hallway light and creaky floors. Jongho slowed just outside the building. “You sure you’re gonna be okay?”
Y/N stared up at the building. “I don’t know,” she said honestly causing Jongho’s brows to pinch together. Before he could say anything else, Y/N stepped in, wrapped her arms around him, and pulled him into a hug. A long one. “Thanks for tonight,” she murmured against his shoulder. He held her tighter before Y/N pulled away, gave him a small, tired smile, and then turned toward the entrance. Jongho stayed there until the front door closed behind her. And even then, he didn’t leave for a while.
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The fluorescent lights above her flickered as Y/N climbed the stairs. The elevator had been out since midweek, the “Out of Order” sign lazily taped to its dented doors. She didn’t mind. The rhythmic clink of her heels on the steps gave her something to focus on other than the chaos still echoing in her skull. Cassie was dead. Ghostface had struck again. And Yunho and Mingi… hadn’t even been there. She reached their floor, breathing a little heavier, not from the stairs, but the weight pressing into her ribs. Her thoughts were a mess. Her heart wasn’t scared. Just loud. Confused.
She stood in front of their door for three long seconds. Then knocked once. It opened almost instantly. Yunho stood there, tall, broad, a fresh hoodie thrown over his black shirt like they’d just gotten home. His eyes swept over her immediately, her white angel costume, crinkled and slightly dirty, the streak of blood across one wing. Her face. He didn’t say anything about it. Instead, his voice dropped, gentle but sharp. “What happened?” Before she could answer, he reached out and tugged her inside by the wrist, pulling the door closed behind her. Warmth hit her. The scent of something like amber and rain. Safe and dangerous, all at once as she blinked up at him. “Y/N,” he said again, voice rough now. “What happened?”
“I….” Before she could finish, Mingi padded into the room barefoot, still toweling off damp hair like he’d just showered, a white shirt sticking slightly to his chest, low slung joggers riding his hips. He stopped cold when he saw her. “Shit,” Mingi said softly, stepping forward. “Are you okay?” She looked between them, unsure what expression she was wearing. “I’m fine,” she lied. “Cassie’s not.” Both boys went still. Yunho’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t speak. Mingi’s brows pulled together, towel hanging forgotten around his neck. “What do you mean?” Y/N swallowed. “She’s dead.”
There was a pause. A long one as Yunho stepped in closer. “Tell us what happened,” he said, low and steady. Y/N looked up at him, into eyes that always felt just a little too knowing, and for the first time tonight… she didn’t know if she was seeking comfort or confirmation. Maybe both. Yunho didn’t say another word as he guided Y/N to sit on the couch. Mingi sat beside her, posture loose but gaze sharp, towel now forgotten on the floor. Yunho stayed standing, arms crossed, his weight shifting like he was bracing himself for something as Y/N leaned back, head tipped to the ceiling. “You wanna know what happened?”
Neither of them spoke. She took that as a yes. Her voice came out even. Calm. But there was a tremble beneath it that wasn’t fear. It was calculation. “There was a phone call,” she began. “Right after I got to the party. Jongho went to get drinks and my phone rang. Twice. I almost didn’t answer. But I did.” Mingi’s brows furrowed. Yunho stayed still as she looked straight ahead. “It was Ghostface.” That got a reaction, just a flicker of Yunho’s eyes. Barely there. But she saw it. “He told me to get Cassie alone. Said she was next.” Mingi leaned forward slightly. “Did you?” Y/N turned her head to look at him. “No. I didn’t have to. She found me. Ran her mouth like always. Followed me upstairs.” She paused. “And then the lights went out.”
Mingi glanced at Yunho. A flash of something passed between them but it was gone too fast to catch. Y/N continued, her tone measured. “We ran. She begged me to make it stop. Said it was you two. That you’d come to finish what you started with Darren.” Her eyes locked onto Yunho’s now. “I told her it wasn’t you.” Yunho didn’t blink as Y/N’s voice dropped, the confession spilling out like a challenge. “We locked ourselves in a room. She panicked. Started blaming me. Said it was all my fault. I told her she had it coming. That she fucked my boyfriend. Lied for him. Watched him shove me down the stairs.” Mingi’s lips parted. A slow inhale. She looked between them. “I left her, Yunho. I walked out of that room while she screamed. I left her to die.” Silence. Then she added, like twisting the knife on herself, or on them, “I knew Ghostface was still up there. Killing her but I walked away anyway.”
Mingi was staring at her like he didn’t know what to say. Like he didn’t know whether to be horrified or impressed. His jaw clenched, his tongue swiped across his bottom lip, and his gaze dropped to her hands in her lap. Yunho was still standing. Still quiet. His eyes dark, bottomless, never left hers. Then, finally, he asked softly, “Do you feel guilty?” Y/N blinked but didn’t answer. Mingi leaned back into the couch, exhaling like it was the first breath he’d taken since she started talking. “Damn.”
“Is it wrong that I don’t care that Cassie’s dead?” Her question put them back in silence for a moment until Yunho broke it. His voice was softer than she expected. Careful. Like he was stepping around something fragile. “You should probably take those off,” he said, nodding toward her shoulder. “Your wings still have blood on them.” Y/N looked down slowly, as if just now noticing the deep red streaks smudging the delicate white feathers. Cassie’s blood. Or maybe her own. Or maybe it didn’t matter.
Before she could move, Mingi stood, wordlessly stepping behind her. His long fingers brushed against her shoulder blades as he unpinned the wings one strap at a time. They fluttered off and he set them aside gently, like they hadn’t just been soaked in someone else’s last moments. Y/N turned toward him. “Can I stay here tonight?” She didn’t say she didn’t want to be alone. She didn’t say she didn’t want to dream. She didn’t need to. “Of course you can,” Mingi said, like it was ridiculous that she’d even ask. Like there wasn’t a city full of rumors and body bags outside the walls of their apartment.
Mingi moved toward his room, rummaged through a drawer, and came back holding one of his oversized black tees, worn soft, the collar stretched just enough, the scent of his cologne lingering faintly on the fabric. He handed it to her without a word and nodded toward the bathroom. “Clean towels are under the sink,” he said. Yunho was still standing in the living room, arms folded, his expression unreadable as she walked past him. But when she glanced back just once, just to see if he was still watching, she caught it. That flicker of something in his eyes. Like he wasn’t entirely sure if she was still innocent.
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Inside the bathroom, the sound of hot water hitting tile filled the small space. Y/N leaned her forehead against the cool wall, steam curling around her body, her pulse still too fast to match the quiet.
Meanwhile, outside, Yunho stood near the window, one hand tucked into the pocket of his sweatpants, the other holding a glass of water he hadn’t taken a single sip from. The streetlights outside flickered faintly. Mingi slumped on the couch, legs spread wide, fingers drumming against his thigh. He looked up toward the bathroom door before glancing at Yunho. “Well,” he muttered. “It worked.” Yunho’s eyes didn’t leave the window. “Yeah.”
“She came straight here,” Mingi continued, watching his friend now. “Didn’t even flinch.” Something in Yunho’s jaw tightened. “She’s off tonight.” Mingi raised a brow. “You think she still suspects us?” Yunho was quiet for a long moment. Then he turned to face him, the corner of his mouth twitching, something between a smirk and a grimace. “I don’t think she cares if it’s us.” That silenced Mingi. His fingers stopped tapping. His lips parted, but no words came. They both glanced toward the bathroom. The sound of water continued, steady and muffled, like a countdown ticking toward something none of them could name.
Steam curled thick in the small bathroom, fogging up the mirror and blurring the fluorescent light above. The shower hissed, hot enough to sting, but Y/N barely felt it. Her hands were braced against the wall, head dipped low, hair heavy with water as it cascaded down her back, over scraped knees, bruised shins, and the faint splatter of dried blood she hadn’t even noticed until now. Not hers. Cassie’s. Her stomach twisted, not in guilt. Not anymore. Not in grief either. Just… fear. But not fear of whoever was behind the mask. Not anymore.
She knew Yunho and Mingi didn’t kill Cassie. She knew it, same way she knew how Mingi fidgeted when he lied, how Yunho never looked away unless he had something to hide. Tonight, they’d been watched. Trailed by detectives. She saw the timing. She saw their faces. They hadn’t done it. But the question still whispered like a razor against her brain.
Didn’t they? What if there was a third? What if they had help? What if… it was never just about the kills? She stared down at the small pool forming near the drain, a faint pink hue swirling at the edges of the water. Her angel wings, bloodstained and limp, were probably still laying on the living room floor like a sick joke. There was nothing innocent left here. Not her costume. Not her. And the scariest part? She didn’t care if they did it. Yunho. Mingi.
If they had killed those people. If they had looked her in the eyes while blood dried beneath their fingernails. She wouldn’t care. But she did care about one thing. That they’d get caught. The fear wasn’t about death anymore. It was about exposure. About the lights coming on too soon, about the blood being too obvious, about the detectives finally looking in the right direction. About that sick twist in her gut that said she would lose them. They would get taken away from her. She clenched her eyes shut, water burning across her lashes. If Yunho and Mingi were the killers… She was scared for them. Not of them. And that terrified her more than anything.
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The bathroom door creaked open, steam trailing behind her like a veil. The shirt Mingi gave her clung to her still wet skin, the hem brushing her bare thighs with every step. Her hair was damp, sticking to her shoulders, but she didn’t towel off. Didn’t slow down. She was still thinking. If they are the killers… If they really had been behind everything…. They did it for her. The detectives had said as much. “Obsession,” they called it. She wasn’t stupid. She’d seen how they looked at her. Felt the way the air changed when she entered a room. Yunho and Mingi, especially Mingi, bent around her. Their world warped when she walked into it.
She stepped out into the dim apartment. The lights were low, living room empty except for one of the guys’ hoodies tossed across the back of the couch. Mingi stood near the kitchen counter, head bowed slightly, scrolling through something on his phone. He looked up when he heard her footsteps. His eyes dropped from her face to the shirt, his shirt, and then lower. Her legs were bare. His breath hitched, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “Where’s Yunho?” she asked, voice soft but firm. Testing.
Mingi’s eyes lingered for half a second too long. Then he cleared his throat, glancing toward the hallway. “In his room,” he said. Y/N kept walking. Bare feet on hardwood. Step by step until she was standing right in front of him. Close enough to feel the heat rolling off his skin. She tilted her head. “You and Yunho…” Her fingers toyed with the hem of the shirt, slowly lifting it just enough to make his gaze darken, “You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?”
He didn’t even blink. ”Yes,” Mingi said. No hesitation. No doubt. His voice was low, honest. Like it wasn’t even a question. Like it was something he already knew about himself and didn’t mind saying out loud. Y/N’s mouth curled into something between a smirk and a secret. “Good.” Then she reached up, fingers sliding into his hair, the other hand bracing against his chest as she kissed him. Mingi didn’t resist. Didn’t stop to ask questions. Didn’t even think. He kissed her back like he’d been starving. Like her mouth was the answer to everything that had gone wrong in his life and everything he’d still burn for.
His hands moved down her back, gripping her hips, tugging her closer. And that’s when he felt it. There was nothing underneath the shirt. Just her skin, warm and soft and dangerous. Mingi groaned into her mouth, gripping her tighter, like she might disappear. Like he was scared this wasn’t real. Like he’d kill anyone who tried to take her away, kissing her deeper, rougher, until she gasped against his lips. Her fingers twisted in the collar of his hoodie, dragging him down like gravity had finally decided she belonged only to him.
But then he pulled back. His breath was shaky. Pupils blown wide. Voice raw. “Let me have you,” he whispered, lips brushing her ear, practically begging. “Please.” His hands gripped her hips like he was trying to ground himself, but there was nothing steady about the way he was unraveling. “Let me have you, like I haven’t already,” he added, mouth dropping to her throat, tongue teasing the skin before he kissed down the side of her neck, slow and open mouthed. Y/N’s back hit the kitchen counter as he pressed her against it, the edge biting into the backs of her thighs. He kissed down her collarbone, moaning quietly when she tilted her head to give him more.
Then he reached for the hem of his shirt on her body. His shirt. He peeled it up and over her head slowly, reverently, and for a beat, he just stared, his hands ghosting over bare skin like he was trying to memorize her all over again. “You’re so fucking dangerous,” he said under his breath, and maybe that’s what you should have been saying. “And I don’t care.” Then his mouth was everywhere. Kisses down her chest, across her ribs, over the curve of her waist, worshipping, needy. His hands slid behind her thighs, urging her up onto the counter like he wanted her spread open and ruined right there in their kitchen. “Fuck, let me….”
“Am I interrupting something?” Yunho’s voice cut clean through the haze, low and unreadable from the hallway. Mingi didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop. If anything, Yunho’s voice just made him more determined. His mouth kissed lower, over the dip of her stomach, tongue teasing where her hip curved, his hands sliding up her thighs as he sank to his knees like a man made to worship. His breath was hot against her skin as he looked up at her, the dim kitchen light catching the hunger in his eyes. “You don’t want me to stop, do you?” he murmured, voice already wrecked.
Y/N barely heard him. Because her eyes were on Yunho. Still standing there in the doorway like some untouchable angel of judgment. But his jaw was tense, his fists clenched at his sides, and that unreadable calm? Gone. “Are you just gonna keep standing there?” she asked, voice sharp and breathless, head tilting as she stared him down. Yunho didn’t answer. Didn’t move. So Y/N leaned back slightly, one hand tangling in Mingi’s hair as he mouthed a kiss against her inner thigh. Her other hand reached out lazily in Yunho’s direction. “Or are you going to admit that you like watching?”
That made Yunho move. Slowly. Quietly. He stepped into the kitchen, eyes never leaving hers. And Mingi, still on his knees, still trailing kisses up her leg, looked over his shoulder just once and grinned. “About fucking time,” he muttered against her skin. Yunho moved closer. Each step deliberate, quiet, his socks whispering across the kitchen tile. His eyes didn’t leave her, not even for a second, not while Mingi’s broad hands gripped her thighs, spreading her just enough for him to finally feast.
Y/N’s head tipped back when she felt it, Mingi’s tongue hot and obscene, dragging through her folds like he was starving. Her fingers tightened in his hair, hips twitching against his mouth. But she didn’t look down at him. She looked at Yunho as he reached her slowly, towering, eyes flickering over every inch of her flushed skin, the way her chest heaved, the way Mingi’s head was buried between her legs like he was worshipping at a bloodstained altar. Yunho’s hand reached for her. Not her waist. Not her hips. He gripped her chin. Firm. Possessive. Gentle, but only barely. “You know, don’t you?” he asked, voice low, dark, curling like smoke around her.
Y/N didn’t answer. Didn’t flinch either. She just stared up at him, breath trembling and kissed him. Right there, with Mingi’s mouth still devouring her, Y/N surged up and kissed Yunho, hard and unyielding, tongue slipping past his lips like she was branding him. Like she was choosing him, them, in a way words couldn’t touch. Yunho made a sound against her mouth, like a growl swallowed too late. His grip on her chin slid to the back of her neck, pulling her deeper into the kiss, his other hand gripping the edge of the counter behind her as he let himself feel her, all of her.
Mingi didn’t stop. Didn’t even slow down. He moaned into her, tongue fucking her as if her kiss to Yunho had just turned him feral, the vibrations making her whole body shake. Her legs twitched against his shoulders, her knees threatening to buckle, but Yunho’s body was already there, pressing into her, holding her steady, trapping her between the devil on her knees and the devil in her mouth. And she didn’t want saving from either one.
Yunho’s mouth was still wet from their kiss when he pulled back, eyes dropping to where Mingi was feasting like a man possessed. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, just watching wasn’t enough. Not anymore. He dropped to one knee for just a second, fingers sliding between her folds alongside Mingi’s tongue, and found her clit. The second his fingers brushed it, Y/N gasped, her hips bucking into both of them. Her thighs threatened to close, but Mingi growled against her, and Yunho was quick to grab her knee, holding it open.
“There you go,” Yunho murmured against her skin, pressing a slow circle into her clit while Mingi thrust his tongue deep inside her. “Just like that.” And then Yunho gripped Mingi’s hair. Firm, commanding, like he owned him. “Keep going,” he whispered, more to himself than anything. “She’s right there, can’t you feel her?” Mingi moaned in response, his tongue pushing deeper, faster, and Yunho watched Y/N fall apart, her head dropping back, chest heaving…. Yunho leaned in and latched his mouth around her breast, tongue dragging over her nipple before he sucked, hard, just as his fingers picked up speed on her clit.
That was it. Y/N came with a shudder so violent it rocked all three of them, her fingers clawing at Yunho’s shoulders, her hips grinding against Mingi’s mouth and Yunho’s hand as they kept her riding it out. “Fuck… fuck….” she gasped, body convulsing, chest arched into Yunho’s mouth. Mingi didn’t stop until she twitched, until her breath came in broken little sobs and Yunho finally loosened his grip on his hair. Even then, Mingi kissed her thighs like he wasn’t ready to let her go.
Yunho pulled back, licking a wet stripe across her chest, smirking as he looked her up and down, not saying a word when he gripped Mingi by the shoulder, easing him back with a firm but silent push. Mingi chuckled low, letting himself be moved, and Yunho’s arms were around her a second later. He lifted her letting her legs wrap around his waist on instinct, a gasp leaving her lips before he kissed her. Not gentle. Not sweet. It was rough and messy and full of need, like he was drunk on her. His hand slid up her back, cradling her head like she’d break, the other squeezing her thigh as he pressed her harder into his chest.
She moaned into his mouth, just as Mingi came up behind her again. “Fuck, you’re hot like this,” Mingi muttered against her shoulder, hands gripping her hips from behind. “All wrecked and flushed.” His fingers slid up to her breasts and Yunho groaned into her mouth when he felt her shiver between them as Mingi leaned in, pressing his mouth to the spot just under her ear, lips dragging lower, until he was sucking at her neck, slow and hungry. Yunho pulled back just barely, their breaths mingling, both panting. His gaze met Mingi’s over her shoulder. They didn’t say a word.
Mingi’s mouth crashed into his and fuck…. Y/N’s breath caught. Trapped between them, her head tipped back against Yunho’s shoulder, legs tightening around his waist, arms clinging to his shoulders, chest rising and falling as she watched them kiss. Their mouths were messy, hungry, biting and licking at each other, and she felt every ounce of it. Felt Yunho’s hips grind up between her thighs. Felt Mingi’s hands tighten on her ass. When they finally pulled apart, breathless, Y/N was shaking. Her eyes were dark. Ravenous as Yunho carried her to his bedroom, Mingi trailing behind them.
He sets her down in the center of his bed like she’s something to be worshipped, or devoured. Maybe both. The room is dimly lit by the lamp on his desk. A flickering warm tone that makes the shadows crawl across his walls like they’re watching. Like they know what’s about to happen. Y/N leans back on her hands, skin’s still flushed, her thighs still trembling from what happened in the kitchen, but her gaze never wavers as she watches the two of them.
Yunho stands at the foot of the bed, hands gripping her ankles, spreading her legs open just enough. Mingi hovers behind him, a shadow with sharp eyes, peering over Yunho’s shoulder like he’s hunting the same prey. And in a way, he is. Y/N doesn’t flinch. She watches them like a challenge. Show me what you really are. “Look at her,” Mingi murmurs, his voice low, reverent, smug. “Fucking beautiful.” Yunho hums in agreement, thumbs brushing up the sides of her calves as he pulls her a little closer to the edge. His dark eyes don’t leave hers. “She wants it,” he says. Not a question. A fact.
“She wants us,” Mingi adds, and Y/N’s lips curl into the faintest smirk. She does. But it’s more than that now. She wants to see how far they’ll go. What they’ll do to her… for her. For each other. She watches the way they circle, like wolves in sync, one in front, one behind, their chemistry so natural it’s terrifying. Mingi leans down just behind Yunho, hands braced on his shoulders as he looks past him, right into Y/N’s eyes. And Y/N? She lays back on her elbows, heart racing, a growing ache between her thighs as she waits, dares, invites.
Yunho’s grip tightens around her ankles as Mingi’s breath hits his neck. “I wonder who’ll make her scream first,” Yunho murmurs. Mingi grins over his shoulder. “Let’s find out.” The air hums with heat, with the raw electricity of three people locked in something dangerously intimate. But just as Yunho tightens his grip around her ankles and Mingi leans over like they’re in charge… Y/N moves. A shift in weight, a flicker of something wild behind her eyes, and suddenly she’s pushing herself up onto her knees, the mattress dipping beneath her.
Neither man stops her. They both go still as she rises, slowly, hand trailing up Yunho’s chest, pulling his hoodie off, fingertips dancing like a tease now over bare skin, like a warning. Her touch brushes over his collarbone, up the column of his throat… Until her hand wraps around it. Firm. Unflinching. And Yunho’s exhale is instant. Low. Deep. Like he’s been waiting for this. Y/N leans in, lips just shy of his ear. Her grip doesn’t ease. “Did you forget?” she whispers, voice laced with venom and silk, “You begged me to choke you.”
Mingi’s low groan behind them is sinful as Yunho’s eyes flutter for a split second. Not in submission, in devotion. She tightens her fingers just enough to make him feel it. Yunho’s hands twitch at his sides. The tips of his fingers curl against the sheets like he’s holding himself back from just taking her again. But he doesn’t. Because they both know she’s in control now. Behind her, Mingi lets out a breathless laugh, amused, turned on, fucking entranced. “She’s something else,” he says, voice hoarse, hand slipping up her waist as she kisses Yunho. Slow. Possessive. Dominant.
Mingi’s hands grip her hips from behind as Yunho finally loses the fight and groans into her mouth, letting her take exactly what she wants. Her hand is still wrapped tight around Yunho’s throat. And when she tightens just a little more, just enough for pressure, just enough to take his control away…. Yunho whimpers. The sound is low, raw, dragged from somewhere deep inside his chest like he didn’t mean to let it out, but oh, he did. Mingi freezes behind them, eyes going wide for a split second. “Holy shit,” he mutters, half a laugh, half awe. “I’ve never seen you like this.”
Yunho can’t speak. He doesn’t want to. He’s too busy unraveling. Because there’s something about the way she’s owning him right now, with just her hand and her eyes and the taste of that kiss still on his lips, that’s making his knees damn near buckle. And Y/N? Oh, she knows. She tilts her head, studying him like she’s the one deciding whether he deserves mercy tonight. Her voice comes out silk wrapped and dangerous, “Didn’t know you were this easy to break, Yunho.” Another breathless sound leaves him. Something caught between a groan and a moan.
He doesn’t care that Mingi’s watching. In fact, he wants him to. Mingi moves closer, lips brushing the shell of Y/N’s ear now, hands running up her thighs. “I think you broke him,” he says, half laughing, voice dipping lower. “And I’m so fucking turned on right now, I might let you do it to me next.” Y/N grins, releasing Yunho’s throat only to cup his jaw instead, her thumb brushing his lower lip. The air in the room is heavy, sex, sweat, and something darker threading between the three of them.
Y/N drops to her stomach on the bed, eyes locked on Yunho as she tugs his sweatpants down. His dick springs free, flushed and already dripping for her, and she wastes no time. Her mouth wraps around him, slow and sinful, a moan vibrating against him as he groans, head tipping back in bliss as Mingi watches from behind, completely mesmerized. The way she moves, the way Yunho is already falling apart, fuck. He strips. Clothes hitting the floor in a blur, nothing left between him and the need curling low in his stomach.
Y/N doesn’t flinch when she feels Mingi press up behind her. She knows it’s him. Knows that warmth, that weight, that barely held back hunger. She presses back, just a little. Just enough to say, take me. And he does. Mingi sinks into her in one long, slow thrust, a broken moan slipping from his lips the moment he’s buried inside her. She’s so wet, so tight, so fucking perfect he could lose it already. Yunho’s hands tangle in her hair, gently guiding her pace on his dick, his breathing uneven.
“Holy shit,” Mingi groans, snapping his hips forward again, watching the way she moans around Yunho’s length in response. “You feel like you missed me.” She had. Her eyes roll back, spit sliding down her chin as she takes Yunho deeper, both of them praising her with their bodies, Mingi filling her up from behind, Yunho twitching on her tongue, his grip tightening. She’s pressed between them like something sacrificial, offered up to the darkness, and neither of them are being gentle anymore.
Mingi’s pace sharpens, slamming into her with a force that shakes the mattress, but Y/N meets him thrust for thrust, grinding back, challenging him, owning it. Their moans split the air, guttural and raw. Yunho watches, dick flushed and twitching, her spit still clinging to him as Y/N pulls off him with a loud, slick pop, a moan ripping straight from her chest as Mingi buries himself deep inside her. “Fuck,” she gasps, face twisting in ecstasy, her hands braced against the mattress as her body rocks with the rhythm of Mingi’s hips.
Behind her, Mingi groans loud, head tipped back, fingers digging into the curve of her waist as she fucks him right back, like she’s trying to take him deeper. Yunho’s hand tightens at his side. He should feel jealous. He should be possessive. But all he feels is burning need curled hot and low in his gut. Because watching her like this, seeing her completely unhinged, soaked, panting, owning every second, it’s driving him insane as Mingi leans down, panting against her shoulder. “You tryna make me cum already, baby?”
She smirks, still breathless, eyes finding Yunho’s. “Only if you can keep up.” Yunho moves closer, jaw clenched, dick still achingly hard as thunder rumbles low, like the sky itself is holding its breath. “Mingi,” he murmurs, voice thick, “sit back with her.” Mingi doesn’t hesitate. He moves behind her, settling on the bed, her back pressing against his chest as he grips her thighs to keep her open, steady, waiting as Yunho kneels in front of her, hand curling under her chin, lifting her face so their eyes meet. “You want both of us?”
She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. Her hand reaches for him, nails raking lightly down his stomach before wrapping around his length, still slick from her mouth. Her answer is clear in her touch, Yes. Yes. Yes. Mingi groans, already aching to be inside her again as Yunho grits his teeth, tip sliding against her dripping entrance. “Fuck.” Mingi pulls back just enough, soaked in her, his tip nudging higher now, her other entrance, and her whole body arches between them as she realizes what’s happening.
“You good, baby?” Mingi murmurs, mouth near her ear. She nods, biting her lip, eyes flicking between them both. “Do it.” And in perfect sync, like they’ve done this a hundred times before but never quite like this, they both start to press in. Yunho groans low in his throat, fingers digging into her hips. Mingi curses under his breath, voice shuddering. “Fuck… she’s so…… tight…” And just as they both bottom out inside her, as her breath catches in her throat, thunder booms loud, splitting the sky, lightning flashing through the rain streaked window as she shudders between them, completely full, completely theirs.
The first rhythm is steady. Deep. Unrelenting. Yunho thrusts into her from the front, one arm wrapped around her waist, holding her tight, while Mingi’s fingers are bruising her thighs, buried to the hilt in her ass. She’s trembling, no, writhing, between them, her body straining to handle so much. Every time Yunho drives in, she’s pushed back harder onto Mingi. Every time Mingi grinds forward, Yunho’s breath stutters. She’s flushed. Slick. Eyes rolling. Lips parted in a cry that keeps building in pitch. “Fuck!” she gasps, nails clawing at Yunho’s back as he drops his forehead to hers, panting hard. “You’re taking us so good, baby… so tight…. I can feel him.”
“Me too,” Mingi groans behind her, voice frayed. “I can feel you through her.” She breaks first. Her whole body seizes, a raw scream catching in her throat as she falls apart, walls pulsing around Yunho, back clenching around Mingi. Her vision blacks out for a second, the pleasure blinding, searing up her spine as both of them groan in unison. Mingi loses it. “Fucking… god…. she’s squeezing me…” he snarls, hips slamming forward one last time as his climax hits him like a freight train. The pressure, the slickness, the tightness, and feeling Yunho still inside her, rutting against him through her, it shatters him. He comes hard, dick pulsing, hips stuttering, and he can’t pull out. He’s trapped. Stuck inside her as Yunho keeps going.
Yunho growls low in his chest, pace brutal now, rhythm unrelenting. “Can’t stop… she’s still so fucking wet…. so messy, baby.” Mingi’s forehead drops to her shoulder, gasping, shuddering, moaning helplessly every time Yunho thrusts in and presses against him from the other side. She’s sobbing through overstimulation, both of them thick and deep inside her, her whole body burning. Mingi lets out a choked laugh, breathless. “This is fucking insane.”
“You started it,” Yunho mutters through clenched teeth, pounding into her harder now, chasing his own release. Another flash of lightning illuminates the room, sweat slicked skin, tangled limbs, their bodies fused in a way that’s as much chaos as it is perfect design. Mingi’s back is slick with sweat, muscles trembling as he tries to hold on, but Yunho hasn’t stopped. Not for a second. Each thrust grinds him deeper against Mingi’s dick, still buried inside her, overstimulated and soaked. Mingi can feel her again, feel the way she’s pulsing, tighter than before, like her body’s about to snap all over again.
“Yunho… fuck…. I’m gonna…” Mingi’s voice breaks off, his fingers clutching her hips so tight he might bruise her. Yunho doesn’t stop. He slams in harder, deeper, dragging a ragged moan from both of them. “You gonna come again, Mingi?” he hisses into his ear. “Fucking stay inside her while you do.” That’s all it takes. She arches beneath them, a sob leaving her lips as her body breaks again, another orgasm crashing over her like a wave, violent, rolling, unstoppable. Her mouth falls open in a scream, fingers gripping Yunho’s arms as if she’s trying to ground herself.
And Mingi, he shatters. “Shit….. fuck… fuck!” he cries out, spine bowing, his dick twitching wildly as he comes again, back to back, buried inside her while she’s still spasming around both of them. He falls back against the mattress, overwhelmed, dazed, wrecked as Yunho watches her unravel, his own control slipping. Her walls clamp down, fluttering around him and he growls, low and guttural, fingers digging into her thighs as he drives forward once, twice, three more times, then loses it.
“Fuck… baby…” Yunho pants, voice cracking as he slams deep one last time, filling her while she trembles beneath them, Mingi still inside her, twitching, both of them spent, soaked in everything they’ve done. Silence falls, except for the storm, the storm and their breathing as Yunho collapses forward, arms trembling as he braces over her. Mingi lets out a half groan, half laugh, dragging a hand down his face, completely wrecked. Y/N is limp between them, chest heaving, lips parted in a dazed smile as she gasps for breath as Mingi finally speaks, voice hoarse, “We’re not gonna be able to move for a while.” Yunho laughs softly, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Worth it.”
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The rain hammers against floor to ceiling windows that overlook the city like a god’s throne. Lightning splits the sky in jagged bursts. The penthouse is dark save for the soft, amber glow of a few sconces, and the dim light from the whiskey glass in Mr. Shultz’s hand. He sits alone in a leather armchair near the window, tie undone, shirt wrinkled like he’s been wearing it since morning. Jazz crackles from a vintage speaker system, low and smooth, a sharp contrast to the wrath of the storm outside.
He lifts his glass. Sips. Sighs. RING. He freezes. RING. He sets the glass down. Leans forward. RING. He picks up the landline. “This better be important.” Silence. Then a voice, distorted, silky, amused. “Do you know where your son is tonight?” A pause as Mr. Shultz straightens slightly. “Who the hell is this?” The voice chuckles darkly from the other end. “Darren always did like to run his mouth. But you? You’re the one I’ve been waiting to talk to.” Mr. Shultz glares at nothing, hissing into the phone. “I don’t have time for games.”
“Oh, but you always have time for lies. Money laundering, bribery.” The voice mocks him as Mr. Shultz stands, furious now. “Who are you?” He snaps once again only for the voice to laugh. “You left the door open, Mr. Shultz.” Lightning flashes, briefly illuminating something wrong in the reflection of the window behind him. A shape. A black silhouette. He turns, nothing. The jazz skips. The lights flicker. The phone goes dead. He breathes heavily now. Looks around. Then, a soft footstep.
He spins toward the hallway. Nothing. Until Ghostface steps out from the shadows of the kitchen, mask catching the next flash of lightning. Knife in hand. Mr. Shultz freezes as Ghostface tilts their head before lunging, blade glinting and Shultz moves. In a single motion, Mr. Shultz hurls his whiskey glass, amber liquor flying in a sharp arc, the tumbler smashing against Ghostface’s mask with a crack. It doesn’t slow the killer much, but it shocks them, makes them stumble a step back.
Mr. Shultz turns and books it, bare feet sliding slightly on the sleek hardwood as he barrels down the hallway. Mr. Shultz slams the door behind him. Locks it. Shoves a heavy bookshelf against it for good measure, hands shaking. He’s sweating now, heart pounding like a war drum. He grabs the sleek black phone off the desk, dead. Just static on the line. He can’t use his cell as he left it charging in his bedroom. He rushes to the far corner of the room, a safe. Fumbles the code a few times before the safe swings open. Inside sits a silver pistol. He yanks it out, loads a clip, chambering a round just as… THUMP.
From behind the bookshelf. Then another. THUMP. THUMP. Scraping. A pause. “You can’t hide behind money in here, Mr. Shultz.” The Ghostface taunts him as the lights go out. The storm roars as a bang sounds behind him, he spins, gun raised but the study is suddenly, eerily quiet. Like the calm before something awful. He slowly, cautiously walked back out the study. Scoffing, getting cocky now with a gun in his hands.
Mr. Shultz stalked through the penthouse with the confidence only wealth and a loaded gun could buy. The storm outside rattled the windows, lightning throwing stark flashes across the sleek, modern interior. He moved slowly, deliberately, gun raised and ready, a cruel smirk curling his lips as he passed each darkened doorway. “You picked the wrong fucking rich guy to play horror movie with,” he sneered into the silence. “You think I didn’t survive worse than this in acquisitions? Come out, you little masked freak. Let’s end this.”
He spun on a dime, flinging open a closet and firing twice, the shots deafening in the tight space. But nothing was inside except linen and silence. Chuckling, drunk on adrenaline, he stepped back. “That’s what I thought.” Then came the sharp burn of steel ripping into his side. His face contorted in shock, the gun swinging up wildly, bullets discharging into shelves, walls, the ceiling, anything that wasn’t the cloaked figure now dancing backward out of reach.
Mr. Shultz stumbled, clutching his side, blood already soaking through his designer shirt. His heel hit the edge of the living room rug as he backed toward the floor to ceiling windows. His grip on the gun slipped once, then tightened again with desperation. “You… fuck…. you don’t know who you’re messing with,” he gasped, voice trembling with rage more than fear as Ghostface just walked toward him slowly, boots quiet on the hardwood, one hand behind his back. Silent. Patient. “Get back,” Mr. Shultz snapped, trying to steady his shaking hand as he leveled the empty pistol. “I swear to god I’ll…”
“You can thank your son later,” Ghostface said, voice low and pleased, “after we get him too.” And then he pulled it out. A shotgun. The barrel gleamed like it had been waiting for this moment. The blast echoed like thunder, the glass window shattering in a cascade of diamond like shards as Mr. Shultz’s body launched backward. Time seemed to slow as he crashed through the broken pane, a scream stuck in his throat as he plunged from the twelfth floor.
The only thing left in the room was smoke, shattered glass, and the sound of rain hammering its way inside. The storm was in full rage now, thunder snarling across the sky like some ancient beast while the downpour swallowed everything in sight. But Ghostface moved through it like he was born of it, unseen, unhindered. He slipped down the fire escape with practiced ease, feet landing silent on the slick pavement behind the building where Mr. Shultz’s body now lay in a twisted heap on the street, surrounded by shattered glass and the growing wail of sirens. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look back. He simply melted into the alley shadows and kept walking.
A hoodie was pulled from a pocket inside the cloak, slipped over the blood smeared mask. His gloved hands kept the grip tight on the shotgun now nestled beneath the long folds of his costume, the mouth of it hidden against his thigh as he moved across the block, cutting through back streets and silent walkways like a ghost himself. No one stopped him. No one saw.
By the time he hit the edge of campus, the sound of sirens had faded into background noise, replaced by laughter and music from nearby dorms, students still partying, still blissfully unaware that someone had just been murdered in cold blood only miles away again. He ducked behind the side of one of the older dorm buildings, his eyes scanning before crouching low beside the thick bushes that grew wild along the bricks. With careful, methodical movements, he peeled the soaked Ghostface robe from his body. It hit the dirt with a wet smack. Then came the gloves. The boots. The voice modulator clipped from the neckline.
Finally, he reached up. His fingers found the edge of the mask and pulled. Dripping water. Muffled breath. The hiss of cloth against skin. And underneath… Jongho. Calm. Cold. Steady eyed. His face betrayed nothing. Not fear. Not guilt. Not joy. Just purpose as he shoved everything into the black duffel bag hidden in the hedge, zipped it shut, then straightened, rolling his shoulders back like nothing had happened at all.
for mature audiences only, minors will be fed to wolves.
⟢ a/n: this does NOT in any way, shape, or form depict who / how any of ateez are irl. please do not take this fic as fact on their personalities, please and thank you.
⟢ summary: mingi pays the price for what he did last night, and now everyone knows what yunho has done.
⟢ word count: 22k
⟢ warnings: GRAPHIC PHYSICAL VIOLENCE IN THIS PART | psychotic yunho, psychological torture, physical torture, threats, swearing, captive reader, conditioning, slight gore (describing wound), use of names (daddy, doll, baby, good girl), blackmail, guilt, bad things all around, uhhhh yunho's very scary, use of knife, no smut in this chapter either i'm afraid
18+ THIS IS THE FINAL WARNING.
posted: 09.18.25
⟢ [OPEN] taglist: @cocostar1117 @sw33tsaturday @mangalovesanime-blog @ciderxi @aurorasjoongie @violatedvibrators @prchiquita8 @mythicalthing @stolasisyourparent @hxwq @thenewblackcanvas @lucatiny @whyismingi @0x11s @jellyroll22 @eshia16 @scarletxatz @jkayy-prodian @honghwalvr @0mrrp @h0efor2ho @mingismarmalade @ickssspencer @nadinenaya @ayleekay2006 @freyaphoria @daydreamqueenjaycee @urijjongbear @lol-imtrash2000 @sweatyracoon @oceanside-view97 @holykstan @rellz-bellz @odessa-is-my-queen @hwxbibi @sksngs @haven-cove @dollysecrets @jjongsgoodgirl @sitycc @nadinenaya @onlyforwoosan @a1avav @cotton-candycloudz @blu-kyl @fancypeacepersona @mingtiis @the-silent-listener09 @luvrgirlkumi @sugar-spice-bitch (if you were not added, you did not have your age in bio or i missed you!)
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Yeosang wakes up in one of the nightmares he was worried about.
His name is called melodically, sweetly as it coaxes him awake, “Yeosang~”. He stirs reluctantly, lethargically rubbing his eyes. It takes a few slow, dry-eyed blinks to understand what was going on only a foot away from him on the bed: Yunho pinning Mingi down, a hand over his mouth, holding his wrists to the pillows with the other. Yeosang pushes himself up, wide awake now, staring wide-eyed at Yunho. Yunho looks at him out of the corner of his eye.
“Hi Sangie,” He says calmly, like this is all normal, “I need your help.”
Yeosang’s skin crawls. What could he possibly need his help for? His mind already begins to prepare the black veil that will protect his mental stability, ready for autopilot, to digest anything that happens to him on a later date. He prepares to forget.
Two of Yunho’s fingers lift from his grasp on Mingi’s wrists, a thin but durable black piece of rope between them.
“Be a good boy and tie his wrists to the headboard for me,” he purrs. Mingi’s legs kick to try to unseat him but to no avail, thrashing underneath his body weight. Yunho presses his hand against his mouth tighter. “Now.”
“Min–” Yeosang tries to say, but Yunho barks a warning at him.
“Don’t talk to him. Just do as you’re told.”
Yeosang tries to ignore the fear that barrels through him as he moves closer, kneeling near Mingi’s shoulder. He wobbles a little, unsteady from the deep imprints in the mattress from the two other men. Mingi looks up at him once he takes the rope from Yunho’s fingers with trembling hands.
He has to force himself to calm down in order to tie anything, and has to restart, much to Yunho’s annoyance. As expected, Yeosang doesn’t tie it as tightly as Yunho wanted – just one more thing he has to do. He clenches his jaw, trying to conserve every ounce of anger just for Mingi. He’ll fix the integrity of it later. Fine.
There’s still the extra length of rope he brought in with him that he tossed on the floor next to the bed. Just in case – he won’t hesitate to tie his ankles too.
Yeosang draws his hands back, still shaking.
“I need you to go to my room so I can talk to Mingi privately,” Yunho instructs, still keeping the casual tone.
Yeosang hesitates, though his entire body is screaming at him to get out of there as fast as possible, his eyes nervously flickering between Yunho and Mingi. His brain is still trying to wake up and catch up, processing the sight in front of him.
“What’re you–?”
“Yeosang,” warns Yunho, his voice rumbling low, deep from his chest and dead serious as his control starts to slip, “get. out.”
Now every fiber of his being pushes him to get up and get the hell out of there as soon as possible, but not without self-reproach. I can’t leave him, he thinks, I can’t. But as Yunho slowly starts to turn his head towards him, Yeosang jumps into action, not wanting to be in the line of fire that was Yunho’s wrath. With one more apologetic last look to Mingi, Yeosang gets up and rounds the bed, beelining to the door, arduous guilt following close behind him.
An artificially honeyed voice calls out to him before he can leave.
“Hey Sangie?”
Fuck. Yeosang freezes with his hand on the doorknob. Please let me go, please let me go…
He looks back towards Yunho, who doesn’t turn around to face him at all, still busy keeping an eye on Mingi beneath him. Mingi doesn’t catch his eye, but he may as well have. Yeosang can feel the same fear, the same desperation to get away from Yunho, thickening the air. It’s suffocating.
“Y-yes?” He asks, his voice brittle. Yunho doesn’t answer right away, letting the grating silence choke them both as they wait for him to continue. He makes sure Mingi is looking directly at him when he does decide to say it.
“Feel free to use my bed or my doll.”
Mingi’s eyes narrow, pulling hard against the black rope. Yeosang’s shoulders hunch in disgust, a horrible shiver running down his spine as he exits, shutting the door behind him. Every nerve in his body tingles like he’s being chased out of there. He shakes out his hands in the living room, exhaling a tremulous breath. Even outside of the room, he still feels trapped. The front door beckons to him, offering escape. But he can’t. On his good conscience, he cannot abandon Mingi more than he already has. Not that he really had a choice up against Yunho, though.
He turns on the spot and looks at the door he just escaped through. There’s no worrying sounds coming from behind it yet, but he can hear movement akin to someone fighting against something immoveable. Uncertain of his own bravery, he takes a cautious step forward, going against his instincts to get as far away as he can. He can feel his heart in his throat when he convinces his arm to raise, reaching for the doorknob once more. There’s a louder sound from inside, a sob of some sort as muffled footsteps approach the door. Yeosang stumbles backwards, all the way into the hallway, touching the wall with his fingertips so he doesn’t run into it.
It had been so faint when he heard it before, but this time the lock turning into place on Mingi’s door is loud and clear.
No one was entering.
No one was leaving.
For a couple moments in agonizing silence, only his heavy breaths fill the apartment with sound. He stares at the door in horror, only imagining what could be happening on the other side of it. Not wanting to leave Mingi again, he stays in the hallway, holding himself in a self-hug. Each door in the apartment mocks him. One he cannot go through to get to his friend; one he was lured into previously on false pretenses, where you were sleeping currently; and the front door, where he’d be forced to deal with all of his recent traumas by himself if he left through it. His eyes flicker over to his shoes, still by the front door. They’re ready to be laced up and used to run far, far away from here. But where would he go? No matter the destination, he’d never be able to run from his memories. What he’s seen… what he’s done.
The muffled noises from the guestroom crescendo.
He tries to stay, hugging his arms tight in the hallway. But the tortured cries coming from the bedroom pierce his brain, searing into every corner of the hippocampus to make sure he never forgets the sounds he’s hearing now. They’re crystal clear, like they’re no longer hidden behind the door. The same powerful wave of nausea hits Yeosang like a truck and he presses his back to the wall, head spinning. His instincts force him to move, to protect himself. Before he even knows it, he’s slamming the door to Yunho’s room, pressing his hands against it as if to keep someone out.
“Sir?”
His head snaps up.
You look around for Yunho, sitting up in bed and gripping the covers.
“Sir?” You whisper, blatant confusion written all over your face, “What’s going on?”
As if to answer you, from the guestroom, Mingi screams.
The sound wracks through your body. You can’t move. You forget how to breathe. At first, it doesn’t even hit you that that noise was made by Mingi at all. Yeosang backs away, standing between you and the door.
“What is he doing, what’s going on? What’s happening?!” You overwhelm Yeosang with questions as he tries to catch his breath, his eyes wide and trained on the door like he’s preparing to fight for his life with whatever – or whoever – comes through it. Throwing the covers off of you, you catch yourself on the nightstand when another broken cry creeps under the door.
You only hesitate for a split second before running towards the door the second your feet hit the carpet. Yeosang catches you halfway, wrapping his arms around your torso, keeping you from leaving.
“Don’t– Y/N, don’t–!”
“He’s hurting him!” You exclaim, “Yeosang, please let me go!” In all your panic, you forget to address him correctly, but Yunho isn’t there to hear it. Truthfully, you’re not really thinking about that too much at the moment.
You thrash and kick, but Yeosang’s too strong to even be budged. You scream as you feel him dragging you back, the door getting further away.
“Yeosang! Yeosang, please!” You wail. In your struggle, Yeosang manages to pull you back towards the end of the bed, only knowing where he was in the room due to feeling the duvet against the back of his knee. One of your kicks makes both of you lose your balance, sinking down to the floor in a pathetic, devastated heap. Your throat burns to scream Mingi’s name, to yell at Yunho to stop hurting him, but you know you can’t. Not without making everything worse for everyone. Quickly, you start to lose energy, and your frantic fight for freedom gradually dies in his arms. You slump, almost boneless against Yeosang, forced to listen to whatever Yunho’s doing to Mingi across the apartment.
“He’ll kill him…” You whisper, staring at the closed door.
Yeosang doesn’t respond. He doesn’t deny it. He just exhales shakily, looking up at the ceiling to hold back tears. Perhaps for the fortieth time since entering the apartment, Yeosang’s hands itch to call the police. Career be damned. For the first time in hours, he remembers his phone. Where did he put it? He hadn’t seen it since everything went down with Yunho last night.
Heart beating uncomfortably against your ribs, you try to pry his arms off of you once more to no avail. Your hands white-knuckle the sleeves of his sweatshirt. You look over to the window. Outside, from what you could see past the blinds, the sky is ominous. The clouds cover the city in a thick slate-colored blanket. No birds sing.
How poetic…
You can’t even cry. Shock engulfs your body, weighing it down and dulling your eyes. Your pulse runs away from you, dizzying and ailing you in its wake. You want to cry so badly, and you feel like a monster because you can’t. But there’s no more feeling left. Only empty numbness and shock. Huddled on the floor, you can’t discern whether or not your brain has blocked out Mingi’s cries, or if they really have ceased. You don’t realize Yeosang covered your ears with his hands until you try to turn your head to look at him. For the first time, the two of you really look at each other. What the other sees is indiscernible, neither of you giving anything away on your faces, but the hurt is clear. It’s stitched into every pore, it’s obvious from the dark circles underneath your eyes. You lean into him a little more, and he doesn’t try to move away. You look away first, conscience-stricken. He had been avoiding you all night since he found out, he had every reason to not want to be around you, and yet here he was covering your ears to make sure you didn’t have to listen to Mingi’s torture. He fell on the sword for you. Why?
There’s a loud bang that resonates from the guestroom and Yeosang hangs his head, quietly beginning to sob. He presses his hands a bit harder against your ears.
With as much life as a robot, you lift your hand to pat his head, trying even in your stupor to comfort him. He cries harder, turning his face to rest his cheek against your shoulder, his hands slipping from your ears. Your hand adapts, opting to smooth down his hair as you stare off at nothing in particular. The two of you stay like that for an indiscernible amount of time, even after Yeosang stops crying. The silence that buries the apartment is deafening. Just ragged breaths, intermittent sniffles and occasional small, muffled noises from the guestroom. Nothing to give you hope nor hint of what transpired. Thunder rumbles in the distance, mixing with the daily sounds of the city underneath it.
Moderately, Yeosang straightens himself up, slowly leaning back against the bed. He looks down at your shoulder, grimacing at how he’d covered that whole area of your shirt in tears. You hug your knees, pressing your lips against one of them. There’s nothing the two of you can say. Nothing to possibly lighten the mood, to comfort the other, to help in any way. Yeosang pushes himself up, solemnly walking into the bathroom to grab something to wipe his face with. You barely notice until you feel a slight nudge at your shoulder. Yeosang, now crouching next to you, had found and taken a whole roll of fresh toilet paper out of the packaging, handing it to you so you could use as much as you needed in lieu of tissues. You manage to lift the corners of your mouth in a miniscule smile as thanks, and tear off a couple squares. You don’t need them, but you can’t bring yourself to refuse his kind offer. You crumple it in your hand and let your hair fall like a curtain between the two of you as you rest your chin on your knee. He places the roll down next to you.
A faint click makes the hair on the back of Yeosang’s neck stand up. His head whips towards the door.
Then a door opens.
Oh god– Yeosang panics. But before he can spiral again, you grab his hand. You look up at him, expression unreadable, yet it roots him to the spot. You know how to handle a situation like this more than he does, so he’ll reluctantly follow along. Yet, Yunho’s only ever been this mad at you, so you’re in uncharted territory as well now that it’s someone else. Though it’s obvious what to do: stay still, stay quiet, do whatever he says. Be good.
Yunho opens the door slower than you expect him to, peering in, looking at his empty bed first before his gaze lands on you two, huddled together on the floor. He steps into his room without a word, and immediately goes to the nightstand on his side of the bed, one of his sleeves is pulled down over his hand, the other bunched up around his elbow. He yanks it open and sticks his sleeve-covered hand inside, something clattering down from it and into the drawer. Yeosang shudders, swallowing around the large lump in his throat.
He knows exactly what he put in there.
Without looking back at you two, Yunho braces his hands against the edge of the nightstand. There’s a long beat before he finally speaks.
“Go home, Yeosang.”
Like hell, Yeosang thinks, even though he’s scared out of his mind. But his body begs him to get out of there, utterly exhausted from prolonged distress. He steals a glance at you, tightening your grip around his hand ever so slightly.
“What did you do?” He asks, his voice just above a whisper.
Yunho sighs, but not in annoyance this time. More like he’s just exhausted. “Yeosang, please just leave.”
You squeeze his hand tighter. The ‘please’ sticks out to you.
He knows he’s playing with fire, but Yeosang can’t stop the questions, “Is he–?”
“For fuck’s sake–!” Yunho slams the drawer shut, turning around, “I didn’t kill him. I’m not fucking stupid.”
He runs a hand through his hair, on edge. Neither you nor Yeosang relax. You’ll both believe it when you see it for yourselves. You shift your gaze down to look at Yunho’s arm. The skin is slightly tinted red, like he got paint on his sleeve and it had seeped through the fabric to stain him. He sighs, blowing his bangs out of his eyes with an additional huff of breath. You’ve never seen Yunho like this, so jumpy, almost rattled, it only frightens you more.
Yeosang’s eyes are locked on the blood stains covering him. He knows they’re all Mingi’s.
“Sir…” you whisper to Yeosang, who doesn’t register that you’re addressing him until you nudge him. He turns to you, worried.
“Go check on him,” you say in a voice so quiet Yeosang can barely hear you, eyes flickering over to the open door, “if you can…”
He bites his lip, scared of what he’ll see, but nods anyway before standing up once again. He spares one last look at you and Yunho before exiting, closing the door behind him on his way out.
“C’mere, baby,” Yunho says, uncertain, like he isn’t sure if you will or not. But you do. You always will. You push yourself up off the floor, walking cautiously towards Yunho. He pulls you in by the hand the rest of the way as soon as you’re in reach and you automatically hug him around the middle, pressing your hands into his back.
“Were you scared, baby?” He whispers after a few moments, rubbing your back.
You nod against his chest, honest. Yunho hugs you tighter.
“Are you scared of me…?”
You don’t reply for a moment.
Are you? Or are you only scared of what he’s capable of? Isn’t that the same thing? You’re not sure – the lines are immeasurably blurred.
“No, Daddy…” Less honest.
Yunho gently pushes you back a little to look down at you properly, holding your face with both hands. It’s hard to maintain eye contact with him as he searches your eyes for something unknown. There’s a slight coppery scent that wafts faintly past your nose.
“You love me?” He asks, his thumb stroking your cheek.
“Yes, Da–”
“Say it properly,” he cuts in, and although he omits a ‘please’ from his directive, it’s still said with a twinge of desperation. Like he needs to hear it and hear it now.
“I love you, Daddy.” The words turn sour on your tongue again. You still mean them, but they’re bitter to say. His eyes flutter shut, breathing in your words as much as he can.
He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, “Again.”
You repeat yourself, the taste in your mouth no sweeter than before. His breaths are erratic, like he’s getting unsettled or worked up. He looks up to the ceiling for a few moments, and you take the initiative to stand on your tiptoes to kiss his neck. Anything to drive your words home. Make him believe it. Make yourself believe it again.
Yunho exhales shakily, his hands threading through your hair, cradling the sides and back of your head while focusing on the feeling of your lips on his skin.
“You’re mine,” he whispers, “aren’t you, baby?”
It’s a rhetorical question, really. He’s not asking it for reassurance, he already knows you are. He just wants to hear you say it, to validate him. Justification.
You wet your dry lips before answering, “Yes, Daddy… I’m yours.”
Your mind wanders as he kisses you properly… you think of Mingi.
Was he okay? Were you part of the reason he got in trouble? Your chest aches and you squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to block out the pain by focusing on kissing Yunho back. But your ears still ring from the screams, and the coppery scent hits your nose again when Yunho strokes your cheek with his thumb.
He pulls away just enough to whisper a single word against your lips, “Mine.”
His.
It’s not said with any edge or venom, just simple truth. Like he was just stating an everyday fact of life: the sky is blue, the earth is round, and you belong to him. You’re his doll.
The two of you stay like that for a few more quiet moments, breathing together until he kisses you one more time and releases you. You lower yourself back down, head a little light from tilting it up for so long. You notice he still looks… off. Like something was truly bothering him. His eyes are unfocused, far away. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this before, and you’re not quite sure how to feel other than anxious. By the looks of it, he’s not sure how to feel about whatever was on his mind either.
Yunho turns back to the nightstand and pulls the drawer open just enough to take something out. Still a little dazed, you try to look around him to see what it is.
It’s all too obvious what he grabbed when you see him wrap it around his hand and sit on the edge of the bed, closing his eyes once again.
His rosary.
Fear chills you to the bone.
What has he done?
He rarely takes it out – only after he does something truly heinous. It had made an appearance after he had put the fire on the bed out and tended to your minor burns. He had muttered solemn prayers to it when he carried you back to bed after he made you kneel for six hours. You sink down next to him, eyes glued to the black-beaded rosary that drapes and loops between his fingers so sinfully. The Virgin Mary stares back at you as he recites his prayers under his breath.
“...and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.”
His hands shake. You rest your head on his shoulder, maybe to comfort him, but you were already weary and ready to go back to sleep. Maybe you’d wake up from this nightmare afterwards.
You wait for him to finish his recitations, absolving himself of his sins and taking deep, heavy breaths before placing the rosary back into the drawer with care. Two of his red-stained fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, and he furrows his eyebrows. You shift, not knowing if you should say something to him.
Eventually, his hand falls back to his lap and he takes one more deep, cleansing breath.
“I’ve been thinking of a reward for you, baby,”
It’s so out of the blue that for a second you don’t even know what he’s talking about.
Reward? For what?
Oh. Right.
The corners of your mouth lift as much as they can to feign excitement. Though you’re not exactly in the mood to talk about it, your curiosity gets the better of you. It’s rare that you’re ever rewarded. You lift your head from his shoulder and he turns to look at you.
“Really?” You ask.
So cute, he thinks, and he can’t help but grin at your innocence.
“Yeah,” he says, shifting so he’s laying down on the bed, gently pulling you down next to him. You stare at his crimson-tinted hands again. “Would you like to go?”
You blink.
‘Go’?
Go where?
“What?” You ask, positive your mind was playing tricks on you, and ready to blame that small voice in the back of your head for making you think you heard him say that. But he’s dead serious. He doesn’t repeat himself. He doesn’t look at you. His whole demeanor switches on a dime.
Your heart drops.
“But–” your voice breaks, “but I– you– am I not…” you know how pathetic you must sound to him right now, and it only kills you more. God, the day had just begun and you were already being sent on an exhaustive, emotional rollercoaster. Your head pounded, temples hammering at your skull the more your brain overloaded itself with questions and confused thoughts.
Similar thoughts to the ones you had from when he had ‘taken your virginity’ come racing back:
You want to go home.
You want to stay with him.
How is Mingi?
He’s so beautiful. Stay.
He’s giving you a choice. He loves you.
Maybe he wants to get rid of you, find someone better.
The last one sticks to you like caramel against your teeth. Were you really past beyond all hope of ever being perfect for him? But… you thought you had done so well recently. Besides the small correction at dinner last night, you hadn’t had one in quite a while. You push yourself up, looking at him with wide eyes, tears finally coming. He turns blurry as they fall.
“You don’t… want me anymore?” Your bottom lip quivers. Instead of immediately rectifying your words, he stays quiet. Watching.
Shock slowly shifts into quiet anger. You’d let him puppet your body with his friends without complaint, helped him get anything he wanted out of said friends, gave him everything left of you that there was to give. He had everything. And that wasn’t enough?
You had stayed quiet in here while he tortured Mingi.
That wasn’t perfect for him?
Your tears become angry, staining your cheeks in salty frustration. He still just watches you. Why was he asking you this? You can’t understand it at all. But something tells you to look outside of what you may or may not have done. Were you sure this had anything to do with you at all? You sniffle, looking down at the sheets.
Not everything is about you.
Shouldn’t you know that one by now? How could you blame him without any context? How were you even sure he meant that he wanted to get rid of you? You put words in his mouth. He never said you weren’t perfect, or that he wanted you to leave. He simply asked a question. Shame creeps into your heart, stopping the tears altogether. Your cheeks burn in embarrassment, knowing how pitiful and overdramatic you must look right now.
Stop crying, you tell yourself firmly.
You inhale sharply through your nose, trying to collect yourself again. Daring to look up, you see he’s still watching you closely.
“I don’t wanna go… I– I belong h-here with you…” your voice is watery, and the last part you say rather uncertainly as you search his face for validation, hoping he thinks the same.
His gaze softens.
There’s nowhere for you to go. You can’t survive without him telling you how to.
He pulls you back down, wrapping you up in his arms, kissing the top of your head, “I know, baby, I know…” he whispers, “such a good girl for me… Daddy won’t let you go, I promise.”
Tears pour out of you again, this time in relief. He wasn’t throwing you away. It was a test, and you passed beautifully. Perfectly. Yunho shushes you, caressing your arm, lulling you back under his spell with practiced ease. It was just a test.
“My poor baby’s been through so much, huh?” He pouts. You cry louder against him, nodding as your mind recaps everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours. There’s almost too much for your overwhelmed brain to process.
You interlock your hand in his, bringing it up to press it against your mouth. A strong coppery smell stings your nostrils, and you taste it on your lips. Up close, you suddenly remember what he’s done. Almost the very instant you pause, staring at his hands, he gets out of bed, hurrying into the bathroom to wash them.
You lick your bottom lip and involuntarily shudder at the taste. Rain begins to patter down the window, the thunder inching closer and closer to the city. He dries his hands off with a handtowel, scrubbing his skin thoroughly. The reminder of what he’s done is caked into the lines of his palm, it collects under his fingernails, turning them a reddish-brown color. He crumples the towel in one of his hands, avoiding looking at himself in the mirror.
What Mingi had said had really gotten to him.
To distract himself, he pulls off his hoodie, throwing it in the laundry basket, which is then followed by his shirt underneath, and his pants. You curl into the sheets, anxiously biting your thumbnail. The shower turns on and you zone out with the combined white noise of the rain mixing with it. There were no sounds from the guestroom anymore. At least none that you could hear. You turn onto your other side, watching the rain tap against the window, imagining all the people below scurrying underneath umbrellas and ducking into shops and restaurants.
In the relative silence, it takes everything in you to try and think of anything besides the sight of Mingi’s blood on his hands.
The thunder gets louder, booming nearly overhead now. With the lights off, the entire apartment turns a blueish gray. Maybe he’d let you pick a movie for the two of you to watch, even though you knew you’d fall asleep less than halfway through. Yunho might like it if you got out the little flameless candles – the two of you both liked to do so whenever it stormed like this – you were still too scared to even see a lighter, let alone real fire, so he bought a pack of the fake ones.
That was something you really appreciated.
You turn back, reaching over to pull the drawer open just enough to fit your hand in. You dig around blindly for a moment, the side of your face still smushed into a pillow. You keep touching his rosary. The water from the shower shuts off.
Propping yourself up on your elbow while half-asleep proves to be a herculean task, but you manage. Exhausted and a tad bit frustrated you can’t find the candles as quick as you had hoped, you look inside the drawer.
Ah, there was one in the corner. You fish it out and place it on top of the nightstand near where his laptop rests, the first of your collection. This time when you reach in, searching the other side of the drawer, your hand bumps into something that feels like a handle. The drawer is still only open enough for you to reach in, your wrist blocking you from seeing what you were touching. You push your hand further in, suddenly feeling a sharp pain on your finger. Quickly, you take your hand out, bringing it up to your face so you can see what happened and why it was stinging. A small cut oozes bright red blood, and you stare at it in awe for a second. What was so sharp in the drawer that it had cut you this badly?
Yunho emerges from the bathroom, shirtless and in a new pair of sweatpants, towel drying his hair. He freezes when he sees you wince in pain, applying pressure to one of your fingers.
“Baby?” He asks in a worried tone. His eyes assess everything they can see. You had moved closer to the edge of the bed, on his side, the rain outside was heavier. But the biggest anomaly is that the drawer is open again, and that’s all the only clue he needs. He drops the towel on the bathroom counter and rushes to shut the drawer again.
“What were you doing?” His tone is sharp, but his expression is still worried. You notice how he hesitates for a split second when he sees you flinch at his voice. He crouches down in front of you, gingerly taking your hand to inspect how bad you were cut.
“I just…” you look at the lone candle on the nightstand, and he follows your gaze. He softens at once. “I wanted to…”
Yunho kisses the back of your hand, “I know, baby. It’s okay… you were just trying to do something nice for us, weren’t you?”
You nod, feeling a slight tickle on your finger as blood lazily drips down it.
“Does it hurt?”
Again, you nod, wincing as the cut begins to throb. He hums.
“Keep pressure on it, I’ll go get you a bandaid.”
He gives your hand back to you and walks back into the bathroom. You watch the toned muscles in his back and shoulders as he moves, lifting a hand to scratch the nape of his neck. You rest your wrist flat against the bed, careful to not get blood on the sheets as your hand dangles off the edge of the mattress. With your non-injured hand you take the candle from the nightstand and manage to turn it on single-handedly. You admire the little plastic dancing flame, flickering like it was real, but not real enough to hurt you. Your skin tingles where you had been burned months ago. Not severely enough to need medical attention, but just enough to never even think of escaping ever again. The pink, irritated marks on your legs a constant reminder of how stupid you were.
Yunho is by your side again shortly, wrapping your injury with a gentle, caring touch. He secures the bandaid tight enough to keep pressure on the cut, but not enough to restrict blood flow. Perfect. He shakes his head a little when you thank him, tossing the wrapper into the wastebasket near his bed.
“What’s so sharp in there?” You ask, looking towards the drawer.
Yunho kisses your bandaid-covered finger, “Nothing you need to worry about.”
You scoot over to make room for him and he resumes his earlier position, with you resting against his side. He twists a little, opening the drawer again and picking out the rest of the tea-light candles, adding to your little collection. After lighting all six of them, he lifts his laptop up and onto his lap.
“Should we watch something, baby?”
You nod, with the rest of your waning energy. You close your eyes as he opens the screen, the blinding bright lights a bit too much. Yunho turns the brightness down quickly, kissing your forehead in lieu of an apology.
“You pick, Daddy,” You mumble, sleep already beginning to pull you under.
“Sleepy?” He whispers, petting your hair.
“Mhmm…”
“Mmm,” he hums back, “you’ve been working so hard for me, haven’t you?”
“Yes, Daddy,” your voice dangerously close to trailing off.
Yunho clicks around on his laptop, opening Netflix, “Just go to sleep, baby. I’ll watch a drama. Okay?”
You nod, snuggling closer to his chest, “Okay, Daddy,” you whisper, “thank you…”
Making sure to turn the volume down before he clicks play on the drama he wants to watch, he looks down at you one more time. He wants to hear you say it unprompted again. He needs to hear you say it unprompted again, to prove that bastard in the other room wrong. The drama flicks from scene to scene, but he barely pays any attention to it. It’s just background noise for the both of you. He finds himself wondering if Yeosang left, or if he’s with Mingi.
Checking to make sure you were fast asleep, he opens up the live feed of the cameras.
His anger reignites for a moment when he sees that neither of them are in the bedroom. He had specifically told Mingi to stay there until he came back. Quickly, he switches over to look at the guestroom bathroom cameras and finds them there. Fine, that’s fine.
Instead of his usual superiority he felt watching his effect on them without them knowing, he found nothing. It feels empty watching Yeosang carefully clean Mingi’s arm with saline solution. He even winces when Mingi jerks his arm back, his shoulders hunching as he doubles over in pain.
“I’m sorry,” he hears Yeosang say over and over again, rinsing out the blood stained towel in the sink. The water in it turns a pale red.
You drape an arm over his torso, burying your face into his body. He’s familiar to you even in sleep. Wasn’t it a scientific thing that when you’re comfortable or feel safe with someone you tend to fall asleep easily when around them? Yunho halts all movement, watching you shift a little to make yourself more comfortable, only daring to move again after you sigh and stay still for a couple minutes. He huffs in annoyance, thinking back to almost an hour ago. He’s rather irritated with himself for letting Mingi get under his skin like this.
It’ll pass, whatever this feeling was. He’s sure of it. It’s a fresh wound that he will forget over time. He’s justified. He’s got everyone exactly where he wants them. He’s got you. There was nothing to worry about. It’ll pass, surely.
Yunho watches you sleep for a while, lost in thought. You really were perfect for him. You didn’t even flinch away from him or treat him like a monster even though he knows you heard him ‘correcting’ Mingi.
The real reward would have to reflect your bravery, your devotion to him.
He continues to watch Yeosang and Mingi like it was a reality TV show. There’s a slight tingle in the back of his throat, one of excitement he always gets while watching without them knowing. It was a thrill, a rush of power. An idea strikes him, coincidentally given the current weather, like lightning. He can barely contain himself, that same rush now washing over him in strong waves as he takes his phone out.
Once done with his latest scheme, he settles back further against the pillows. He presses one more soft kiss to your forehead, and sighs as he relaxes his body and closes his eyes. He’s unable to sleep, but just rests in his contentment instead, keeping the laptop screen open on his lap
He’s peaceful amidst the chaos he’s created.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Once Yeosang had mustered up the courage to walk into the guestroom, all he wanted to do was run back out. Slam the door, leave the apartment and never return. He had never seen something like this in real life before, and the sight of it went straight to his stomach. Covering his mouth with his hand, he squeezes his eyes shut to try and block the visual out, trying to keep himself from being sick.
“Oh god–” He chokes, forcing his eyes open again and rushing to his friend’s side.
Mingi was pale. The blood-stained sheets around him outlined his body on one side in a deep red hue. All Yeosang knew to do was to apply pressure on the most serious looking wound – in this case, it was the mess of blood and split skin on his forearm. Some small parts of the skin look like it had been ripped up like old floorboards, splintering in different directions. His nose was bleeding pretty badly but didn’t look out of place, which only relieved Yeosang a miniscule amount. Mingi was inhaling short, quick breaths like the long, deeper ones pained him.
“Yeosang,” Mingi whispers, coughing specks of blood off to the side, “You okay…?” his body shakes slightly.
The heaviness of his eyelids begins to weigh too much for his fading energy.
“Nonono, Min–! Stay awake, please. Keep your eyes on me,” he begs, voice cracking.
The edges of Mingi’s vision turn black, creeping further and further inwards until he wonders if he’s watching himself go blind. If so, it’s like falling asleep with your eyes open. He squeezes his eyes shut and opens them again, hoping that’ll drive the black spots away, and it does to some degree, Yeosang’s panicked face coming back into focus. Dizziness makes his head spin.
Yeosang looks towards the bathroom, wanting to run in and grab something to tie around Mingi’s arm. His mind races with everything he could possibly do to help: get towels to clean the blood, untie him from the headboard, stop the bleeding, assess how serious that bruising on his neck is, find out where else he is injured. His body wants to do everything at once, and as a result, keeps him stuck rooted to the spot, not knowing where to start.
So he leaves it up to Mingi to tell him what he needs most, “What can I do? Tell me what to do, what do you need?”
Mingi coughs again, wincing.
“Need you to… never… take Yunho’s knife,” He manages a short, dry laugh, hissing through his teeth at the pain in his ribs. A violent flash of memory accompanies the pain as he remembers how Yunho had dug his knee into his ribs after he had said something rather unwise in his situation.
Yeosang exhales, almost like a laugh – at least Mingi’s cracking jokes. He’s okay. He has to be.
Making quick work of it, he unties his wrist, noticing how deep the rope had cut into his skin, the pattern of it printed onto him. He certainly didn’t tie him this tight – Yunho must’ve redone it. Mingi cautiously lowers his arm down, his shoulder finally breathing again.
He’s only gone for a couple seconds, but it feels like days before he comes back with two small spare towels from the bathroom closet. Carefully, knowing how tender Mingi’s arm must be, he loops one around his bicep, tying it tight to help to stop the amount of blood flow. The other he had run under lukewarm water to try and clean his arm.
“Wanna sleep,” Mingi whispers, a few tears escaping from his closed eyes, “it hurts…”
“I know, but you can’t, you gotta stay awake for me. Okay? Min?”
Mingi nods, a miniscule action almost too small to notice. His eyes flutter open again. Yeosang bites his lip as he dabs at the strange forearm wound. It didn’t look like he had been stabbed there, there would’ve been more blood for sure, and these cuts didn’t look too deep to him. In fact, the only reason he thinks he’s bleeding so much is because Yunho may have nicked a vein. In… several places. His stomach churns again.
He so badly wants to ask what happened, what Yunho did to him, but decides that he will tell him when he’s ready, and not so much worse for wear. Gradually, the towel is able to soak up most of the blood, and he dabs around the wound once more.
“It’s not bad,” Yeosang tries to say in an upbeat tone, but it just comes out flat, “see? You probably don’t need stitches.”
But Mingi doesn’t even try to look at it. He looks to the other side, averting his eyes entirely. The reminder, the memory, all of it floods back to him. His arm stings so bad it starts to throb. The whole forearm feels exposed to the air.
Yeosang balls up the towel and holds it in his lap, not thinking about staining his borrowed sweatpants at the moment.
“Min?” He calls, but Mingi doesn’t respond, squeezing his eyes shut tight again, trying to block something out. Yeosang looks back to his arm to check if it’s still bleeding even with the makeshift tourniquet.
And that’s when he sees it.
What had been carved into Mingi’s skin.
He stands up abruptly, mouth agape. His eyes simultaneously avoid looking at it and solely zero in on it. His mouth runs dry. He gags and he has to turn away. The screams he heard all made sense – not all of them were because of pain, but of anguish and shame of what had been permanently marked into him forever.
“Christ…” he hisses under his breath, anxiety making his whole body shake. The image of jagged cuts and bloody skin sears itself irreversibly into his memory.
Mingi sniffs, dry blood caking around his upper lip. Almost cinematically, the thunder rumbles outside, the rain beginning to cascade down onto the city.
“Don’t forget that’s what you are. No better than me.”
“How is she?” he rasps, changing the topic abruptly, wanting to talk about anything else other than that. Anything to chase Yunho’s voice out of his head. “You saw her, right?” He sniffs again.
Yeosang blinks a couple times after picking up his cue, trying to get his thoughts together again before answering, “Y-yeah, I did. I didn’t–”
‘Wouldn’t’, more like.
“I know you didn’t.” Mingi says, already knowing what he was going to insinuate.
The two of them fall silent for a moment or two, letting the sound of rain fill the room instead.
“She’s…” Yeosang struggles to figure out how to word it, “she was very upset, but um, you know… well he’s in there with her now.”
Mingi doesn’t reply. There’s not much he can say in response to that information. Yeosang clears his throat, and busies himself by leaning forward slightly to check the bruising on Mingi’s neck. Little misshapen marks that looked as though someone had held him by the neck hard for a long time. Yeosang isn’t sure what was worse: hearing it happening or seeing the aftermath.
Tentatively, he traces his fingertips along the reddened bruises, and Mingi doesn’t flinch away. Okay, he files that away for later, not too bad.
He hears Mingi mumble something, his eyes blinking heavily like he’s sleepy again.
“What?” Yeosang asks, leaning down to him a little closer. He repeats whatever it was he was trying to say, but not much louder.
“I can’t hear you, Min,” Yeosang says innocently.
He doesn’t mean to trigger Mingi’s memory.
Yunho had sung those exact words with one of his hands clamped down onto Mingi’s mouth, mocking him as his cries and shouts were muffled beneath it.
“I can’t hear you, Min~”
The rope burns his skin and keeps him from fighting back or pushing the knife away from him. He screams louder.
Unbearable pain seared his skin. Yunho took his time with it, making sure every letter was legible. He had hummed while he worked, like he was painting on a canvas.
The word throbbed with each beat of his frantic heart, every pulse spilling more blood. A brand, a title he never asked for, forced into him and carved out as truth. Yunho swiped away blood as he wrote, like a tattoo artist wiping away extra ink. Nonchalant.
Though it causes him excruciating pain in his ribs, Mingi jolts, his eyes opening like he’s suddenly wide awake. This time, his voice is loud and clear as he cries, “No, no, stop–! No–”
Yeosang is quick to pull away, giving him space to see that it’s only him.
“Mingi! Mingi it’s me, it’s Yeosang, you’re with me!”
But he doesn’t hear him, reliving everything at once. He can feel Yunho’s breath, the pain in his arm and his ribs, he can’t breathe. He can’t move. Yet he kicks with all his might to get Yeosang away from him, trying to defend himself even though he’s broken. He scrambles to sit up, to press against the headboard to get as far away from the memory of Yunho as possible.
“Stop!” Mingi sobs, “Please, not again–”
Yeosang doesn’t realize he’s crying again until he feels his tears drip down his throat. He has to move onto the floor to avoid being kicked, kneeling by the bedside instead.
“Min,” his voice breaks, “Min, I’m here.”
But you left him, a sinister voice in the back of his head says. He swallows thickly.
I came back… I’m helping him, he tries to argue with himself, but the new voice persists.
You. Left. Him.
Mingi clutches his sides, protecting himself from something unseen and Yeosang forces himself to have his inner dilemma later. He moves up closer to – very cautiously – cradle the back of Mingi’s head in his hand, shushing him quietly and reassuring him that Yunho isn’t in the room anymore. It takes a lot of convincing, and Yeosang has to physically make Mingi look at him, but eventually he calms down again, though still on high alert.
“It’s me,” Yeosang breathes, “you’re with me.”
Through tears, Mingi nods, showing that he understands that now, the memory of his most recent trauma finally beginning to release him from its clutches.
“I know…” He whispers, shivering from fatigue and distress.
Yeosang’s eyes drift back to the freshly engraved arm. It had started to bleed a little again, the makeshift tourniquet becoming loose with Mingi’s thrashing. He must’ve cut into the veins. Mingi winces as he tries to turn onto his side, immediately bailing from that idea.
“Lemme see,” Yeosang says, standing up again. Mingi lays his arms down by his sides, trying to keep his breaths shallow.
As carefully as possible, Yeosang lifts the hem of Mingi’s shirt up to his chest. From what he could see in the gray, rainy light coming in from the window, there was a large discolored bruise blooming across his ribs on his left side.
Mingi closes his eyes again, “Are any broken?”
“I– I don’t know, I can’t tell just by looking,” Yeosang says, having never needed to visually assess injuries like this before. He wants to ask what exactly Yunho did so badly, piece together what he heard then with what he’s seeing now. Make something make sense. He lowers his shirt back down, taking a step back and looking over his shoulder towards the door.
“I’m gonna go get you some ice and some water, okay? I’ll be right back, I promise.”
You’re leaving him alone again, that same voice hisses. He doesn’t wait for Mingi to reply or not reply, he just turns on his heel and heads for the kitchen, only hoping that there will be something in the freezer that could be of use.
Mingi stares up at the ceiling. He didn’t realize how thirsty he was until Yeosang said something about getting him water. His throat burns even when he moves, but that’s also probably from the bruises there as well. Yeosang said you were upset… Mingi had been trying to ask if she said anything to him before he panicked. He shouldn’t even be thinking of you in the first place, Yunho had been clear about that. He knew he wasn’t going to be allowed to see you for at least a week, or however long until Yunho bestows his ‘privileges’ back to him. But still, he couldn’t help it. You must have heard him. He wonders if Yunho explained it all away, charmed his way back into your heart and mind. Was it easy? His heartbeat is loud in his ears.
He doesn’t hear Yeosang coming back into the room, only reacting to him at the feeling of something cold pressing against his side with a small, “Oh–”
“Keep it on there for a while,” Yeosang says, guiding one of Mingi’s hands to hold the ice pack he had found in place. He pauses a moment. Then lifts his hand up to sandwich the blanket in between him and the ice pack so his hand wouldn’t get too cold holding it.
In his other hand, Yeosang extends a glass of water towards Mingi, who gladly accepts it. He drinks all of it in one go, able to feel it travel down his chest and into his empty stomach. It does little to fully cure his dry throat, but for now he’s satiated and feeling a little better than before. If his rib allows him to walk properly, maybe he can wash his face later. The thought is nice.
Less sleepy, Mingi still chooses to close his eyes, concentrating on anything other than the neverending nor lessening sharp pains. But the memory of what’s been done and said to him flash by his mind’s eye one by one, like a pitcher throwing a ball past him, in jumbled unchronological order.
The hit to his ribs. Yunho lifting him up by the throat. The cruel words spat at him. The burn of the rope.
“Just think, if this is what I’d do to you, imagine what I’d do to her.”
The ceiling comes back into view. It’s safer if he keeps his eyes open, he decides. At least for now.
Yeosang collapses onto the end of the bed, pressing his hands into the mattress. He feels like he has lived at least a hundred different lives in the past twenty-four hours, and the day was still young. His lungs ache from holding his breath so long, but finally he lets all the air out in one heavy exhale.
He listens to the thunder outside, grateful for it, grateful for anything to focus on that wasn’t the man laying nearly broken beside him. The rain pours and drowns the apartment building, dimming the room more and more with each roll of thunder. Ominous dark gray clouds crowd the sky, signaling that the worst was yet to come. The wind howls, rattling the windowpanes as it passes by like a malevolent spirit.
Neither of them speak for twenty minutes.
When Mingi finally moves, he does so fragilely. He lifts the ice pack from his ribs and tries to push himself up. Yeosang jolts forward instantly to help, but Mingi waves him off, jaw tight. Still, the motion drags pain through him, and Yeosang can see it in the way his hands tremble, the shallow breaths. Mingi’s body remembers before his mind lets it resurface. He’s painfully aware of every single little thing touching him at all times. He knows exactly where Yeosang is in the room even with his eyes shut. It’s exhausting, but he cannot relax. Not when the threat, the man who did this to him, is still in the same apartment.
“Mingi,” Yeosang says softly, trying not to startle him, “don’t push yourself. You need to rest.”
Mingi just shakes his head, though the motion is stiff. He shifts his weight, trying a different approach – one that doesn’t involve any uncomfortable strain on his left side whatsoever. Yeosang watches how the wound on his arm stretches with the movement, the carving already starting to drool blood again.
“Dammit, Yeosang, stop looking at me like that.” Mingi lectures, but his heart isn’t truly in it. He just can’t handle being pitied – at least that’s what he tells himself. In his heart, he knows he doesn’t deserve to be pitied at all. He made his bed, and he suffered within it. It was just something he had to live with, something to figure out later.
Eventually he would have to come face to face with the word in his arm, but it didn’t have to be right now, right? He doesn’t have to look to see what it says. He knows.
Yeosang’s face falls a little, trying to not take his outburst personally.
Mingi, immediately, is eaten up with guilt, “I’m sorry, you don’t deserve that–”
“No,” Yeosang shakes his head, waving him off this time, “no, it’s okay… I left you here.”
“I brought you here…” Mingi counters.
Both of them hang their heads.
So there they are. Two friends in the same boat who have each indirectly hurt the other, facing their demons together. Each of their guilty consciences finally out in the open, on display for examination. The world outside cries for both of them.
Yeosang fidgets with the duvet. Words lodge themselves in his throat, demanding to be vocalized. Everything in him tells him to say them, but for some reason he can’t get his vocal chords to make a sound. He clears his throat, shifting on the bed.
“I deserve everything that’s happened,” Mingi says, his voice barely audible above the wind and rain, “all of it.”
Yeosang’s expression turns serious, “Mingi, you’re not what he labelled you,” he says, his voice steady and firm, cutting through the thunder outside, “you’re not.”
Both of their gazes drift to the engravement, still bright red and irritated against paling skin.
In Mingi’s head, Yunho’s voice lingers with the sight of it, cruel and impossible to scrub away or cover up.
“Wonder how you’re gonna explain that to the stylists.” His tone had wavered, bordering on unhinged like he was trying to hold himself back from laughing.
Mingi’s body shudders under the weight of the memory, his gaze shifting back, unfocused, towards the ceiling. He blinks rapidly as he snaps back to the present.
“I am…” he says, repulsed, “and I have to live with it. I’m no better than him,”
“You didn’t know,” Yeosang tries to point out, but Mingi flares up.
“I knew who she really was before I–” he pauses, unable to say it out loud. Even the rain outside lets up for a moment, giving him space to speak, “...he admitted it to me before.”
Yeosang blinks. “Before what?”
Mingi huffs, exasperated and wishing he didn’t even bring it up.
“Before he– before the first time I had sex with her…” He corrects himself halfway through, putting the blame solely on himself.
The wind whistles by, carrying his words on its back. Yeosang presses a hand to his forehead, utterly disconcerted at how his reality looks to him now. Yesterday he was worried about Mingi and Yunho’s odd behavior, thinking about the comeback they’re preparing for late November, trying to schedule a time where he could go back home to visit his parents sometime before the end of the year. Something like this never even crossed his mind, and why would it? How could he ever have predicted he would be patching up his good friend from damage done by his other good friend, and hearing all of these overwhelming admissions in such a short period of time? He tugs at the collar of his shirt, suddenly too tight against his throat.
He wonders…if he knew before, could Yunho have persuaded him too? He was alarmingly convincing – intimidating more like – and a master manipulator. All three of them had fallen under his thumb in no time at all, and he had used you as live bait in order to achieve it.
A shiny distraction. A beautiful lie.
Thinking through it from every angle, he can ascertain something clearly: there’s just no real reason to judge Mingi whatsoever – not when he himself essentially did the same thing but only found out after. It wouldn’t have mattered either way if he knew before or not – Yunho would’ve gotten the three of them to do whatever he wanted anyway. And he knows Mingi would have never willingly done that on his own. It had to be because of Yunho’s influence.
Yeosang lowers his hand from his forehead and looks at him. Mingi is still avoiding his gaze, eyes fixed on nothing, jaw tight, as though waiting for Yeosang to condemn him. To leave him alone again, for good this time. He fears he’ll never speak to him again. It would be a justified decision.
But instead, Yeosang just shakes his head. “You’re not him, Min. Don’t… don’t let this define you. You know who you really are.”
“Do I?” Mingi half-laughs, “he’s taken so much of me away. I’ve done things I never would have...” he trails off, reliving the past few weeks now as well.
Thunder booms far off in the distance. Mingi bites down hard on his lip, trying to suppress his emotions, but Yeosang sees them all. He watches and identifies each one. He moves closer to his friend, placing a grounding hand on his knee.
“Keep who you are, no matter how little of you is left,” he says, somewhat sternly. “You are better than him. You would’ve never done any of this had you not been forced to. We all know that. And, you were able to stand up to him, I heard it.”
“Does it matter?” Mingi asks hoarsely, “Look where standing up for myself got me. He can force me to do anything he wants, and if I don’t do it, I’ll just end up here again.”
“It matters that you don’t let him win. You can’t let her see that.” Yeosang says.
Mingi finally looks over at him, “What do you mean?”
“If all she sees is him winning – bending everyone around him to his will, getting away with everything – and you give in too, then you’re just more proof to her that he really is untouchable.”
Yeosang reties the improvised towel tourniquet around his arm, meeting Mingi’s eyes with an intensity that pins him in place, “But if you keep your head up, even after all this… you show her something he can’t control. You remind her, and the group for that matter, that Yunho doesn’t always win. And I think that matters a great deal. That’s what I mean.”
“But… why me?” Mingi quietly asks, “She has all of us now – or she will once the other three get roped in.”
Yeosang clears his throat, looking over toward the darkened corner of the room where one of Yunho’s cameras was always watching, as subtly as possible out of the corner of his eye. He keeps his voice low.
“Min, you’ve been around her the most besides Yunho so far. And she was his good little robot until she heard you in pain. I watched that facade completely slip away right in front of me. She wasn’t Little Miss Perfect, or whatever he’s trying to brainwash her into being. Those were real emotions from her. For you.”
Mingi exhales, pulse stuttering in his veins. He hadn’t wanted to put a name to it, afraid of what it might mean, and unsure if any of it was even real to begin with.
“Yeosang,” he says, his voice hoarse and uncertain, “do you think it’s… genuine? Or just our way of trying to cope with it? I mean, how do I know if it’s just my brain protecting me and making me think there’s something when there’s not, just so I feel better about what I’ve done?”
Yeosang doesn’t answer right away, giving himself some time to seriously think about it. It was something he hadn’t considered, but hearing it made total sense. Though, he couldn’t be sure if it was real, or if it was what Mingi was describing: a defense mechanism. A rationalization to keep him from going insane. Something to anchor him. It was understandable – Yeosang thinks that if Yunho ever forced him to touch you like that again, he’d probably pretend it was completely consensual for his own mental stability as well. But his heart doesn’t flutter at the sight of you, he doesn’t soften, and he doesn’t look at you the same way Mingi does.
At least not yet. Mingi’s been here longer, had more time to delude himself into this pattern of thinking, if that was truly the case here. Maybe that comes with time.
Still… he keeps thinking of your reaction in Yunho’s bedroom, and how he physically had to hold you back from trying to run to Mingi. You had screamed as though you were the one being hurt, cut so deep and too shocked to even cry.
Surely, there must be some truth in that.
“I think some things can survive even him,” he says at last, “and you’ll have to decide for yourselves what’s real. But I know what I saw, and whatever that was, that wasn’t a lie.”
Mingi swallows hard, torn between the weight of hope and the possibility that you’re both just kidding yourselves. The thought that anything between them might exist outside of Yunho’s control is terrifying… and maybe, just maybe, the only thing keeping his head above water.
He had to hand it to Yeosang: he had a way with words himself. And, he was impressed with how observant he was, picking up so much just by watching how you two interacted and hearing how you talked about each other.
“You got all of that just by watching us interact once?”
Yeosang shrugs, “She’s just like you. You’re both too damn obvious with your emotions. It wasn’t exactly hard to piece the two of you together. You’re lucky Yunho’s too delusional to notice that the way she looks at you is different from the way she looks at him.”
Dumbfounded, Mingi just stares at him in surprise.
Checking on his arm once more, Yeosang nods toward the bathroom, “Come on, it’s bleeding again. Let’s see if I can’t clean it properly.”
Wordlessly, perhaps still stunned at his words, he lets Yeosang tuck an arm under his back and help him up without bending as much as he would’ve needed to had he tried to get up by himself. Step by step, they cross the room together, thunder echoing above them. And though the word carved into his arm stings something awful, and his ribs protest with every step, he can’t help but feel slightly relieved – if he can even call it that. He holds onto Yeosang’s shirt a little tighter, hoping he can convey how much he appreciates him through such a small action.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Hongjoong hears Seonghwa’s horrified scream while in the bathroom. He had dragged himself back to Seonghwa’s dorm, avoiding San and his questions for the time being, electing to shower, wash his face, and have a quiet moment to think before he broke the news to him and the others. He had let Seonghwa shower first, as it was his room and dorm. However, as exhausted as he was, he ended up falling asleep on the couch out in the living room while he waited. Seonghwa didn’t have the heart to wake him up. Only a couple hours later, Hongjoong woke up in a slightly uncomfortable half-seated, half-slumped position on the couch, and shuffled into the bathroom to wash up. As he had gotten undressed, he noticed he still had Yeosang’s phone in his pocket. He places it right next to his on the counter, sighing, wondering when he’ll be able to go over to his dorm to give it back to him. He wonders what time he got back, and why Yeosang stayed longer than him and Seonghwa had.
In the shower, his hands were a little forceful, scrubbing every inch of his skin like that would wash off last night’s events. He was on autopilot as he washed his face and redressed, his mind somehow blank and racing at the same time. The expression he wore was flat, lost in deep thought. His eyes barely moved, focused on the floor most of the time. In fact, it was when he had just begun to look up, trying to face himself in the mirror that he heard him. Immediately, the door swings open, hitting the stopper with a loud bang! and Hongjoong rushes out to see what was wrong.
“God–!” Seonghwa cries, hunched over his desk in his room, his phone turned over on his lap, hiding whatever was on the screen.
“What? What is it?” Hongjoong frantically asks, standing only a foot away from Seonghwa, wanting to be close to him and also give him his space.
Seonghwa stands, letting his phone clatter to the floor, and he lifts his hands up like he just got caught doing something illegal. His face is white. His breathing is erratic.
“It’s Mingi…” he manages to say in a meek, shocked voice.
There’s the tell-tale sound of someone running towards the room, and the door bursts open to reveal San, his hair still messy from sleeping.
“What’s going on?!” He looks between the two of them. Seonghwa opens his mouth to answer, but shuts it quickly, instead, pushing past both of them to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
“Hongjoong?” San steps forward, anxiety gripping his heart.
But Hongjoong is already crouching down and reaching for Seonghwa’s phone with a trembling hand. There are about ten million things he’d rather do than see what was on the phone screen, but he has to look. He has to know what had made Seonghwa react that viscerally. Once in his hand, Hongjoong angles it away from San’s line of sight, making sure he was the only one able to see it. He steels himself to the best of his ability, revealing it bit by bit. But no amount of practiced stoicism could hide the horror that distorts his face at the sight on the phone.
San watches his reactions the whole time, his stomach tying itself in knots.
Hongjoong makes a choked sound, similar to a wounded animal, quickly covering his mouth with the back of his hand and dropping to his knees. San drops to the floor with him, shaking his shoulder like he’s trying to shake some answers out of him.
“Joong,” San urges, eyes pleading, “what is it, what’s on the phone?”
He’s only able to shake his head, not wanting him to see. But he can’t stop the other two from looking. In the group chat, he sees their little icons pop up at the bottom of the screen and his heart sinks. They probably don’t even fully understand what they’re looking at, what any of this means for them. He can hear his phone blowing up from where he left it in the bathroom, along with muffled sounds of Seonghwa retching. That must be them, with the same questions as San.
Just to buy himself some time, and to give San just one more minute of blissful ignorance, he lowers his shaking hand from his mouth, “Go get your phone. Do not open it until you come back. Understand?”
San swallows hard, having never heard Hongjoong’s voice sound so thin before, but he stands back up and does as he’s told, hurrying back to his bedroom to retrieve his phone.
Hongjoong deflates once San is out of the room. His mind, hard at work to try and figure something out to protect his group, is now half-hearted. Any and every idea he had to try to dig themselves out of this mass grave now just falls flat. Hopelessness seeps into each plan like the blood soaking the sheets in the photo on the phone.
Yunho had struck at the very heart of his vulnerability: his protective instincts. Knowing he would send this before Hongjoong ever had the chance to explain all of it to the rest of the group. He couldn’t protect them. It was clear now, and it’s all he can do to keep himself from curling into a ball on the floor and staying there in a defeated pile for the rest of time.
But San rushes back into the room, panting a little, his locked phone in hand. Hongjoong takes it from him and holds it in his lap for a minute, staring blankly at the floor.
This is it. San’s phone in his hand is what little control over the situation he has left. Only San will get the luxury of choosing whether or not he wants to see what has been sent into the group chat.
But where does he even begin? How does he drop bomb after bomb on him, and as a finale, let him decide if he wants to witness the nuke as well?
San sinks back down to the floor, kneeling near Hongjoong, face stricken with worry.
“Please,” he says, his voice is timid, “you guys are scaring me… what is happening?”
Hongjoong rubs his temple with his other hand, his ears starting to ring the more he zones out. He’s responsible. He did this. He let this happen to Mingi. To his group. In his mind, ‘you guys are scaring me’ turns into ‘you’re scaring me’. He’s no better than Yunho, really, even if he vehemently denies it. It’s easy to convince himself of that. He shouldn’t have left so carelessly. So selfishly. He should’ve been there to protect him. He should’ve known something like this would happen. As the captain, he should’ve known.
Could he even call himself one anymore? Or was he just the blind leading the blind into a dangerous unknown?
The rain claws at the window like it’s trying to get in to make an even bigger mess of things. San, to his credit, waits as patiently as he can. But every lapse of silence fuels his anxiety more and more with each passing minute. He listens to the sink in the bathroom running, and Seonghwa spitting into it, washing his mouth out. Only then does Hongjoong start to force himself to pull it together.
As captain, as captain, as captain–
“You need to know everything,” Hongjoong begins quietly, still unsure how to approach this, “I– I know you want to see what’s in the group chat… but please allow me to try and explain this first,”
San nods, shifting his legs out from under him to sit down on the floor. Sitting with his knees up to his chest, and staring at him with round, worried eyes, he looks as innocent as an overgrown child. Hongjoong holds San’s phone with both hands, cradling the last semblance of control he still had.
Just tell him. Don’t sugarcoat it.
He takes a deep breath before meeting San’s eyes for the first time. His heart aches, knowing these are the last few seconds in which San will be blissfully unaware that he’s in a nightmare scenario. That he’s trapped. He still sees that shy eighteen year old aspiring dancer with the same passion and determination for his dreams that he has now. The same boy that can’t sleep without his plushies, and who still needs to hold something at night to fall asleep. The same country boy from Namhae, who loves his family more than anything. An endearing, kind, special spirit that you find, maybe once if you’re lucky, every couple centuries.
Hongjoong braces himself, clinging to the fragile hope that even after he dismantles San’s whole world, the light he’s managed to keep within him all these years will prove stronger than the darkness Yunho was trying to bury them in.
For now, that’s all he can do.
“You know how Yunho has been…” he searches for a single word to describe it, “different lately?”
San nods again, listening intently now that the answers he’s been desperate for finally seem like they’re coming.
“And um…” fuck, fuck, fuck, “do you remember that missing girl from a few months ago?”
San leans back slightly, brows furrowed in confusion.
“The student?”
“No, no, they found her. The other one. I think she was taken in February.”
San opens his mouth to reply, but a certain word catches his attention, “‘Taken’? How do you know if she was–”
“Because,” one more moment… “Yunho took her.” Hongjoong admits.
There’s a weighted silence before San laughs nervously, hoping that’s what he was waiting for. He waits for the sick joke to be over, but there’s no punchline in sight. His nails dig into his legs.
“Wh– why– what do you mean Yunho… ‘took’ her?” He asks, “You’re not– is that where–?”
“Sannie, I’m trying to tell you,” says Hongjoong, cracking his knuckles again as a nervous habit.
San sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, forcing himself to be quiet. If he wants answers so bad, he has to shut up and listen to them as they come.
Hongjoong takes another shaky deep breath, his lungs never quite able to be filled to capacity since last night, “There’s an apartment we didn’t know about until last night. Yunho’s been keeping her there because he wants her to become… of service to us,” that’s the most civil way he can think to put it, hoping the insinuation comes across, “we confronted him, and before you ask: no, we cannot go to the police. He’s already implicated all of us in this via the group chat. The girl in the pictures and videos he sent is her. He’s got cameras all over this apartment… more than half of the group has been filmed in that apartment,” Hongjoong’s voice shakes, “we can’t turn him in without everyone else paying the price as well.”
Obviously, this is quite a lot for San to digest.
His breaths are uneven, similar to his heartbeat. Hongjoong doesn’t know if he notices it, but he’s rocking back and forth a little, keeping himself moving at all times, like he’s convinced himself that if he does so, the truth won’t stick to him as easily. Minutes pass, the ozonic smell of the storm faintly perfumes the room, making Hongjoong notice that Seonghwa left a window slightly open. He keeps an eye on the younger man, still rocking, still self-soothing. The gravity of all the information he threw at him weighs heavily on him, and he must have more questions because every so often he’ll part his lips, but no sound ever comes out and he gives up again. How was it possible that he didn’t do anything and he’s still liable to be found guilty? His mind works overtime, doubletime.
“Sannie?” Hongjoong asks eventually, the neverending sound of the tapping rain getting to him. But he gets no response still, San’s body trembling slightly as his anxiety rises again.
“San,” a calm yet weary voice calls to him from the doorway. Seonghwa leans against the frame, his face still pale, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion, “do you need to be alone for a while?”
He doesn’t answer. The weight of both of their gazes fixed onto him is just too overwhelming. San’s breath hitches – a tiny sound, almost involuntary – and he finally looks up at Hongjoong, eyes wide, uncomprehending. He doesn’t know what he needs at all. He doesn’t understand. Maybe what chills him most is that there was no reassurance to follow up all of what Hongjoong told him. There was no ‘but don’t worry, we have a plan’, no ‘but I won’t let him do this to us’. Nothing. It didn’t need to be said in order to be understood: they were powerless. Yunho made sure of that.
Hongjoong’s chest tightens. He watches his two friends, pale, trembling, and realizes just how small and unprepared they all are against what Yunho has orchestrated. They can’t do or say anything even remotely out of line if they want to avoid Mingi’s fate.
He’s trapped right alongside the people he loves most, and he has to watch them all suffer and break under something he can’t control. In the biggest catastrophe of his life so far, he has no idea what to do or how to save the ones he swore to protect. Good job, captain.
Seonghwa comes in and sits down on his bed with a stiffness, like he’s not sure if he’ll be able to sit for long before needing to get up again. The distant thunder outside the only thing marking time as each of them waits for someone to speak. Frantic vibrations and pings coming from Hongjoong’s and Yeosang’s phones against the bathroom counter and both phones in the room only heighten the tension. Each chime is a reminder. A word carved into the arm.
The one belonging to San suddenly lights up, Wooyoung’s contact photo filling the screen. For a moment, all three of them just stare at it, until Seonghwa extends a hand towards Hongjoong.
“I’ll take it. I’ll tell him and Jongho,”
At first, Hongjoong begins to protest – as captain, as captain – but Seonghwa shuts him up with a single look.
“I’ll do it.” He says again, final. Stronger than before. Hongjoong secedes, albeit reluctantly, but nevertheless hands it over, watching Seonghwa try to mentally prepare himself to break the news to the last two frantic boys. He brushes his hair back and stands up, leaving the room again to take the call in another part of the dorm. Even though it wasn’t on speaker phone, outside the room, San and Hongjoong can hear Wooyoung’s hysteria and Jongho’s concern loud and clear. Seonghwa moves further away, going into Mingi’s room and shutting the door behind him.
San speaks again sooner than Hongjoong expects, “When you said… ‘of service to us’, what exactly does that mean?”
Hongjoong swallows, dryly. “Exactly what it sounds like–”
“No,” San interrupts, staring daggers at him, “no, tell me. Don’t be vague or tiptoe around it. Tell me what that bastard has done.”
Numb emotion morphs into rising anger. Towards who in particular, he can’t tell, but it was safe to say he was mad at everyone and everything. Understandably.
With one more deep breath, fidgeting with San’s phone that was still in his hands, he tells him. Everything. Every possible detail he remembers about last night, though he spares him the more intimate details about their time with you specifically. He tells him about Yunho’s obsession with control and power, especially around you, how different he was like day and night, and how he can easily manipulate them into doing anything. His wrath and rage unlike anything they’ve ever seen before.
Much to Hongjoong’s surprise, San doesn’t shrink into himself again. He actively listens, asks questions, curses Yunho out a few times, all of it. However, there’s still a numbness about him. Like a protective sheet had been placed over him that he’s trying to put up as a defense. A wall that he’s built to keep him sane. All the bad would just be sorted out and filtered through it whenever he was ready to face it, shoving his feelings aside so he can try to tough it out first.
He’s pretending to be strong, because he knows that’s what Hongjoong needs to see right now. At least one of them has to be for him. He can bear the burden.
San clears his throat after taking a couple moments to process everything, “So… what’s in the group chat?”
Hongjoong tenses, glancing down at the phone in his lap. The choice is his, but more than likely he will see it eventually anyway. He taps the screen, watching it come to life. San may see it eventually, but it doesn’t have to be as gruesome a surprise.
“It’s Yunho sending a very clear message on what will happen if we try to go against him in any way,” He says carefully. “It’s–”
He interrupts himself when Seonghwa comes back into the room, handing San’s phone back to Hongjoong.
“They’re on their way,” Seonghwa says, obvious who he’s talking about, “we need to be together for all of this.” He sits down in the same spot he was in before he left, his hands idly brushing over the duvet. Anything soft was welcome, anything comforting.
Hongjoong nods once. Okay. He rubs his eyes, dry and irritated still, like he slept in contact lenses all night. A loud crash of thunder overhead jolts all of them, each one turned into skittish and anxious wrecks. San shifts restlessly, so close to knowing what Hongjoong has been preventing him from seeing. Tell me, show me.
As if he read his mind, Hongjoong picks up where he left off in telling him, “He sent a picture of what he’s done to Mingi,”
“And a video.” Seonghwa mumbles from his bed, unaware of the bomb he just dropped.
Hongjoong quickly turns to him in surprise. He’d only seen the picture, and that was quite enough. He wonders if it had just been sent, or if he just didn’t see it initially, solely locked onto the horror of the picture. Regardless, Yunho had sent a video as well? Something vengeful stirs deep inside him, anger simmering, waiting to be let out. Career and image be damned – a fucking video? Showing what? His process? Or was it just to rub it in? He has to sink his teeth into his bottom lip for a moment to stop from erupting. San looks between the two eldest, the lump in his throat only expanding with the less he knows.
“Okay, and a video. But he showed how he… had him tied by his wrists and– I think he broke his nose but I-I couldn’t tell from the picture,” he pauses for just a split second, looking over to Seonghwa if he could possibly verify that, but Seonghwa just shrugs, not knowing either, “but the main thing is that he… he carved a word into Mingi’s arm.”
San shuts his eyes tight, body tensing. But he nods again, showing that he understands. He sits with this information for a minute or two, lightly tracing absentminded, indiscriminate patterns on the floor with his nails. His body only knows one way to process this: just keep moving forward. Keep going, process later. Still, it doesn’t alleviate any of the crushing weight of it on his chest.
Even then, he extends his hand out, palm up, towards his phone. He needs to know what he’s dealing with. He needs the full picture of just how fucked they all are. He needs to see what friend has done to friend, brother turning on brother. All to keep a deluded, deranged fantasy alive with seemingly no end in sight.
“Let me see.”
Hongjoong’s hand flexes on San’s phone, hesitating once more before carefully placing it in his hand like it was a ticking bomb. Seonghwa holds his breath, watching the transfer. It’s like watching a trainwreck, something about it that makes it so you just can’t look away from it.
San allows himself a few more moments to prepare himself. Then he unlocks his phone, opening the group chat. He has to scroll up just a bit, past Wooyoung’s initial responses – most of them along the lines of ‘what the fuck?????’ – but he finds the bottom of the image. He can see what he can assume to be part of Mingi’s wrist and the sheets beneath him, blood stained around his arm like a chalk outline around a body. His mouth presses into a thin line, and he taps on the image.
His calm facade crumbles in an instant.
A strangled sound escapes San’s throat, half gasp, half sob, before he just pushes the phone back into Hongjoong’s hands, struggling to maintain his composure. Seonghwa flinches at the noise, the images coming back to him like a bad dream.
For a while, it’s hard to tell if San is even breathing, that’s how still he goes. In the silence, the wind outside becomes his breath. The truth shakes him to the core now that he knows what everyone else does. The word sears itself into his brain, never to be removed.
Hongjoong reaches for the phone, quickly flipping it face down on the floor, but the damage is already done.
It’s done. Everyone knows now.
There’s a part of him, he hated to admit, that was a bit relieved. There was nothing more to hide. Everyone knows just as much as he does. But now weighs the formidable fear of what to do next. What could possibly come next after this? Hundreds of different, equally violent or salacious scenarios cross his mind. He prepares himself for the flurry of questions he’s soon to get from Wooyoung and Jongho any minute now. Questions he’ll have to answer again. He’ll have to relive it all again. A strong headache grows and grows in his temples.
“I’ll delete it from the group chat,” he mutters, voice barely filling the thick silence, “everyone’s seen it, he’s made his point, no one should have to see it again–”
San quickly leans forward and grabs his wrist to stay his hand, “No. This is evidence.”
His words hang in the air between the three of them. The faintest glimmer of what could be hope for them in a single word: ‘evidence’. Not to be used against them, but for them. Maybe it wouldn’t pardon them completely, but they would not be known as willing collaborators in Yunho’s sick acts. They could show they had real reason to believe physical harm could and would come to them at any point if they went against him. At the very least, he thinks there’s a good chance that San, Wooyoung and Jongho would most likely be found innocent in all of this. And that was motivation enough.
Seonghwa straightens, “He’s right.”
Hongjoong looks down at the phone, its face pressed into the floorboards as though it’s ashamed of what it contains. He knows the feeling. He can’t be as hopeful as the other two, it’s just too dangerous. Relying on one sole picture to potentially save them was rather precarious. Sure, it helped in the long run, but he knows – unfortunately – they’re going to need more than that. And he doubts he’s going to be able to handle more.
A sharp, frantic knock at the door makes them all jump.
“Hyung?” Wooyoung’s voice filters through, high and panicked.
Hongjoong’s heart rate spikes. Already bracing for the flood of questions, the mess he’ll have to untangle with words he doesn’t even have, he pushes himself up off the floor. Seonghwa volunteers to go and let them in, but Hongjoong keeps him still with a hand on his shoulder as he passes. San moves to sit next to Seonghwa on his bed.
Every step towards the front door to the dorm makes Hongjoong feel like his legs are made of lead. Wooyoung – or he assumes it’s Wooyoung, it may be Jongho – knocks on the door again, a bit more frantic this time. By the time he unlocks the door, his energy is spent. The two of them nearly run him over on their way in. Wooyoung brushes past them both, heading straight for San’s room and poking his head in to see if he’s in there.
“Where is he?” Jongho asks first, clear anger in his eyes.
“Who–?” Hongjoong asks, not very clear on which of the other seven he was talking about.
“Yunho,” he clarifies, spitting his name from his mouth like it had tasted vile, “I can’t believe we’re all not at that fucking apartment already beating his ass for what he’s done–”
“Jongho calm down,” Hongjoong attempts to put a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugs him off.
Wooyoung comes back, his hands shaking and his eyes still looking all over the apartment as if he half expects Yunho to jump out at any moment, brandishing a knife with his name on it.
“‘Calm down’?” Jongho scoffs, “Sure, okay. I can be perfectly calm and level-headed about this, no problem. Right after I fucking kill him.”
Hongjoong sighs, massaging his temple to try and ease the pain there. Before Wooyoung can ask him where the other two are, Hongjoong points him in the direction of Seonghwa’s bedroom. He turns on his heel and heads straight there.
“I’m not just going to stand back and do nothing,” says Jongho, raring to go, “we can’t just do nothing, hyung. God knows what else he’ll do if we don’t go stop him now!”
“It’s not nothing…” Hongjoong replies weakly, he himself not even believing in his words, “we can’t all just rush in there without a plan.”
Jongho scoffs again, laughing without humor as he paces like a caged wild animal, “Do you not understand that this shit is happening now? The longer we sit here planning on what to do, the longer Mingi suffers. Is that what you want?”
Hongjoong turns red. Misplaced, white-hot anger that he hadn’t realized was smoldering low in his chest suddenly flares up.
“You think I want that?” He explodes, taking a step forward, “You think it’s not killing me knowing that he’s still in there? I left him there. It’s my fault,” He breathes heavily, fuming still but taking a pause. It was different actually hearing himself admit it to someone that that’s how he felt. Like a sucker-punch straight to his stomach. He truly believes it. His head throbs, made worse by yelling.
Jongho stops pacing. His words slam into him, yanking on his heart. This level of anger was something he’d never seen in Hongjoong before, and it shakes him to the core. His anger fades, knowing now that it wasn’t meant to be directed towards his captain. Hongjoong has a point. They can’t just run in disorganized and potentially further endanger Mingi and themselves. At first, he doesn’t even think of you. Then they wouldn’t be helping anyone.
Hongjoong pinches the bridge of his nose, the next best thing to hiding his face in shame, “Running in blind is exactly what Yunho wants. He knows we’ll want to protect each other. I can’t have you, San, and Wooyoung going there. Not when there’s a possibility he could…”
He doesn’t need to say it. It’s all quite clear now that they could be lured, manipulated, and or hurt in there. Jongho’s hands clench and unclench into fists by his side, staring hard at the floor. His frustration still remains prominent, but he’s able to quiet it down. He hates the helplessness more than he can express.
“No, you’re right,” Jongho says, “we’d just be making it easy for him.”
Hongjoong lowers his hand from his face, but still avoids eye contact. He’s remorseful that he yelled at the youngest, and also rather shocked at himself. Usually he’s way more controlled dealing with stress. Then again, nothing about this was usual.
A shared silence lies between them. The muffled voices of San, Wooyoung, and Seonghwa a low murmur in the air. Jongho shifts his weight from one foot to the other, something he wants to say right on the tip of his tongue.
“Hyung…” he says quietly, an uncertain air about him. Hongjoong hums, indicating that he heard him, and to continue.
Jongho clears his throat, his nose scrunching a little.
“I’m scared.”
The words cut through Hongjoong deeper than he expects, simple but devastating in their honesty. Of course Jongho’s scared – they all are, though few would admit it so plainly as he had. But to hear it from the youngest, his pillar of unshakable strength, makes the hopelessness inside him that much more formidable. His chest threatens to cave in from the amount of pressure he’s under. But he puts on as brave a face as he can muster, even though he knows that it won’t fool Jongho.
“I know,” Hongjoong says softly, forcing himself to meet Jongho’s eyes, “so am I.”
The admission hangs there between them, fragile and bare. For a fleeting moment, they aren’t leader and maknae, but just two people caught in the same storm, bound to the same fate.
Seonghwa’s door opens again, and the three of them tentatively come out.
“You okay?” Seonghwa asks, placing a cautious hand on his best friend’s shoulder, glancing at both of them. Hongjoong just nods, avoiding eye contact again, embarrassed at the knowledge that they all must’ve heard his outburst.
“Yeah,” Jongho mutters. Okay as he can be, considering.
Wooyoung collapses dramatically on the couch in the living room, San following suit. Both of them are in their own little world, talking quietly.
Seonghwa tries to meet Hongjoong’s eyes with no success, “You’re tired, Joong. You need to rest,”
Hongjoong laughs without humor, “The only way I’d fall asleep now is if you drugged me. Even then, I doubt I’d be able to.”
“What do we do now?” Seonghwa asks, his eyes flickering over to Jongho, no doubt hearing his raised voice earlier too.
That was the golden question, wasn’t it? What could they do? What kind of plan would even work? None of them had the faintest idea. Not without jeopardizing their safety, along with Mingi’s. Again, you’re an afterthought. It’s simply pack mentality, nothing personal against you. The hypothetical plan to get Mingi out of there and eventually turn Yunho into the police would inevitably result in your release. If there’s anything Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and Yeosang found out last night, it was that Yunho would not back down from a fight to keep you so easily. Not in the slightest. They’d have to wait.
“Has anyone heard from Yeosang?” San asks out of nowhere, looking at each of them. But they all look at each other, searching for a ‘yes’ from anyone and only getting silence in return.
“Maybe he’s still asleep?” Wooyoung suggests, looking at Hongjoong.
“Has anyone tried to call him? We don’t know if he knows what happened to Mingi.” says Seonghwa, already fishing his phone out of his pocket to check his texts, hoping to see Yeosang’s name in his notifications. Again, there’s nothing.
Hongjoong only just opens his mouth to speak, about to tell them he has Yeosang’s phone, when he’s interrupted.
Their phones all go off at the same time.
The chimes echo in the air, piercing the thick silence between them. No one moves for a moment, dread freezing them all in place. Their limbs are unresponsive, their hearts stop beating. Even the weather outside seems to take pause, listening in. Seonghwa’s hand shakes, staring at the banner notification at the top of his phone screen. Even after it disappears, he stares at where it had been.
San is the first to reach for his phone, still trying to be the strong one here for them. He can handle it, he tells himself. He can do it. He flips the screen toward himself, and freezes. His lips part, but no sound comes out. Wooyoung leans in to see as well, and immediately looks to Hongjoong again. His face is pale, his face contorted in fear. On autopilot, San stands up but doesn’t go anywhere, rooted to the spot, eyes still glued to the screen.
Seonghwa takes a shaky breath as he opens the group chat again, takes one look, and reels back like he’s been punched. A strangled sound tears out of him as he claps a hand over his mouth. Jongho is quiet as he looks at what had just been sent. His jaw clenches so hard, it looks painful. The same clenching and unclenching of his fists occurs again, panic snowballing in his chest. He too looks up at Hongjoong. For guidance, for comfort, for answers, he’s not sure. Anything.
Hongjoong doesn’t want to see. Every instinct in his body begs him not to look. But he does. He has to. He takes the phone from Seonghwa, who is happy to give it up, needing both his hands to hug himself tight, keeping all the fractured pieces of himself together.
It’s another video. Grainy, filmed from an overhead angle. No doubt from one of the hidden cameras, this one in the guestroom in that apartment.
It’s Mingi… and Yeosang.
Hunched over at the edge of the bed, head in his hands, shoulders shaking. Next to him, Mingi slumped against the headboard, his face turned away, body frighteningly still. His arm is wrapped messily in a mostly reddened towel, and with his good arm he holds his side, protecting it from being hit or touched in any way. Dead or asleep, none of them could tell. The video stops when Yeosang looks up, dead straight into the camera, tears making his eyes sparkle in the low light.
And at the bottom of the frame, reflected faintly in the laptop screen: Yunho’s silhouette. Sitting back, smirking. Watching.
Hongjoong’s lungs seize, his heart in his throat, blocking all air from coming in or out. His vision tunnels. The truth is a violent realization of just one of his numerous failings over the past twenty-four hours.
The words tear themselves from his throat, raw and broken:
“Yeosang’s still there.”
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
While in the bathroom, Yeosang had begged Mingi to let him bring him to a hospital to check out his rib, and to prevent his arm from getting an infection, or at least to the dorms, where it’s safer. But Mingi refused, still listening to Yunho’s instructions. He’s sleeping now, though Yeosang didn’t want him to, still nervous he’d just…
He doesn’t even want to say it.
It’s been a couple of hours since he first found him like this, and looking at him still didn’t get any easier. Sure, he had advised him against sleeping, but he was actually grateful that he was. Yeosang didn’t want Mingi to see him cry. He can’t help it. He turns away from him, sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, finally letting everything out. At the height of his emotional catharsis, he doesn’t care who heard him anymore – he may as well have been alone in the whole building, crying his lungs out. Still, Mingi doesn’t wake up. Yeosang calms himself down enough to check on him occasionally, placing two fingers on Mingi’s wrist, checking for a pulse before moving back to his side of the bed. The collar of his shirt is wet with tears, and it hurts to breathe now, his nose red and stuffed. He sits like that, hunched over, until the dull ache in his neck and upper back forces him to straighten up again.
He makes direct eye contact with the camera. The very same one that had been pointed out to him by Mingi last night. They stare at each other for a while, sizing the other up. Yeosang doesn’t look away. Maybe he’s giving Yunho what he wants: letting him see just how terrified and broken down he’s become already, but he also lets him see his loyalty. He places a protective hand over Mingi’s ankle.
The message is clear: I won’t let you hurt him again.
He holds his gaze until his eyes begin to sting, and he finally tears it away, looking back at the man he’s now sworn to protect. In this caregiver mode, he stands up to assess him again – what he might need or want when he wakes up. Quietly padding to the door, he opens it as slowly and silently as humanly possible, not wanting Yunho to hear the doorknob clicking whatsoever. He opens it just enough to slip through, entering the kitchen on light feet, watching the hallway for any shadows or movement as he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge for Mingi and himself. The fridge door makes a noisy clattering sound as he opens it, and he winces, pausing a moment in pure stillness, as if he could trick Yunho into thinking the fridge door just opened by itself or something. He doesn’t hear anything for a couple minutes, so he cautiously continues his task. Once two bottles are nestled in his arms, he takes a step back to close it again. He closes the fridge inch by inch, but it still makes a louder noise than he would’ve wanted, some of the soju bottles clinking against each other on the shelves. He curses them under his breath and looks over his shoulder to find…
You.
Standing like a ghost in the hallway, you don’t say anything initially, trying to get yourself to not look at the floor the whole time (and failing). Yeosang backs up against the fridge, startled. The cold bottles of water he clutches to his chest start to freeze his skin, but he holds tight to them like a shield. You step forward so you’re moreso in the space where the living room and kitchen combine, nervously looking over your shoulder towards Yunho’s room and fidgeting with your clothes.
“Y/N,” Yeosang whispers, “what’re you doing?”
You turn back around to answer him, but only meet his eyes for a brief moment before looking at the cracked open guestroom door. Your words catch in your throat. Daring to take a step forward, Yeosang watches you with a concerned expression. He’s ready to step in front of you again. To stop you from doing something that will just get yourself and Mingi in trouble. That small sliver shown of the room isn’t enough for you to see much of anything – just the foot of the bed and a slight lump under the covers on one of the sides of it. Yeosang snaps his fingers behind his back, hidden from the camera view, to get your attention.
“He’s fine,” Yeosang mouths. You take a breath, nodding and pressing your mouth into a line.
Unfortunately, you can’t do anything to celebrate that fact. You can’t see it for yourself. You had to trust Yeosang, and you did. The fact that he was holding two water bottles instead of one calmed you for now. You clear your throat, shifting your weight uncomfortably. The shift you subtly make from frail and nervous little girl to conditioned, perfect doll was rather disturbing to see, especially when Yunho wasn’t even in the room making you do this. This time he was behind the scenes, and you were in his place as instructed to be.
“He wants me t-to tell you something.” You inform him, the real you slipping through the cracks in the middle of your sentence. It’s clear who, you don’t have to specify. Yeosang’s skin crawls.
“Okay…” he says, bracing himself. His back hits the fridge again, offering little support or comfort.
You’re unable to meet his gaze, hands hanging at your sides.
“He wants me to tell you that…” You trail off, taking another deep breath.
When you speak, it’s obvious the words are not yours. The brutality of them do not fit you whatsoever. Yeosang supposes that’s Yunho’s version of some sort of sick joke: using you to relay this type of threat to him. Sick bastard probably thinks this is funny.
“If you even think about going to the police, he will carve that thought out of your skull himself,” you recite robotically, fulfilling your orders, “like he did to– to Mingi.”
Your mechanical voice cracks as you say his name.
Even still, Yeosang struggles to not shoot the messenger. He sets his jaw, gripping the waters a little tighter. He wants to snap at you, ask whose side you’re really on – but that was a question that just did not have an answer. You had no reason to be on anyone’s side. The message is so ruthless and bloodthirsty he almost misses the way your eyes begin to well with tears. He softens quickly. It was obvious he made you come out and say it, acting as his little stringed puppet just to survive and stay out of trouble, and it was obvious you hated what you were saying. You don’t revel in the violence of the words chosen for you. Your very eyes betray you, conveying your real emotions, still looking at the door more than Yeosang.
He makes a point to keep his head up, knowing that Yunho had to be watching.
“Is that all?” He asks rather coldly. Suddenly you were you again, bristling at his tone, looking at him apologetically. You swallow down what you’d actually like to say to him.
“He a-also wants me to tell you that he’ll see you tomorrow… at work.”
Your voice lifts at the end, making it sound more like a question than a statement. Yeosang stiffens. How were they supposed to just… carry on tomorrow like nothing happened today? How the hell were they gonna explain Mingi’s arm to the stylists? He’s grateful that the weather is gradually beginning to cool, meaning he could wear long sleeves more often without drawing much attention. Yeosang decides he’ll ask Mingi again to go with him to the hospital either late tonight or early tomorrow morning before their schedules start. Unless Yunho happens to have gauze or large bandages laying around anywhere – which at this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if he did.
He glances back towards you. This time, you meet his eyes.
You stare at him a second too long, like you want to say something else. Something real. Yeosang watches as your lips part, ready to speak again, and he wonders whether he’ll hear an original thought or not.
But nothing comes out.
A puff of air escapes your mouth instead, and you turn on your heel and vanish back down the hall. Back to him.
Yeosang exhales, and hurries back into the guestroom, closing the door behind him like he’s shutting out the world.
Mingi’s still asleep. Yeosang shifts into autopilot once again: placing a bottle on the nightstand for Mingi, checking to see if he’s breathing, making sure his arm isn’t swelling, lightly testing his forehead for signs of a fever with the back of his hand. Everything’s still okay.
He sits on the side of the bed he slept on last night, right next to Mingi. His stomach growls after a couple minutes of staring blankly at the floor, and he simply combats it with water. He’s not particularly jumping at the chance to go back into the kitchen again. The storm has begun to move away from Seoul, towards the countryside, taking the thunder with it. The rain remains behind. Yeosang eventually lets himself recline back against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him – still wide awake, in case Mingi needs anything, but a bit more comfortable for himself.
Time ticks by slowly but surely. Yeosang gets so used to the sound of Mingi’s steady breathing and the falling rain outside the next couple hours, that when he hears anything other than that, he instantly sits straight up again, ready. Though he has nothing to defend either of them with, he’s not going to let anyone or anything harm them so easily.
He’s on alert again when he hears something different. Something real. Footsteps walk through the apartment, past the kitchen, stopping somewhere a bit too close for comfort near the guestroom door. He holds his breath, gripping the sheets beneath him to keep himself still. Mingi stirrs.
There’s a small, quiet knock on the door. Definitely not Yunho’s style.
He dares to get up from the bed, nearly tip-toeing to the door to crack it open again.
“Y/N?” He whispers again, surprised to see you out of Yunho’s room by yourself. Almost shocked that the door opens, you step back a little, looking a bit more dazed than you did earlier.
“I just–”
“What’re you doing?” He asks, looking behind you to see if Yunho was following you. He’s careful to not open the door too much.
“He’s asleep,” you whisper back. You say it so vehemently, so sure, that Yeosang believes you. He looks over his shoulder to see if he’s woken Mingi up, only to find him in the exact same spot and position he’d been in for the past few hours. When he turns back around, you have already begun to inch forward, trying to crane your neck to find a better angle to see into the guestroom, but not trying to run in there without permission. Some learned habits never die.
Yeosang hates to do it, but he angles himself in the way of your line of sight, shutting the door a little more so now you can only see about half of him.
“Y/N…” he says in a sympathetic yet firm voice, “you can’t come in.”
Your face crumples, and Yeosang can’t look at you anymore. Not while he’s doing this. You’re not thinking clearly, you’re not thinking through your actions. He can’t let you put yourself or Mingi in danger by letting you go in to see him.
Also… he doesn’t want you to see him like that.
You take another step forward, hoping he’ll move away, avoid being close to you again. But he stays.
“Yeosang, please?” Your bottom lip starts to quiver, though you try to keep yourself from crying. “Please, let me see him.”
“I can’t… you know I can’t.” He says, nodding towards one of the cameras.
And you do. You know exactly why he can’t let you in. You’re not doing yourself any favors by not turning around immediately, you know that. But something keeps you rooted there. Something you don’t want to give a proper name to, nicknaming it as just ‘concern’ and only concern.
Every part of you screams to run back to Yunho’s room, to pretend you didn’t try to defy him behind his back. Imagine the betrayal he’d feel if he found out the moment he fell asleep, you ran to another man – specifically Mingi. And to do so when he was just talking about giving you a reward, something you’ve been dying to hear from him for months. The trauma that your body remembers begs you; it knows better than your heart and mind what to do, how to survive. Turn around. Walk away.
Go back to him. Now.
But panic rises in your throat when you see Yeosang starting to close the door.
“Can you just tell him something for me?” You rush your words before it closes.
Yeosang sighs, but not out of annoyance. He keeps the door only about an inch open, “Okay.” He agrees.
It dawns on you that you have no idea what to say. You were just trying to buy time. Trying anything to hold onto the first flicker of hope in months. And the worst part is, Yeosang can tell. He watches you try to come up with something, looking at the floor as you scramble to find the right words. Nothing feels right in your mouth, nothing you can come up with holds any of what you actually want to convey. Everything falls flat.
Behind him, Mingi lifts a hand to his face, rubbing his eyes, still unaware of the exchange mere feet from the bed as his body slowly begins to wake up.
“Tell him I… that I hope he’s okay and that, um… you know, I tried to come check on him.”
Yeosang nods, “Okay, I’ll tell him.”
Though it kills you to do so, you step back. Yeosang still avoids your eyes as he closes the door fully now, the lock clicking into place like the final nail being hammered into your coffin.
It takes a minute or two for you to move again. In a fog, you find yourself in the kitchen, grabbing water for yourself. You hold the bottle with both hands, already feeling the condensation start to drip off of the plastic. Your feet carry you back to Yunho’s room. Safe again. You didn’t do anything wrong. And Yunho was still asleep, looking peaceful. You take small sips and small steps towards the bed, feeling too restless to lay down again, but doing so anyway. As if he senses you even in his sleep, Yunho pulls you closer to him, breathing in deep and exhaling contently. His touch calms you, the scent of him clouds your racing mind. You don’t fall asleep again. You turn onto your other side, careful to not wake him up, and bring your knees up so you’re curled under the sheets. Yunho’s hand rests on your hip.
Your eyes flick up to meet one of the cameras. It stares back at you, accusingly. It knows exactly what you tried to do. And though Yunho was truly asleep, his eyes were still everywhere you turned. There were no such things as secrets here. The rain lessens, finally taking its leave and moving on. Yunho’s hand twitches.
You’re not going anywhere.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
“Stop it,” Yunho hissed, tying the rope tighter so that it dug uncomfortably into his skin. Once content with his work, he looks back down at Mingi, “Now tell me… Where. Is. My. Knife.”
Mingi can feel Yunho’s breath against his face, trapping him against the mattress. There’s nowhere to run. He can’t move. Trapped. Somehow, he still doesn’t give in, staring back at Yunho in defiance – albeit with fake confidence. Underneath, he’s frightened out of his mind. His very bones shake in terror.
“Song Mingi, do not make me ask you again,” Yunho warned through gritted teeth, “tell me. Now.”
“Fuck you.” Mingi says from behind Yunho’s hand. It’s muffled, almost unintelligible. Almost. But Yunho hears it loud and clear.
Unsatisfied with his lack of cooperation, Yunho grabbed Mingi by the throat, his fingers digging into the sides painfully as he lifted him up. Mingi’s shoulders screamed in protest as they were pulled back behind him, still attached to the headboard. His joints burn.
“I really don’t think you’re in a position to be making me angrier,” snarls Yunho, his voice low.
Mingi coughs and splutters slightly, unable to breathe much less speak while being held up by the throat.
“So,” Yunho continues, “I’d advise you to tell me where you’re hiding my knife. Quickly.” Every syllable, every consonant is enunciated, punctuated with barely contained fury.
Mingi struggles against him again, tossing his head to the side to try and break free of his grip, his vision going spotty from the lack of oxygen.
His eyes flicker over to the nightstand, then back to Yunho, who gets the message loud and clear.
Forcefully, Yunho shoves him back down, pushing his hand into his trachea.
He plants a foot on the floor for better stability as he leans over the side of the bed, pulling open each drawer until he gets to the bottom one. Mingi blinks tears from his eyes, staring at the ceiling. He hears the metal scraping against the wood of the drawer, the weight of it being lifted up and into Yunho’s hand. The very person he’d tried to keep it from.
He slowly straightened back up, tilting the knife at him accusingly.
“You’re so lucky I don’t break your fucking hands. Maybe that’d teach you to not touch things that aren’t yours.”
Maybe he was talking about the knife, but Mingi could tell in the intonation that he meant something else as well.
Yunho lets go of Mingi’s throat only to violently thrust the heel of his hand up, hitting his nose. Dangerously close to breaking it.
Even if it wasn’t broken, it hurt like a bitch.
“Fuck–!” Mingi chokes, spitting blood from his mouth as his nose bleeds profusely.
Yunho tsks, looking down at him in mock sympathy.
“I really can’t understand it, Min, I mean… I gave you so many reasons to not fuck with me. I was so lenient with you at first because you’re my best friend. Then you go and bring them here as an ambush, you disrespect, challenge and question me in front of them, talk back, raise your voice… even when you’ve seen what I do to her when she behaves badly. Mingi, did you really think I wouldn't correct you as well?”
He shook his head in disbelief, like he couldn’t believe what he’s saying was true. Yet there was no sadness, no remorse in his tone. It was only bitterly cold and final, with just a hint of disappointment.
Mingi forced himself to finally look at Yunho, only to see exactly what he expected to see: nothing.
There was nothing. No more anger, just inevitability. Void of remorse, of feeling, as if violence meant nothing to him – even violence towards a friend. To him, all of this was justified, it had to be done. His eyes are dead again.
“So much for best friends, huh?” Mingi managed to wheeze from under Yunho’s hand, “Why don’t you just kill me, get the message across to them easier?”
Yunho just ignored him. It was like his body was moving on autopilot, solely focused on completing whatever it was he planned to do to him and snap back into himself later.
But Mingi couldn’t stop himself.
“If you have to do all of this to feel in control…”
That did it.
Yunho just stared at him for a moment, void of emotion and unblinking. And then, with a sharp, almost bored exhale, he pulled his knee back and jammed it up into Mingi’s ribs.
The sound was sickening: a deep hit that nearly cracked his bones, air driven violently out of Mingi’s lungs. He folded inward instinctively, but the ropes kept him from curling all the way. His cry came out more like a strangled gasp, high and raw.
Mingi can’t respond this time, he just lay there, shuddering. A bruise already began to bloom beneath his ribs, a sharp stabbing pain accompanying every shallow, wheezing inhale. A final, brutal reminder of just how easily Yunho could take away what little fight he had left.
Without missing a beat, Yunho released his throat, knowing he’d instinctively try to take deeper breaths, only to make the pain in his ribs worse. Mingi coughed and did exactly that, taking as many breaths as he could in a short period of time, not knowing when he’d be denied proper air intake next. Each one had to be quick and shallow, but that only exacerbated his body’s need for air.
He whimpered as he watched Yunho shift on top of him, untying one of his wrists before holding it down, palm up on the bed.
Yunho twisted the knife in his hand, getting the proper grip on it.
“You won’t forget your place here so easily after I’m done.” He said lowly, cold enough to chill Mingi to the bone.
The knife had been cool at first, pressing to his arm like it was testing him, finding the best place to dig in. Then the drag – slow, steady, deliberate – turning cold steel into a blistering fire.
It was unlike any pain he’d ever experienced before. Searing, ripping, stinging without an end. Even past the – hopefully temporary – damage in his throat from Yunho’s hand, his screams of agony were loud and clear.
“I can’t hear you, Min~” Yunho had said in a sing-song tone, like he was onstage taunting the crowd.
The rope burned his wrists and kept him from fighting back or pushing the knife away from his arm. He screamed louder, only giving Yunho what he wanted. His broken voice begged him to stop as unbearable pain seared his skin.
Yunho took his time with it, making sure every letter was legible. He had hummed while he worked, like he was painting on a canvas. Several times, Mingi tries to jerk his arm free, kick Yunho off of him, but to no avail. Yunho would let him try, stopping for a moment to let him get it out of his system before he ultimately gave up. And he’d go back to work again, annoyed that Mingi had tried to stop him.
Each letter throbbed with each beat of his frantic heart, every pulse spilling more blood. A brand, a title he never asked for, forced into him and carved out as truth. Yunho swiped away blood as he wrote, like a tattoo artist wiping away extra ink. Nonchalant.
“Min, could you stop bleeding so much? This bedding was expensive.” He teased, laughing at his little joke.
Mingi’s screams and desperate cries rattle the bones of the apartment itself. Again, it was a miracle no one has filed a noise complaint, or called the police by now. But this time, he didn't go unanswered.
It was faint under how loud he was, but both men heard someone else shouting. A higher, frantic voice.
You.
It was at this point that Mingi blacked out. Physically and mentally. He had to. His body was operating at the highest level of stress it’s ever reached, the pain all too much to handle. He was grateful as the black spots in his vision multiplied as he got dizzier, feeling lighter. The pain diminished to a dull ache, like when you press on a bruise.
Yunho smirked at the sound of you. He did tell Yeosang he could use his doll, though in the moment it was said purely to torment him – but maybe those screams of Yeosang’s name that he heard really were from pleasure. Maybe he finally took initiative. He could hear you crying from across the apartment, but ignored it, fully concentrating on finishing what he’s started.
Yunho straightened once he was done, admiring his work. It was perfect. Relief flooded through him at the thought that maybe now he’d listen to him. He’d relearn his place, and everything would keep going smoothly. Everything would be back on track.
And he wouldn’t have to do this to him again.
He sighed as he took his phone out, casually snapping a photo of his assault on Mingi and sent it off to the group chat, too tired to send a caption alongside it. But right after he sent it, he wondered if a video would’ve been better. He shrugs. Why not both?
His hands were steady as he filmed. The camera captured the violence perfectly,
He lightly smacked Mingi on the cheek a couple times, even grabbing his face in one hand, attempting to wake him back up with an eerily quiet, “Come on Min, time to wake up~” like he was waking him up for school. He stopped recording, content with the material, and sent that off as well. That would send a clear message to them all. And hopefully, it would deter the others from getting their own little barbaric tattoo as well.
Mingi stirred awake, the stinging soreness hitting him all over again as he came to. Yunho wasn’t cutting him with the knife anymore, so at least he got to avoid part of that while unconscious. Still, his head felt way too light, and his whole body was groggy. He managed to tilt his head to one side without fainting again, and dared to peer down at his forearm to see how bad it was.
The sight made him wish he’d blackout again. Carved into his skin, an accusatory, permanent word:
공모자
Co-conspirator.
“You cannot have what’s mine,” declared Yunho, lifting Mingi’s chin up by the tip of the knife. “Get that through your head or I’ll carve it in there next.”
Mingi just closed his eyes and nodded twice, understanding.
Again, exactly what or who he was referring to was left ambiguous, but it was clear there was a double meaning to his words.
Once he saw that Mingi finally understood him, Yunho calmly dragged the flat side of the knife along the pillow by Mingi’s face, wiping the blood off of it. A strong metallic smell hit Mingi and twisted his stomach. He turned back to the other side, hoping to escape the overwhelming scent, and the reality of what’s been branded into him forever.
Yunho leaned over the side of the bed, picking something off of the floor. Mingi didn’t even try to kick him off again when he saw more rope in his hands. He accepted his fate. He resigned himself to shut up, stay still, and if he’s lucky, he’ll blackout again. Yunho watched him closely. This is what he wanted: for Mingi to come back down from his moral high horse, back down to a subordinate level. Truly, he hated to do this to him – after all, he was still his best friend – but he couldn’t convey favoritism. And if his best friend had to set an example for the others, then so be it. Still, there was a deep, slightly unsettled feeling in his chest that he couldn’t ignore. It pissed him off, quite frankly, though he couldn’t place exactly why. He had to remind himself: anything he gets, he deserves.
Yunho finally climbed off of him, and off the bed, folding the extra rope in his hands, not needing it after all. He seemed content, not bothering to wipe Mingi’s blood from his hands. But there was still that nagging tightness in his chest. He glanced at the bathroom, his reflection catching his eye. Mingi’s blood caked parts of his clothes, tinted his hands red and pink, even spotting some flecks on the side of his face. He went over and slammed the door shut a little too loud, emphasizing his frustration. Safe from his reflection, he expected to feel a bit more at ease, but instead only felt that same emptiness, the boiling rage from earlier decreasing to hollow annoyance. He hated it.
Just to keep himself occupied, he began to clean the blood from under his fingernails with the knife. He stood there, watching his friend bleed. Usually during a correction, he was with you, and knew how to take care of you after one. Here, he was unsure. He takes deep breaths, in and out through his nose. Slowly, he starts to feel like himself again – whichever version the real one was now – and he’s able to relax.
Mingi didn’t move, and made no sound. He didn’t even flinch at the sound of the door. His eyes squeezed tighter shut for a moment, tears trickling down his face.
He mumbled something under his breath, still needing to spit blood from his mouth to talk clearly.
Yunho tilts his head, “Hm?”
Mingi cleared his throat, though it sent another sharp pain through him, like sandpaper against his trachea.
“She’ll never love someone she fears.” He rasped, his voice shredded and barely audible.
But Yunho heard it as if he had shouted it at him. He froze. Mingi doesn’t say anything else, eyes staring off at the floor, unfocused and blank. He waited for another blow, another round with the knife, but nothing came. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Yunho, but he could feel the change in the air between them. For a long, painstakingly tense moment, neither of them moved or spoke. Yunho blinked, his words racing around and around in his head.
‘She’ll never love someone she fears.’
Something in him began to crack like melting ice. His usual response would be to lash out again, inflict more pain and violence for even saying something like that to him – he was the one who knew you best, not Mingi. But he didn’t. Self-doubt fractures him. His grip on the knife loosens, suddenly feeling heavy in his hand. The words clawed at him, begging to be understood fully. You loved him, right? You told him so, prompted or unprompted, like it was second nature now. But Mingi targeted, knowingly or unknowingly, the very center of Yunho’s vulnerability and insecurities. His clever mind, always two steps ahead of everyone else so far, had no ideas or plans to prove him wrong. His throat closed up, heart beating irregularly in his chest. Childishly, he just wanted to yell at Mingi to ‘shut up’, and tell him that he’s wrong. But was he right? Were you so afraid of him you could never love him the way he wanted you to? Needed you to?
Yunho turned around, not wanting to give Mingi the satisfaction that his words had this big of an impact on him. His hands shook as he tucked the knife away, hiding it in his sweatshirt sleeve, just like Mingi had done with it last night when he passed by Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and Yeosang in the kitchen. His mouth was dry, and he was becoming rather erratic, and all he could think to do was just… leave. He had just unlocked the door when he heard Mingi speak again.
“Yun…” Yunho looked back over his shoulder.
Mingi’s body shuddered violently, and he had to spit more blood out of his mouth before saying, “You’re… still my best friend.”
Lightning zips up Yunho’s spine. His skin crawled, and he couldn’t understand why. An unfamiliar feeling wrenched its way through his body, yanking on his heart. The admission rattled him. All cockiness and superiority instantly evaporate. He was hit square in the chest by memories of the two of them all at once, all while he looked at his best friend’s broken body. By his doing. It was an ugly feeling, to feel this raw and exposed to someone, especially to him. He finally realized that there was nowhere to hide, not from Mingi. Not with the one person who knew him best, sometimes even better than he knew himself (especially this past year).
For the first time in months, there is a twinge of something human in Yunho.
Remorse.
Again, Yunho doesn’t respond. At least not to his words directly.
“Don’t leave until I get back.” He said, his voice flat.
Mingi sniffled, tasting blood in the back of his throat. A flicker of hope dared to ignite within him, on the slim off-chance that he had gotten through to Yunho in some way. He both meant and didn’t mean his final statement. He wouldn’t consider them best friends anymore, but that was still his best friend’s body. Possessed by something that had been allowed to grow undetected by all like a parasite.
Yunho got the hell out of there, heading straight back to his room where he could make more sense of things. Where he has you.
And though he’s tied up, it’s like Mingi follows him the whole way there.
Synopsis: Yunho crashed into your life like wave on the shore, turning your world upside down. When you first spotted a merman in your pool, you thought you were losing your mind, but nope, he’s real.
With his insane good looks and constant flirtation, Yunho keeps you on edge every single day. As you help him go around the human world, you find yourself drowning in an ocean emotions you never expected.
Pairing: Merman!Yunho x Reader (F)
Content: Flirty Merman Yunho, Island Life, Merfolk, Fluff, Crack (kinda), Jealous Yunho, Possessive Yunho, Reader is done with him !
Note: This contains sensitive content so if you’re not comfortable with it please don’t interact with the post !
Click on a chapter to start ⋆。𖦹
1. Planet Girl
2. Busy Woman
3. Heatwave
4. Baby, Not Baby
5. Ungodly Hour
6. Shades of Blue
7. Over the Moon
8. Orion’s Belt
9. Sea Swallow Me
10. Ash
A/N: Reply to this post to be added to the taglist >.< ♡
Synopsis: An angry walk along the beach during a storm seems to be your escape from life for a little while until a figure falls from the sky and plunges into the ocean. After diving in after it, you discover that it’s a man- with wings, and now he’s indebted to you.
-Or you save Fallen Angel Yeosang from drowning and share a moment together to forget about each of your problems.
Pairings: fallen angel! yeosang x fem! reader
Genre: fantasy, smut
Warnings/Content: smut, drowning, angst? Yeosang isn't very happy, he's grumpy lol, sharing body heat, heavy petting, not a biblically accurate depiction of angels etc etc, p in v, thigh riding
Word Count: 4.3k
a/n: The photo that I used of Yeosang really reminded me of the painting The Fallen Angel by Alexandre Cabanel, and I had to write a oneshot. He really gives angelic vibes lol. Anyways, this marks the third installment of ateez as mythical creatures/beings, and I hope you all have enjoyed it so far! ❤️❤️
MDNI
The skies look angry today as you walk the expanse of the beach, your gown blowing in the wind behind you. Droplets of cold rain fall onto your skin, but you’re not bothered by it, in reality you welcome it. It seems like the storm brewing around you is matching your troubled mind- You’ve been promised to a stranger, and you can’t stand it. You don’t want to be married off to someone you hardly know and even though your parents have assured you that it’s for the betterment of your family, you still don’t want to do it. A part of you just wants to run away and avoid your problems all together, but you know that it’s not possible. Afterall, you don’t have anywhere else to go.
Kicking sand to try and quell your anger, you don’t notice the gust of wind picking up, turning the rain sharper. It’s not till you feel the cold ocean spray your face, do you look out into the sea. The waves crest angrily, crashing onto the rocky shore with loud booms and you marvel at the sight of it. It’s so violent but you can’t help but find immense beauty in it.
Something high in the sky gets your attention and you squint your eyes to try and see it better. It looks like a blob against the dark clouds, but it seems off. You put your hand above your eyebrows and watch as the mysterious blob falls through the clouds like the pelting rain. The closer it gets to the ground however, you start to see arms and legs… And wings. You open your mouth in shock and take a step back. What is that? You can’t seem to wrap your mind around it at all.
The figure plunges into the sea and you watch with bated breaths, but it doesn’t resurface. Your anxiety grows and you take a step forward only to see the figure burst up, gasping for air only to be swallowed up by the black waves. Their hands claw up into the sky and you feel a surge of adrenaline pumping through your veins. Without thinking, you sprint into the ocean not caring about the freezing temperature and swim towards the figure.
You watch as their hands disappear and you stroke harder into the water to get to them as fast as possible. You don’t know what this thing is, but you can’t stand around and watch them drown when you could save them. When you get to the last spot you saw them, you dive under and open your eyes as best as you can. The salty water stings your eyes, but you aren’t giving up till you save this being.
Just below you, bubbles make their way upward and you dart down, grabbing onto a hand. It shocks you how heavy it is, but you swim upwards feeling the weight pull you down. You hardly have time to examine what you’ve saved, you just swim and swim for the shore with all of your might, ignoring the cramps in your legs while keeping their head above the water.
Your feet meet earth under the water and you adjust your hold on the being and look back only to be stunned at the sight before you. It’s a man. His wet black hair sticks to his forehead as he gasps for air, his eyes closed. He is the most gorgeous man you have ever seen and it takes your breath away. Then you see the white wings behind him that twitch under the water and widen your eyes in shock. What is he? Is he some sort of monster? You can’t wrap your mind around it at all. He shivers roughly and you snap out of your thoughts, being reminded that you are in freezing waters. If you don’t warm up soon you’ll both die.
Dragging him up and onto the beach is somehow harder than swimming, and you grunt with each tug. He doesn’t open his eyes at all, his muscles lax and limp and you wonder if he’s even conscious at this point. “Come on!” You pull his body away from the water, dragging him over the wet sand. “You’ve got to work with me!”
He grumbles something incoherent as he shakes and you drop him gently on the ground. Kneeling beside him, you hover your hands over his bare torso unsure on what you should do. You feel the chill settle in your bones now that you are out of the ocean, and the wind is hitting you fiercely. Goosebumps rise on your skin and you tremble as you think of what to do.
You look around and see a fisherman’s hut all the way down the beach, but there’s no way you can drag this man all the way there while he’s unconscious. You chew your bottom lip and go for it, shaking him slightly by his shoulders, “Hey, mister? Wake up.” He doesn’t rouse but you continue, “Wake up, I need you to wake up okay?” His skin feels like the softest thing you’ve ever felt and you try your best to ignore that he’s only wearing a sopping cloth wrapped around his hips that leaves nothing to the imagination. “Please wake up, I can’t save you if you don’t wake up.”
He scrunches his face and groans before blinking his eyes open. You hold your breath in anticipation, not knowing how this man will interact with you, but you have to hope that he’ll be glad that you saved him. His dark brown eyes lock onto you and you shiver, not knowing if it’s from the cold or from his sharp gaze. “You saved me.” His voice is coarse, like he’s swallowed gallons and gallons of the salty sea.
“Are- Are you okay?” You remove your hands from his shoulders and place them on your knees.
He groans as he sits up, “I will be, thank you.” He looks around with something in his eye, but you can feel the despair radiating off of him. You don’t want to ask though, that’s his business.
“The storm’s going to get worse, we have to get to that hut before we’re caught in it.” Your teeth are starting to chatter. He’s silent as he stares at you and your debating to just leave him and go to the hut yourself, but he just nods, and you get up extending a hand down to him. He hesitates but ultimately grabs your hand and grunts standing up.
He attempts to take a step, but his legs buckle underneath him and you quickly catch him. “Are you okay?” You ask as you hold him up from under his arms. He shakes you off and you take a step back to give him space. The wind howls as the rain pelts your face and you can’t stand it anymore, “Are you coming or not, because I’m leaving.
He sighs roughly and looks to the ground for a long time before returning that sharp gaze to you, “I’ll come with you.”
You nod and watch him try to take another step, but his legs wobble. You don’t rush to help him though, you watch him patiently, wondering if he’ll let you help him. His wings drag on the sand behind him and you can’t imagine having to carry that weight all of the time. He wobbles again and tries to steady himself quickly with his arms out, but he falls down in the wet sand. He huffs out something under his breath, his face contorting to anger but that washes away when he looks up at you. “Can you help me?” His voice sounds pitiful and you nod, bending down to wrap an arm around his torso.
Each step is difficult, but you have to make it. You can hardly breathe now that the cold is settling into your bones and you know that this man is dealing with the same thing. He shakes against you, his skin prickled with goosebumps, but he tries to seem like he’s unaffected by this.
The hut looks like it hasn’t been used in what seems like years as you climb up the small hill to the front door. When you reach for the knob, you find that it’s locked but you’re not taking no for an answer. You will get in that building. You kick the door as hard as you can and it slams open, the door hitting the opposite wall with a loud thud. The man beside you lets go of you in an instant and uses the wall to help himself inside.
You follow him quickly and slam the door closed to not make the inside wet. You are absolutely soaked, but what’s worrisome is how you can’t feel your toes anymore. Looking around frantically for a fireplace or something to light a fire, you come up with nothing and curse under your breath. All you see is a mattress in one corner and fishing gear on the other. The bed has blankets, but you don’t see any spare clothing anywhere.
Glancing over to the man, he’s put himself in the corner, his wings wrapping slightly around his front to try and keep himself warm. There’s only one other way to warm yourself up and you don’t know if he’ll be receptive to that at all. So, you approach him tentatively, stopping a foot in front of him just in case, “We’re going to freeze to death if we don’t do something.”
“Do what?” His voice shakes just like his trembling body.
You chew the inside of your cheek, “We need to share body heat.”
His brows furrow, “Do what now?”
You huff, “Be my guest if you want to stand in the corner and freeze, but I’m not going to die today.” Turning to face the bed, you reach behind you and begin unbuttoning your gown. He makes a noise behind you as you undo the last one, but you ignore him. You peel off the wet clothing from your shoulders and let the gown drop to the floor. The cold air in the hut hits your skin and you shiver, your nipples already hard. There’s a startled noise behind you and you look over your shoulder seeing that the man is purposely staring at the ground with a red flush painted on his cheeks. You shake your head in disbelief and get into the bed, putting all of the blankets over your body in an attempt to warm yourself up.
He glances back up when you are completely covered and you sigh in relief feeling the dry blankets on your skin. He watches with a longing look, and you raise your eyebrows in a question. After a minute of him shivering in the corner, he gives in and takes off his only clothing around his hips, letting it flop to the floor. You flick your eyes down and gawk at the sight of him. He looks as if the gods made him themselves. It’s as if he’s a real-life version of the marble statues you’ve seen of god-like men in museums. He obviously knows you're staring and tries to ignore it as best as he can as he gets into bed beside you.
His wings take up most of the small mattress, so he hangs them off the side while tucking himself under the covers. His skin meets yours and you don’t think about it before scooting closer, letting your body heat mix under the covers. He stiffens at your touch, his breath practically stopping and you wonder if this man has ever been this close to a naked woman before. He avoids your gaze as you tuck your hands over your chest and face him, “May I know your name?” He stays silent, so you offer yours first, “I’m Y/N.”
The only sounds you can hear is the thundering rain and howling wind hitting the hut. He doesn’t answer you for a long time and you wonder if he’ll just stay silent till you can leave. You make peace with that and nod to yourself, but he speaks up, “I’m Yeosang.”
“Yeosang.” You test his name out and he inches closer to you slightly. “Can I ask you a question?” He sighs and nods, giving in to you. “What are you? If that’s okay to ask…”
His eyes darken and you immediately regret asking him that. Anger and despair shines within them as he grips onto the blanket, his jaw rippling from him clenching his teeth tight. You chew on the inside of your cheek nervously waiting for his answer. “I’m an angel.”
Your eyes widen, “What?”
“I’m an angel.” His voice wavers and then tightens as he fights back emotions. “I’m an angel.” You don’t know if he’s saying that to you or to himself and that confuses you. His glare shoots to you, “Now human, why are you so curious as to what I am?”
Furrowing your brows, you tuck your legs closer to your body and accidentally touch his knee, “Is it a crime to get to know a person? I watched you fall from the sky and plunge into the sea, and I had to save you. So, pardon me for wanting to get to know you.”
“You didn’t have to save me.” His voice is low, his breath hitting your skin.
“Didn’t have to save you? Are you kidding? You were drowning, you would have died!” You don’t mean to raise your voice as much as you do, but you’re beginning to think that this man is ungrateful for you saving him. You risked your own life to bring him to shore and hearing him be so dismissive about it irks you. “Now why are you so angry? I didn't do anything to be the target of your vitriol.”
That has him pausing. The anger washes away from his features as he takes a deep breath, “I don’t mean to be mean or have my anger directed at you human.”
“Y/N.” You correct him quickly.
“Y/N…” Your name from his lips feels like a caress and you don’t know why. “I cannot die; I am immortal.”
Now your eyes bulge out hearing this new piece of information, “What do you mean you’re immortal? You were sinking to the depths!”
A hint of a smile shows on his face, “I can’t die, but thank you for getting me out of there. You really are a good swimmer.”
You huff out a breath and stare up at the wooden ceiling. You could’ve just left him there and he would’ve been fine, now you’re soaked to the bone and cuddling up against him for body heat. Then again, should you be upset that you’re in this situation with a beautiful stranger? You don’t really know.
“If you’re going to be asking questions about me, it’s only fair I ask about you.” His hot breath hits your cheek, and you turn to look at him once more. Gone is that darkness in his eyes, now there’s a simmering curiosity that makes his eyes sparkle. You nod, gesturing for him to ask you. “What’s gotten you so upset?”
“Now why do you think I’m upset?”
That small grin comes back, “Just a guess.”
Sighing deeply, you start, “I’m supposed to get married to a total stranger soon, but I don’t want to. I came to this beach to clear my head and escape from it just for a little while.”
“It seems we both have a myriad of problems to deal with.” His eyes flick back to the ceiling as you shiver once more. You stare at him as you debate on whether you should go for it and ultimately decide that warmth is more important than politeness. You scoot even closer, putting your hands on his warm skin and tucking your feet in between his shins. He jumps in surprise but doesn’t back away, he just turns to look at you with a puzzled expression.
“I’m sorry, I’m just so cold. I usually don’t cuddle up naked with a stranger, so please don’t take this the wrong way.” His skin feels so good against yours. Even though he’s cold himself, his dwindling warmth is comforting, and you sigh in relief.
His dark eyes stare into you and you can see the thoughts racing in his head. He furrows his brows and narrows his eyes as if he’s trying to look at you more closely and you suddenly feel self-conscious. When you begin to gnaw on the inside of your cheek, he shifts closer, the space between your faces closing. His voice drops low, “I don’t mind.” That small smile shows on his face again, “Oddly enough, I find your presence pleasing.”
You don’t know if you should be offended by that statement or not. “Oddly?”
He hums low, “Angels don’t typically commune with humans let alone touch bare skin to bare skin, so it’s new to me. But you’ve intrigued me.” His hot breath fans across your face and you inch closer, your noses only an inch or two apart. “I don’t mind feeling your soft skin on mine.”
You feel your heart rate spike and that seems to help you warm up. “Well, um- thank you…” A gentle touch of his hand on your hip sends a bolt of something warm throughout your body and you widen your eyes as you stare at him, “What are you doing Yeosang?”
He hums, “Why don’t we forget our problems together? Just for a little while?” His thumb begins to rub gentle strokes across your skin, and you shiver, not from the cold but from his touch. “Besides, there are other ways to warm up.”
Your breath grows heavy, “Why the sudden switch up?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you hated my help and refused to touch me, now you’re wanting to…” You swallow hard, “It’s just hard to wrap my mind around you wanting to do that with me.”
He smiles down at you amusingly, “I didn’t hate it.” Something flickers in his eyes and his smile fades, “In reality, I’m having the worst day possible, so being with you would lessen that hurt.”
“So you want to use me?” You frown.
A bark of a laugh escapes him, “Use you? How would I be using you if it’s a mutual exchange? You’re having a bad day; I’m having a bad day- why not just fuck our feelings out?”
“So lewd. I thought angels didn’t do or say things like that.” You tilt your head up slightly so that if he wants to kiss you he can.
That hurt shows again, “I’m not an angel anymore.” One hand reaches up and holds your chin, pulling you even closer, “What do you say, pretty human?”
Your voice barely comes out as a whisper, “No strings attached?”
“No strings attached.” His breath mixes with yours.
You don’t answer him, instead you close the distance between you completely and press your lips to his. He groans happily and grips your hip tight, pulling you closer. He peppers you with exploratory kisses, learning how you feel and how you taste. You drag your hands up his torso, over his hard chest and around his neck, looping your arms around him. The feathers on his wings have dried and now tickle your fingers, but you ignore that.
He lets go of your chin and lets his hands wander over the expanse of your body, trailing his fingers between your breasts and over your stomach. His tongue flicks into your mouth and you moan at the taste of him, gripping him tighter. His hand returns to your chest, and his fingers trail up the curve of your breast so slow that you tremble against him. His fingers find your nipple and he circles it teasingly, smiling against your mouth when you gasp.
You feel a sense of boldness hit you and you let your right hand wander down his side. Your fingers brush up where his wings jut out of his body and he twitches, his wings shifting slightly. Letting your fingers wander more, you trace his hip bone and follow it to his lower stomach feeling the way it dips as you feel his v-line. He makes a noise of surprise at that, and his hips roll automatically causing you to feel his hard length press against you.
Breaking the kiss to breathe, he doesn’t let up at all. He shifts downwards, kissing your neck fervently and when he finds that spot that makes you squirm, he focuses all his energy there. He licks and sucks and nips, and it’s driving you insane. You’ve settled on gripping his hip while he toys with your nipple and kisses your neck, and you’re wild with need.
He moves his leg between yours and pulls you so you’re sitting on his skin. You sigh, “Yeosang?” He just hums and you ask again, “Yeosang?”
He finally looks up, his lips puffy and red and you sigh out at the sight of it. “Yes?”
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” You feel suddenly shy having your aching core pressed up against his skin.
It’s as if he can read your thoughts and kisses your mouth, “Use me Y/N. Use me to your hearts content.” He returns his lips to your neck but grazes his teeth on your skin making you shudder. The hand that has been planted on your hip moves to your lower back, and he pulls you forward slightly causing friction over your clit. You moan and start to rock your hips back and forth, digging your pelvis into him for that jolt of pleasure that makes you twitch.
The hard rain still hits the hut, but the sounds of wet skin fill the room. The lewd noises coming from you should make you embarrassed, but you can’t find it in yourself to care anymore. You rock harder and faster, digging yourself into him in search for a release while he worships your neck. You quickly get tired of rocking and resort to pressing hard directly on your clit on his muscled thigh. He groans against you and tweaks your nipple harshly and you explode, fluttering around nothing as your eyes roll to the back of your head. You weren’t expecting to cum so quickly, but you welcome it.
Before you know it, he’s flipped you on your back, his wings covering you both. The light filters through his white feathers and you lazily reach up to touch them. He watches you with fascination written all over his face as you caress his wing, feeling the soft feathers over your fingers. He’s so soft. He shifts to rest on one forearm as he brings your chin up so you can look at him. He smiles, his eyes crinkling and it feels like your heart is beating out of your chest at the sheer beauty of him. You lift your head and kiss him gently, reaching to hold onto his forearms for leverage as he lines himself up.
It feels like utter ecstasy as he pushes forward into you, your legs wrapped around his hips firmly. He watches your face for any discomfort, but you hold onto him, enjoying the feeling of him. He bottoms out and pushes farther into you, his pubic bone pressing onto your clit. You whimper out a moan, your nails digging into his skin, “Move, please move.”
He chuckles and kisses your forehead before dragging out and pumping back in. He’s not being rough at all, but he purposefully hits your clit with every thrust, and you arch into him. It feels too much but not enough. In a way it feels like you’re drowning in pleasure, “It’s too much.” You choke out.
“You can take it.” His tone is husky and breathy. “Take it all.” He drops down onto you and pulls you close while thrusting deep. His feathers tickle your face, so you turn your head into his silky hair, breathing in his scent. You can feel his lips on your neck again and you whine as he holds you. You’ve never been this intimate with a man before, and it’s hard to believe that this is a no strings attached situation.
Each thrust has you curling your toes and you moan into his ear. You try not to be loud and hurt him, but you can’t help the mewling moans escaping your lips. It doesn’t matter though, because your cries of pleasure goad him on and he drives into you in a delicious rhythm.
A pooling heat builds in your core causing you to flutter around him uncontrollably. He groans against you feeling it and continues thrusting into you no matter that you’re squeezing the life out of him. Your moans morph into one high-pitched cry as your vision turns white, your ears ringing. It feels like you are soaring high in the clouds.
He continues thrusting into you, searching for his own release. After three, they become sloppy and rushed, and you watch as his brows furrow together, his mouth opening in an o. A heat floods through you, and he collapses onto you, careful to not crush you. You both shake, not from being cold but from utter exhaustion. You aren’t cold at all anymore and you smile, chuckling under your breath.
He lifts his head with a confused look, “Why are you laughing?”
You shake your head, “I’m not cold anymore.”
A sly smirk shows on his mouth and you lean down, kissing his lips tenderly. He hums pleasantly and reaches up to cup your face, “When the storm blows over, I’d like to take you out there.”
“What?” You thought this was a one time thing.
His smile is devastating, “How’d you like to fly?”
⚜ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: choi san x f!reader
⚜ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: san doesn't understand why you deny yourself love and happiness. still.
⚜ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 31.3k
⚜ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: idol!san, personalassistant!reader, angst, fluff, smut, slowburn, enemies to lovers, heartbreak, nsfw content
⚜ 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞.
⚜ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: there is a character in this work that in my head looks like yuk junseo, but you are free to image whatever you wish! :) the timeline is a bit mushy, the "in your fantasy" comeback is yet to happen in this piece, there is a big gap between "lemon drop" and "in your fantasy".
𓆩⟡𓆪
regret.
it starts as a pressure in your stomach early in the day. then, as you bring yourself to look at the man who lays on top of you, you feel the pressure raise up into your chest, leaving a painful trail behind, until it settles into your throat. you find it hard to gulp, or to breathe. the sun is still low in the sky, it is barely morning. san sleeps soundly on top of you, arms hooked underneath you and hugging your body close to him as he uses your belly as a pillow. the rest of his body rests between your legs, his feet hovering over the ground as they do not fit on the couch.
an uneasy feeling sets in once again when your eyes fall on your phone that lays near your head. it is one of your phobias, falling asleep near any electronics. seems like you were really exhausted after last night's activities. you should be happy. you aren't. the longer you stay awake, and the more your vision clears up, as well as your brain, you start feeling disgusted with yourself. did you use choi san? did you do precisely what melanie was trying to do? were you a fucking hypocrite? it is only five o'clock, yet your phone is littered with messages and missed calls that none of you heard. one from seonghwa asking about where san is, and one from yeosang eager to try a new hair color. on top of the screen, one from manager sihun.
manager sihun: stop by my office before your clock in, please.
"mmh..." vibrations travel through your stomach, and san rubs his cheek against your exposed skin.
"san?" you call as your hand settles on top of his head, debating whether to push him away or to let him stay. he hums again, and hugs your body closer to him. you can barely breathe. "san."
"no..." he mumbles. "sleepy."
you don't have it in you to push him away. not yet, at least. so you settle for patting his head, and you hear him exhale with content. "we have to go to work soon."
"mhm."
seeing that he has no intention of moving, you bring the phone back into your face. your body still seems to be sleeping, because the phone slips from your hand and lands on your face. the soft yelp that leaves your lips makes san's head jerk up, sleepy eyelids peeling open and worried orbs gazing upon you.
"are you oka— did you just drop the phone on your face?"
"shut up." you're annoyed with yourself first, and when you hear him chuckle, he falls into the category as well. "you're in no position to laugh."
he doesn't reply, instead unhooks his arms only to climb up and rest his head on your shoulder. a frown appears on his pretty face upon seeing his group members' names on your phone. "why are they texting you?"
"san." you warn, not wanting to deal with his jealousy this early.
"i'm just wondering... they could've texted me."
"who says they didn't?" you simply reply, then enter the messages so you can reply to them.
he only makes a sound that lets you know he is displeased, and continues peeking at your screen. when you enter the conversation with seonghwa, the man pinches your side, causing you to yelp and drop the phone on your face once again. "oops."
"san!" you are now irritated. "what is the matter with you?"
"you casually talk to seonghwa in your free time?" he can't help the pout on his lips when he sees previous messages.
"you pinched me because you don't like that i have to communicate with your group member because you sometimes vanish without a trace or start acting like a childish fool?"
"ouch." he knows you don't mean it. do you? "i just... i don't know. you're mine, i don't like sharing you with—"
"i'm going to stop you right there, san." it is too early. god, it is way too early. "i am not yours. i am nobody's. there is nothing to share. do you hear yourself right now? i am still yeosang's assistant, but i can also help anyone else at any time. the members can reach out to me whenever they feel like it, whether you or me like it or not."
it shuts him up. he is currently very confused by your behaviour. he knows he can be difficult. but you're acting... distant. as if last night didn't happen. as if you let him sleep over to shut him up and want him out as soon as possible. "are we... okay?"
his voice trembles as he asks, and you peel your gaze away from the screen, only to find him sitting up and with glossy eyes. how are you supposed to answer, when you don't even know?
"we'll talk when we're both wide awake. i am not a morning person."
in san's book, that answer means no. you're not okay. something shifted during the night, and san doesn't know what. he is determined to find out, but not now. all he can do is further irritate you, and he doesn't know if he can handle more cold looks which you keep gracing him with since he opened his eyes. "okay."
"did you drive here or—"
"i'll walk."
"i can drive you," you offer, but san is already up and picking his clothes from the floor. he doesn't give you an opportunity to gawk, he is fully clothed again, with the hood over his head and covering his face. "san."
"no, it's fine. i'll use the fresh air."
"sannie—"
"no." he surprises you with the tone, as well as himself. it is enough to make you go silent. he can't help but feel as if he worsened the situation, so he opts for leaving without saying anything else, accidentally slamming the door shut on the way out. the glasses stay on the couch, messy from last night.
𓆩⟡𓆪
in sihun's office, through the windows that replace hallway walls in the kq building, you see a familiar red head. like on cue, she turns around, flashing you a grin that cannot mean anything good.
"good morning," you do your part as you enter, politely greeting the two.
"have a seat." sihun doesn't return the greeting. asshole. "melanie, please pull the blinds on the windows."
"i was just there, i could've—" you begin, yet your sentence gets interrupted by the doors opening and closing just as you sit down. a pair of brown eyes find yours, and the confused expression is replaced by a worried one. "sa— mr choi."
"sihun?" he questions.
he still wears the hoodie you took off him last night. his cheeks are a pretty pink shade as well. before you allow your mind to remember last night's events and betray you right here and now, you look at manager sihun. he is already looking at you, disapprovingly.
then, he simply announces: "the two of you are fucking."
"what?!" you both question at the same time.
melanie's face drops as she stands near the blinds. that isn't why she thought she was here. as seconds of silence pass by, her face reddens. the grip on the fabric intensifies, threatening to rip the material to shreds.
"i can assure you—" you begin. and get interrupted.
"i am not blind. you two fucked, had a fight, and you asked me to switch pairs. now, i don't know if you are back at it, and i don't care. what i care about is that it stops, right now. y/n, melanie, you are both fired. i don't want you near the kq artists, staff, or the building. you have one hour to collect your belongings and disappear."
your eyes search for san, as if he can do anything about it. he simply furrows his brows. he thinks. but not fast enough.
"melanie, i saw the pictures, and videos. san has decided not to take any legal action, and while i disagree, he has threatened to do something stupid if i get involved. the least i can do is fire you." the man rummages through the drawers of the desk, and soon enough, a small stack of papers awaits the two of you, each one with a pen on top. "and y/n..."
"sihun..." san's voice is small, unsure. he doesn't even know what to say or do. he stands aside, hands itching to hold you.
"i am so disappointed." it stabs you in the chest. "i knew you were a fan. i hired you because i thought i can't judge you based on that. turns out, i was wrong. your plan was to get involved with one of them all along. and i blame myself for even thinking that something good could come out of you."
hands shake as they struggle to sign the papers, words blurring before your eyes. the cursive letters are wobbly and sliding off the straight line where they are supposed to sit. melanie's voice is distant. you feel her moving her arms around next to you, trying to get herself out of the situation. there is no getting out. there is nothing left for you here.
so you stand up. legs all jelly, vision limited, and chest aching. you pass by san, pushing him with your shoulder by accident. his scent follows you down the hallways, to your locker, all the way to the doors of the building. you pass by the members, and if they greet you, you don't hear it. you don't have the strength to look at the building just one more time. you don't have it in you. yet your body still turns, elbow suffering someone's deathly grip. everything is silent, unmoving, distant. except him.
san didn't think further than just to grab you. he doesn't know what to say. whatever words he can make up, he knows they aren't enough to make you stay. because you were right. you were right all along, and san still went ahead and ruined what you built for yourself.
"i'm sorry." is all he can say.
whatever you wished to say couldn't have hurt more than what you did next: freeing yourself from his grip, placing a firm palm to his chest, pushing him away, and looking at him with something san could only describe as hatred and disappointment. then, you spoke. "i don't wish to see you ever again."
and san's barely healed heart shatters all over again, the loose strings holding it together snapping with each step you take towards the exit.
𓆩⟡𓆪
choi san has become one with his bed. it's raising park seonghwa's blood pressure, seeing the crumbs and empty cans all over the room. since when does san drink red bull? he doesn't move when the older man opens the blinds and window, allowing the fresh air to enter the room. seonghwa can't help the scoff when he sees san's body submerged under the blankets head to toe.
"san." he calls.
"i'm not hungry." a muffled voice comes beneath the blankets.
seonghwa approaches the bed, stepping on a can on the way and almost getting a heart attack. "i don't care. you are getting up and— is that a phone? give me that."
the light beneath the blanket disappears, and while san tries to hide the device under the pillow, seonghwa is quick to reveal him as the blanket falls on the bottom of the bed.
"are you texting her?"
"no."
"give me your phone." fuck, seonghwa forgets how strong san is. luckily, san's drowsiness and hunger helps him this time, and seonghwa manages to rip the phone out of his fingers and sits on his stomach, trapping both his arms between his thighs as well so he can't move. "fucking idiot."
"if someone walks in right now and sees you like this, we'll have some uncomfortable explaining to do and a lot of teasing to endure."
seonghwa doesn't pay any mind to what san is saying. his fingers hurriedly type in the password, and enter the messages. and surely enough, san has been spamming you with messages again. you don't respond. you are holding onto the promise you gave him after the first few days san had started messaging you after you left.
choi san: please, i can't take it
choi san: how do i live without you?
y/n: i don't exist for you anymore, mr choi. it's easy to live without something that doesn't exist in the first place.
choi san: you expect me to act as if you never happened? as if we never happened?
y/n: we didn't happen. a mistake happened.
choi san: how can you say that? how can you call it a mistake? how can you call me a mistake?
y/n: you are a mistake, choi san. and i will be friends with melanie before i consider you anything other than that. i promise you right here and now that i'll treat all of this as a very bad dream i barely woke up from. from the moment i met you to the moment i last saw you. as if you never happened. as if you're just an idol i had a weird dream about.
choi san: you can't do that. you know you can't.
choi san: y/n?
choi san: please.
choi san: my heart hurts.
this user has blocked you.
choi san: i can't do this on my own.!message failed to send!
seonghwa would be lying if he said that his heart didn't ache as well. you were harsh. but he also knew that it was your way of keeping yourself in control as well. at least that's what he would do were he in your place. hundreds of messages littered the cracked screen of the phone, each failed to send due to san being blocked by you. it's been two months since everything happened, and san has refrained from texting and calling after the first few weeks. now, for reasons unknown to seonghwa, he has started again. sending you links of songs, lyrics, even writing his own. were it a different situation, this would've been romantic.
"why are you texting her again after a month of not doing it?"
"because i'm miserable."
the man on top can't help but roll his eyes. your profile picture is missing from san's phone, but not from seonghwa's. it means that you still have him unblocked. san can't know. it surprises him that san hasn't thought of stealing his member's phones in hopes of reaching you.
"can i have my phone back, please?"
"not yet." seonghwa then enters the calls. dozens of them. then, social media. every account you have has him blocked, from instagram to tiktok. "i still don't understand who told sihun. you guys had just kissed that night, how did he...?"
"leave it." the younger male starts squirming, hoping to get out of the death grip of seonghwa's thighs. "look, if you give me my phone back, i'll clean the room. i promise."
san is hiding something. seonghwa simply needs to find out what. "just saying, he found out so quickly."
"yeah, well." the dismissive tone, eyes that struggle to hold eye—contact, and teeth that tug on the bottom lip are more than enough indicators for seonghwa to know that something else is going on.
"do you care about me?" the man suddenly asks.
san's brows furrow with confusion. "what?"
"after all we've been through, all these years. do you care about me?" he presses further.
"i do." the younger man says, though tone unsure. not because he doesn't care about his older brother, but because he doesn't know where this is headed. "...why?"
"then you'll tell me what happened." when san tries avoiding his gaze once again, seonghwa wastes no time in grabbing his face and pressing his fingers into san's plush cheeks, causing his lips to funnily stick out in a pout. like they do every day on their own. "san. i am sick and tired. speak, now."
a second passes. then two, and three. it turns into half a minute of seonghwa's piercing gaze for san to finally succumb. tears swell in his eyes, and he gulps. "i told him."
"you what?"
"i—"
"why the hell would you do that to her? to yourself?" seonghwa fails to find a valid reason behind san's actions. he feels his blood pressure rising once again, and soon enough, he might faint.
"i thought—" he gulps again, trying to swallow the lump of guilt in his throat. "i thought i was doing good. that sihun would understand, and it would be easier. and even if she got fired, that it wouldn't be a big deal because we wouldn't have to hide around staff and she would have time to— don't give me that look!"
"what look?!"
"like i am a fucking fool! i know it, i don't need to hear it!"
"i cannot believe you would sabotage everything like that." the older man runs his fingers through his hair, then stands up, throwing the phone on the bed. "you think, but you only think about yourself!"
san's heart drops. "how can you say that?"
"all you've done is get her into trouble. from the moment she became your assistant until the moment she left the building. and you are still risking a restraining order on both ends! you've done enough, the least you can do right now is let her go for good."
"but—"
"no fixing what you've done."
"but—"
"no going back."
"hwa—"
"and no more calls and texts."
"i love her."
seonghwa facepalms himself. audibly. "how can you love somebody you only kissed and fucked once?! do you know her? what's her favourite colour? where does she spend her free time? what does she like to eat or drink? does she have anyone? how did you allow yourself for a silly little crush to become something so huge? to ruin not one, but almost two jobs? i like y/n, and i miss her, i really do, she has done so much for us. but so much has happened in such a short time, and i don't think that's healthy. maybe this is for the best."
san stops listening, even though seonghwa is still talking. he makes his way out of the room, down the hallways, and into the living room, in hopes of escaping the obnoxious voice and the person it belongs to that follows him for days now.
"choi san, get back here."
"what's going on? oh, san." yeosang is surprised to see his younger brother in the living room. "how are you?"
"don't talk to me." san still can't bear to see him.
"yeosang didn't do anything, stop acting like—"
"get off my fucking back, all of you!" it is a rare occasion that san raises his voice. it shuts the two up for a few moments, until hongjoong enters the chaos himself. he corners san, until the man is squished in the corner of the living room and hongjoong's back shields him from seonghwa and yeosang. usually, san would sulk under his gaze. now? he feels overstimulated. irritated. angry.
angry because seonghwa is right. not because san doesn't know anything about you, but because he sabotaged something that could've been the best thing that has ever happened to him. then, in his mind, he realizes seonghwa is right once again. he only thinks about himself. would it be the best thing that ever happened to you, as well?
"you pushed her away, yet you stand here, with that audacity. scowling at yeosang, yelling at seonghwa, ignoring the rest of us, acting like a dickhead on all shows and interviews, making fans wonder what the fuck has gotten into you. she rejected you so many times, yet you kept pushing, and pushing, until she gave in, and regretted it immediately after. you wanted to guilt trip her into staying with you. you wanted her to get fired so that you could have her all to yourself. you are a bad person, san. no doesn't mean keep trying. no means no. and now you stand here, acting a victim, still torturing her, day after day, while your career is decaying because you refuse to get your spoiled ass up and come into the recording booth for half an hour and do your part. not only did you cost us a hard working assistant and a manager who was easy going, you are going to cost us this comeback. get your shit together, or so help me, i'll do it for you."
if san's eyes become any wider, his eyeballs could pop out. hongjoong's neck vein is prominent, and his hand has somewhere in the middle of the monologue found its place on san's t—shirt, scrunching up the material.
as if he wasn't scary enough, the older male leans in, face close to san, and eyes staring into his soul while he grits his teeth. "and i really," his tone drops a few octaves, "really," and turns into a whisper, "don't want to do that."
𓆩⟡𓆪
"everyone, meet leah and chris. they are our newest addition, and will replace the previous assistants. lets wish them luck on their first day." manager sihun introduces the pair.
leah ends up being san's assistant. he isn't thrilled. not because she doesn't do a good job, but because she is the spitting image of you. and because of that, he finds comfort in her rather quickly, treating her as your actual replacement. it doesn't completely fill the void in his heart, but it helps.
"do you have a sister?" he questions one day as she hands him the coffee he requested. he sits in the makeup room, along with seonghwa, waiting for their turn to film the parts of the music video. the older man glares at him from the side, also aware of the uncanny resemblance. sihun did this on purpose, surely. "or a cousin...?"
leah laughs. "everybody has a cousin, sannie."
"but a sister?" he presses further. i mean, he would know if you had a sister. would he? was seonghwa right once again about san not actually knowing you?
"uh, leah?" seonghwa interrupts before she can answer, and san really wishes to smack him. "that's mr choi to you."
the young woman is taken aback, and her cheeks turn bright red. "i— but—"
"that's fine. i told her it's okay." the younger man defends her.
out of words, the older male decides he has heard enough. he leaves the two alone in the makeup room, shutting the door louder than he wished on the way out.
"well...?" san is stubborn.
"i don't have a sister." her voice is no longer cheerful. damn seonghwa. "do you need anything else?"
"i need you to stop taking what he said to your heart. we had a bad experience with the previous assistant, and he just didn't want the same thing to happen again. he is setting boundaries, at least trying to. it'll pass."
it brings a smile back to her lips, and san smiles as well. it's odd how even her smile and laugh are just like yours. are the deities punishing him?
he hasn't texted you once since the day hongjoong stepped in. as much as his fingers itch to tap on your name every time he enters the texting app, he doesn't do it. it has become clear that it is impacting the career he worked so hard to build for himself. if it wasn't meant to be, it wasn't. this time he won't make the same mistake. but what kind of a cruel joke is it, bringing your long lost twin to be his personal assistant? san hates how his heart flutters every time she is near him. it feels as if he is betraying you. yet, he still can't help the butterflies that attack his stomach when she moves a stray hair out of his eyes, fixes his collar, or does his tie. was he truly that weak? was it a curse? falling for his assistants like this?
is he in for another heartbreak?
𓆩⟡𓆪
choi san: hey :)
leah green: hi sannie
leah green: can i help you somehow? it's quite late
choi san: did i wake you up? i couldn't sleep
leah green: no, but even if you did, don't worry! do you need someone to talk to so you can fall asleep? i'm lazy to text anyway.
choi san: you'd do that?
leah green: of course! that's why i'm here :)
choi san: you know me so well!
leah green: well, three months of working for you, it's time i do. :P
choi san spares no moment before his finger taps the call icon on the screen. he lays on his bed, sprawled out like a starfish, while his eyes are fixed on the ceiling that needs a painting job. mingi loves laying in his bed, throwing that stupid stress ball of his against the ceiling and catching it. the circular spots of dirt make san's eye twitch.
"hi san!" leah's voice is cheerful on the other side. san can't help the smile on his lips upon hearing her. he glances at the clock on the wall, which reads three in the morning.
"hi, leah." he greets. "why are you even awake at this hour?"
"oh, i'm watching a movie."
"what movie?" he tosses and turns, until he settles for laying on his stomach with legs hanging off the bed and a pillow under his chin for support. "is it a cheesy one? a chick flick?"
"uh..." she trails. "no..."
san squints his eyes, as if she can see him. "leah. are you watching cheesy romances with all the cliché's ticked off the list?"
"you know what? yeah. yeah i am." she gives in. but her tone doesn't convince san.
"really? what's the name?"
"nunya."
"oh, how clever." he rolls his eyes. "come on, i won't tease you."
"lies."
"then tell me and we'll see. if i tease you, you can call me the worst boss in the world." he offers.
leah stays silent for a bit. he can hear some of the dialogue in the background, but can't really make it out. until a sigh and a moan meet his ears, and they turn burning red. he can hear the young woman fidgeting with the remote, lowering the volume. "uh... yeah."
"leah green, are you watching p—o—r—n—o—g—r—a—p—h—y?" he spells it out quietly, but not before glancing at the doors to make sure nobody is listening. then, he can't help the chuckle that leaves his lips. "you dirty girl."
"what?! no!" she defends herself. "it's— it's a movie!"
"what movie, leah?"
"oh my god." he can almost hear her face palm herself. "it's fifty shades, god. there."
"kinky." he simply teases. "you into that stuff?"
"you called me to talk about kinks, san?"
"most certainly not. you started it, now i'm intrigued."
a gasp of disbelief is heard on the other side. "oh, you— you—!"
"i'm messing with you. in all seriousness, an erotic movie at three in the morning? ovulating?"
"i'm going to hang up now."
"okay, okay! no more kink or ovulation talk." a peace offering from san's side makes leah let out a sigh of relief. "so... what's up?"
"nothing much, really. today's work drained me. i put his movie on because i am the only one of my friends who hasn't watched it, and after all these years, i decided tonight is the right time. what about you? what's cluttering the mind of choi san? a girl? a boy? a protein shake you ran out of?"
"a girl." he speaks faster than he thinks. an excited "ooooh" comes from the phone, and he drops his head into the pillow.
"who's the lucky girl? or better yet, unlucky?"
"and just why is she unlucky?" san turns and tosses again, feet swinging like a school girl talking to her secret crush in the middle of the night.
leah chuckles, the sound dear to san's heart. "you're not that easy going, sannie. you're a pain in the ass most of the time, if i may speak freely."
"i've seen this film before." and i didn't like the ending, he thinks. "but oh well."
"who's the girl?"
"wouldn't you like to know?"
"i would! i live for drama. i would also like to know who got the attention of the choi san. who's this girl that has you staying up so late and calling up your personal assistant for a chit—chat?"
san's brain doesn't seem to cooperate today. or the past year or so. "you."
silence. gruelling silence, eating up the young man's nerves. he turns back on his stomach, gripping the pillow below him. he removes the phone from his ear to see if the call is still going, and surely enough, the seconds are still ticking, soon helping the twelve minute mark reach thirteen. he drops the phone on the pillow, and finds short comfort in biting his nails.
"san..." she finally says something. "you can't say jokes like that. it's dangerous for both of us."
she's giving him a chance. a way out. and he takes it. "relax. i was only joking. as if i would ever like you, eugh."
leah laughs awkwardly. san squeezes his eyes shut with regret. did he just ruin his relationship with yet another assistant? how is it that everyone seems to want him, but when he wants someone, they don't share the same feelings?
"uh... i think i'll go sleep now. we do have to be up early tomorrow for that shoot." he saves them both further uncomfortable conversations. "what time do we have to be there again?"
"you have to be there at seven in the morning. i have to be there earlier to help set everything up. i'll send you the address again, just in case."
"okay. thank you, leah."
"no problem. good night, sannie."
"good night."
𓆩⟡𓆪
mere four hours of sleep have san snoozing on the makeup chair. it doesn't help that the soft brush is soothing against his skin — the artist quite literally lulling him to sleep, along with her absent—minded humming. he enjoys it. the smell of makeup, the soft fan, the brushing, tapping, the quiet rustle behind him.
"you look like a content kitty." the makeup artist teases.
he only hums with a smile, eyes still shut. he dozes off once again, only to be woken up by familiar fingers in his hair. they massage his scalp, pressing the right points which have the idol melting in the chair. not so long ago san would complain about headaches when he got his hair brushed. leah, still new then, had offered to give him a scalp massage. and since then, she has spoiled him. every time he has to brush his hair, she has to be around to do her part.
"sannie..." she calls into his ear.
he opens one eye, still not ready to bid goodbye to the sleepy state. "hm?"
his heart almost betrays him when he sees how close she is standing. his head leans over the headrest, so he can look her in the eyes. her breath is a soft breeze against his cheeks. a familiar scent. he just has trouble connecting it with the memory. she smiles at him, erasing any thought he had left. "it's time to go."
"boo." he pouts.
leah only laughs, then playfully tugs a strand of his charcoal hair to help him wake up. he jumps out of the chair before he can snooze again, almost skipping over to leah who is busy with rummaging through the snack table.
"watcha have there?" he asks, head leaning on her shoulder. he is almost rewarded with an elbow to his stomach, were it not for his quick reflexes. "aggressive much?"
"you can't have any." she warns, eyes still fixed on the table in search for the desired treat.
san sulks again. "come on. i was good today. give me something!"
fingers finally feel the familiar box, and leah triumphantly opens it up and wastes no time in sticking the treat between her lips, then turning towards san as a way to tease him. as she turns her head, a whiff of sweetness hits san's nose. and his mouth goes dry. ears ring, and his head feels dizzy. the scent of berries and chocolate envelops him, teleporting his mind back to the night he first tasted you. your tongue a melting ruby chocolate against him, skin burning under his touch, and sweet exhales gracing his ears. lips yearn to bite onto the other end of the pepero stick that tauntingly peeks from leah's glossy pink lips. maybe, just maybe, if he bites into it, you will spawn at the other end of it.
leah holds out a new treat for him to take. san doesn't take it like she would expect. no, he bites into it, eating from her hand. as if the pepero sticks themselves hold control over san. leah finds it funny. one might call him odd, but she seems to be used to his behaviour. once he finally finishes chewing it, she can't help but pat his head. "good boy."
and san swears he hears his own sanity shattering. he shudders, and before leah can voice her concern out loud, san's legs do the thinking for him. they take him out of the makeup room, through the unknown hallways, as far away from the sickenly sweet scent of berries and chocolate as possible. yet it seems to follow him, because as soon as san enters an empty room that seems like a storage, he is swallowed by it again. he barely has a moment to himself. to collect his thoughts, or to shoo them away. memories of you resurface, buried alive in his mind and heart. he rests his forehead against the cold wall, in hopes of cooling himself down. the door opens next to him, revealing leah with a shallow breath.
"sannie! what the hell was that?"
"don't call me that." his voice is a low growl, it even surprises him.
leah steps back, closing the door with her heel. "what?"
"sannie. don't call me sannie."
"but—" she stutters, "but you told me to—"
"and now," he steps towards her, until her figure is backed away in the corner of the room, slamming his hands against the wall on either side of her head. she jolts, eyes wide and blinking tears away. "i'm telling you to stop."
"i'm sorry." her voice is small, eyes red, and lip quivering. "i won't do it again, i promise."
he stays like that for what seems like hours. biting the inside of his cheek, thinking, pressing his nails into his palms. "fuck!"
he slams his fist against the wall harder, causing leah to flinch again. she lets out a whimper, covering her head with her hands. san doesn't recognize himself. he doesn't recognize these actions. grabbing both her wrists with one hand and pinning them above her head against the wall. cupping her jaw with his other hand and raising her head to force her to look at him. pressing his body against her.
"you think you're her." he says, lips almost brushing hers as he speaks. "you'll never be her."
leah is at a loss for words. she can only gulp, and maintain the painfully intense eye—contact. "i... i don't..."
"you can try. but you'll never," his nose brushes against hers, and his hair tickles her forehead as he leans in, "ever," she shudders, eyes shutting at the odd sensation of pain and pleasure, "be my y/n."
the hatred in his eyes contradicts his actions. his plush lips crash into her glossy ones. messy, hungry, spiteful. the gloss melts on san's tongue as it roughly swipes against her bottom lip, signaling her to part them so he can explore further. hot tongues clash in an unspoken battle; not a passionate dance, but a bittersweet fight. a fight to prove the other wrong.
when she bites his lower lip, a whimper escapes him, betraying his resolve. san finally pulls away, breathing shallow, lips swollen and glossy, tongue tasting more bitter than sweet. he sees leah fighting back tears as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand that held her face just a few seconds ago. "you're just an impostor."
she chokes on a mix of gasp and gulp, and opens her mouth to respond. tears stream down her face. defeated, she resorts in leaning further into the corner of the room, as if it will shield her from whatever possessed choi san. he laughs, almost in her face.
"you don't taste like her." he swipes his tongue on his lower lip, collecting any remaining gloss and destroying evidence of what happened mere moments ago. "what the hell was i thinking?"
his other hand abandons her, leaving her feeling empty and aching. yearning. she slides down the wall, legs jelly on the floor.
"i want nothing to do with you. stay away from me. you're a curse."
he then walks away, the heel of his shoe clicking against the floor tauntingly. his hand grips the door handle, and as san is halfway over the threshold, her voice stops him. "san!"
he doesn't respond. he stands still, waiting for her to continue.
with a fragile voice, she still manages to touch his nerve. "you're evil."
it sounds all too familiar. feels like it, too. only this time, he is at the other end of it.
𓆩⟡𓆪
"oooh san—ah! looking hot!" jongho waves the arena magazine in san's face.
the older male sits on the couch, eyes lazily following the show he has been struggling to keep up with due to various thoughts roaming his brain. his head feel heavy on his shoulders. "you're blocking the television."
the younger one rolls his eyes, then plops on the couch beside san. he flips through the pages, and even though san says he doesn't care, jongho sees him glancing at the magazine curiously. "why do your lips look so juicy?"
"what?" he snatches the magazine out of jongho's hands. surely enough, on multiple pages, san's lips shine under the camera flashes and various lights in the studio. remains of leah's lip gloss. "god. why are you even looking at my lips, you weirdo?"
"it's impossible not to. they're blinding."
"you're exaggerating." he brings the magazine close to his face, tip of his nose almost buried in the freshly printed paper. "how did you even get this so quick?"
"guess what we have!" wooyoung sings from the hallway as he locks the door. the doors opening and shutting interrupt jongho, and upon seeing the people entering, san properly buries his head into the magazine. "the one, the only, choi san!"
"i thought i locked the door." san whines. the stack of magazine finds its place on the coffee table. the couch is soon cramped, with wooyoung, seonghwa and yeosang pushing each other so that they can fit, none of them fond of sitting on the floor. unlike hongjoong, who comes in last, eyes glued to his phone while he finds his spot on the carpet with his back leaning against the couch. san nudges him with his knee as a greeting, and hongjoong spares him a wink in return. "why is this such a big deal now?"
"dare i say that your shoot was better than mine?" wooyoung teasingly purses his lips, then presses them against san's cheek. the older male dramatically wipes it, letting out a groan. "rude."
"was your photographer the same as wooyoung's?" seonghwa asks, flipping through the pages himself, then stoping at a particular one. "oooh! looking very juicy, san—ah."
choi san almost pushes jongho aside as he stands up, grabbing the stack of magazines on the way and making his way to his room. hongjoong pays him no mind, pulling his legs to his chest so that san can pass freely.
once in the room, he plops on the bed, magazines scattered all over it. almost every page captures his swollen lips, faint gloss stubbornly glimmering and mocking him. even the last page, where he has his face covered by his hand, the stupid gloss is smeared on the back of his palm. how did nobody notice this? did they like it and just rolled with it?
various names are listed around his form, and san skims over them as he bites his nails. he notices that it is indeed the same photographer as wooyoung's; oh taehwan. but it doesn't really matter. not when his eyes find something way more interesting. something that makes his heart beat faster, his jaw drop, and his fingers grip the magazine so hard he might rip it in half.
chief photo editor: y/n l/n.
it's not a coincidence. it can't be. how many people in south korea share a name like yours? were you there? were you hiding from him? right under his nose, while he was kissing somebody else? phone in hand, fingers are quick to find your name in the archive of conversations. as usual, he doesn't think. actions, as well as consequences, are his strength.
choi san: you were there?
the message sends. your profile photo is visible again, and he hadn't even noticed. how long did you have him unblocked for?
y/n: i was.
he stands up. this is too much. he wasn't expecting a response. not soon, not at all. he gulps, and gives himself a short moment to think properly for the first time today. he paces around the room, nails between his teeth, while he types and deletes with one hand, until he decides just what to write.
choi san: you knew i was there?
y/n: yes.
choi san: did you see me?
y/n: no. i didn't want to.
the first bullet shoots through san's heart. he doesn't back down yet.
choi san: why?
y/n: you haven't changed a bit
were those words of fondness? san can't tell over the messages.
y/n: you whiny fuck.
oh.
choi san: you haven't changed either. you're still evil.
y/n: i don't corner girls and verbally abuse them, then kiss them afterwards. i don't keep pushing if someone tells me no. i don't sabotage other people's lives. and lastly, i don't play the victim card whenever something doesn't go my way
choi san: what are you talking about?
y/n: it seems to me that you have a fetish for personal assistants. turns out forced proximity wasn't exactly the answer. it was your fragile emotional state.
san sighs. he buries his face into his hand, squeezing his eyes shut. "fuck."
choi san: you know nothing.
y/n: i know enough.
choi san: who are you?
y/n: what?
choi san: you aren't the person you were before. you aren't the one i fell in love with.
y/n: thank fuck.
disappointment floods his body. yet it still isn't enough to dim the spark of hope that stays bravely lit since the day you left. he exits the conversation with you, only to enter one with wooyoung.
choi san: what's the number of that photographer?
jung wooyoung: +82 32—8891—6623
choi san: thanks
𓆩⟡𓆪
it is a few minutes past ten in the evening. the restaurant is becoming crowded. one by one, the chairs of the long table are being occupied, and soon enough, there is only a handful left unoccupied. though crowded, you notice that only the members of staff are in the dimly lit restaurant. the place seems rented for the evening.
"what's the occasion?" you lean in to ask the photographer who sits next to you.
he only smiles, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "do we need one?"
"no, i guess." you shrug. "just wondering. that's a lot of people for no occasion. what are we eating?"
"meat platters. and don't worry, i ordered a double portion of baked potatoes. just how you like them." taehwan fixes his glasses by pushing them up his nose bridge. you're been convincing him for months to buy a new pair. "relax, love. just enjoy."
the glass of hugo is refreshing down your throat. you feel bloated, and you know it is because you are nervous. you wish you knew why. this whole evening is giving you an uneasy feeling. as if you won't fall asleep easily tonight.
"good evening, everyone."
if you were to listen closely, you'd hear the atoms in the hugo glass rearranging from your death grip. everyone's gaze is fixed behind you, and while you refuse to look — in hopes that you have simply gone crazy and are imagining voices — the person inevitably enters your vision.
he sits on the empty chair on the opposite of you. he avoids you, at first. or he simply doesn't know it is you. he takes his time to make himself comfortable on the chair, rolling his sleeves up, letting his jacket hang from the back of the chair, and running his fingers through his hair. but he knows. because as soon as he greets everyone around him in the most polite way, his eyes land on you. and they silently talk to you. they curse, cry, confess.
"i didn't want to tell you anything because i didn't want you to freak out. he organized the dinner specifically for the staff. how generous is that?" your boyfriend beams next to you. he then looks at san, who still refuses to break eye—contact first. "she is a huge atiny. it's a shame she was so busy the day of the shoot."
"yeah," san chuckles, "such a shame."
"oh, well. now that you are here, she can fangirl all she wants. i'll leave you to it, i have to pee so bad." the curly haired man downs the glass of orange juice, then squeezes out of the chair and makes his way to the toilet.
"miss y/n." he greets first.
it takes a second or two for you to unclench your jaw and stop biting the inside of your cheek. "mr choi."
"beautiful dress." he compliments.
you don't need to look down to know why he is complimenting it. it is the very dress you wore back in paris. the one that is immortalised on san's polaroid. you wonder if he still keeps it.
"does it hold any memories?" he pushes the limits.
the prosecco and elderflower melt on your tongue, the mint leaving a fresh aftertaste as you finish the glass. "none."
he seems to expect that kind of answer. he only smiles. "right."
san leaves you to your empty glass, for a while. not to give you a break or stop toying with you, but to engage in conversations around him. the female members of staff almost latch themselves onto him, some of them going as far as standing from their chairs and circle him in hopes of getting his attention. alcohol is slowly sipped, lipsticks carefully reapplied, hands accidentally brushing his arms and shoulders, and tones suddenly a tad more seductive.
"wow, mr choi! i knew you were muscular, but videos and pictures don't do you justice!"
only after that comment do you take a proper look at him. a tight turtleneck hugs his body, strategically picked so that it shows every curve and bump you know he works hard for. rolled up sleeves, causing slight pressure just below his elbow and making his arm veins prominent. his hair is a soft brown now, slicked back with a few strands framing his sharp features. he smiles at the women, some of them older than him. yet the smile isn't genuine, you know it. his dimples are missing.
"you must work out every day." subtle touches turn into rubbing his biceps and shoulders, as if asking for three wishes any second now.
you don't care. not when someone's manicured nails graze his exposed arm. not when he gets goosebumps from it. not when someone leans in to whisper something in his ear. not when he chuckles, and a dimple inevitably appears. not when he locks eyes with you as he whispers back into that person's ear.
you don't care. you don't care. you don't care.
you. don't. care.
"right, y/n?"
you finally let go of the abused glass, shifting your attention to the woman talking to you. "hm?"
"san doesn't think his muscles are that big. you've done lots of editing and staring at his photos. care to weigh in?"
weigh in to feeding his ego? no. you chuckle, instead, causing san's brows to slightly furrow. "i've seen better. within your group, even."
gasps of disbelief meet your ears as you nonchalantly fill the glass with water, leftover mint leaves giving it a hint of flavour as you drink and wait for san to respond. he doesn't, instead opting to stare at you with a puzzled look on his face. so you continue.
"have you seen kang yeosang?"
you've struck a nerve. you swear you see his eye twitch. his lips are pressed in a firm line, and his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek. "he's not bigger than me."
"i didn't say he was." it is your turn to play the non bothered one. "i said i've seen better, not bigger. big muscles aren't exactly my type."
"oh?" he seems genuinely surprised. he wants to ask what your type is. he can't. that type of behaviour would seem too suspicious in a room of hyper aware people. "well. i could introduce you one day, if our paths cross in the studio again. as a big, big atiny, you deserve to meet your bias."
the emphasis on the word big has you biting the inside of your cheek. that fucker. "i'm just a casual fan, really. i haven't been keeping up with your latest comeback, to be honest and guilty."
taehwan is back before san can reply. his hair is now collected in a man bun. perhaps a bit too tight. your fingers naturally lift his chin so that he can look at you. he rolls his eyes playfully once he realizes what you want to do. his bun is looser, your other hand skillfully working it while you hold his face in your palm. as a final touch, you hook your fingers into a few strands of hair in the front, setting them free to frame his freckled face.
there is no denying, oh taehwan is one of the most gorgeous men you've ever seen in your life. with his mother's asian features, and father's slavic features, taehwan is the best of both worlds. sharp almond eyes, skin cutting jawline, light freckles on his porcelain skin, and dark locks and bushy brows. he is also a replica of san when it comes to personality. but you would never admit it out loud. you didn't fall for him because he reminded you of san. you fell for him because he was one of the few men that had you speechless when you first laid your eyes upon him. it took a few dates and late night conversations for you to finally connect the dots. your brain has since short circuited, making you feel guilty. as if you were using taehwan to fill the void that was still reserved for choi san.
"what would i do without you, my darling?" tae presses his lips against your forehead, and then your nose, before turning his attention to the idol sitting to your opposite. "so, san— oh! are you alright?"
san is fuming. his cheeks are red. eyes bloodshot. brows furrowed. his hands grip the table cloth as he watches taehwan wrap his arm around your shoulders. you lean into the warm touch, now more inviting than ever. your nerves are slowly wrecking you. the cause? it sits still as a stone, staring into your eyes with an emotion you can't pinpoint yet.
"san...?" taehwan calls again.
"yes, taehwan?" he finally speaks, voice hoarse. he clears his throat. "sorry. just— you didn't mention you had a girlfriend? and the chief editor at that."
"ah, she doesn't like it getting announced all the time. she is a very private person." the dark haired man kisses your temple before continuing, "and i respect that."
"couldn't be me." san shrugs. "i would announce it to the whole world."
he thinks he did something. maybe impressed you, even. until you speak up. "and you fail to see an issue in that, mr choi?"
you have his full attention. he toys with the napkin in front of him as he listens.
"you wouldn't be respecting your partner's wish. she's a private person, yet you would announce it to the whole world? how much do you truly know and care for her then?"
nobody in this room but the two of you know the true core of this conversation. the rotten root that was never dug up, having grown into a poisonous plant in the meantime. its fruits are the snarky remarks you keep exchanging, camouflaged into friendly banter. some might call you childish. but to you, this is serious. you were right. san hasn't changed at all.
"doesn't respect go both ways? shouldn't she respect my wishes as well?" he raises an eyebrow.
"that's some very selfish thinking, mr choi."
the platters arrive one by one, shortly interrupting the quarrel that won't die out any time soon. taehwan isn't sure what is going on. but he won't interrupt you. he loves to hear you talk, and if he'll get that by listening to you talk back to an idol, then so be it.
"while respect does go both ways, i believe compromises are the ideal solution."
"communication matters more, in my opinion." he serves himself a piece of steak from the platter, then stabs it with a knife as he looks you dead in the eye. "not running away if something isn't up to your standards. is running also a compromise?"
a scoff betrays you. "well, if you refuse to be patient until the person feels comfortable with your standards, then perhaps. was she forced to run due to being put in an uncomfortable situation? such as announcing the whole world?"
"i don't think she was. she chose the easier option. i think she was more scared than in love, which, at the end of the day, means that it wasn't true love."
"nobody said it was." you mimic his moves, stabbing your own piece of meat and cutting into it aggressively. "she was probably confused. overstimulated by all the feelings. she wanted everything, but ended up having nothing."
"i can't help but notice the accusatory tone here, miss l/n."
"oh, i apologize. was i being too subtle?" a swear word is at the tip of your tongue. taehwan's hand finds its spot on your thigh, gently squeezing it. usually, it would calm you. right now, it irritates you. everything is annoying you; from the way the fabric of the damned dress is feeling on your skin and sudden attention you are receiving, to san's audacity to torture you like this and his behaviour. like he hasn't done anything wrong. like you are wrongly accusing him. you wish to scream into his face. instead, you take a deep breath, leaving the massacred piece of meat on the plate for a moment. "excuse me."
you stand up. all eyes are on you. it makes you weak. you hate it. fuck, you hate him.
the man next to you tries taking your hand in his, but before he can touch you, you're moving it away. "i need a moment."
taehwan calls for you. once, twice. maybe more. you don't hear it. you rush out of the restaurant, into the cold evening. you slip around the corner, hiding from the big windows, until you reach the back entrance reserved for the kitchen staff only. the doors are luckily shut, allowing you a moment to try and compose yourself.
hot meets cold as you try to calm your quick breath, creating small clouds of fog out your mouth. you succeed in taking a few deep breaths with your eyes closed, until his face appears in your brain. you open your eyes, grit your teeth, and sprint towards the nearby trash bin. your boot meets a trash bag on the floor, kicking it multiple times until it rips and all its contents spill on the floor and all over your shoe.
"fuck!" you scream. "fuck, fuck, fuck!"
it reeks of food that has been piling up there all day long. yet you couldn't care less about it. you continue kicking whatever you find, fists meeting the giant trash bin until your frostbit knuckles start bleeding. it's not enough. it won't be enough until the bin is replaced by his stupid face.
you deliver a final punch, blood trickling down your hand. the light material of the dress soaks it up. it's a breaking point. the dress is ruined.
you fall to your knees, holding onto the sleeve that turns crimson as your knuckles continue painting it. you sob. quietly at first. then, with each broken breath, you let it out. it can't be the stupid dress that made you break down. it is the symbolic it holds. and now, it feels as if your last physical memory of him is ruined.
you lied. you looked him dead in the face and said the stupid piece of fabric doesn't hold memories. it does. everything around you does. your body as well, with taehwan's each touch reminding you of the way san held you for a single night.
it is also reminds you that no matter where and when he kisses, touches or whispers to you, it will never compare to san. his natural submission, his need to please, his seeking of your validation. you wish to feel that kind of admiration again. taehwan can try as much as he wants, but nothing will ever awaken the storm inside you like san can with a simple glance of his big eyes.
tears soak your cheeks, continuing down your neck and dampening the collar of the dress. your chest hurts the more you sob, heart being tugged all ways at once and threatening to burst; this time with a promise to not recover.
you need to get out of here. how, you do not know. the restaurant is at the other end of seoul, and while the two of you came with separate cars due to finishing work at different hours, your keys and the rest of your belongings were still inside. you can't go back. not like this, and not with choi san still in there.
it takes approximately two seconds for you to figure out a plan that has low chances of bringing you alive and well to the doors of your friend's house. you'll walk down the road until you see a taxi, or hitch a ride, and ask your friend to pay for you until you get your belongings back. you can't stay out here any longer. your lips are slowly starting to go numb, as well as the tip of your nose.
instead of going the way you came, you opt for going all the way around the building, just in case someone's curious eyes are monitoring the windows. just as you turn around the corner, you come in contact face first with someone's chest. it feels familiar.
"oh, taehwan!" you let out a sigh of relief. body falls into his arms, seeking warmth and comfort. "i thought you'd never come. i need to get out of here, please."
he stays silent. hands hesitate to wrap around you, but they do eventually. slowly, as if you'll crumble under his touch. one hand rubs your back, and the other one settles on your head, softly caressing your hair.
"you're mad. i'm sorry." you mumble into his chest. "you have every right to be. i'll explain everything, i promise."
it's not like taehwan to give you a silent treatment. have you screwed up that bad that he refuses to talk to you? you pull away, ready to meet a disappointed face. a sad one, and even an angry one. not one that belongs to choi san.
"you—" words are a burden in your throat. you try stepping away, yet the touch that was once hesitant and soft holds you firmly so you don't run. "you—"
"what have you done?" the tone isn't accusatory. it is pure concern as his eyes soften upon seeing your bloody knuckles. "what did you do to your pretty hands?"
a rollercoaster of emotions threatens to rip you to shreds. unnatural amounts of anger fill your body, as well as a tingling sensation all over your skin. choi san's thumb gently grazes the cracked knuckles of your hand, while the other one on your lower back holds your body firmly pressed against his.
how could you have possibly mistaken the two? betrayed by your own mind and heart, you helplessly stand before the person who pushed you to your very limits. you remove your hand out of his, a bit harsher than intended. the hiss is short lived, replaced by another gasp as san pushes you back where you came from and behind the bin.
"get your hands off—!"
"hush." he covers your mouth with his hand, head turned the other way in order to see if you are being spied on.
you hear the doors opening and closing, then a row of lighters clicking. they must've stepped out for a smoke. san's brows soften when his gaze falls back on you. wide eyed, with dried and fresh tears covering your face, you silently sob into his open palm.
"i'm going to remove my hand now, okay?"
a nod from you is all he needs to fulfill his promise. as soon as he does, you inhale deeply. the air burns cold as it fills your lungs. san doesn't speak right away. he watches as you try to regain your composure. it is a challenge, with guilt and ache chewing through you. guilt for taehwan. and ache for san. your heart burns, fingers itch to reach for him. but when you look at him, you can't help but remember what he did. "why are you here?"
san seems to be expecting that, because he simply sighs. "your boyfriend wasn't moving. i had to."
"he was giving me space." you defend him, though you can't help the painful tug you feel in your chest. while you usually do need your space, this is too big of a deal for him to just let you be by yourself. then again, he doesn't know. he doesn't know that you being alone with san is dangerous. if he knew, he'd run to you, even to the other side of the city. you hope. "unlike you, who has to be up my ass every chance you get."
he snorts, earning a glare from you. "if i catch a whiff that my girl is upset, i'm climbing mountains to make sure she is okay."
"get a hold of yourself, mr choi." rage replaces the aching you felt just moments ago. "i am not your girl. i never was."
"you could've been mine." he says, voice dropping. "and i could've been yours."
cigarette smoke threads through the cold air, enveloping him, mingling with his own scent of cedar and worn leather. it catches in your throat. your fingers twitch like memory could be touched. he smells warm. he smells like home.
a home you can't return to. the path is destroyed, overrun by vines of despair and fallen trees of anguish.
"you could've." your voice is raspy, words itching your throat as you speak. "but you were impatient."
"why are you doing this to yourself?" he takes both your hands in his, and before you can yank them away, he fastens the grip on your wrists. "why are you hurting yourself?"
you opt for silence. if you speak, you'll start crying. eyes burn anyway, seeing san's furrowed brows and gentle eyes examining the wounds. when he touches your skin, it feels as if he is touching your soul. and when he looks you in the eyes, stare so deep and intense, it feels as if he can see your mind. he intrudes it with his heavy gaze, rummaging through locked memories you've been dying to erase. but how can you, when a whiff of cedarwood reminds you of him? when every once in a while, you enter the old conversations with him, when it wasn't so complicated? when you had a silly little crush on your boss and he was just playfully flirty? when you yearn to steal that polaroid from him, because heaven knows he'll get over you easier than you'll get over him?
"did i..." he gulps, then blinks a few times. "did i do this to you?"
"yes." you don't hesitate to answer through gritted teeth.
the word perishes in the air, much like the smoke that keeps biting your nostrils, ruining the forbidden memory of his scent. you wish nothing more than to bury your head back into his chest, inhale until your lungs hurt, and don't let go until the pain stops. if it ever stops.
the man looks away, jaw clenched. you are wary of his every move, and thus, you notice the glimmer in his eyes. he bites the inside of his cheek. and you see it. before he lets go of your hand and brushes his face, you see it. the crystal drop escaping his eye, its remains latching onto his long lashes. it takes him courage to look back at you. he blinks again, hoping to stop the new tears forming.
choi san looks dashing. vulnerable, yet the epitome of perfection. the lamps of the restaurant's parking lot cast a soft yellow hue on him, his hair a honey shade and ever so inviting to touch. lip sticking out in his signature pout. lashes damp like grass in the morning with dew. cheeks a soft pink blush, which you only notice because he stands so close to you. your free hand thinks instead of you. fingertips graze his cheek, unsure at first. a short gasp leaves his lips, and when your palm lays flat against his hot skin, a tear finally rolls freely down his face. another one follows, then another. until it coats your hand, and your thumb brushing them away doesn't help.
he leans into your touch, closing his eyes and allowing himself to silently cry. no sobs, no words. just silent tears dampening the turtleneck that looks so damn good on him. his hand abandons yours, only to place itself on your waist and further push you against the wall. for a split second, you are back in milan, in your hotel room. him confessing for the first time, you holding back tears as you rejected him for his own good, pushed against the wall much like now. how he looked exactly as he looks in this frozen moment, desperate to stay close to you and convince you to stop lying to yourself.
"mr choi—" you can't let it happen again.
"shh," he hushes you, forehead leaning against yours. "let me have this. please, let me have this."
you're not sure what he means. whatever it is, you know you'll fall for it. so you do what you always knew best: put your palms flat against his chest, and push. he doesn't budge. he only presses himself against you, body warm and inviting against your cold and shivering one. two vulnerable people, each on the brink of breaking and getting the other into trouble. it seems to be your destiny, playing this game of push and pull.
"does he make you happy?"
the question isn't laced with jealousy. no, it's laced with desperation. a silent plea, for you to say no. as if his heart will feel at ease, and his mind will rest if you do him that favour. the words land like a bruise, tender and deep. you wish to say yes, to end this before the lines become further blurry, almost invisible, but the word lodges in your throat. his dark eyes are searching yours, desperate, and you know that if you look away, you'll lose him for good. you should look away. you should run. call for taehwan. end this once and for all.
instead, you feel the warmth of his breath ghost over your lips, the faint scent of cedarwood and smoke pulling you back to every moment you swore you'd forget. his fingers tighten at your waist, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you he's still here. one word could save you. another could ruin you. and you're not sure which one you want more.
"please," he begs, tip of his nose brushing against yours. "please. tell me. i need to know."
the taste of your own words is bitter on your tongue, causing you to grimace upon saying them. "did you beg her like this as well?"
"w—what?"
"when you kissed leah, san."
the illusion shatters between the two of you. if you felt a trace of regret for parting ways with him, it vanishes the moment he steps back. and opens his goddamn mouth. "how did you know?"
"that's your concern?" you laugh into his face. "how i knew? gods, you are insufferable. you are the most selfish, egoistical, the most—"
"i need to know how you found out."
"are you fucking hearing yourself?!" you break the silent moment you shared. "you were just crying, begging me to admit that i am unhappy, and now you demand i tell you how i found out that you haven't changed one bit?! that you will fall for any fool that dares enter your personal space?! that you'll bring them nothing but misery, and cost them the job they worked so hard for!"
two things stick to san's brain. one: you know about him telling sihun.
and two: you are unhappy.
he hates how relieved he feels. he hates that he has to fight back a smile. he hates how overstimulated and confused you feel because of him, yet all he can do is hold onto the spark of hope that keeps growing with each moment that passes.
"i saw you, san." your bottom lip quivers as the words leave you. "i wanted to come and greet you, talk to you, and finally get closure. maybe even ask about what you did and why you did it. do you know that i have not stopped creating excuses on your behalf since the moment i found out? told myself you only meant well? that you weren't actually a selfish asshole? i cannot believe, that you had the audacity to wake up first and text the manager, then go back to sleep knowing full well what would happen? waking up after me and acting like everything is fine?"
the man remains silent. he has interrupted you enough. it is time to listen.
"you knew the chances of him approving it were below zero. you couldn't have waited at least a few days? you couldn't have talked to me about it? fuck, we weren't even together! we fucked, that's it! at least i thought that's it. i hoped it is on your end. that you scratched an itch, and you'd leave it alone. i felt guilty for indulging. but i hoped, fuck—" you sob, hands rushing to wipe the tears away, "—i hoped that if i did, you'd finally abandon those so called feelings, and save us both from trouble. you'd realize it wasn't love. it was just what i told you it was: forced proximity. i'd keep my job, and you'd leave me alone, and save yourself. and you go ahead and do what you did, without my knowledge, stabbing me in the fucking back, and acting as if you didn't know. as if you're sorry."
"i was sorry."
"shut the fuck up. don't interrupt me, choi san. i am not done with you." the tip of your nail is buried into his firm chest, slipping through threads of the thin knitted turtleneck and resting against his pulsing heart. "and then, while away from you, you spammed me with messages. paragraphs, links, pictures. i began to think that you actually do have feelings for me. that i wasn't just something you wanted to try and see if it fits. and i blocked you for my good. for once, i was selfish. i blocked you because i couldn't trust myself to not run back into your arms again. i had time to think. by the time taehwan arranged to have a photoshoot with you, i thought enough time has passed to have a mature conversation about all the events that happened. i went to the makeup room, they told me you went for a stroll in the hallways. i asked about you. they told me you started behaving again since i left. that you have that spark back. and while i was happy for you, a part of me smelled the issue."
he doesn't move away from your sharp touch. he leans further into it, signaling that he has no intention of backing away, no matter how much it hurts. he'll stay.
"then i saw it. you kissing the poor girl. i felt sorry for her. i knew she might suffer the same fate as me. then, you degraded her. it made me sick to my stomach, seeing you spit venom at her like that. it made me feel like i never knew you. in the recent few times i saw you, you did things i didn't know you were capable of. telling sihun, defending melanie, saying such vile things to leah. it made me back away and never want to see you again. that's why i avoided you. you accused me of not being the person you fell in love is. well, choi san, i am sad to inform you that i feel the same way."
remaining smoke blends in with the fog coming out of your lips as you speak. the doors shut in the distance, the two of you finally alone outside the restaurant. he thinks carefully. he isn't the wisest when it comes to leading serious conversations. he opts for something simple, yet true. "it didn't mean anything."
"and another thing." a burning sensation spreads on his cheek. your hand stings as well, open palm hanging in the air as it recovers from the harsh slap you delivered. the very same hand that caressed the cheek just moments ago. san's head flies to the side due to impact. he doesn't expect it, because he looks at you with pure shock painted on his features. "how dare you use my name to degrade someone?"
it is your turn to gasp with surprise, feeling your throat tighten. the man wraps his hand around your neck, gently squeezing the sides just enough to silence you so he can speak. "don't you get it? i am like this because you aren't by my side. i am not me without you. why can't you get it into that stupid, stupid, pretty head of yours?"
"san—" you cough. the pressure isn't strong enough to rid you of oxygen. it is just enough to make you uncomfortable and stiff. "please—"
"will you look me in the eyes and lie to my face again? tell me the dress doesn't mean anything? tell me you have actual feelings for that guy? tell me you don't feel anything when i stand close to you, even though i feel your heart trying to break free from your ribcage? you expect me to believe anything you say after all you did was lie to me since the night i confessed to you?"
"you're thinking about yourself again." you cry out. "you, you, and only you. your feelings. your emotions. your whole damn life. not once did you apologize in a way that you mean it."
"you're blaming me for putting you through this. in reality, you're the one to blame." his tone shifts, warm breath no longer a gentle caress, but a hot warning. "you keep pushing me away, lying to my face, denying yourself happiness. one time i try to take matters into my own hands, all hell breaks loose. choi san is the worst. he cost you your job. as if you even have to work that kind of a job. i could've given you any position you wanted. hell, i could've opened your own studio. if only..." his hand slides from your neck to your jawline, thumb tracing it from your earlobe to your chin, before it rests on your bottom lip, "if only you cooperated. if only you didn't make it so complicated."
"we are spinning in circles, san." your voice is weak. you are tired. because of that, your body allows him to do whatever he wants. his thumb ghosts over your bottom lip, lingering a little where it started peeling due to cold. "when you do things without consulting someone, it makes them feel as if they don't matter. i feel insignificant. you felt so big and powerful, like you could have control over my life just because of your position. hell, before all this, you didn't even know that i wanted to do photography. even if i didn't, it is not on you to make the call whether or not i need a job. i loved what i did. i was surrounded by people i looked up to half my life. i didn't only lose you. i lost seonghwa and hongjoong, the two i admire the most. i lost wooyoung and mingi, the only ones that knew how to make me laugh. i lost yeosang and jongho, the ones who took such care of me even though i wasn't in their service. i lost yunho, who treated me like his little sister. i lost all of them as well, you just didn't see that. you didn't want to see that."
the man finally seems to absorb everything you've poured out to him. you wanted to be included in a decision. he was impatient. pushy, maybe even controlling and manipulative at times. in his head, it all fell under the same category: love and caring. he didn't realize how much he was hurting you in the process. he only meant to free you from the claws of professionalism so you could be happy. he even convinced you that you had feelings for him way before you admitted them yourself. your finger on his lips stops him from talking.
"i lost you, choi san. the one who looked out the most for me. sometimes crossed the line, flirted a bit too much, and was mostly a child in a man's body, but you still cared so deeply before all this mess. everything you said was true at the time. those late night conversations weren't just a job. each interaction with you did not leave me feeling indifferent. i just wish you would have let me set my own pace. i felt forced. rushed. it didn't feel real."
san sighs against your finger. he squeezes his eyes shut, regret eating him up alive. "i'm so sorry."
your heart twitches at the sound of his voice. it is hoarse, and so quiet that if someone were eavesdropping, they wouldn't have caught it. he takes your hands back in his, then lowers himself to the ground. the sound of his knees hitting the dusty asphalt causes you to gasp, and almost instantly, you try pulling him up so that he stands again. he refuses, planting himself in front of you.
"i'm so fucking sorry." he kisses each one of your knuckles, plush lips warm and soft against the dried up bloody wounds.
"get up." you squeeze his hands in an attempt to convince him. "please, get up."
he shakes his head. a street lamp in the back begins to dim, and the place starts feeling unreal. as if it's another nightmare you'll wake from, forced to lie to taehwan about it. you can't tell him you dreamed of the man your body still burns for. though, taehwan's soul is so pure, he wouldn't hate you for it. he would find excuses for you, just like you did for san.
but you don't wake up. you lean against the wall, bruised hands cradled in san's big, warm ones, coated in gentle kisses that barely graze your skin. one hiss is enough for him to shortly retreat, only to come close again and press your open palms against his cheeks. on his knees, he shuffles closer to you, until he can wrap his arms around your legs and lean his head against your stomach. only a thin layer of skin contains the storm he stirs in you. something fragile flutters inside, like wings brushing against the walls of your chest. you allow yourself another moment of vulnerability. closing your eyes, putting your hands on his head, fingers lacing with the soft locks of hair, and breathing out. you feel at peace.
you feel home. a home that is wrecked, and doesn't know if it'll ever stand again. san calms down under your touch, occasionally shuddering when your nails graze the back of his neck. it feels as if time has stopped. as if you've created an alternate reality behind the restaurant. if you walk back in, will the people you left behind still be there?
"sannie," you call his nickname, knowing that he's weak to it. surely enough, san looks up at you, chin resting on your stomach. you can't help but reach for his bottom lip, playfully tugging at it as he looks at you wide and glossy eyed. "we need to go back."
he doesn't protest. he listens. finally. you help him up, though he doesn't need it, and fix his hair while he simply gawks at you. it feels natural, no matter how long has passed. fixing his hair had always been a habit of yours, since he loved running his fingers through it every now and then. it is no longer neatly slicked back, giving him a gentler look than the one he came in with.
"you should go in first, as to not raise suspicion."
"oh," he can't help the disappointed tone. "is...?"
"if you could tell taehwan that i am here, i would be grateful." you don't allow him to finish the question, knowing just what he'll ask you. is this it? you don't know. it should be. it must be.
choi san nods, then stuffs his hands in the pockets of his slacks. "i'll tell him."
"thank you, sannie." the first smile tonight tugs your lips. he returns it, though it doesn't reach his eyes. before he bids his goodbye and disappears around the corner, you tug at his elbow, climbing on tippy toes just to plant a kiss on his still red cheek. "i'm sorry for slapping you."
"i deserved it." the smile finally reaches his eyes, but disappears just as quickly as it appears. "good night, y/n."
"good night, mr choi."
"sannie," he corrects. "not mr choi."
you don't respond. he doesn't expect you to. it is enough that you offer him a chuckle, and his heart is somehow at peace.
yours? holding on for dear life.
𓆩⟡𓆪
"i fear i haven't been completely honest with you, tae." you sit at taehwan's kitchen table on your day off, having slept over the previous night after your late shift.
the curly haired man sitting across from you raises an eyebrow, peeling his eyes away from the sudoku paper that already has drops of his morning coffee decorating it and setting them on your bowl of cereal. he notices you've barely touched it. "about?"
"my previous job."
he nods, shifting his attention back to the paper. "go on."
you are puzzled. you know taehwan is forgiving, and understanding. but this is striking your nerves, and you almost feel your eye twitching. "tae."
"hm?"
"why are you indifferent?" you question without beating around the bush. "your girl was outside with a man for almost an hour, alone in the dark of the night, and you didn't stand up once to come check on us? nor did you ask about it, and it's been almost three weeks since it happened. how can you be so indifferent?"
"i trust you."
usually, it would make you feel appreciated. right now, you feel as if he is saying it just to get you off his back. "you don't want to hear about it?"
"y/n..." your name leaves his lips as a sigh. he locks eyes with you for the first time this morning. he seems tired, even though he woke up almost two hours ago. "do you want me to be crazy and jealous? more importantly, do i have reason to be?"
you swore you'd tell him. truth, and only truth. but now that you're here, how do you look your boyfriend in the eyes and say that you have buried feelings for choi san? feelings buried alive, waiting to be saved. maybe san is right. you're nothing but a liar. you lie to yourself first, and then to everyone around you.
you can't keep using taehwan as a distraction. you haven't, until you met with san. since that night, you keep sleeping over at his place and following him everywhere just to get your mind off the man that will not leave it.
"well?"
"i need a break." you blurt out.
the curly haired man nods. you expect him to react. say something. not to simply stand up, put his cup in the sink, then approach you. his hand cradles your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek in the process. he plants a kiss on top of your head. "i know."
he then goes back to the sink to wash the cup. you watch, dumbfounded. did he not understand what you meant?
"no, taehwan." you stand up, chair scraping the tiles and scratching your ears as you tuck it under the kitchen table. "you don't understand. i need a break—"
"from us, yes." he finishes for you. you tilt your head, unable to read his emotions. as if it'll help you understand better. his back is still turned, and it takes him a very long time to wash a single cup. "i know."
"why are you so... nonchalant?" it hurts you. it makes you feel as if he doesn't care at all. while you wouldn't have wanted him to freak out, you still would've appreciate anything other than whatever this is. "do you not care?"
finally, the cup finds its place on the dish rack. he wipes his wet hands with the towel that hangs from the oven handle. he walks over to you, then places his hands on your shoulders. everything about this day is odd. he's never held you like this before. so stiff and awkward. no, you can't even call it awkward. it's fully intentional on his end. not weird at all.
"i care about you as a person, really. but..." he trails.
"but?"
"but as a girlfriend? you're terrible."
you can't be offended, no matter how much you want it. you thought you were doing your best, not letting feelings for san interfere. hell, you even thought you forgot about him. seems not.
"when san called me and proposed the idea of the dinner, i thought it odd." taehwan lets go of you so he can take his phone out, eyes searching for something on the screen as he continues, "i had photographed wooyoung, and many others, and all of them did their part and left. so i agreed to it, thinking how kind he is. not even an hour later, i got a phone call from kim hongjoong."
your heart drops. taehwan glances at you, and as he sees your uneasy expression, he hums. almost with satisfaction. as if saying got you. there is no reason to feel this way. you didn't lie. you just didn't tell.
"he said that you worked as a personal assistant for choi san and kang yeosang. he then said that san and you have some rather uncomfortable history, and that the reason behind the dinner is san seeking closure with you. he wanted me to stop you from attending for, i quote, her own good. that you don't deserve to be a part of san's little games. so, naturally, i took a liberty in... well, checking your phone."
"you what?" the words are louder than you wanted them to be, and taehwan grimaces. "why would you do that? why not just ask?"
something shifts in his eyes. as if a veil of coldness settles over them. "ask? i have to ask about your past? i have to ask about men that are potential threat to our relationship? i have to ask if you still have any feelings for any of those men? i'm sorry, usually when i have a girlfriend, they don't come with predownloaded feelings for somebody else."
"i didn't mean—" you catch yourself raising your voice again in the middle of the sentence. you have to calm down. right now, your behaviour is making you look very guilty. as if something happened. you take a deep breath, hoping it will help you continue this conversation in a normal tone. "i simply meant about the messages. if you'd asked, i'd have shown them to you myself. you would've seen that hongjoong didn't mean anything by what he said. i don't have feelings for san—"
"one doesn't disappear behind a restaurant with their ex lover following while their boyfriend stays behind, then comes back after an hour without feelings, y/n." before you can defend yourself, he points the screen of his phone at you. "here."
the photo is dark on the screen. you have to zoom in to make sense of it, and when you do, your breathing almost stops. someone had slipped between the parked cars and took shot after shot of you and san, from the hug to the slap. all of it frozen in your boyfriend's gallery.
"but tae, nothing happened between us." you return the phone, the pictures giving your heart and mind a tough time. you dismiss the way your stomach feels fuzzy upon seeing san's big figure enveloping yours. "from the day i met you, and even before that, until right this second, i haven't engaged with san in any way that is considered cheating. hell, i haven't even seen him until that evening."
"nothing happened. yet." he says, and is quick to press a finger to your lips to shut you up so you don't interrupt him. he steps closer, until his breath caresses your cheeks. "i love you, more than anything. but i refuse to be the poor boyfriend who suddenly gets dumped because he didn't realize his girlfriend is in love with someone else. i don't want to receive looks and messages of pity. therefore, i agree. we need a break. up."
the curly haired man becomes blurry before your eyes. tears sting as they arrive, pooling in the corners of your eyelids, but not spilling just yet. "you're breaking up with me, even though i never betrayed you?"
"then why did you want a break in the first place?"
"to sort my thoughts and feelings out!" you defend yourself.
"look me in the eye and tell me you don't love san." his hand cradles your chin, guiding your gaze to his. his touch is anything but harsh. he is still gentle with you, no matter what he is feeling in the moment. "tell me you never thought of getting back to him during our relationship. tell me, and i'll let this go."
you are desperate to say no. but just once, you admit that san is right. it's time to stop the lies. you aren't only costing yourself nerves and proper happiness, you are hurting two men in the process. san, who could've been in taehwan's spot long ago. and taehwan, who could find someone actually worth his love and kindness.
your silence is his answer. a soft smile graces his lips before he presses them against your forehead. "i knew you were too good to be true anyway."
"tae..." as if guilt isn't enough to drown you, taehwan's tears make an appearance. "i'm sorry."
he shakes his head, then sniffles as he takes his glasses off as to not ruin them. he had just wiped them with the hem of his t—shirt before starting the sudoku. you always tsked him when he did that, knowing full well he has at least three small cloths for that in his bag.
"i want you to know that i didn't get into a relationship with you to replace san. i did it because i genuinely saw the future with you at one point."
"you don't have to justify yourself. it's best if we stop here, it can only get worse if we go further." his voice is a mere whisper. "i think you should go. for the sake of both of us."
a lump settles in your throat, and you are unable to swallow it. you were expecting this to happen eventually, somewhere deep in your mind. you just didn't think it'd be this painful, considering you haven't been together for a long time and there is another man clouding your mind.
the time it takes for you to gather your belongings in a tote bag seems like an eternity, even though only ten minutes have passed. you glance around his room, making sure you aren't leaving anything behind. the room and its bed often served as a big laundry basket, waiting to be ironed and put away. rarely did you sleep in there, with you always suggesting to watch a movie on the couch and falling asleep first halfway through it, and with taehwan not having a heart to wake you. every time he'd wake up with a sore back, but not once did he complain. you saw it though, in subtle movements as he worked, such as failing to crouch or bend over.
"maybe now you can finally sleep on the bed. your back won't hurt from the couch." you joke, trying to lighten the situation. you hear a faint chuckle from beyond closed doors.
when you exit the room, you find taehwan near the main door of the apartment, leaning with his back against the wall and holding your shoes. you approach him, trying to take your shoes from him. he simply motions for you to sit on the ottoman near the shoe rack, and gets on his knees. what is it with men and kneeling these days?
it isn't odd for taehwan to do things like this. he often helped you get dressed, combed your hair, helped you tie your shoelaces, fed you. you didn't expect him to do any of that right now. from helping with the shoes, to putting your jacket on and loosely tying the scarf around your neck. his scarf.
"keep it. please." he sees the look on your face. "just because a relationship ended doesn't mean a friendship and collegiality should."
"thank you, tae. for being so understanding." you fail to look him in the eye, keeping your gaze locked on the gloves he slides on your hands for you.
"oh, y/n." his voice cracks upon opening the door for you. as you step out, you finally look at him, only to find tears rolling down his cheeks. "i knew you weren't mine from the moment you set your eyes upon him that evening."
"i'm sorry."
"and i'm sorry, too. for not being enough."
𓆩⟡𓆪
not even a week later, you quit. you can't take it, being close to taehwan after all the events that took place. he's sad to lose a good friend and colleague, and so are you. but it's for the best. you've been taking any job opportunity you can since then, running from interview to interview in hopes of soon getting employed. it will be devastating to get used to a much lower paycheck than the one of chief editor, but you'll make it. you always did.
the cafe is bursting with people at eight in the morning, people standing and drinking their coffees near the occupied tables. that cannot be pleasant, can it? your eyes search for a person that sits alone. in the corner, almost behind the counter, you spot him. he wears a cap, a grey hoodie and sweatpants. seems a little shady for a job interview, but at this point, you are desperate.
"good morning," you greet first. "i'm y/n l/n, here for the job interview."
he nods, face still hidden behind the cap. he points to the chair to his opposite, and when you sit, he finally looks at you. eyes turn into crescent moons as a familiar smile spreads on his lips. "good morning."
"seong— mr park?" you lower your voice, not wanting to attract attention to the disguised idol. "i'm so sorry, i thought you were someone else."
"no, you thought good. please sit." he stands up, pulling a chair out for you to sit.
with a puzzled look on your face, and a glance at your surroundings, you sit to his opposite, back turned towards the rest of the cafe.
"well?" he asks, a sweet smile still on his lips. "how have you been?"
you don't wish to play any games. you're too tired for that. "mr park, i would like to skip the small talk, if you don't mind."
"as you wish, tiny." his nickname for you still lives. he hasn't forgotten that behind all what happened, you are still a fan and care deeply about them. "i'm here to offer you a job."
"you?" you say, raising an eyebrow. "a job? you're qualified for that?"
"i have my ways," he says. "just say the word, and i'll make it come true."
"and what job is that? sweeping the dressing rooms?" you sound bitter, and even to you, it's a bit mean. "well?"
"i want you as my personal assistant."
a laugh betrays you. it makes seonghwa's smile falter, and only then do you realize that he means it. "oh. you're serious?"
two cups of coffee are placed on the table, interrupting the odd conversation hidden in the corner of the cafe. he has ordered you an iced vanilla nescafe, and an iced americano for himself. he thanks the waiter, immediately using your distracted thinking to pay for both drinks. you don't notice, too busy biting the inside of your cheek and calculating seonghwa's intentions.
"what'll make it different this time?" you ask.
the straw is pressed to his plump lips as he takes the first sip. he hums at the bittersweet taste before looking at you. "you'll be mine."
you know the context of it. those around you don't, so you frantically turn your head to see whether anyone is eavesdropping. seonghwa pushes the tall glass towards you, until the coldness meets the warmth of your hand. unsure, you also take a sip out of the straw, using the time to prepare further questions.
"before you ask, sihun isn't around anymore. he got a job at a different company after firing three more assistants, and the rest of us finally had enough and complained until he himself got fired."
"but why yours? not that i'm complaining, it's just..." you trail, swirling the straw in the cup and playing with the ice. they graze against each other and the glass from the inside, creating soothing clinking noises among the clamor behind you. "...it seems you have some hidden intentions on your mind. i don't want to be kept in the dark anymore, if you want me to cooperate."
"it is only natural for you to be skeptical." the man nods understandingly.
his slender fingers pull the cap down to further cover his face as he leans over the table, causing you to to lean back against your chair. he motions for you to lean in as well, and when you do, you realize he still wears the same perfume. it reminds you of the time he was the one who stopped the car while you were having a panic attack as hongjoong scolded you and san. how you fell into his arms, seeking comfort. how he gave it to you, holding you tight and caressing your head as you cried and shivered into his chest. he looks at you with those kind eyes under the cap, resembling boba pearls with their size and colour. you can't help but deeply inhale, letting the scent consume you and take you back to where you belong.
"hey," he calls, waking you from your trance. you try to avoid his gaze by pointing yours at the drink, wrapping your lips around the straw and tasting the cold vanilla. his hand touches yours, enveloping it in a warm embrace as you almost choke on the liquid. the grip is strong as you try to set it free. "don't run. listen to me."
"mr park, how is this appropriate for you? what if someone sees?" fear is evident in your voice.
"they'll see if you keep turning like that every few seconds." his free hand takes your other one, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on your skin to calm you down. "san told me you like photography. this is nothing like it, i know. but maybe, we can hit two birds with one stone."
"you are talking in codes again." you murmur. "i don't like it."
"first, you can start as my personal assistant. you can snap pictures of me occasionally, because i'll ask for it. little by little, i'll flaunt the shots, and you could become our photographer, or editor. whichever your heart desires. i'll find a way." he explains, still not letting go of your hands. as if you'll decline if he lets go.
"and second?"
"you can be near san." your heart stutters upon hearing the words. a silent buzz fills your ears, causing the cafe and its people to seem still for a moment. as if they're silently anticipating the next words out of seonghwa's mouth, much like you. the clinking of cups in the sink behind the counter wake your mind from the short slumber. the cafe comes alive again, chatter and laughter filling your ears once again. "if that is what you still wish."
"that doesn't sound dangerous to you?" skepticism floods your mind again. "it won't be odd for me to be interacting with a member i don't work for?"
"no, not in the slightest." he simply says. "it would be more odd to see you overly friendly with the member you work for. especially san, since the rest of the staff found out what happened. they'd have their eyes glued to you at all times. this way, it'll be safer."
"and what makes you so sure?"
"because," he lets go of your hand, only to tap the tip of your nose with his finger playfully before continuing, "you'll be under my protection."
"you're asking me to walk back into fire." your voice suddenly becomes hoarse.
"i'm asking you to walk in with armor," he replies. "and this time, i'll be standing beside you."
he gives you time to think, returning to his own beverage, but not yet letting go of your hand. seonghwa must've really thought this through. after all, he managed to convince you to come for a job interview, and has calculated ways of bringing you back. hell, he even got to you, making you think of actually returning to the place you've escaped.
"you really believe there is something worth saving between me and san?" you question. "to the point of you meeting up with me like this and endangering yourself?"
"i know love when i see it. just as i did with mingi and jaz."
right, those two. you aren't surprised that they're still together. you always shipped them, even before anything happened between them. you believed nothing could tear them apart. so why didn't you have the same beliefs for yourself and san? why didn't you give it a proper chance, instead of a late night temptation?
"you think it'll work?"
seonghwa's free hand tucks a stray hair behind your ear, then places his fingers under your chin, guiding your gaze to lock with his. "it has to."
eyes sting as you subconsciously squeeze his hand. "and if it all falls apart again?"
"then i'll be there to catch you."
𓆩⟡𓆪
your brand new qr plate shines under the lobby lights as you press it against the pad. since you left, the company invested in technology, it seems. the doors open upon recognizing the code, and you slip through the doors before they shut.
the tiles are freshly polished, you notice. the faint scent of cleaning chemicals lingers down the long hallways, following you to the fateful door you must go through. with coffee in one hand, and a clipboard in the other, you open the door with your elbow, silently praying that you don't spill the beverage all over your outfit.
upon entering, you are pleased to be met with an almost empty makeup room. seonghwa sits in the makeup chair, snoozing as he waits for his artist. he seems to be the only one there. it gives you time to calm your nerves.
you've gone to sleep with a painful stomach, anticipation eating you up alive. you'll see san. you'll probably speak to him, too. in the morning, you felt no different. you barely managed to zip up your pants, the bloating from stress causing you trouble the first day at your new job. funny how brain does all these things.
"mr park," you gently call, placing the paper cup in front of him.
"mmh?" the man sleepily replies, opening one eye to look at you. when he sees it's you, he opens the other one as well, a lazy smile spreading on his lips. "good morning, tiny."
"good morning, mr pa—"
"a—ah!" he interrupts. "no more mister this mister that. i hate it."
"really?" you squint playfully. "then what would you like me to call you?"
"i give you full freedom to choose. think wise. something worth making san jealous. i want to toy with him a little." the sweet smile turns mischievous.
as he sips the morning coffee, you allow yourself a moment of freedom before your duties begin. you sit on the makeup chair next to him, spinning slowly while thinking. "hwa seems simple."
"simple is cute."
"sseong, as yunho once said." you laugh, remembering the video of yunho giving each of them a nickname.
"god, no." the man cries out. "next."
"seongie?"
"you can do better."
"ddeongie?"
"oh," he blushes. "i love it."
"then, it's settled." you give yourself a final spin on the chair before stopping to look at him. "ddeongie."
"how's the new manager?"
"not much different than sihun, honestly." you admit.
kevin is as uptight as sihun. the only difference is that kevin cares about schedule more than he cares about rumours among the members and staff. the idol agrees, then goes back to resting as much as he can.
the doors open, causing you to jump out of the chair and stand by seonghwa's side, as if shielding yourself from whoever came in. it is just a member of staff you don't recognize, who greets you politely and starts setting up her own station. three of them come in total, one of them immediately getting to work on seonghwa. the way her hand moves smoothly has you mesmerized. the brush gently glides over his eyelids, making his lashes flutter from the tickling sensation of the bristles.
he doesn't even twitch when the doors open rather violently, two men entering at once and pushing through the tight doorframe. two more familiar faces follow, belonging to gyuri and jaz. seems that mingi and jaz are a pair again. they sing a silly song, each holding one shoe as a microphone. it takes one glance at their feet to realize they took one of each others shoes, and are walking around half barefoot.
"gods, it's five in the morning." seonghwa wakes up from the slumber. he looks like a feverish child, passing out and waking up every few minutes. "idiots."
the two stop for a moment, offering seonghwa a glare. then, their eyes land on you. "y/n?"
"hi, mr jeong. mr song." you stand up, bowing slightly as a greeting. "long time no see."
you wave to jaz and gyuri as well, as they stare back at you with a mix of shock and disbelief. then, they almost jump on you, shielding your body from the rest of the people in the room.
"what the hell are you doing here?" gyuri is the first to ask, while jaz steps away so that mingi and yunho can approach you.
both men settle for a gentle pat on your head, letting the girls bombard you with questions for them. they sit on the makeup chairs next to seonghwa, putting their shoes back on.
"i was hired again." you reply. "i'm seonghwa's assistant."
from there, they pull you aside, interviewing you as if their lives depend on it. seonghwa occasionally tsks them, scolding them for bothering you with personal questions. such as what really happened with you and san, why you left, and will things be weird now. the last one you couldn't answer even if you wanted. you are yet to find out.
little by little, the small room fills with people. new faces emerge alongside familiar ones. they're scattered on the couch, some of them stand by the makeup chairs and vanities, talking to the ones that have to sit still, and some stand near the window, catching a whiff of fresh air. so far, you notice hyori, sooe and eric are the ones that are missing. sihun's doing, you remember. the atmosphere is lively, chatter and laughter echoing inside. caught up in a conversation with hongjoong, you don't notice the door opening.
brown eyes lazily scan the room, searching for the leader so that he can complain about not being woken up to ride with them to the building. when his eyes land on you, he takes a step back, accidentally bumping into his assistant. his heart thumps loud in his chest, drowning the voices around him and making everything play in slow motion. leah yelps behind him, san's heel painfully digging into her toes.
yet san is too deep in thought to hear her yelping. he gawks at you, sitting all pretty and sweet on the armrest of the couch as you speak to hongjoong. you've changed your hair, he notices. nothing drastic, but enough for him to notice. a push on the back finally causes him to step forward, freeing leah of the pain. he doesn't apologize. he simply nudges her away as she tries telling him something, making his way towards you. you don't notice him yet. you listen to hongjoong speak about the achievements you've missed, about moments they felt your absence, about the drama with sihun and how happy they were to get rid of him. a familiar scent of musk and worn leather pulls you out of the conversation, hongjoong's words fading as you shift your attention to the person who emits it.
heartbeat slows down. thoughts rush. hands tremble. san stands before you, framed in black. the compression shirt hugs every contour, and baggy sweatpants hang low on his hips. your mouth goes dry at the sight of his chiseled torso. his hair is tucked under a beanie, not a single strand visible. it seems that every time you see him, he keeps getting bigger.
"mr choi," you greet first, clearing your throat before doing so.
he doesn't move. doesn't speak. not yet.
there's barely a meter of distance between you, but it feels like a canyon. his fingers twitch at his side, aching to close the distance. to touch your face, your hand, anything. he refrains from it, and not due to people in the room. no, he refrains from it to respect you. until you decide it's okay, he will stay away. he will respect your boundaries and wishes. no more convincing. no more wars of push and pull.
"miss l/n." the words leave his mouth. "to what do we owe this pleasant surprise?"
his tongue is pressed against the back of his teeth. he yearns to call you by your name. by your pretty name, which won't leave his mind at any part of the day.
"so uptight, mr choi." you tease, hinting at his choice of words and stiff posture. "much like you, i've also made a comeback."
"oh?" he looks genuinely surprised.
has seonghwa not told him?
"as...?"
"seonghwa's assistant." you say.
hongjoong is silent next to you, cautiously motioning the tense atmosphere leah is creating just by standing there. she is silent, yet the leader can see that san is bothered by her. not only her, but everyone in this room. but san will have to be patient. he can't always get what he wants.
"how... nice." the tone makes it seem like he is convincing himself. he doesn't like the idea one bit, you can tell. "were you the one who chose him? or were you just assigned to him?"
one could cut the tension in the air with scissors. you are happy to have hongjoong next to you, his warmth a comfort compared to san's emotionless gaze. he doesn't say anything. he doesn't need to. san is vary of his words and actions before his captain.
"i picked him." you play along with seonghwa's plan. "and ddeongie agreed."
"ddeongie?" he repeats, disbelief and confusion evident in his voice. "i didn't realize you were on... nickname basis. how fun."
if jealousy were fatal, san would've succumbed to it by now.
leah's eyes flick between you and san, sharp and assessing, as if measuring something she can't quite name. she decides it's time to stop this jolly encounter. the young woman steps forward, clipboard hugged to her chest, her presence subtle but firm. she positions herself just slightly in front of san, not enough to block his view, but enough to get his attention. "can we go over the schedule now?"
san doesn't answer. his gaze stays locked on you, jaw clenched, breath shallow. he hasn't had enough. he wants to soak in your presence and beauty. he wants to fall on his knees for you, give himself to you. hell, he'd be your personal assistant.
"mr choi." leah calls, voice louder and firmer now.
"what?" he snaps out if it. his eyes fall on the schedule, and he sighs. "right."
with a nod towards you, he turns around, following leah to the corner of the room as she speaks about things san doesn't truly care about. as he leans against the wall, he has a clear view of the room. eyes betray him multiple times, landing on you much more than he'd like.
"mr choi—" she tries again, heel tapping against the floor as a quiet warning.
"how did you convince her?" and gets interrupted by san, who has now given his attention to seonghwa. "and why didn't you tell me?"
the man opens one eye to look at san, somewhat tauntingly. "careful, san. you're starting to look very suspicious and jealous for no reason."
san's jaw flexes, the muscle ticking once before he forces a slow exhale through his nose. "i'm not jealous," he says, but the words are too quick. they only make the accusation sound true.
seonghwa's smirk is faint, but it's there. "then stop looking like you are."
leah clears her throat, a pointed reminder that she's still there, still holding the schedule like a shield. san doesn't look at her. his gaze drifts again. uninvited, unstoppable. back to you.
you're laughing at something hongjoong said, head tilted just enough for the light to catch in your hair. and san feels it. that familiar, infuriating pull. like fate has chosen you and only you. heart burns with jealousy as you receive a notification on your phone. you look at the screen, then at seonghwa through the mirror. both of you share a smile. it's a breaking point for san.
he is suffocating, the air too thin to breathe. he storms out of the room. nobody pays him any mind, already used to his odd behaviour since you and melanie left. you feel a pang of guilt, but before you can properly feel it, seonghwa sends you a reassuring message.
park seonghwa: if he wants to play, let him play
park seongwha: don't you dare run after him
y/n: i won't
park seonghwa: good girl
park seonghwa: let him cook in his feelings a little. let him learn to control it. he won't always be able to be near you
y/n: alright :)
park seonghwa: you're doing great. <3
y/n: i feel a little guilty :(
seonghwa rolls his eyes, dramatically. then, they land on you through the mirror, as if scolding you. he offers a glance to hongjoong as well, sending a playful wink, to which hongjoong makes a disgusted sound and avoids looking at the older member.
park seonghwa: patience, tiny
out in the hallway, leah struggles to catch her breath as she finally reaches san. her fury is what is keeping her from fainting. he stops just on top of the stairs, getting ready to go down, but gets pulled back by his elbow and slammed against the wall.
"listen here, choi san." leah's voice has never been this sharp. "i am sick and tired of being ignored and pushed around."
"then maybe you should quit." the man is unfazed by her words. "there are countless people that would be thrilled to be in your position."
the young woman nods, biting her lip. she hides a bitter smirk as she speaks. "people like y/n?"
his gaze snaps to hers, sharp enough to cut. his eye almost twitches as he gives her a look of warning and hatred. "don't say her name. you are unworthy."
"oh, i've hit the nerve," she says, stepping closer until she feels his breath caress her face. "you think you're hiding it, but you're not. every time she looks at him, you look like you're ready to—"
"careful," he warns, voice low, dangerous. "you don't know what you're talking about."
leah laughs once, humorless. "i know exactly what i'm talking about. and so does seonghwa. you're playing right into his hands."
san pushes off the wall, closing the space between them until she has to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes. "and you think you're any better? you're just as replaceable as you think i am."
for a beat, neither moves. the air between them is tight, charged. she's struck home, she knows it. yet she doesn't budge. she's tired of being treated like a neglected pet. whether or not san likes her, she still has a job to do. and he is making it very difficult. deep down, she might understand why you left. though, she would never admit it out loud.
"oh! sorry." both turn their heads at the sound, each with a different reaction. san terrified, and leah mischievous. "ddeongie wanted something from the store, i'm just passing by. don't let me interrupt you."
"y/n!" he calls, but you don't spare him a glance, instead disappearing around the corner.
this was bad. very bad. the proximity between san and leah wasn't something one would describe as professional. his hands grab leah by the shoulders, shoving her aside as his feet carry him towards the stairs. she stops him once again, nails digging into his bicep.
"if you go now, you'll be nothing but a desperate puppy whom she can play as she likes."
"she's not like that." he defends.
"you don't know that. you said it yourself, she's changed."
"i was angry. i didn't mean it."
"oh, san." leah sighs. "you dumb fucking fool."
and san doesn't respond. because the worst thing is, she might be right.
"and the worst part?" she catches his attention once more as he makes his way back to the doors of the makeup room. "she's not even trying. you are giving her exactly what she wants. attention, while she remains untouchable. you reaching for her like an idiot, and her playing hard to get and setting imaginary boundaries."
"you know nothing." san spits, even though leah's words plant a seed of doubt in his heart.
𓆩⟡𓆪
the group's schedule had been relentless: rehearsals, shoots and interviews having no end. every time san thought he'd get a quiet moment with you, seonghwa was there. always there. lurking, or standing there in plain sight. if you were grabbing coffee, seonghwa was already holding your cup. if you were packing up after a shoot, seonghwa was helping you carry equipment. if san tried to linger after practice, seonghwa would tap him on the shoulder and say, "come on, we've got work to do." it was starting to feel less like coincidence and more like a blockade.
when san approaches you with a churro during a shooting with seonghwa at the lotte world, he can't help the irritated groan that escapes him when the older male snatches it from his hand, shoving it into his mouth.
"what the hell? that wasn't for you." he complains. seonghwa only shrugs, chewing on the treat. "great."
he glances over at you, heart fluttering at the way the fuzzy backpack hangs from your shoulder. he wishes it was his you're holding, not seonghwa's. you stand by the filming crew, a big bag on the other shoulder, and a cup of half drunk coffee in hand. you don't sit like leah does. on your tippy toes, your eyes follow seonghwa, to the point where san begins feeling rather suspicious. fucking leah.
the crew has given everyone a fifteen minute break while they set up in front of a ride, and san has used it to run and grab a treat for you. now, he sits on the bench, bottom lip sticking out in a pout and hands crossed over his chest. the older man sits beside him, nudging him with his elbow.
"you need to start thinking more, san—ah." seonghwa warns. when the younger one graces him with a confused glance, he sighs. "if it weren't for me, you'd go and give a treat to a single person among the filming crew? how odd does that make you look?"
he might be right. though, san will never admit it out loud. "if you say so."
as he fixes the cat ears on his head, a matching accessory with seonghwa's bunny ones, his eyes inevitably find your figure again, and this time, they lock with yours. he stiffens on the bench, succumbing to your silent dominance you don't even know you exude. as if waiting for an order, he carefully monitors your movements. he even thinks you might just look away, and that this was for naught.
and then, you smile. a smile so soft and gentle, reserved for him only. it reaches your eyes, the skin under them puffing just a bit. and if any trace of suspicion was present in his body, it disappears when you raise your hand to wave at him. an action barely noticeable by others, cute and discreet in your own way. as if in a trance, he raises his hand as well, waving back at you.
it doesn't catch anyone's attention, other than leah's, who only scoffs and rolls her eyes. she passes by you, nudging you with her shoulder and making the bag slide from your shoulder and come down on your elbow. its force causes your arm to jolt, spilling the coffee all over yourself and the ground.
you know it's intentional, even without the smirk leah discreetly gives you as she mutters a sorry. san stands up in the distance, and before seonghwa notices and stands up himself, he is already in front of you.
"are you okay?" he questions, hands twitching by his sides. he wants to help. but at this point, everything makes him look suspicious. "can i help you anyhow?"
"i'll help her!" leah whips her head around, suddenly turning back from her desired journey and grabbing the almost empty cup out of your hand. no, not grabbing. snatching. she earns herself a glare from san, which is short lived once seonghwa arrives by his side.
"don't worry about it, mr choi." your voice is a sweet contrast to leah's bitter one. "luckily, ddeongie likes his coffee watered down and ice cold, right?"
san's jaw ticks just once. enough for seonghwa to catch it. the older man's lips twitch, not quite a smirk but close enough to make san want to look anywhere but at him. he hates that you are already turning away, handing the clipboard to a crew member and crouching to dab at the coffee on your clothes with a wad of napkins leah shoved into your hand.
san takes a half—step forward, the urge to shield you from leah's petty aggression stronger than him, but seonghwa's palm lands lightly on his chest. to anyone else it looks casual. to san it is a wall.
"focus," seonghwa murmurs, eyes still on the ride being prepped for filming. "you are on camera in three minutes."
leah glances over her shoulder, just in time to catch san's glare and meeting it with a slow, satisfied blink before she disappears into the crowd.
the idol exhales through his nose, forcing his hands into his pockets so no one sees them curl into fists. his eyes betray him, tracking you as you straighten up, laugh softly at something a staff member says, and brush a stray hair from your face. the sound of the director calling for positions snaps him back. he turns toward the set, but the thought lingers, heavy and unshakable: you smiled at him first.
the ride ends quicker than they'd like, and soon enough, the two adult men beg their staff to go for another round. the manager agrees, under a condition he does not yet tell them. once off the ride, and on the way to the next stop, the men don't suspect anything.
until they see it: the haunted house. san groans out loud, followed by seonghwa scrunching his nose and smiling uncomfortably. "why?!"
"it'll be fun to put two loud members in there." kevin shrugs. he makes his way over to you, shoving a gopro in your hand as well as leah's. "you're going in with them."
it is leah's turn to groan, and yours to gasp. "us? why?"
"the reactions will be more genuine with less people and the staff they spend the most time with instead."
the crew takes another twenty minute break to set up. the gopros are in your hands, ready to use. they're not on yet, you notice. the red blinking light is missing. luckily, because as seonghwa and san approach the two of you, you are reminded that you need to watch your words and behaviour. after all, it'll all be on video.
"aren't you uncomfortable in that soggy shirt, tiny?" seonghwa's voice is laced with worry. as you shake your head, a shiver betrays you, and seonghwa doesn't think twice before taking the school uniform jacket off and placing it on your shoulders. he helps your arms in the sleeves, then fixes the collar. finally, he pats your head. "there. all pretty again."
san is fuming. he is complimenting you right under his nose. letting you wear his clothes, while san stands there knowing damn well he can't move a finger without being suspicious. to make matters worse, san's brain has an odd way of thinking. instead of letting it go, he takes off his own jacket, and covers leah with it.
the faint scent of seonghwa's cologne calms your nerves. it isn't about the jacket. no, it's about the way san looks at you when he puts it on her. as if you and seonghwa had this planned. you did agree on teasing him, but not everything was calculated. san is treating this like a competition. and it's starting to get on your nerves again. it feels as if you are taking one step forward, and two steps back.
"thank you, ddeongie. what would i do without you?" you say with a tired sigh. you mean it, truly. not to taunt san. it's a genuine gratitude towards seonghwa, for being by your side through this and giving you comfort. his signature soft smile dances on his lips as his finger taps your nose. it has become a habit of his to do that.
"kevin, are we ready?" he yells.
in no time, the doors are shut behind you once you enter. the light blinks red in your hand through the foggy air. the house smells dusty, like an attic. oddly enough, you enjoy that smell. the narrow hallway forces you into a line: seonghwa in front, then you, then leah, and san at the back. the first few scares are predictable: flickering lights, sudden bangs, and a distant laugh. leah's constant flinching keeps her bumping into you. every time san tries to close the gap, and comes within your reach, she stops short, forcing him to steady her instead. then, at a corner where the path widens, seonghwa glances back. his eyes flick from san to you, squinted, calculated. then to leah.
"hey, leah," he says casually, "come up here for a second. could you hold the light while i film this next bit?"
leah hesitates, but seonghwa's already ushering her forward. she squeezes past you, muttering something about hating haunted houses, and suddenly it's just you and san in the back.
you're still adjusting your grip on the gopro when a costumed actor bursts from a hidden panel. seonghwa and leah shriek, then run for their lives as the actor chases them down the hallway around the corner. you jump, the camera slipping from your hands. it clatters to the floor, the blinking red light going dark.
"shit," you breathe, crouching to grab it. san's already there, his hand brushing yours in the dark as he picks it up. "thanks."
"let me see," he says, voice low. he turns the camera over in his hands, frowning. "it's off. might've hit the button when it fell."
the hallway ahead is empty now, the others' voices muffled somewhere deeper inside. the only light comes from a flickering lantern above, casting warm shadows across san's face.
"guess we're off the record for a minute," you murmur.
something in his expression changes — the tension in his shoulders easing, his gaze softening. "i guess. we deserve a moment of freedom, don't we?"
you tilt your head. "what do you mean?"
he hesitates, eyes searching yours. "i mean... you can drop the act. with seonghwa. or are you really that good with him?"
you blink, then sigh. "not everything is about you, mr choi."
"mr choi..." he huffs a quiet laugh, but doesn't step back. the space between you shrinks until you can feel the warmth of his breath in the cool air. his eyes drop to your lips for just a second. enough to make your pulse jump. "gods, you're so pretty."
you don't move away. not yet. the wall is cold against your back, even though layers of your sweater and seonghwa's jacket try their best to shield it.
"you're as pretty as the day i lost you." san's hand lifts, fingers brushing your cheek, tentative but certain enough to make his intent clear. you let him get close. close enough that the next breath might close the gap before you lay your hand gently on his chest. he flinches, hand flying to cover yours in a desperate attempt to keep you where you are. "no, please..."
"not here," you say softly. "not yet."
it's not rejection. it's a promise. he sighs in defeat, eyes squeezing shut. his hands lay flat against the wall beside your head, supporting his body as his forehead leans against yours. his breath is a gentle caress on your face, the smell of chocolate and coffee overpowering the one of dust and borderline mold in the house. "i'm weaker than you think, y/n. taehwan... he doesn't deserve you."
"sannie," you place a hand on his cheek. he opens his eyes, alert. "i'm not with taehwan anymore. we broke up."
"you did?" he hates how hopeful and relieved he sounds. "why?"
"it doesn't matter now, does it? i'm here. turning a new page. or old page, better said."
one hand slides from the wall to your waist, softly pulling your body so that it leans into his. you chase his warmth and comfort, a bit too quick for your liking. you feel his chest below your touch, hand now loosely planted over his top. you glance at the gopro, hoping it doesn't work. not even seonghwa could save you from this if it got filmed.
"let's go before leah burns the house down." you wish to gently nudge him away. he doesn't budge. skin burns under his touch as his knuckles trace your jawline. "san, please."
"of course." he breaks free from the trance. "i'm sorry for overstepping."
your response is non verbal; a gentle caress of his cheek and a kiss on it as you step past him, the gopro now blinking red again in your hand. he follows, a few steps behind, and though the haunted house is still full of scares, nothing makes his heart race quite like you. turning around the corner, you come in contact face first with seonghwa's chest. his hands fly to your arms, steading you in a hug. "there you are!"
"sorry, didn't see you there." you have to tilt your head backwards to look at him. you often forget how tall he is until you stand right next to him. "where's leah?"
"right here. don't worry, you won't get rid of me that easily." she mumbles, pushing past the two of you so that she can approach san.
before you can say that you did not mean it that way, seonghwa takes your hand in his, holding the gopro for you in a way that it films only the space in front of you. he doesn't intertwine his fingers with yours. the hold feels rather... homey. like a big brother hold.
for the next twenty minutes it takes for the four of you to find the exit, not a single time were you separated. seonghwa skillfully dodges the actors, running down the hallways and through various rooms. it makes you think that the first time one of the actors jumped out, seonghwa used it as an excuse to leave san and you alone. you don't mind. once out, catching your breath and adjusting your eyes to the amusement park lights, you finally let go of both seonghwa's hand and the gopro.
"we'll take a half hour dinner break!" kevin announces as he glares at you for dropping the gadget on the ground. "i want you back here at ten o'clock sharp. both of you."
leah does what she knows best: rolls her eyes, then storms off.
one time long ago, you thought leah as your equal. forced to be with bratty san, putting up with his confessions and whatnot. even felt sorry for her when san kissed her. you're not sure whether that situation has turned her the way she is. was she always this annoying and mean? is san attracted to people who are mean to him? that used to be wooyoung's trait.
"what are we feeling? ramen in a cup? corndogs? churros?" seonghwa starts walking first, taking his place by the side san had intended. the younger man gets pushed aside, the older one blocking him from reaching you and seeing you. to make things worse, seonghwa takes the rabbit ears off his head and places them on yours. "carrots for the cute bunny?"
san thinks you'd suit the cat ears more. he doesn't like this one bit. seonghwa is trying to get under his skin, undoubtedly. he is teaching him a lesson in patience in a rather cruel way. nicknames, touches, jokes. he hates the way his body reacts to it all. he doesn't know what hurts more: seonghwa doing things to you san only wishes, or you enjoying and encouraging it.
the scent of frying batter drifts through the cool night air, mixing with the faint sweetness of cotton candy. it helps you decide just what you want. "corndogs."
"ah, as if i knew it." just as he says the words, the three of you find yourselves standing in front of a corndog stand. he doesn't ask san whether he wants something else. and san doesn't protest. "six corndogs, please."
"six?!" you almost shout.
"two each. come on, tiny. you need energy to finish the shoot."
you can't argue with that.
the vendor hands over the paper trays, steam curling into the cool night air. san has already sat down on a bench beneath a tree, hidden from the warm lights. you linger near him, unsure what to do with yourself as seonghwa pays for the food. he passes you yours first, then san's, before taking his own and finding his spot leaning against a lamp post. he's close enough to see you, far enough to give the illusion of privacy. the bench is cold when you sit down. san notices. why did he have to give his jacket to leah? he watches carefully as you take a bite, the crunch giving way to molten cheese that stretches in a long ribbon. you try to bite it clean, but it clings stubbornly, swaying between your mouth and the corndog.
san's laugh is low, warm. "hold still."
before you can ask why, he leans in and catches the strand with his teeth, snapping it clean. for a second, you're frozen. his face is close enough that you can see the faint sheen of oil on his lips, the way his eyes flicker to yours before he leans back.
"you're ridiculous," you say, but your voice is softer than you mean it to be.
"and you're smiling," he counters, smug but quiet, like it's a secret just for the two of you.
you roll your eyes and take another bite, but this time the cheese pull is even longer. san's hand twitches like he might lean in again, but he stops himself, settling for watching you instead.
from his spot, seonghwa pretends to scroll his phone as he chews his own food, but you catch the faintest curve of a smile on his face.
"how is leah treating you?"
the idol groans. "i just forgot about her. why would you do this to me?"
"i'm just concerned." you shrug. "she seems..."
"annoying? mean? bitter? the most icky person you've ever met?" he graces her with compliments.
"and you're a ray of sunshine." the eyeroll that comes with the words is earned. he doesn't say anything. the smile on his lips grows. it gives you a green light to continue. "not to be paranoid, but... she is giving me melanie vibes."
"ah." he nods, fidgeting with the stick of the half eaten corndog. "leah is all words. no action. she isn't a threat. i think."
"it's good to be careful either way."
leah gives you odd vibes. you don't like it. other than the casual mean girl behaviour, you cannot find anything unusual about her. it irks you, because to everyone else, she is a sweetheart and a darling. as soon as she turns to you, it's only scoffs and condescending words.
san's eyes keep flicking to the rabbit ears on your head. they're cute. too cute. and they're seonghwa's. it gnaws at him in a way he can't quite hide. as you finish the last bite of your corndog, he shifts closer, holding something out. the black cat ears dangle from his fingers, the headband still warm from where it rested on top of his head.
"these suit you better," he says, voice low.
you blink at him, mid—chew. "what?"
before you can protest, he steps in, careful but deliberate, sliding the rabbit ears off your head. his fingers brush your hairline, lingering just a second too long before he settles the cat ears in their place.
"there," he murmurs, leaning back to take you in. "all pretty."
"copycat." you look away, hiding your blushing under a teasing comment.
"what?"
"you're competing with with hwa. the ears, the compliment."
"it's not a competition." he sulks. "not when i can be the only winner."
"so far up your ass as usual, mr choi."
he cringes at the name. he hates it with all his being. "sannie."
"we're not doing this again." you warn. to your surprise, he settles down. the pout is still visible, and his brows still furrowed. he doesn't protest. not when you tug at his bottom lip, and not when the tips of your nails gently graze the skin under his chin, the light tickle comforting.
the hum of the carousel drifts over from somewhere behind you, its music faint under the chatter of the crowd. his breath stills under your touch, and for a moment, the glow from the park lights makes the furrow in his brow look almost soft.
"i have to go back now." you say with a heavy heart, standing up while he stays sitting.
"i'm tired." he admits. "i want to sleep on this bench."
you laugh. he does look pretty exhausted. his hair is already a mess, and you can't help but run your fingers through it, taming the soft locks so that they gently fall over his half closed eyes. "it'll be over soon."
"mmh." he hums, eyes closing completely as he savours every touch and caress you give him. his hands find comfort in fidgeting with the ends of seonghwa's jacket on you, subconsciously pulling you closer so that you stand between his legs. "soon isn't soon enough."
"sannie." you break your own words. it seems to be the only way to make him listen. eyelids reveal shiny brown orbs that stare at you, anticipating your next words. "be a good boy for me."
it activates something within him. his ears perk up, much like a cat's. cheeks flushed, and eyes slowly blinking, san doesn't know how to respond. his body burns under your touch, and hands itch to slide under your top just enough to feel your skin on his.
"will you?" you wake him up.
"huh?" he is utterly lost in your gaze.
"will you be a good boy for me?" you repeat, the words sending shivers down his spine and making the hairs on his body stand up straight.
"yes." he responds rather quickly. as if a delay might make you think of this whole exchange as cringe or weird. he can't allow it. not while he enjoys being under your spell. "yes, i will."
"good."
𓆩⟡𓆪
san is not sure how he got here. he only knows that you're close. too close.
there's the faint scent of your shampoo, the warmth of your breath against his ear, the soft press of your hand against his chest. you're saying something, but the words are muffled, like you're speaking underwater. still, the tone is unmistakable. low, certain, the way you sound when you want him to listen.
the scent of berries and white chocolate envelops him. plays with his emotions, unveils his buried desires. his pulse stutters. you lean in, your fingers brushing the side of his neck, and the world narrows to the heat of your touch and the way his name sounds in your mouth.
"sannie."
a mere sigh against his skin, breath a hot caress against his ear shell.
"my good, good boy." you praise. he shivers under the graze of your nails against his chest, lips chasing your neck and shoulders. "always so good for me."
he blinks, and the hotel room is dark. the sheets are twisted around his legs, his skin coated in a thin layer of sweat, his breathing uneven. the echo of your voice lingers, curling in his chest until it's unbearable.
you? not in his arms. vanished in thin air.
before he can think better, he's reaching for his phone. you answer on the third ring, voice thick with sleep. "san? it's... three in the morning."
"i know," he says, his voice low and hoarse. "i just... needed to hear you."
there's a pause, the sound of you shifting under your covers. "you sound odd."
"do i?"
you hum sleepily. "go back to sleep, sannie."
"i can't sleep." he admits. fingers play with the hem of his undershirt, dangerously close to an aching area. "are you very sleepy?"
"mmh." the sweet sigh you emit doesn't help his case. "yeah."
"okay..." he fails to hide the disappointment. he doesn't hang up yet. neither do you. the sound of your soft breathing into the phone takes him back to the dream. he called you to distract him, not drag him back into the sinful dream.
fingers graze the top stitch of his underwear. the material is tight, suffocating. he won't do it. it's wrong. doing that while you are unaware means disrespecting you, and that's the last thing san wants to do. but the more you sleepily hum and breathe on the phone, the less control he has.
"sannie?" his name is forbidden fruit on your lips. he doesn't manage to reply before getting stunned by your next words. "are you being a naughty boy?"
he chokes on his own spit, body jerking so he sits up. his back leans against the headboard. the last atoms of sleepiness disappear, mind and heart now fully alert. ready to submit to you.
"i asked you a question." though quiet, your voice is firm. "are you being a naughty boy?"
"no." he denies.
"you're not?" you push. you know he isn't. but there is a reason why he called you so late at night, voice all hoarse and breathless. and you'll die if you don't take the chance to tease him. "you're being good, like i asked you to?"
"of course."
you hum again, the sound curling warm in his ear like a ribbon of heat winding straight down his spine. "good."
he swallows, the word settling in his chest like a weight and a reward at the same time. the quiet between you is not empty. it is filled with the faint rustle of your sheets, the soft hitch of your breathing, and the sleepy drag in your voice.
"then," you continue, your tone dipping just enough to make his pulse jump, "you can do something for me."
"anything," he says too quickly, voice reeking of desperation.
"close your eyes."
he obeys instantly, lashes fluttering shut, the darkness behind them still painted with the image of you sprawled out on his bed. body hidden by sheets, the scent of berries lingering wherever you touch. he can almost smell it right now. the faint taste of the pepero is on his tongue, and like dark magic, his fingers lift to touch his lips. a faint graze, yet they're so sensitive he shudders against his own touch.
"breathe in," you instruct, and he does, filling his lungs until it almost hurts. the air feels heavier now, thick with the scent of his own skin.
"and out."
the rhythm steadies him, but it does not cool the heat prickling under his skin. he drops the phone after putting you on speaker. fingers of his now free hand curl into the sheets, trying to ground him. it's tough, hearing your voice like a fantasy song in the dark of this forsaken night. had seonghwa or hongjoong heard him, they'd mock him. but what else is this night, when you're not here?
"think about something nice," you murmur. "something that makes you feel calm."
his mind betrays him. it is you, always you, standing too close and saying his name like it belongs to you. like he belongs to you.
"are you doing it?"
"mm," he manages, voice growing quieter with each minute that passes.
"good boy."
the praise lands like a spark and his grip on the phone tightens.
"now," you say, softer still, "you are going to sleep. and you are going to be good for me until morning."
he wants to argue, to keep you on the line, to ask for more. the firmness in your tone makes it impossible. "yes," he says instead.
"good night, sannie."
"good night,..." he hesitates. the familiar nickname is at the tip of his tongue. he may ruin this. he may make this better. he takes the risk. "...princess."
a fond chuckle meets his ears, and san's heart finally rests. one step at a time, you had said. and you were right. impatience has brought out the worst in him, and has pushed you away. now, by letting you have full control over the situation, he realizes his mistakes. and he won't do them again.
"obedient kitty." he feels you smile as you say it. he is too stunned to reply. "good night."
the line clicks dead. he is left in the dark with the phone laying beside him and his heart pounding. the room feels too big without your voice in it. he lies back, staring at the ceiling, phone pressed to his chest as if hugging you. the echo of your words loops in his head until they are the only thing keeping him awake. the sun is peeking at the horizon when san finally falls asleep.
the next time he wakes up, it is by his alarm clock. not dreams of you. he doesn't like it.
𓆩⟡𓆪
the practice room is alive with energy. it reeks of sweat and isotonic drinks, and is filled with shoes dragging across the floor, creating squeaking noises and black lines which cleaners will have to scrub later. the choreography is intense, and sensual. you sit on the bench, watching them through the mirror. the eight men are dressed casually, each wearing sweats and tank tops and compression shirts. their faces and moves don't match the casual vibe of their clothes. they are intense, calculated, and precise.
you don't utter a single word, too focused on keeping your jaw from dropping on the floor. you are the first atiny to witness the song and choreography. you are having a difficult time keeping your sanity. wooyoung is reminding you just why he was your bias. it is odd seeing seonghwa so serious. you don't mind. his eyes hold power, such that it has given you a habit you've never had before: biting your nails.
yunho decides it's enough for the day, clapping his hands and rushing to his towel. gyuri holds his drink out for him, and he almost snatches it from her, emptying the bottle in seconds.
"hey." seonghwa calls in front of you. his finger finds its place below your chin, then gently pushes upwards. you didn't even notice you failed at your task. fuck. "i'll take that as a compliment."
"don't even." you playfully throw the towel at him. he catches it, dabbing his face with it until it's dry. leah has stood up in the meantime, meeting san halfway to deliver his drink and towel as well, leaving seonghwa and you to have a private moment. you see the mischief glimmer in his eyes. "what?"
"well... we are done." he says. there's more to it, you know it. you don't give him the satisfaction of asking. he continues, "san will practice his solo song now."
"oh?" you are intrigued. you've heard almost all of their solo songs. san's is the only one you haven't heard yet. "and?"
"do you want to stay and watch?" he offers. and just how do you decline, when san looks ravishing in grey sweats and a tank top that hugs his torso and reveals his biceps? seonghwa bites his tongue as he sticks it out at you. "perv."
"highly inappropriate, mr park." you smack his shoulder, soft enough to not hurt him but firm enough to warn him. "and what will my excuse be?"
"i'll stay with you. don't worry about the rest."
the members and their assistants exit one by one, until only the four of you are left. leah is puzzled, and maybe a tad bit disappointed, seeing that she won't get her alone time with san. the younger idol sends the older one a confused glance, to which seonghwa responds with a wink you don't miss. san then glances at you, and immediately, his cheeks flush. his eyes imagine the cat ears on top of your head. he has officially lost it.
"san—ah. fighting!" seonghwa calms him, grabbing him by his shoulders and shaking any jitters off.
"yeah, sannie. fighting!" leah has chosen to be bold today, it seems. the young man only spares her a glance, resisting the urge to scold her for using the nickname that belongs to you only.
san stretches in the middle of the practice room, rolling his shoulders, the fabric of his tank top shifting with each movement. when he glances over and meets your gaze, his cheeks flush almost instantly. you look away, pretending to adjust your phone, but the warmth in your chest betrays you.
the music starts, slow. sensual. the bass hums low through the floor, each beat a slow pulse in your chest. san moves like the music is pulling him by invisible strings. fluid, every shift of his weight calculated.
you try to watch through the mirror like others, but his gaze finds yours almost immediately. it's not a glance. it's a hold. he turns with the beat, hand dragging slowly across his chest, and his eyes never leave yours. the movement is part of the choreography, you know that, but the way he does it feels personal.
seonghwa leans against the wall beside you, arms crossed, pretending not to notice. leah lingers by the watercooler, refilling his bottle, but her reflection in the mirror shows her watching the two of you more than the dance.
san drops into a slow roll of his shoulders, the fabric of his tank top stretching across his back. when he straightens, his head tilts just slightly, like he's daring you to look away.
you don't.
the song builds, and he steps forward on the beat, closing the space between himself and the mirror. his palm presses flat against it, right where your reflection sits.
your breath catches.
he smirks. small, fleeting, before spinning away into the next move, leaving you with the echo of his eyes on yours long after the music swallows him again.
you're not sure when the music stops. in your head, it is still playing. his voice as velvety and sensual as his moves. it has you utterly mesmerized, to the point where seonghwa has to wave his hand in front of your face to get your attention.
"huh?" you reply, eyes still fixed on san's figure.
"i said, i'm going to get food for myself. you want anything?"
you finally look at seonghwa, and jolt. it seems easy to forget that you are here to work for seonghwa, not live out a fanfiction you have read somewhere once upon a time. "i'll do it. just tell me what you want."
"not a chance. your head hurts, remember? what if you fall and hurt yourself while getting to the shop?"
san is readying himself for one more try, not very satisfied with the first one. worry paints his features, hearing seonghwa's words to you. your head doesn't hurt. you are fine. thankfully, you aren't a fool, and you understand what seonghwa wants to do. the familiar glint in his eyes says it all, and you play along. "i didn't want to make a big deal out of it."
"you sit there, have some of my water. leah and i will go get the food. san wanted his usual. do you want anything?" you shake your head with a smile. seonghwa seems to have control over everything. he doesn't allow leah to protest, one look at her enough to make her silently take her bag and wait by the door. his power should be studied. when he said he'd protect you, he meant it. and all you can do is look at him in awe as he winks at you, ruffling your hair and making his way out. "we'll be right back!"
the door clicks shut behind them, and the room feels bigger and smaller all at once. the echo of the bass from his song still hums in your chest. san is stretching again, but his eyes keep flicking your way, like he's not sure where to start. so you do.
"you look tired." you notice the dark circles under his eyes. "you really couldn't sleep last night, huh?"
"yeah..." he trails.
"bad dreams?" you tease.
he gives you a squinted look, before getting into position. your voice calls him, tone softer than ever. like a marionette, his body follows the invisible strings of your hands, doing as you say. until he stands in front of you, eyes trying their best to stay wide open.
"sit." the word hangs in the air for a moment, and then he lowers himself onto the floor. he doesn't sit. he kneels in front of you. "oh, sannie."
breath hitches when your hands come in contact with his face. it fits just right, as if he was molded to your liking. he melts in your arms, body seeking comfort. peace that only you can offer. "i'm tired."
"i know, sweetie." you know what he means. he is tired of being patient. one hand brushes the bangs out of his face as the other one cradles his chin, holding his head up so that you can take a proper look at his flushed face. "you've been so good for me, haven't you?"
"i think i have..."
"of course you have. my patient, pretty boy." and there it is. the words of confirmation he needed. slowly, but surely, he is getting somewhere. you aren't pushing him away. instead, you are inviting him into your space. his hands settle on your thighs, warm and steady, grounding himself in your presence as if you're the only thing keeping him upright.
the room is quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioning. the scent of his skin lingers between you, faint traces of sweat and deodorant. your thumb brushes over the curve of his cheekbone, and his lips part just slightly, as if to speak, though no words come out. the finger drops to his bottom lip, a ghost touch against it. instinctively, san's tongue peeks out to wet it.
he wets your finger in the process, and any wall you had up shatters to the ground. pupils widen, breathing becomes shallow as the tip of your nose brushes his, and the air doesn't seem enough to keep you alive. you inch closer, until the only thing separating you is your thumb on his lip.
"princess..." he sighs, eyes closing as your breath caresses his skin and makes his lashes flutter.
"hmm?"
"i swear i am trying my best. i truly am. but i'm afraid i can't take it anymore." his voice is hoarse as he talks against your finger. "if i don't kiss you right now, i will die on this floor."
"so dramatic." you chuckle. "for no reason."
even though you remove your hand from his face, only to intertwine your fingers with soft locks of his hair, you don't move yet. it is a slow torture for san, watching you bite your lip when he should be the one doing it instead. he moves first, his heart taking control over his mind. it is sudden enough to make your breath catch, but not rough, not rushed. his hands slide from your thighs to your hips, steady and warm, and he leans in until his forehead rests against yours.
his eyes search yours, waiting for any indication of anger or disappointment. you do not pull away. you do not react.
he closes the last inch himself, lips brushing yours in a sweet kiss that is more question than demand. you let him have it, soft and slow, your fingers tightening just slightly in his hair to keep him there. he deepens it by a fraction, testing, and you respond with the faintest tilt of your head, granting him more. the pace is yours to give, and he follows it without hesitation.
there is hunger in his eyes when you pull away. he whines. you pull at his hair as a warning, which only makes the situation worse. he moans. a high pitched moan, igniting a fire within you. he may have self control and patience, but you can't say the same about you. not anymore.
his hands slide higher along your hips, fingers curling just enough to hold you in place as he leans in. plump red lips capture yours again. they are hot, and plush on yours. the kiss he gives you now is deeper, hungrier, but it still waits for your answer. you give it to him in the smallest ways. the way your lips part just enough for him to taste you, the way your fingers tighten in his hair and guide his head closer to you. he follows every cue, matching your rhythm, never pushing past what you allow.
the heat between you builds in slow waves, each one stronger than the last, until you pull back just slightly. his breath is uneven, his eyes dark and fixed on yours, but he doesn't chase the space you've created. a thin string of saliva connects your lips, yours now as swollen and red as his. it takes you a while to collect yourself.
"you still taste the same." he praises. "got any pepero sticks in your bag?"
you laugh, because he is right. the berry and chocolate sticks are hidden in your bag, among seonghwa's belongings. "why, you want some?"
"i could use one or two. tomorrow night."
you raise an eyebrow with confusion. "tomorrow night?"
"if you... i mean, if you want."
"if i want what, mr choi?"
another whine leaves his pretty lips, this time one of dissatisfaction rather than pleasure. he looks away, avoiding your piercing gaze. "the next time i hear those two words i'll get a rash. i meant... if you want to come over. we could watch a movie or something."
fingers pull at his hair again, causing him to yelp and look back into your eyes. "then ask me. nicely. and maybe i'll think about it."
"will you go on a date with me?" he blurts out. as if you'll change your mind if he says it any slower. "my place. i'll bring all the red bull and pepero your heart could want."
"a date?"
"yes. a proper date."
"i'll think about it."
"but—" his shoulders drop, and his lip sticks out in a pout that is dear to your heart.
"i said," you press a kiss to his forehead, then stand up, leaving him to kneel on the floor. "i'll think about it."
𓆩⟡𓆪
the day after, at ten in the evening sharp, you walk behind seonghwa as he sneaks you into the dorms. the hallway is dim and still, the only sound the soft thud of your footsteps behind seonghwa and rustling of the bag of snacks. the faint scent of detergent and takeaway food lingers behind closed doors. you keep your head down, though you know no one would dare question him if they saw you. he stops at the last door on the left, knocking twice before pushing it open without waiting for an answer.
san is there. hair damp, hoodie hanging loose over his frame, a can of red bull already in one hand. his eyes widen when he sees you, and for a moment he just stands there, like he's not sure if you're real.
"you came," he says, relief washing over his features.
"i said i'd think about it," you reply, stepping past seonghwa into the room and setting the bag on the desk.
san's mouth curves, slow and genuine, as he sets the can next to your bag. "guess i should've bought more pepero."
"yuck." seonghwa teases. "do be quiet, please? mingi is sleeping, and hongjoong is passed out on the couch for some reason."
"will do, ddeongie." you reply sweetly. "thank you. i owe you so much."
"don't be silly." slender fingers rest on top of your head, patting it a few times. "have fun... watching the movie, i guess."
before any of you two can reply, seonghwa shuts the door. finally alone, you have a chance to see his room. you've seen it in various lives, many times. it comes with a scent that you cannot describe as anything else but choi san. cologne, fresh bedsheets, and worn leather. he wears the hood over his head, much like the night when he visited you.
"hi." you greet. his shoulders relax upon seeing your smile. "i see you started without me."
the green red bull can sits empty on the desk. you can't believe you hooked him to the energy drink. when he doesn't respond, you pass by him, shoulder barely brushing him as you plop on the bed. immediately, it engulfs you: invisible strings of musk and faint manly sweat wrap around your body. the pillow is soft beneath your head. if he ever tells you that he couldn't sleep, you won't believe him. not when he has a bed like this.
"so..."
"oh, what's that?" you point at something shiny at the desk. you know exactly what it is. you just wish to see him squirm.
"i— oh, seonghwa. i'm going to kill him." he grabs the packet loosely, the foil crinkling as it unwraps into a sealed row. "i—"
"that is very responsible of you, sannie. protection is important." your tone is calm, but the curve of your mouth gives you away.
he shoves the condoms into the drawer of his nightstand and shuts it a little too quickly, as if speed could erase the moment. you think it's cute. he, however, feels as if he already lost the little dignity he had left. "what do you feel like watching?"
"aren't you going to show me around the room?" you give him the prettiest eyes you can, causing him to scratch the back of his neck and look away while blushing.
"sure... it's not much, i mean." he gestures vaguely around the room, as if the walls might speak for themselves. "that's my desk... obviously. and uh, closet's over there. bed's here. you're already in it."
you hum, eyes scanning the space like you're appraising it. "no posters? no secret stash of snacks? oh, headboard lights! how do you turn them on?"
"the snacks hey're in the drawer under the bed." he admits, then winces. "not secret. just... convenient."
you reach down, fingers brushing the edge of the drawer, and pull it open. a few crumpled wrappers, a half—eaten bag of gummies, and—
"another red bull?" you tease, holding up the green can.
he groans, then steps toward you and the bed. "i swear i'm not addicted."
"mm. we'll see." you crack it open, the hiss sharp in the quiet.he watches you, eyes flicking to your lips as you take a slow sip. then, without a word, you lean in and press the can to his mouth. "your turn."
san leans in, eyes locked with yours. his fingers wrap themselves around your wrist, gently pulling the can away before his other hand cups your cheek. his head tilts, as does yours. lips barely graze yours, tongue already softly begging permission by wetting your lips. you allow him, parting them just enough for the hot muscle to find yours. it's a dance, not a battle.
you pull away first, a teasing smirk already on your face. "not addicted, you say."
"mmm," he hums, eyes still closed as he savours the taste of you mixed with the elderflower energy drink. "i'm addicted to you."
"you softie." with that, you pull him on the bed with you, while cautious of the can so you don't spill it. he lands on his elbows, careful not to squish you with his weight. "you are so red in the face. are you okay?"
"am i okay?" he repeats. "you showed up here, all dolled up and with that pretty hair, teasing me since you entered the room. i'm here looking like a bum. you know what? i'm going to change."
and you let him. you let him run away, but not before he rummages through his closet and digs a new outfit out. he disappears without a word, leaving you on the bed to wonder whether you're being harsh on him. you don't wish to torture him, truly. he is just that sensitive. and you love that about him.
boredom makes the best of you, with san being gone for a bit longer than you expected. you don't mean to snoop through his drawers. you don't mean to find an empty can of red bull with a lip gloss print at the opening. your lip gloss, and your red bull. you wonder when he had the time to snatch the can and tell sihun. you don't mean to find the aniteez plushy cutely tucked under the covers.
most of all, you don't mean to slide open his closet. you don't mean to deeply inhale the scent of laundry detergent and san himself that hits you. you don't mean to feel the soft fabric of neatly folded hoodies and t-shirts under your fingers. and certainly, you don't mean to pull out a white t-shirt. discard your clothes. leave only your underwear on. pull the fresh fabric over your head, until it falls just below the curve of your bum and touches your thighs.
you catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the window. the garment is loose, san's broad form stretching the material out. the setting itself intoxicates you. this is san's space, and you are in it. there is pieces of you everywhere, from the can to the familiar coat that hangs by the door. the very one he said he never washed, because you wore it once and it smelled like you.
there isn't much to discover anymore, so you opt for setting sandeoki free from his nap. just as you take it into your hands, the door opens. san stops dead in the doorway, wearing a black tank top and black sweatpants. the plushie is pressed to your chest like you've been caught doing something you shouldn't, but it's not the toy that steals the air from his lungs. it's his shirt on you. the hem brushing your thighs. the way it hangs loose, swallowing you whole and still managing to make him feel like he's seeing too much. his fingers tighten on the doorknob. his mouth opens but nothing comes out at first. you tilt your head, eyes pretty and anticipating, and he swears his pulse is in his ears.
"i..." he swallows, tries again. "are you trying to murder me tonight?"
there are footsteps in the hallway. instinct kicks in and he shuts the door quickly, leaning back against it as if to keep the rest of the world out. his heart is still racing, and he knows it has nothing to do with the walk from the kitchen.
"i hope you don't mind. i was feeling hot as well." you innocently point at the neatly folded clothes you had spent forever picking back in your room. countless selfies sent to seonghwa, him being the first to ask about it, and finally deciding the outfit, only for it to end up discarded and replaced. he doesn't respond. body frozen against the door, all he can do is gawk as you lower the plushy so that it hangs beside you in your hand. eyes inevitably land on your bare legs, and san audibly shudders. "i'll change if you do mind..."
"no!" the word comes out louder than he intended.
"so you don't mind?"
he doesn't answer right away. just stands there, eyes tracing the curve of your legs, the way his shirt clings to your frame like it's memorizing you. then, slowly, he pushes off the door. each step feels deliberate, like he's afraid to break whatever spell you've cast. you stay still, plushie dangling from your fingers, watching him close the space between you. his hand reaches out, brushing the hem of the shirt near your thigh. he doesn't look up. not yet.
"you look..." he starts, voice barely audible. "like you belong here."
you smile, soft and sure. "i do."
he finally meets your eyes. something in him shifts. the hesitation melts into something warmer, deeper. his fingers trail up, grazing your waist over the fabric, then settle at your hips. he leans in, forehead resting against yours, breath mingling with yours in the quiet.
"can i kiss you again?" he asks, like it's sacred.
you nod, and this time, it's slower. lips move with precision, as if calculated ages ago and he can finally show it off. no teasing, no games. just warmth, and want. he holds you like you'll perish if he loosens his grip. like you'll run away again. the plushie falls with a thud on the bed as you throw it, and your hands reach for his. you guide them back to the hem of the t-shirt, then slide them underneath. calloused fingers are rough against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. choi san is one of the rare idols who don't have long slender fingers. you find his short and thick fingers much cuter. it seems as if they were made for holding you. san's lips linger on yours, slow and reverent, like he's afraid to let go. when he finally does, it's only to rest his forehead against yours again, breath warm and uneven. hands stay beneath the shirt, fingers tracing imaginary lines, memorizing you in silence.
"don't let go," you whisper.
"i won't," he says, voice low. his arms tighten around you instantly, like the words unlocked something he'd been holding back. "not unless you ak me to."
you both sink onto the bed, limbs tangled, the plushie forgotten on the floor. san's hand abandons you, only to find a switch above his head. the headboard lights cast a soft glow over your faces, golden and gentle, like the room itself is holding its breath. he brushes a strand of hair from your face, thumb grazing your cheek.
"you're dangerous," he murmurs again, but this time it sounds like a confession. "you make me feel everything all at once."
you smile, eyes half-lidded. "good. i want you to feel me."
he exhales, a sound that's half laugh, half surrender. "i do. i feel you everywhere."
"then," you trail, nails grazing the line on his neck, from his jaw to his collarbones. "let me feel you as well."
"what do you—" his breath catches in the middle of the sentence as you straddle him, the curve of your bum positioned on his crotch. his hands instinctively find their spot on your thighs. "what do you mean?"
"let me feel you," you repeat, softer this time. you lean in, fingers brushing the hem of his tank top. "all of you."
he doesn't speak. just nods, eyes locked on yours, lips parted like he's forgotten how to breathe. his head drops comfortably on the pillow as you lift the fabric slowly, deliberately, revealing inch after inch of warm skin. his chest rises beneath your touch, muscles tense. when the tank top is gone, you toss it aside, and he's left bare beneath you. sun kissed, illuminated by the lights above his head, san looks like a feast. your hands explore him like he's something sacred. fingers trace the lines of his collarbones, the dip between his ribs, the soft curve of his stomach. he shivers, eyes fluttering shut, lips parting in quiet awe.
"you're unreal," you whisper. you lean down, lips brushing his neck, then his shoulder, then the center of his chest. he gasps, hands tightening on your thighs, but he doesn't stop you. he wouldn't dare.
because in this moment, you have him. completely. and he knows it. his voice is barely a breath. "you could ruin me."
you smile against his skin.
"and i'd let you."
"i don't want to ruin you," you whisper. "i want to worship you."
the first kiss lands just below his jaw. a soft press, leaving behind a faint, glistening print of what is left of your gloss. then another, lower, on the curve of his collarbone. you work your way down, each kiss deliberate, a trail of you on him. san's eyes flutter shut, his breathing stutters.
"you're... marking me," he says, voice hushed.
"mm," you hum against his skin. "so you remember whose pretty boy you are."
when you finally pull back, his chest is dotted with faint, shimmering imprints. a constellation only the two of you will ever know. your nails leave faint red lines down his torso, lips leaving a ghost trail down the curve of his abs. you feel the way his pulse quickens under your fingertips, the way his body softens into yours. and in that quiet, you realize — he's given you all of him, without a single word.
"can i see you?"
"but...? you already see me?" he raises his head from the pillow to look at you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
"sannie." his name comes out as a mix of a chuckle and sigh. "can i see you?"
a gentle tug at his sweatpants is enough to make his cheeks flush. his hands squeeze your thighs, anticipation eating him alive.
"words, love. i need words." you encourage.
"yes." the man responds. "you can see me."
it's enough words of confirmation for you to undo the knot of his bottoms. you discard the last pieces of clothing off him, leaving him a flushed and blubbering mess underneath you. you sit between his legs now, eyes fixed on his leaking tip. it's red, and inviting. the world's sweetest candy didn't have your mouth watering like this. fingers eagerly wrap around his shaft. san chokes back a gasp, hips struggling to stay in place. he can't let his touch starved side ruin the moment by rushing it. so he obediently stays put, fingers curling into the bedsheets to somewhat keep him grounded.
"so pretty." your breath is a hot caress on his aching tip. "and all mine."
the tip of your tongue starts the journey from his base, working its way up a bulging vein and stopping at the tip. san throws his head further back, burying the back of it into the pillow. the gloss stains glimmer under headboard lights as his breath quickens. you press your lips against him, and painfully slowly, take him inch by inch, until he touches the back of your throat. san may not be long, but much like his fingers, he is thick.
so thick, that your jaw soon starts aching even though you haven't managed to speed up just yet. the pace and his own impatience is taunting him. his hips twitch under you each time you take him all the way. you want to see how long before he loses control. you focus on the tip, lips leaving sticky kisses all over it and tongue barely touching it. san hisses when you graze your teeth against it. then, you find it. just under his tip, a spot which you gently suck on, causing san's fingers to find a new spot in your hair. he grips the strands as you swipe your tongue on the very spot, letting out a choked moan.
"fuck—" he cries out. his hips don't rush to meet your moves. instead, they move away from your touch. "princess."
"hmm?" you hum against him, the vibrations only making the matters worse for him it seems.
"princess—" he begs. "stop. stop, please. i'm going to cum."
already, you wish to tease. you give him a break. not because you feel sorry for teasing, but because you are about to give him something way worse.
"please, please, please," whines leave his pretty lips, and red and plump from biting them. he twitches in your hand, and a gasp echoes in the room. just in time, you take him in your mouth again, ropes of cum shooting straight down your throat. he twitches against your tongue, salty and sweet at the same time. hips try to escape once again, but you dig your nails into his thighs, keeping him in place. "i can't take it! please—! ha—ah—!"
you pull away, giving him a second. one of your hands wrap around his shiny and softening shaft, slowly working it up and down while simultaneously twisting it. "look at me."
it takes him a while to raise his head up, but when his half-lided eyes look at your dark and serious ones, he doesn't regret it. you look like a wild cat, staring down your prey before feasting. and it makes san's blood rush to his crotch again, until he grows and becomes rock hard in your hand again.
"you can take it." you encourage.
"i'll try." he gulps.
"no." you squeeze him, and he hisses again. "you won't try. you'll take what i give you, like the good boy you are. won't you?"
"i will, i will!" his tone is desperate as you continue squeezing him. "i'll do anything you want me to."
"then," you lower your head again, tongue dangerously close to his sensitive tip. "you can do a few more."
"a— a few?" san wasn't thinking a few. he can barely handle one. he can feel your nails grazing his shaft as a warning, and thus, he braces himself. "yes, of course. however many you wish."
"that's my good puppy." you can't get enough. the second orgasm takes a while to arrive. the third one a bit shorter, and the fourth one surprises both of you, san dripping all over your fingers moments after the third one. he shakes under your touch as your tongue licks the trails of seed. he goes soft in your hand once again, yet you don't give him a break this time. your hand already works up and down, hardening him. this time not for teasing, but for a reward. san doesn't look at you. his gaze is fixed on the ceiling, while his breathing is getting steady. he is bracing for another one. you get his attention by sliding your panties off, then dangling them above his face on your finger. "why don't you take the rest off me?"
"actually..." he gulps. "i would like you to keep my t-shirt on. please...?"
"oh?" you raise an eyebrow, a smirk dancing on your lips. "you want to fuck your friend's assistant with your clothes on?"
"i—" he is a stuttering mess. and you adore him for it. "i mean, yes...?"
"oh, sannie." you press a kiss to his forehead, then his lips. a short, sweet kiss, just enough to rile him up again. "say it."
"say what?"
"say," you grab his face, fingers digging into his cheeks so that his lips stick out in a pout. "it."
"i want to fuck my friend's assistant." he blinks. "with my clothes on her."
"mmh." you tilt your head, admiring his features for a while. his hair is a mess, sticking to his sweaty forehead, and his cheeks and neck flushed. "good boy."
you dig your fingers further into his cheeks, forcing his lips open. san swears he faints for a moment. his tongue tastes your essence as you push your panties into his mouth. he doesn't question it. he can't, even if he wanted.
"as much as i love your pretty moans, i can't have someone barging in and ruining our fun." you explain. he nods understandingly. even if you had no reason, san would still find it the hottest thing you've ever done. "i'm going to make love to you, mr choi."
"mmh—" his abused tip sinks between your folds with your help, and his hands fly to your waist for help and support. inch by inch, he disappears inside you, a soft squelch echoing in the room. when you finally sit, both of you let out a grunt. the stretch is painfully delicious. something you haven't properly savoured the first time. this time, you'll do it properly.
"you're the prettiest thing i've ever seen." words come out as a sigh as you stand on your knees, only to sink back down slower than ever. "an eye candy, my pretty sannie."
he hums, probably a word of gratitude. as moments pass, you pick up the pace. not fast. sensual, and deep. you roll your hips, one hand pressed flat against his flexing abs to keep yourself steady, and the other one placed over his that lays on your thigh with a death grip. you know you'll bruise. it's his way of marking you.
san can't take his eyes off you. the pleasure is nothing compared to the majestic sight of you; hazy look, bra pulled down, nipples poking through the white cotton t-shirt, bottom lip trapped between your teeth, and beads of sweat making your body glisten. his free hand reaches for you, tugging at the fabric for you to lift it up. when you do, he wastes no time in cupping your breast, thumb grazing the sensitive bud. you gasp, shocks of pleasure rushing to your core.
"my good, good boy." you're slowly becoming a blubbering mess yourself, fucking yourself silly on his aching cock. eyes become blurry, and hips stutter as you feel it coiling in your abdomen. the bubble of pleasure, growing with each thrust and threatening to burst soon. the control you've had slowly fades away, the need to be held taking over instead. you remove the panties from his mouth, tossing them aside. "san..."
"yes?" he says, breathless.
"i need you."
"but, you have me."
"no, san." you fall over, elbow digging into the mattress and bracing you. "i need you to take care of me. please."
he presses a kiss to your lips. it calms you, delaying the orgasm. "how do you want me?"
"your way. however you wish." you assure him.
when you say his way, you didn't think he would easily pick you up and lay you on your stomach. to place a pillow under your hips, lifting your ass and exposing it. to spread your thighs, and blow cool air on your hot core. to sink one finger, then another, into your walls. to hush you when you whine, tell you to listen to the sweet sounds of squelching and slick. to push your legs together with his thighs, and push through your folds once more.
much like you, he finds a new spot in this position. the pillow presses your stomach just right, allowing him to easily locate and abuse the a-spot. san's plushie meets his fate as you sink your teeth into it, preventing yourself from the chain of noises threatening to leave you. most men fail to find the g-spot, let alone the a-spot. seems that san has done his research.
even though his thrusts are deep and rough, his grip on your waist is gentle. he holds your body in place, thumbs occasionally rubbing soothing circles into your skin whenever he stops to give you a moment to collect yourself.
"poor sandeoki." he teases.
truly, poor sandeoki. soaked with tears of pleasure and saliva, with bite marks decorating it. he'll never forgive you. san's teasing is short lived, replaced by faster thrusts, each snap of his hips precise to the point you start gripping the headboard for support. you swear you will snap in half. nails leave marks, as san's grip intensifies and leaves bruises on your limp body. the bubble grows again, each thrust inflating it. it takes a final thrust for it to burst, pleasure washing over in waves like an earthquake.
"where—" his hips stutter. "where do i cum, princess?"
"in me, please." you whine. "please."
"are you sure?" he's breathless, but doesn't stop for you to answer.
"yes, yes, yes—" words of confirmation turn into moans, the second orgasm approaching. "fuck, yes. fill me to the brim, sannie."
"fuuuck—" your words send him down a spiral, and thrusting isn't enough anymore. he moves your hips backwards so that you meet him halfway, deeper and harder. he uses you for his own pleasure, utterly lost in the feeling of your unmerciful tight walls. "say it. please, say it."
"make me cum, sannie." you know just what he wants. "be a good boy, paint me white."
"i'll be a good boy—"
"yes, you will." it takes only a few more thrusts to push you over the edge. "the best."
"fuck, fuck, fuck," he leans over you, burying his face into the crook of your neck and sinking his teeth into your shoulder. one hand snakes around your waist, pressing your back against his skin. it's hot, slippery, and the best you've ever felt. san uses you as his own personalized fleshlight, holding you in place as he chases his own orgasm. "take it. take all of me, baby, please."
the moment his seed shoots inside you, you feel your own orgasm granting you mercy. it washes over you again, this time not in waves, but in intense quakes. san doesn't move until he does exactly as you told him; fills you to the brim. he forces himself to move, he doesn't want to squish you. instead of falling beside you, he spreads your thighs, watching as white liquid seeps from your pulsing core. you can't help the surprised gasp as he gently collects it and pushes it back inside.
"i'll clean you up, i promise. just... let me have this."
you can't help the fond chuckle that leaves you. san kneels between your legs for a while, utterly mesmerized by his doing. until you turn to lay on your back, and pull him towards you. he falls over, face inches away from yours. "hi."
"hey." he says it back. "are you okay?"
"of course." you say, fingers brushing the damp bangs out of his eyes. "are you?"
"oh." he sighs. "i've never felt better."
you urge him to lay on top of you, and he does, ear pressed to your chest as he listens to your heart becoming steady. you comb his hair with one hand, while the other one rubs his back. "i think... i love you."
he stiffens under your touch. fuck.
"i— sorry. too soon?"
"no, i just..." he trails. "i'm scared."
you lift his chin up, guiding his gaze to lock with yours. "of?"
"of waking up and you leaving again."
"oh, san." the words hurt you. you've made the mistake once, you won't do it twice. "i'm here to stay. i promise."
"then..." plush lips capture yours in a kiss. a kiss that finally means closure of a painful chapter, and opening of a new one. "i love you too. but... i can't help but wonder, what now? will you stay as hwa's assistant?"
"i will." you play with the hair on the back of his head. "but not for long, i guess. at least that's what he said."
"i knew it. he was asking around about a free position for a photographer or editor. said he knows just the person. i knew it was for you. but, what do i do about leah?"
"i'll handle her." and you mean it.
in the morning, you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel uneasy. san lays on top of you again, and you reach for the phone. a smile creeps on your lips as you find a singular message on the notification board.
park seonghwa: how was the movie? ;)
y/n: hush
park seonghwa: i'm happy for you both, tiny.
y/n: thank you, seonghwa. for everything.
park seonghwa: a wise person once said, "hush"
park seonghwa: you're still my assistant though. hurry up, i want my watered down coffee!
summary: yunho and mingi will do anything for her. their best friend. the girl they love. even if that means turning their entire college campus into her favorite slasher flick.
warning: dom/possessive yunho, sub reader, mingi and yunho are both killers, strong descriptions of death, blood, gore and violence, unprotected sex, oral, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, choking, hair pulling, double vaginal penetration, squirting, creampie
genre: horror, dark romance, smut
pairing: ghostface yunho x afab reader x ghostface mingi
word count: 11.7k
part one
part three coming soon
masterlist
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The first thing Y/N noticed wasn’t the sirens. It was the cold. The kind that slipped under her hoodie, curled around her spine, and made every breath feel a little too sharp. Autumn in Seoul had finally settled in overnight, bringing with it the kind of heavy, gray sky that pressed down on everything. And maybe that was why she was running late. Or maybe it was the fact that she hadn’t slept again, another night spent tossing and turning, haunted by dreams she couldn’t remember but woke up shaking from anyway.
She’d barely made it past the archway when the sirens finally cut through the fog of her thoughts. Flashing red and blue lights flickered ahead, painting the stone walls of the psych building like a scene from one of the movies Yunho always watched with her. But this wasn’t a movie. This was real. And as she rounded the corner, backpack bouncing against her hip, her boots slid slightly on the slick pavement as she came to a sudden stop.
Police. Everywhere. Yellow caution tape stretched across the front steps like a barrier between reality and something she wasn’t ready to face. Students were gathered in loose clumps on the lawn, some whispering, some filming. The air buzzed with that awful energy, curiosity edged with fear, the kind that only shows up when something truly terrible has happened.
Then the doors opened and Y/N froze as two EMTs stepped out with a stretcher, and on it, zipped up tight in a black body bag, was a body.
Her heart dropped into her stomach. A sharp breath escaped her lips, and her hands clutched the strap of her backpack like it was the only thing anchoring her to the ground. Her feet moved without thinking, carrying her to the edge of the scene, just far enough to hear snippets of shocked conversation.
“Holy shit,” someone whispered, phone held low and recording. “That’s two. In like, a week.”
Her ears rang. It wasn’t until she spotted a familiar figure standing just beyond the crowd, half shadowed beneath the low overhang of the building, that she snapped out of it. Yunho leaned against the stone wall like he’d been there for hours. Hood up. One AirPod dangling from his left ear. His hands were tucked into the pocket of his hoodie, posture relaxed, expression unreadable.
She moved toward him, weaving through the frozen crowd. Her boots hit the pavement too loud. Her breath came too fast. “Yunho,” she said, voice barely above a whisper as she stepped into his orbit. “What… what happened?”
He turned his head to look at her, eyes calm in a way that made her stomach twist. For a second, he didn’t say anything, just studied her face like he was making sure she wasn’t about to fall apart right there on the sidewalk. Then he shrugged, casual like it didn’t mean anything. “Apparently someone killed Shultz.”
Her stomach dropped further. “What?”
“Hoshi Kwan found his body this morning,” Yunho said, like he was reciting a headline. “Said he got there early to study for a midterm and walked in on him lying in a pool of blood.” Y/N’s skin went cold. She stared back toward the taped off steps, where officers were still going in and out of the building, their faces grim and pale. “You think it’s the same person who…” Her voice faltered. “The one who killed Dr. Bae?”
“That’s what everyone’s saying,” Yunho replied, eyes tracking the movements of one of the detectives. “Two bodies in a couple days. Both connected to the same department. Both… not exactly well liked.”
She swayed slightly, and Yunho’s hand was there instantly, steadying her by the elbow like it was nothing. Like he’d done it a thousand times. Like it was reflex. The warmth of his touch grounded her more than she wanted to admit. “I don’t understand,” she murmured, voice small. “I just saw him yesterday. He was……”
Something about the way Yunho was acting too calm, made her pause. He wasn’t shaken. Not really. Not the way she was. His voice was too steady, his body too still. It was like this didn’t surprise him at all. Y/N blinked, chest tight. “Are you okay?”
His lips curved into something that was almost a smile, but not quite. “I’m fine,” he said softly. “He’s the one who’s not.” Her breath caught. He didn’t say it like a joke. He didn’t say it like he was horrified, either.
Just… honest. Simple. Like it was a fact, and facts didn’t need emotion. She looked back toward the building, where they were still rolling out gear and taping off the perimeter.
Professor Shultz was dead. Murdered. And Yunho was standing here, calm as ever, as if he hadn’t just watched the entire campus tilt off its axis.
But then again, Yunho had always been like this. Quiet. Observant. The eye of the storm. And maybe that’s why she didn’t pull away when his hand lingered just a second longer on her arm before letting go.
Maybe that’s why her heart didn’t stop racing.
Maybe that’s why it sped up.
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The sun still hadn’t broken through the clouds by the time they left the scene. The sky hung heavy and gray, casting everything in that pale, hollow light that made colors feel faded, like the world was slowly being erased. Class was canceled. Of course it was. You can’t exactly host a lecture in a crime scene.
So now Y/N was walking beside Yunho, the cold biting at her cheeks, trying to process the fact that another man connected to her past had just been zipped into a body bag. Yunho was quiet, matching her pace with long strides, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket, his hood shadowing his eyes.
They cut across the quad in silence at first. Leaves crunched underfoot. A scooter buzzed past, too fast, making both of them flinch. Neither laughed. Up ahead, the café came into view, Café Meridian, their usual haunt. Y/N glanced over at him, unsure why her heart was racing, unsure why she felt safer standing next to him than she had at any point in the past year, and yet somehow… more unsettled too.
The bell over the café door jingled softly as they stepped inside, warmth and the smell of espresso wrapping around them like a blanket. The world outside stayed cold. Distant. She ordered first, black coffee, extra cinnamon and moved to the pickup end while Yunho ordered his usual. Her fingers curled around her cup as soon as it was ready, soaking in the heat.
They found a spot in the corner, pressed up against the window. Her chair squeaked as she sat and for a while, neither of them spoke. She stared at the foam on her coffee. Yunho stirred his drink without drinking it. The song playing overhead changed, soft indie acoustic. Something vaguely sad.
Y/N finally exhaled and looked at him. Her voice was quiet. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” Yunho’s brow lifted just slightly. “What is?” She glanced down at her drink, then out the window. Students passed by, murmuring and texting, faces pale and confused. “The deaths,” she said. “how they’re connected.”
She didn’t look at him as she continued, voice barely above a whisper now. “First was that girl… Cassie’s friend. Earlier this year.” Yunho stilled. “You remember?” she asked, finally glancing at him. “Camila. They found her body in her car off campus.” He nodded once, slow. “Yeah. I remember.”
Y/N took a sip of her coffee, but it didn’t warm her. “Then it was Dr. Bae.” Her lips pressed together. “And now… Darren’s uncle.” Yunho’s eyes stayed on her face. Quiet. Steady as her fingers tightened slightly around the paper cup. “They’re connected,” she repeated, almost to herself. “To Darren. To what happened. To me.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, it was charged. Like the static in the air right before lightning hits. “I don’t think it’s random,” she said after a beat. “I don’t believe in coincidences that clean.”
Yunho’s voice was calm when he finally replied. “You think someone’s… targeting people?” She let out a soft, bitter laugh. “I don’t know what I think. Just that… all of them either hurt me, or helped cover up what happened.” She looked at him now, really looked. “And now they’re dead.”
Yunho didn’t flinch. His face was unreadable, but not cold. Just… still. “Maybe someone else noticed,” he said, voice low, like he didn’t want anyone else to hear. “Maybe someone finally gave a shit.” Her throat tightened at that. For a second, she wanted to believe it. That maybe there was someone out there, some anonymous, avenging ghost with a knife and a grudge, cleaning up the mess that had been left in the wake of her name being dragged through the mud.
But the thought was terrifying too. Because if it was someone doing this for her… What did that mean? And what would they do next?
Yunho’s gaze didn’t leave her. “You okay?” She nodded slowly, but her fingers were trembling just slightly now, and she hated that he could see it. “I’m just tired,” she whispered. “It’s like I keep trying to move on, and the past keeps clawing its way back up.”
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, hands wrapped around his cup. “Then maybe,” he said, “it’s not the past anymore.”
Her breath caught again. She didn’t know what to say. Outside, the wind picked up. Leaves scattered across the sidewalk. And Yunho just sat there, calm and composed, as if he hadn’t gutted a man hours earlier. As if he wasn’t planning the next one already.
They lingered in the quiet, the café’s soft buzz of grinders and background chatter fading into white noise around them. Y/N stared into the dregs of her coffee, watching the last swirl of cinnamon dissolve into the brown liquid. Her pulse had finally started to slow, but her mind wouldn’t stop spinning.
Across from her, Yunho hadn’t moved much. He still sat with one arm draped casually across the back of his chair, his fingers tapping once, rhythmically, against the side of his cup like he was keeping time with a song only he could hear. Part of her didn’t want to be alone right now. Part of her didn’t want to admit why.
Yunho glanced at the time on his phone, the screen lighting up with a soft glow before he locked it again with a sigh. His voice was gentle, like he didn’t want to break the atmosphere between them too harshly. “I should go,” he said, standing slowly, stretching just enough to make his hoodie ride up the tiniest bit. “I’ve got Film Theory at noon.”
Y/N blinked, coming back to herself. “Right. Yeah.” She cleared her throat and sat up a little straighter as Yunho stood, lips quirking slightly. “If the professor doesn’t cancel. Though at this rate…” He gestured loosely toward the window, to the now half dispersed crowd and the distant flash of a remaining patrol car.
“Might want to make sure he’s still breathing,” Y/N murmured, a smile ghosting across her lips before it faded. Yunho let out a soft exhale, somewhere between a laugh and a hum of acknowledgment. Then he leaned forward back on the table just slightly, fingers brushing his coffee cup before he met her gaze again. His eyes were warm, grounded. “You gonna be okay?”
Y/N nodded, even though she wasn’t sure. “Yeah. I just… need a minute.” He hesitated for a beat, then reached out and gently tapped the top of her cup. “Text me if you want to hang out later. Or if you need anything.”
She gave him a small smile. “Thanks, Yunho.” He paused like he wanted to say something else, but thought better of it. Then, with one final glance, he turned and walked out the door, the bell above it jingling behind him.
Y/N watched him disappear down the sidewalk, hoodie pulled tight against the wind, hands in his pockets, head down like any other tired senior on his way to class.
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The scent of roasted garlic and white truffle oil hit Y/N the second she stepped through the back entrance. Inside Maison Argent, everything was luxury, polished marble, dim lighting, and muted conversation humming beneath soft piano music piped through the ceiling. Even the air felt more expensive.
Y/N clocked in like usual, tied her apron tight, and tucked her notepad into her back pocket. She’d worked here for three years now, long enough to know every regular, every high maintenance table, and which wine pairings would make rich men feel smarter than they were.
She was halfway to the floor when she saw them. Darren and his father. They were being led by the hostess to the booth in the corner, Table 14. The discreet one. The one usually reserved for politicians, minor celebrities, and men with last names that could buy and sell buildings.
Her blood ran cold as she ducked back into the shadows near the bar, behind the tall stack of wine glasses, and peeked between them, heart thudding in her chest like she’d been dropped straight into a war zone. Darren looked like shit. His hair was messy, circles under his eyes so dark they looked like bruises. He wore a designer blazer over a wrinkled shirt, and he kept glancing over his shoulder like someone might be following him.
His father, Chairman Schultz, looked the opposite, put together, pressed and polished, with an expression like the world owed him something and he was already drafting the invoice. Y/N stayed low, pretending to polish cutlery, ears straining.
“I’m telling you,” Darren muttered, already gripping the edges of the table like it might ground him, “they’re connected. This isn’t just some freak with a knife.” His father took a sip of scotch, unimpressed. “Lower your voice.”
Darren leaned in. “First Camila. Then Dr. Bae. And now Uncle David? This isn’t coincidence, Dad. That’s three people.” Chairman Schultz didn’t so much as blink. “And what do those three have in common?” Darren stared at him. “Me.” The chairman finally looked up, gaze sharp. “Exactly. Which means someone’s sending a message.“
Y/N’s nails dug into her palms as Darren looked like he might be sick. “Camila was Cassie’s friend. You think that’s random? No one’s even found the killer. And Bae…. he signed off on the report. You think it’s just revenge? That someone just… snapped?”
“You should hope it is,” Chairman Schultz said, voice low and cold. “Because if this is personal? If someone knows what really happened? You’re already too late.” Darren swallowed hard, eyes darting to the side. “What…. I know she told her friends…”
“You need to shut your mouth,” his father cut in sharply. “Do you want your name in headlines next? You keep talking like this, and I can’t clean it up.” Darren’s hands were shaking now. “I’m next. You know I am.” Chairman Schultz sighed, like he was bored. “You always were dramatic. Stay off campus for a few days. Go to the penthouse. I’ll have Lee look into it.”
“But… he helped cover it…”
“He knows how to handle things,” his father interrupted pointedly. “You just focus on keeping your head down.”
Y/N slipped away before either of them could look up. Her heart was pounding, her breath shallow, her skin clammy. She stepped into the walk in fridge under the pretense of checking dessert stock and braced herself against the shelves, the cold air biting at her skin.
Three people. All connected to Darren. All connected to her. And now Darren was scared. His father was circling the wagons. And Y/N had just realized… they knew they were being hunted.
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The frat house was too quiet for a Thursday night. Most of the guys were out, scattered across campus at parties or holed up in library group rooms pretending to study. Only Aaron had stayed behind, claiming he had a migraine, but really? He just didn’t want to be around anyone. He didn’t like the way people were looking at him lately, like they were waiting for him to say something he shouldn’t.
He was halfway through a blunt and slouched into the arm of the cracked leather couch in the lounge when his phone rang. Blocked number. He frowned as lifted it lazily to his ear, still high enough to not care. “Yo?”
The voice that answered was not one he recognized. “Hello, Aaron,” the caller drawled, voice distorted, smooth and warped like something pulled from a horror film. “Let’s play a game.”
Aaron froze, the blunt hovering just before his lips. “Who the fuck is this?” It paused into silence for a beat. Then the voice again, a little more sing song this time. “I’m gonna ask you some questions. You answer truthfully… and we’ll let you live….. But lie?” A soft, amused laugh crackled through the speaker. “And I promise it’ll be messy.”
Aaron sat up straighter, heart pounding now, the haze of the high thinning under adrenaline. “Okay, Kai. Very funny. What, you think this Halloween bullshit is actually..”
“This isn’t Kai.” The voice dropped low. Cold. “This is for her.”
Aaron stood, looking around. The house was dark except for the light over the staircase. No TVs were on. No music. No movement. “Camila was a bitch.” the voice went on. “Bae covered it up. Professor Shultz turned it into extra credit.”
The floor creaked upstairs making Aaron flinch, spinning toward the stairwell. “Tell me, Aaron,” the voice said, suddenly sharp. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t see anything,” Aaron snapped, panic curling under his skin now. “She was screaming, I… he told me to stay out of it!”
“She?” the voice echoed. “Y/N?”
Aaron went silent. “That’s strike one,” Mingi said, somewhere behind the mask, smirking into the phone. “You don’t even have the balls to say her name.” A creak came from the hallway upstairs. Another and Aaron backed toward the kitchen, clutching his phone like it might save him. “Listen, I don’t know what this is, okay? If this is about last year…. if this is some prank…”
“You watched him throw her down the stairs.” The air left Aaron’s lungs. “You saw the blood,” Mingi continued, voice low and smooth. “You heard her scream.”
“I didn’t touch her!”
“But you didn’t stop him either,” Mingi said. “And you lied. You helped bury her.”
Aaron quickly hit end call. His heart pounding, the high he had completely gone now. He jumped startled when his phone rang again. “Look,” He answered with hostility this time though his nerves were crawling under his skin. “I didn’t lay a hand on her. That wasn’t my business. She was the one who started screaming like a psycho…”
“You watched her get kicked down the stairs, Aaron.” The voice was steady. Disgusted. “Watched him toss her away like trash.”
“I didn’t know he was gonna hurt her like that!” Aaron snapped. “She had it coming…. she was always fucking dramatic, making up shit. She was lucky we didn’t all press charges for that night.” He slowly started making his way upstairs.
“Do you regret it?”
Aaron scoffed, pacing the hallway upstairs. “Regret what? Getting her the hell outta our lives? No. She’s a liar. Always was. And if she really got hit…. well… she asked for it.”
“Wrong answer.” The line died and silence followed before Aaron felt it. Wire. It looped around his throat in a flash, yanked tight before he could scream. Aaron’s hands flew up, clawing, choking, eyes bulging wide as he was suddenly dragged backward, and then shoved forward.
Straight over the second floor railing. The wire stayed tight. The drop was sharp.
SNAP.
His head didn’t come clean off. It ripped. Sinew tore. Flesh gave way. The railing cracked from the force, the wire slicing through the meat of his neck until his body thudded, hitting the first floor with a sickening wet slap. His head dropped half a second later and silence once again settled, heavy and final.
From the shadows of the kitchen, Mingi emerged slowly, pulling the Ghostface mask off with a raised brow. His black gloves gleamed faintly in the low light. “Shit….” he muttered, looking between the ruined neck and the blood pooling into the rug. “I thought we were just scaring his dumbass?”
From the stairs above, Yunho came into view, tall, calm, masked. He descended like a storm, peeling off his gloves one finger at a time, voice low behind the modulator. “We were.” Mingi glanced up as Yunho stepped over Aaron’s body, jaw clenched. “But then he had to talk shit about her.”
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The shift dragged. Every plate she delivered felt heavier than the last, every fake smile more brittle. Y/N’s feet ached and her hair smelled like garlic butter and overpriced steak, but her mind was elsewhere. Three bodies. Cassie’s friend. Dr. Bae. Darren’s uncle. All dead. All connected to her.
The thought clung to her like cigarette smoke as she finally clocked out, tugging her hoodie tighter around her frame and heading out into the cool night air. The restaurant parking lot was mostly empty except for the sleek black jeep parked under the far streetlight. Yunho’s jeep.
Her pace picked up. The passenger side window rolled down just as she reached it, revealing Yunho in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel. His jaw was sharp in the glow of the dash lights, sleeves pushed to his elbows, knuckles still faintly red from where he’d pulled a wire tight less than an hour ago.
“Hey,” he said, voice easy and low as Mingi leaned over from the back seat, lips curved in that lazy, post adrenaline smirk. “You looked like you needed a ride.” Y/N blinked. “I thought you had class tonight.”
“Ended early,” Yunho said smoothly. “Come on. It’s late.” Y/N hesitated only a second before sliding in, shutting the door, and exhaling. “God, thank you. My feet are going on strike.”
“You work too hard,” Mingi murmured from behind her. “You should let us take care of you.” There was something warm and teasing in his tone, but Y/N’s heart jumped anyway as she glanced at Yunho. “Seriously, you guys didn’t have to come all the way out here.”
“Yeah, we did,” Yunho said without looking at her. “We always will.” The hum of the road filled the car for a beat. The city lights blurred by as they made their way through the rich side of town and back toward campus. Mingi stretched in the backseat, his legs taking up half the space, looking completely at ease for a man who just watched a human head detach from its body.
Y/N sighed, slouching down in the seat. “It still doesn’t feel real.” Mingi leaned forward slightly. “What doesn’t?”
“All of it,” she said. “First that girl they found in her car last spring… then Bae… and now Darren’s uncle? It’s like death keeps following me.” Yunho’s hand flexed on the wheel. “They were all terrible people.” Y/N turned her head to look at him. “You didn’t even really know Bae.”
“I knew of him,” Yunho muttered. “People talk.” She blinked, watching his profile. He looked calm, too calm. But maybe that was just Yunho. He always kept it together when she couldn’t. Y/N tucked her hands into her sleeves. “Do you think it’s just coincidence?” Yunho met her gaze briefly at a red light. “Do you?”
“No,” she said quietly. “Not anymore.” He didn’t reply. Neither did Mingi. But the silence wasn’t awkward. If anything, it felt like an agreement. Like they all knew something was happening… even if they weren’t all saying the same thing out loud.
They pulled up in front of her dorm building ten minutes later, the heater blowing gently in the car. Y/N unclipped her seatbelt and turned to face them. “Thanks again for the ride.”
“You sure you’re okay?” Yunho asked, eyes scanning her face like he could read her thoughts if he looked long enough. She nodded. “Just tired.” Mingi tilted his head. “Want company?” She gave him a look, trying not to smile. “No. You two need sleep. And I need to not smell like a grill anymore.”
Mingi grinned and leaned back. “Fair.” Yunho gave a small nod, but his eyes lingered on her like he didn’t quite want to let her go. “Goodnight,” she said and they both said it back, in sync.
She didn’t see the way their smiles dropped the moment she shut the door. Didn’t see Yunho’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel. Didn’t hear Mingi say, low and satisfied, “Think she’s getting suspicious?”
Yunho pulled away from her down building as Mingi climbed over the console and back into the passenger seat. “Not yet.”
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The front door creaked open as Darren stepped inside the darkened frat house, the stench of stale beer and something else, something off, curling in his nose. The air was heavy. Thick. Wrong. “Aaron?” he called, voice slicing through the silence. No answer. “You here, bro?”
The floor creaked under his sneakers as he stepped further in, brow furrowed. The place was eerily still, TV off, no music blasting, no guys yelling over a game of beer pong. Just the dim hallway lights flickering like they hadn’t been changed in months and that smell growing stronger.
It smelled like… Metal. Rot. Death. His stomach churned as he turned towards the stairs slowly. “Aaron?” His voice was quieter now. Uncertain. A door creaked somewhere above him as he turned the corner, foot stepping at the bottom of the stairs and stopped breathing.
There, hanging over the second floor railing like some kind of grotesque Halloween decoration, was Aaron. Or… what used to be Aaron. His body dangled lifelessly by a metal wire looped around his neck, stretched tight where it had snapped clean through, the head missing entirely, gone, gone, nowhere in sight. Blood had pooled below like dark paint on the wooden floor, a few sick splatters coating the wall like art. It was as if someone planted his body there. Wanted it to be found. To be seen. Displayed.
Darren stumbled back, his foot slipping on a step. He landed hard, his elbow banging the wall. “Holy…. fuck…. AARON?!” His scream tore through the house as he scrambled up, hand shaking as he yanked out his phone. Fumbled the unlock code. Missed twice. Nearly dropped it.
By the time he dialed, his chest was heaving. “911,” the voice on the other end said. “What’s your emergency?”
“There’s a body,” Darren gasped. “It’s…. fuck… it’s my friend, my friend! Someone…. someone fucking killed him!” The dispatcher’s voice was calm, too calm. “Sir, where are you right now?” Darren gave the address, voice cracking. He couldn’t take his eyes off the blood pooling down the wall, soaking into the frat’s old hardwood floors. His breath came in gasps, panic rising fast.
Someone really was targeting those closest to him.
And he might be next.
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Y/N rushed through the doors of the language hall, clutching her coffee and bag, breath fogging in the cold morning air. She was barely on time, but not late enough to stress. Her eyes scanned the room, spotting Jongho already seated near the back, head bent over his notebook, earbuds in.
She made her way over, sliding into the chair beside him with a soft “Morning.” He pulled one bud out and glanced at her, eyes wide behind his glasses. “Did you hear?” She blinked. “Hear what?” Jongho glanced around like he didn’t want anyone else overhearing, even though the professor hadn’t arrived yet and half the class was still trickling in.
“They found Aaron last night,” he said under his breath. “At the frat house. Well…. Darren found him.” Y/N felt her stomach drop.
“What?” Mingi’s voice chimed in as he slid into the seat on her other side, brows raised. He was chewing gum, hoodie slung low over his forehead, but there was a flicker in his eyes. “What do you mean, found him?” Jongho swallowed. “Darren found him. Said he went to the frat house late last night and found Aaron… decapitated.”
Y/N nearly dropped her coffee. “What?” she whispered, voice caught between horror and disbelief. Her eyes flicked between the two boys. “Like…. killed?” Jongho gave a sharp nod. “Killed and staged. Someone strung him up with a wire. The news won’t say much, but people are already saying it was brutal. Like…. worse than the others.”
Mingi leaned back slowly in his chair, one arm stretching across the back of Y/N’s. “Damn…” he murmured, like he was absorbing the information for the first time. “Looks like someone’s got a thing for tying up loose ends.”
Jongho gave him a look as Y/N sat frozen for a moment, the words echoing in her head. Cassie’s friend. Dr. Bae. Darren’s uncle. Now… Aaron. All of them tied to Darren. All of them tied to her. And all of them dead.
Before Y/N could fully process the weight of what Jongho had just said, the classroom door creaked open. Everyone turned as two men stepped in, dark suits, badges clipped at their belts, the energy in the room shifting instantly. One was taller, sharp jawed with slicked back hair and piercing eyes that seemed to scan the entire room in a second. The other was slightly shorter but carried an intensity that made the air crackle.
Professor Min, who had just walked in before them, mid sentence at the front of the class, stumbled over his words. “Can I… help you?” The taller one spoke, his voice smooth but authoritative. “Detective Park Seonghwa. This is my partner, Detective Kim Hongjoong. Sorry for the interruption.”
Hongjoong pulled out a small notepad, flipping it open with one hand as his eyes scanned the room. “We’re looking for a Y/N L/N.” Every eye in the room turned and Y/N froze. Mingi went still beside her, jaw clenched. Jongho’s hand subtly tapped her knee under the desk like he was grounding her.
She raised a shaky hand. “I’m… I’m Y/N.” Both detectives approached, Seonghwa giving her a polite nod. “Miss L/N, we need you to come with us. Just to answer a few questions.” Professor Min looked like he might faint. “Is she in trouble?”
“No,” Hongjoong said smoothly, but his gaze didn’t leave Y/N’s face. “We’re just hoping she can help us with our investigation.” Y/N stood slowly, feeling the way everyone was watching her like she was already guilty. She grabbed her bag, heart racing. “Can I ask what this is about?”
“You can,” Seonghwa replied. “But not here.”
Mingi started to get up too. “She’s not under arrest, right?”
Seonghwa turned toward him. “No. She’s free to go after we talk.”
Mingi’s eyes didn’t leave the detectives as Y/N glanced at Jongho, whose knuckles were white around his pen. And then, swallowing hard, she followed them out, feeling like the hallway stretched for miles and that everyone behind her would still be watching, still whispering, long after the door closed.
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The buzzing fluorescent lights cast a sickly glow over the interrogation room. Y/N sat stiffly in the cold metal chair, fingers laced tightly in her lap as if she could wring the anxiety out of her own hands. The stainless steel table in front of her gleamed under the overhead light, and across it sat Detective Seonghwa, calm and composed. Behind him, Detective Hongjoong leaned casually against the wall, arms folded, unreadable.
Neither of them had said much. Not yet. Until Seonghwa finally broke the silence, sliding a manila folder across the table. “We just have a few questions.”
Y/N nodded carefully, her throat dry as Seonghwa flipped the folder open. Inside were photographs, crime scene photos. The first was a girl, half inside her car, head tilted at an unnatural angle. Her name wasn’t listed, but Y/N knew exactly who she was, Cassie’s best friend. The one who’d called her a liar.
The second photo was of Bae. Then Professor Shultz. Y/N looked away when the image of Aaron was shown and Hongjoong finally pushed off the wall, approaching slowly and setting a USB drive on the table. “We’ve reviewed footage from the science building’s south stairwell.”
He plugged the USB into a laptop, turned the screen toward her, and clicked play. It was silent, grainy, and eerily still, until a figure darted through the frame. All black. Long cloak. And a white mask. Y/N’s entire body went rigid. “Ghostface,” she breathed.
“Video footage confirms the killer was wearing the mask,” Seonghwa said, watching her closely. “Same one used in the movies.” Hongjoong tilted his head. “And you’d know, wouldn’t you?”
Y/N blinked. “What?”
“You’ve attended every campus Halloween horror marathon since freshman year. Weren’t you Sidney Prescott a couple years ago?” Her voice came out barely audible. “Yeah… it’s my favorite movie.”
Seonghwa smiled tightly. “We figured. You’ve got good taste. Unfortunately, someone else seems to be taking inspiration from it.” Y/N leaned forward slowly, swallowing. “Am I… a suspect?”
“You?” Seonghwa chuckled softly, shaking his head. “No. But it’s clear someone is going out of their way to turn this campus into a Scream reboot.”
“This feels personal,” Hongjoong added. “Too specific to be random. One girl connected to your old friend. Then Dr. Bae. Professor Shultz, Darren’s uncle. Aaron, Darren’s best friend. All of them have direct or indirect ties to you.”
Y/N’s mouth had gone dry. Ghostface. They were seriously saying someone on campus was running around dressed like Ghostface, mimicking her favorite horror movie franchise, and murdering people who just so happened to be connected to her?
“Like I said,” Seonghwa leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers, “you’re not a suspect, Y/N. But we are asking questions. Because people are dying. And whoever this is? They’re playing a game. Just like the movies.”
Hongjoong opened another folder and pulled out a transcript, then a phone. “We recovered this from the frat house. From Aaron’s cell. We pulled the audio of a call he got right before his death,” Hongjoong placed the phone on the table. “It came from an untraceable burner. But it’s… enlightening.”
He pressed play and the recording crackled for a second, then the voice came through, disguised, distorted, wrapped in static and something deeper, eerier. That iconic Ghostface cadence. “Hello, Aaron… let’s play a game.”
Y/N flinched. Her spine locked straight. That voice, it was scrambled, masked, creepy as hell. But underneath the warped layers and the Ghostface distortion… something about it was familiar.
“Do you recognize it?” Seonghwa asked, eyes sharp. She shook her head automatically. “No. I mean… it’s distorted. It sounds like Ghostface. I don’t…” she swallowed hard, “I don’t know.” Hongjoong studied her for a long beat. “Whoever’s doing this isn’t just randomly picking people off.”
“They’re coming for the ones who hurt you,” Seonghwa added, carefully. “And they’re escalating.” Y/N said nothing. Because she was still thinking about that voice. Because it almost sounded like someone she’d known for years. Like someone she’d trusted with her life. Like someone who’d once sworn they’d kill Darren if they could get away with it.
But that would be impossible…
Right?
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Y/N’s boots echoed against the pavement, the wind sharp against her cheeks as she made her way back toward campus. The interrogation had left a pit in her stomach, thick and unsettled.
Ghostface. A killer on campus, picking off people one by one, every name somehow tangled up in her past. All of them connected to what happened last year. Was she next? The thought curled cold fingers around her spine.
She was so lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the person stepping into her path until it was too late. She collided with a chest. A smug, cologne drenched, red solo cup energy chest. “Watch it,” Kai, Darren’s other best friend, sneered, grinning without humor as he steadied her with mock concern. “Oh. If it isn’t Queen Victim herself.”
Y/N stepped back instinctively, already regretting the interaction. “Get out of my way.”
“Oh, I will. After you answer something.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a hiss. “You sleep better now that Aaron’s dead? Is this what you wanted, bitch? You get off on watching us pay for your tantrum?” Her heart stuttered. “You think I don’t know what this is?” he spat. “Everyone who stood by Darren is dropping like flies, and you’re the only common thread.”
He took another step, cornering her against a brick column, eyes wild. “So go on. Say it. Tell me how you’re playing them. Those two lapdogs of yours, those two tall freaks, Yunho and Mingi? They do whatever you say, don’t they? Did you put them up to this?”
“Back. The fuck. Off.”
The voice came like a gunshot making Kai freeze and Y/N’s head snapped to the side. Yunho stood at the edge of the sidewalk, shoulders squared, jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscles twitching. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, eyes locked on Kai with a coldness that could’ve iced over the quad.
Kai blinked, suddenly less sure of himself. “Dude, I was just…” Yunho tilted his head slightly. A slow, chilling movement as Kai swallowed. The air between them went tight, brittle, like something was about to snap.
Yunho stepped closer. Just once and Kai backed up. “Whatever. Fuck this.” He turned and walked away, Yunho watching him go without a word as Y/N exhaled slowly, her heart racing.
Yunho turned to her, eyes still dark, voice quiet. “Let’s go.” She didn’t ask where. Didn’t say a word. Because she hadn’t missed the look Yunho gave Kai. And if Kai had… it was only because he had no idea he was next.
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The wind had picked up by the time they started walking. Dry leaves scraped across the concrete like whispers, and Y/N shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, heart still thudding too fast from the run in with Kai.
Yunho walked beside her, silent, hood down now. His steps were steady, controlled, like they always were. Like nothing ever rattled him. But she’d seen the way he looked at Kai. She didn’t say anything. Not until they were halfway across campus.
“Thanks,” she murmured. Yunho didn’t look at her. “For what?”
“For showing up.”
His jaw twitched. “He was out of line.”
“He usually is.”
Another pause. The lamp above them buzzed faintly. They passed under it, the light catching the angles of his face, those sharp cheekbones, the shadow under his eyes. She wondered if he ever slept. If he ever let his guard down. “You think they’re after me?” she asked suddenly. “The killers.”
His steps slowed. “Why would you say that?”
“Because all of this, it keeps coming back to me. Cassie’s friend. Bae. Shultz. Aaron. All connected to Darren. To what happened.” Yunho was quiet for a second too long. “Maybe they’re after him.”
“Maybe,” she said. But she didn’t sound convinced as they reached her dorm building. “Do you…” she started, then faltered. “Do you want to come in? Just for a little while? My roommate is with her boyfriend for the week and I….l
He looked at her, really looked at her, eyes softening just enough to let the tension crack. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Just for a little while.”
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Y/N dorm door closed with a soft click behind them as she tossed her keys onto her desk, flicking on the lamp instead of the overhead lights. The soft golden glow made the dorm room feel warmer, safer, even if the chill of the day and the memory of Kai’s voice still clung to her skin like fog.
Yunho didn’t sit. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her quietly. His eyes tracked every little movement, her kicking off her shoes, pulling off her jacket, running a hand through her hair like she was trying to rub the stress out through her scalp. “Mingi told me,” Yunho said after a moment, voice low. “About the detectives. That they came to see you.”
She let out a tired breath. “Yeah. Seonghwa and Hongjoong.” He tilted his head slightly. “What did they ask you?”
“They showed me pictures of the victims,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “One after the other. Like it wasn’t already seared into my memory from the news.” Yunho’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt. “They played a recording too. From Aaron’s phone. The call he got before he died.”
She swallowed hard, staring at a point on the floor. “It was one of the killers. They’re like cosplaying as Ghostface. Even the voice. But under it… I don’t know, it felt familiar. I couldn’t place it, but it…” She stopped herself. “I didn’t say that part out loud.”
Yunho’s eyes stayed on her. “Do you think they suspect you?” She snorted softly. “No. Seonghwa said I wasn’t a suspect. Just a girl with a lot of ghosts hanging around.” His jaw tensed. “They’re not just ghosts.”
Her eyes flicked up to meet his but Yunho didn’t elaborate, just pushed off the doorframe and walked over to her, standing close now, close enough that she could smell the faint trace of his cologne, something warm and woodsy, familiar in a way that settled into her bones. “Yunho…”
“You’re not alone in this,” he said. “You never were.”
Y/N sank onto the edge of her bed, elbows on her knees, fingers tangled in her hair. The quiet between her and Yunho stretched, comfortable and uncomfortable all at once. “I know I should feel something,” she murmured, voice barely audible over the hum of her desk lamp. “I mean, people are dying.”
Yunho didn’t speak, just watched her, his eyes shadowed with something unreadable. “I should be afraid. I should feel bad.” She lifted her head to look at him, the soft golden light catching the shimmer of emotion in her eyes, confusion, guilt, something darker curling beneath the surface.
“But…” she hesitated. “If the killers aren’t after me… does it make me a horrible person to not care if they finish whatever they’re doing?” Silence fell hard and sharp between them. Yunho’s throat worked once, like he was swallowing words he couldn’t say. His jaw ticked, and for the first time since they entered the dorm, he didn’t look at her, he looked away, just for a beat. Just long enough to remember what it felt like to see Aaron’s body twitch after the wire snapped his neck.
He cleared his throat softly. “No,” he said finally. “It makes you human.” Her eyes searched his face. “Even if I’m not sad they’re gone?” He sat down beside her, close enough for his knee to bump against hers. “What happened to you… what you’ve had to carry this whole time… you’re allowed to feel whatever the hell you need to feel.”
Y/N stared at the floor again, like maybe if she looked hard enough, the answers would be scrawled into the wood grain. “Besides,” Yunho added, voice softer now. “Justice doesn’t always look like courtroom verdicts. Sometimes… it just looks like not crying over the right people.”
She turned to him, lips parting like she wanted to ask what that meant, but he was already standing again, walking to the door like the conversation hadn’t shaken him to the core. “I’ll text you later,” he said, hand on the knob. “Wait,” she breathed. “Don’t go.”
He turned slowly, his expression unreadable. “Y/N?” She stood up, arms crossed like she needed to hold herself together. “I just… I don’t want to be alone right now.” Yunho hesitated, eyes flicking to the floor like he was weighing something heavy in his mind. Because he was. Kai was still out there. Tonight they were supposed to get him next. But now she was here. Asking him to stay. And that changed everything.
Y/N walked toward him, barefoot on the tile, vulnerable in the way that made his chest ache. “I keep thinking I should feel more,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “Sad, angry, terrified… something. But it’s like I’m numb until I’m near you. Or Mingi.” Her gaze flicked up to his, then away again. “And then I feel too much.” Yunho’s fingers flexed against the doorknob.
“I want to want someone again,” she admitted, eyes still lowered. “I want to feel something that isn’t guilt or fear or…” She cut herself off, jaw tightening. “But I can’t… I don’t want to ruin what you and Mingi have. You’re best friends. I couldn’t…”
“You wouldn’t ruin anything,” Yunho said, voice low and gentle making her look up, startled by the certainty in his tone. “Mingi and I… we’ve talked about you more than you know.” Her breath caught as Yunho took a step closer, the door clicking shut behind him. “You’re not some game we’re playing, Y/N. We’ve loved you for years. We just didn’t want to push.”
She stared at him, and for the first time in so long, her walls felt thin, too thin. “You’ll stay?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer and Yunho nodded, stepping fully back into the room. “Of course.”
The room had gone quiet again, save for the hum of the hallway light flickering just outside her door. But inside the air was thick, humming with the weight of everything unsaid. She kept replaying his words in her mind, You wouldn’t ruin anything. How could he say that so easily? Like he already knew what she was afraid of. Like he meant it.
Her heart thudded hard against her ribs as he sat back down on the edge of her bed, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped between them. Yunho looked… tense. Not like he had earlier at the café, or even outside when Kai had cornered her. This was different. A quiet storm under the surface.
She took a shaky breath. And then, before she could talk herself out of it, she crossed the room in three steps, grabbed his shirt, and pushed him back onto the mattress. His back hit the comforter with a surprised, oof, and she was already crawling into his lap, straddling him before he could speak. “Y/N?”
“Don’t,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she leaned down. “Don’t talk me out of this.” She kissed him. Desperate. Hungry. Searching for something in him to ground her. And Yunho, oh, he kissed her back. His hands found her waist, steady even as her own were shaking.
Her lips were soft and warm, and for a second he let himself forget the blade tucked into his boot, hidden under the cuff of his jeans. The one he’d planned to use tonight. On Kai. Until now. Until she looked at him like that. Until she touched him like this. Y/N didn’t know she was kissing a killer. She didn’t know Yunho had left Mingi waiting on the other side of the city with the mask and the voice changer and a half baked plan to string Kai up like the frat boy pig he was.
She didn’t know that Yunho’s heart was hammering not just from the feel of her, but from how close this moment was to something he could never take back. And yet, he let her kiss him deeper. Let her hands slide up beneath his shirt. Let her push his jacket off his shoulders. He could feel the outline of the knife handle against his ankle with every shift of her weight, but he didn’t stop her.
Not even when she whispered against his mouth, “I don’t want to think tonight.” Yunho’s breath was ragged as he pulled back just enough to look at her, really look at her. Her lips were kiss swollen, her cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide. And when her hands slid into his hair, tugging gently, asking without words for more, he gave in.
“You want this?” he asked, voice low and rough and she nodded, breath hitching, legs falling open with an ease that made something primal curl in his chest as he moved down her body, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world, and then dropped to his knees.
She gasped when he grabbed her hips and dragged her to the edge of the bed, legs dangling over his shoulders like a gift. He hooked his fingers into her waistband, tugging her pants and underwear down in one smooth motion. Her thighs trembled slightly, just the barest hint, but he caught it. Loved it.
He leaned in and kissed the inside of one knee, then slowly, torturously made his way upward. Kiss by kiss. Tease by tease. Until he was hovering right where she needed him most. When he licked a slow stripe up her center, she let out the softest whimper.
Yunho groaned, half from the taste of her, half from the sight. Because fuck, she was beautiful like this. Already unraveling for him as he dipped his tongue again, this time letting it flick just the way he knew would make her hips buck, and when she moaned, her head tipping back, eyes squeezing shut, he moved.
One hand stayed on her thigh, firm and grounding. The other slid down, quick and practiced. He reached into the cuff of his pants, into his boot, and pulled out the blade. His knife. The one meant for Kai. And she didn’t even notice. She was too gone, too lost in the rhythm of his mouth, in the way his tongue moved against her like he knew her body better than she did.
He reached under the bed, arm moving smoothly as he slid the knife into the shadows, tucked beneath the mattress. Hidden. Waiting. Like him. Yunho looked up at her again. She was writhing softly, biting her lip now to keep from being loud. Her hands were tangled in the sheets, her skin glowing in the dim light. She had no idea what he’d just done. No idea what he was.
But she was trusting him with her body. With her heart, maybe. He flicked his tongue again, faster now, more pressure, and when she cried out his name, back arching off the bed, Yunho buried himself between her thighs like he was starving. Because maybe he was. Not just for her body. But for the way she made him feel human. Even with a killer’s hands.
Y/N moans were getting louder when Yunho didn’t stop, her hips rolling against his mouth, thighs squeezing around his head like she didn’t know if she wanted to pull him in or push him away from how good it felt as he slid his tongue lower, then flattened it and dragged upward again, slow and heavy, and that was when her whole body jolted. That beautiful little gasp, shaky and desperate, made something snap inside him.
He wanted to see her break.
Without warning, he slipped two fingers inside her, slick and hot, tight around the intrusion, and fuck, his eyes rolled back at the feel of her. He curled them just right, then started pumping. Fast. Deep, making her cry out, hips bucking. And that’s when he pulled back. His mouth left her soaked and trembling. She whimpered from the loss, head thrown back, completely unaware he’d moved until he stood over her, grabbing her chin, not rough, but firm enough to ground her.
Her eyes fluttered, barely able to focus. “Look at me.” His voice was low, commanding. Laced with heat and danger and something she couldn’t name. Her lashes lifted slowly, dazed and vulnerable. And he smirked. “Good girl.”
Then he kissed her, hard. Possessive. His fingers never stopped, fucking into her fast now, each thrust timed with the rise and fall of her breath, the way her legs started to shake again. She gasped into his mouth, trying to hold on. “No,” he murmured against her lips, “don’t look away.”
Another thrust. Another curl of his fingers. “Come for me, like this.” And she did. Shaking apart under him, moaning into his mouth as her body clenched around his fingers, her thighs trembling, her hips jerking. He kissed her through it, swallowing every sound like it fed him.
Only when she finally stilled, breath ragged, eyes glassy, did he slow his fingers and ease them out. He brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a quiet groan like she was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
Her legs were still shaking when she pulled him down for another kiss, deep, messy, breathless, moaning at the taste of herself on his tongue. Yunho barely had time to catch it before she was crawling into his lap, straddling him, her hands already moving under his shirt.
“Y/N…” he started, but whatever he was about to say vanished when she yanked his shirt up over his head and tossed it somewhere across the room. Her lips found his neck, kissing a path to his jaw, teeth grazing his skin. “Don’t leave,” she whispered against his throat. “Not yet.”
His hands gripped her hips, harder. He could feel the heat of her soaked against his jeans. Still wet from his mouth. And fuck, he wasn’t strong enough to walk away now. Not when she was finally giving in. Not when her fingers were already trailing down between them.
She tugged at his belt, then the button, and finally the zipper, the sound slicing through the room like it meant something. Like it was a warning. Or a promise. He hissed through his teeth as she reached into his boxers, wrapping her hand around him. Her lips brushed his ear. “Let me have you,” she said, voice low and wrecked. “Just for tonight.”
Yunho’s hands flexed on her thighs, his whole body tightening beneath her. He didn’t answer. He just kissed her. Desperate. Starving. Like she was something sacred and he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch her, but he was going to anyway.
She stroked him once, slow. Twice, tighter and Yunho’s forehead dropped to hers, his breath ragged. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he growled. And still, he didn’t stop her. Not when she lifted herself and tugged his jeans lower. Not when she pulled her own shirt over her head, tossing it down to join his. Not when she reached between them again, guiding him to her entrance… Unaware that he still had a knife hidden under her bed. Unaware that Mingi was expecting him to kill Kai tonight.
Unaware that he was ghostface, and right now, all he could think about was how sweet she tasted, how good she felt, how fucking dangerous it was that he didn’t want to leave anymore.
Y/N braced a hand on his shoulder, the other still wrapped around his dick as she lined him up with her entrance. Her eyes never left his, wide and full of something that made his whole body thrum. “You sure?” he rasped, voice barely hanging on. Her only answer was the slow, steady roll of her hips as she began to sink down.
Yunho groaned, his head falling back against the wall, his fingers digging into her thighs hard enough to leave bruises. “Fuck…. you’re so tight.” She gasped, her nails scraping across his bare chest, struggling to take him all the way. “You’re…. fuck… you’re big….” she moaned, her voice already shaky as she bottomed out, her body pressed flush against his.
Yunho barely heard her. His world was a blur of heat and pressure and the way she was clenching around him like she belonged there. His hands slid up her waist, then her back, desperate for something to hold on to, but she beat him to it. She wrapped one hand around his throat and his entire body jerked. His eyes snapped to hers, pupils blown, lips parted. “Y/N…”
“Oh,” she whispered, eyes narrowing slightly, lips pulling into a satisfied smirk. “You like that, don’t you?” He couldn’t speak. He could only nod as she squeezed just a little, not enough to hurt, just enough to own him. Then she started to move. Her hips rocked slow at first, adjusting to him, grinding against the base of him as she found her rhythm. But it didn’t take long before she was riding him, fast and hard, moaning every time he hit that spot deep inside her.
Yunho’s fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her mouth down to his, swallowing every sound she made. “You feel so good,” he groaned against her lips. “You’re gonna ruin me, baby.” Her teeth caught his bottom lip, then she pulled back, eyes locked on his as she rolled her hips again, intentionally slow, intentionally deep. “I want to.”
His breath caught. He didn’t know if she meant tonight. Or his life. But either way, he was already hers.
She was already so close, right there, when she leaned forward, grinding down hard with a strangled moan. “Yunho… fuck…. I’m gonna…”
“Come for me,” he growled, voice dark and ragged. “I want to feel it.” And she did. Her whole body trembled as she clenched around him, the orgasm tearing through her like a current, leaving her gasping, moaning his name like a confession. Yunho’s hands gripped her waist, holding her steady while she rode it out, hips still moving, slower now, more frantic from him than her.
But she didn’t get a chance to come down from the high. Because Yunho’s eyes were wild now. And his patience had just snapped. He grabbed her, strong and fast, flipping her onto her stomach with a low growl. She barely had time to gasp before he was behind her, running a hand down the curve of her spine, his other fist pressed into the bed beside her head.
“You drive me fucking crazy,” he muttered, and then she felt the tip of him at her entrance again, sliding between her folds, already soaked. He pushed in with one slow, hard thrust making Y/N whimper, back arching as he filled her again, even deeper in this position. Her legs trembled, spreading wider, and Yunho didn’t give her a moment of rest. His palm smoothed up her back again, just once, before he buried it in her hair and yanked her head back.
“Don’t you dare hide those sounds from me.”
Her mouth parted with a breathy cry, pleasure sparking everywhere as he started to move. He set a brutal rhythm, hips slamming into her, the grip on her hair keeping her back arched, open, his. Every thrust punched a moan out of her, and Yunho couldn’t look away from the way her body responded, so fucking perfect beneath him. “Yunho…” she gasped.
“Say it again,” he demanded, voice wrecked. “Say my name.”
“Yunho!”
That did it. He slammed into her harder, panting now, jaw clenched. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he growled against her shoulder. “You could’ve had anyone….” Not that he would have let anyone else live if she did. “and you chose me.”
She half turned, eyes glassy, lips parted. “I didn’t choose you,” she whispered. “I needed you.” Yunho groaned, pulling almost all the way out, then slamming back in, deep and punishing. Her cry echoed against the dorm walls as he kept thrusting, his hand fisting tighter in her hair, his other hand gripping her hip like he owned it.
Yunho’s grip in her hair loosened just long enough to pull her up, chest flush against his, her knees spread wide on either side of his thighs. He sat back on his heels, caging her between his arms, and she instinctively clutched at his forearms, barely able to breathe. Then she really couldn’t breathe as his hand slid up, fingers curling around her throat, not tight, just enough.
“Stay right here, baby,” he muttered against her ear. “Don’t move.” And then she felt it. His other hand snuck around her front, sliding down, down, between her thighs. He slipped two fingers inside her along with his dick, a filthy stretch that made her whole body jolt. “Yunho…. oh my god!” He grunted, tightening his arm around her waist to keep her upright. “You can take it,” he whispered, thrusting up into her again, slower now, deeper. “You were made to take me.”
Her eyes rolled back when his palm rubbed against her clit, firm and relentless, perfectly in rhythm with every snap of his hips. The overstimulation was intense, too much, not enough, everything. “F… fuck… I can’t…” she whimpered, clenching around him harder.
“Yes you can.” His hand around her neck flexed. “You’re gonna come for me again, sweetheart. Gonna come so hard I feel it in my fucking soul.” His fingers curled just right, his palm pressing harder. And Y/N shattered. She screamed, back arching violently as her whole body spasmed. Pleasure exploded through her, white, hot and blinding, and then she felt it, the rush, the release, the flood. She squirted, soaking both of them as Yunho’s mouth dropped open in a groan.
“Holy shit,” he growled, snapping his hips up one more time and that was it. He came with a loud, broken moan, thrusting deep and staying there, his arm still around her throat, her soaked and twitching in his lap.
They didn’t move for a full minute. The only sound was their ragged breathing, the slick aftermath of what they’d just done… and the quiet thud of Yunho’s heartbeat pounding against her back.
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The alley behind the club in Itaewon reeked of spilled drinks and bad decisions. Mingi leaned against the passenger side of Yunho’s car, hoodie up, one boot propped behind him on the bumper. His cigarette glowed dull orange in the dark, the ember flaring as he took a drag as Yunho’s footsteps echoed off the damp pavement.
“You’re late,” Mingi muttered, not looking at him. “I had to wait until she fell asleep,” Yunho replied, quiet making Mingi’s head tilt just slightly. “Wait… what are you talking about?” Yunho didn’t say anything at first. He just stopped a few feet away, eyes unreadable in the dim light and Mingi turned to face him fully.
His gaze scanned Yunho’s face, down to his hoodie still wrinkled from being pulled on in a hurry, the faint marks blooming across his neck. His jaw ticked, but there was no anger, just something softer. Quieter. “You slept with her,” Mingi said, not a question.
Yunho swallowed. “Yeah.” Mingi nodded once, slow. He reached into the duffel bag at his feet and pulled out the black Ghostface cloak and mask, holding them out.
“You didn’t rush it?”
Yunho met his eyes. “No. She asked me to stay.”
Mingi’s fingers tightened around the fabric, but only for a second. “Good,” he said, voice low. “She deserves that.”
Yunho took the outfit. “You okay?” He asked. Mingi let out a dry little laugh, exhaling smoke through his nose. “You know I love her too.”
“I know.”
“We said we’d share if she wanted us both.”
“She doesn’t know that yet.”
“No,” Mingi murmured, eyes flicking to the mask now in Yunho’s hand. “But she will.” Silence settled between them. Not tense. Not awkward. Just the quiet of two monsters in love with the same girl.
Yunho pulled the mask over his face, voice muffled now. “Let’s go ruin this asshole’s night.”
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The warehouse was packed, body to body, heat rising off the crowd like steam, music pounding so hard it vibrated through the floor and into your chest. Blacklight paint streaked across walls, faces, arms, and necks. Everyone was glowing, lost in the blur of flashing strobe lights and EDM drops.
Kai grinned, drunk and high off something stronger than beer, his shirt half unbuttoned, collar glowing blue under the UV lights. He danced with some girl who painted stars on his face with her fingers and then vanished into the crowd before he could even get her name. The DJ switched tracks. Something darker. Slower. Bass heavy.
That’s when Kai saw it. Just for a second, between the heads of two dancing strangers, a flash of white. The mask. Ghostface. Standing still in a sea of motion. Kai blinked, stumbled back a step. Gone. He shook his head, laughing nervously to himself.
He turned toward the bar. Reached for a drink someone abandoned. Another flash. Closer this time. He froze, eyes sweeping the crowd. The bodies were blurs. Fluorescent paint smeared across skin and clothing. Everyone was moving too fast to track. Everyone looked the same under blacklight.
He spun in a slow circle. There, by the speaker stack. Just watching him. Not dancing. Not even swaying. Kai’s chest tightened. “Okay…” he muttered, shaking his head. “This isn’t funny.” He pushed through the crowd, trying to find his friends. Darren wasn’t here. Nobody was. Just strangers and dancers and neon and fuck…
Ghostface. Directly in front of him now. The mask was glowing under the blacklight. So was the blade in his gloved hand. Kai stumbled back. Turned to run, another one. Behind him. He skidded to a stop, heart crashing in his chest. Two of them.
Kai turned to the side, shoved past bodies, slipping in spilled beer and sweat slick tiles as he ran. He didn’t stop to apologize, didn’t even look back. Just kept moving until he burst out of the warehouse rave, lungs burning, heart thundering in his ears. The night was loud, the streets of Itaewon packed with costumed partiers, glowing signs, and the endless buzz of nightlife. But it was colder out here. Too cold.
He stumbled across the street, nearly getting clipped by a motorbike, and shoved open the door to the nearest convenience store. The bell above the door jingled as he stepped in, bent over with his hands braced on his knees, panting hard. Fluorescent lights. The sterile smell of ramen and cleaning supplies. A handful of other people milled about, most in costume, some vampire fangs, a fairy with glitter on her cheeks, a grim reaper picking out chips. Kai ran a hand over his face. “Fuck. Fuck.”
He moved to the drink cooler, ripped the door open, grabbed a bottle of water and practically chugged half of it before even getting to the counter. “Hey, man, you okay?” the cashier asked, eyeing him like he was about to throw up. “I’m… fine,” Kai gasped. “Just some asshole in a costume trying to freak people out.”
The door jingled again and Kai froze. He didn’t need to turn. He knew. He felt it, like icewater poured down his spine. Slowly, he pivoted toward the sound, water bottle still clutched in his hand. Ghostface. Standing just inside the doorway. Breathing slow through the mask.
Kai screamed, actually screamed, and hurled the bottle. It hit the ghostface square in the mask. “FUCK OFF!” he shouted, grabbing the closest thing he could, candy display, chips, a can of Pringles, and throwing it too. The ghostface flinched, caught off guard, stumbling over a mop bucket near the door. “What the fuck?!” the masked figure snapped, Mingi, clearly pissed and definitely not expecting to get hit in the face with Fanta and sour gummies.
Kai bolted. Ran straight out the store, pushing past a couple dressed as angels, into the crush of people on the sidewalk. His breath came in short, sharp bursts. His legs burned. His eyes darted from face to face, too many people, too many masks. Everyone looked like Ghostface now.
He cut through the alley beside the club, then into another street, trying to disappear again into the crowd. Safe. There were too many witnesses. Too many lights. He stopped. His hand flew to his throat, fingers suddenly slick with warmth as he staggered, blinking down at the blood spreading across his shirt.
Standing behind him, so close he hadn’t even felt him until it was too late, was another Ghostface. Yunho. Still. Silent. His blade gleaming as Kai’s body collapsed onto the pavement, blood pooling fast beneath him, screams starting up as the crowd noticed, but Yunho was already gone, slipping back into the sea of Halloween masks like he’d never been there at all.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
The door to Y/N dorm clicked open with barely a sound as Yunho stepped back inside, silent as a shadow. The hallway lights from the dorm’s common area cast a faint golden glow across the room, just enough for him to see she was still asleep. Tangled in the sheets, one arm thrown over her pillow, face turned toward his empty spot. Her breathing was soft, even. Peaceful.
He shut the door with a whisper of a click, locked it, and peeled off his hoodie, black and damp from the chill air still clinging to him. The Ghostface costume and gloves were already stashed in the trunk of his car with Mingi. His knife wiped clean and tucked away in the glove compartment. No one had seen him. No one ever did.
Yunho stripped down to his boxers and crossed to the bed, climbing in like he hadn’t just murdered someone less than an hour ago as he slipped under the covers behind her, the mattress dipping under his weight. Y/N stirred only slightly, her body instinctively backing into his, seeking out his warmth. A soft hum left her lips as he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him.
His fingers brushed her bare stomach under her sleep shirt, his hand settling possessively across her hip as she sighed in her sleep. And he smiled. Not a sweet one. Not tonight. Kai’s blood was still drying beneath his fingernails, but none of that mattered now. Not while she was here. Not when she smelled like sex and sweat and lavender shampoo and the way she’d moaned his name just hours before.
She was warm.
She was safe.
And she had no idea the monster was already in her bed.
for mature audiences only, minors will be fed to wolves.
⟢ a/n: 𝄞 fiiiiive golden paaaarts 🎵 - this does NOT in any way, shape, or form depict who / how any of ateez are irl. please do not take this fic as fact on their personalities, please and thank you.
⟢ summary: the truth is finally out.
⟢ word count: 18.0k
⟢ warnings: NO SMUT IN THIS PART | psychotic yunho, threats, swearing, kidnapping, captive reader, conditioning, mental breakdowns, use of names (daddy, doll, baby, good girl, princess (min)), smutty activities only mentioned, confrontation, yelling, blackmail, guilt, bad things all around, uhhhh yunho's very scary, knife mention, use of phrase 'sex slave'
18+ THIS IS THE FINAL WARNING.
posted: 09.01.25
⟢ [OPEN] taglist: @cocostar1117 @sw33tsaturday @mangalovesanime-blog @ciderxi @aurorasjoongie @violatedvibrators @prchiquita8 @mythicalthing @stolasisyourparent @hxwq @thenewblackcanvas @lucatiny @whyismingi @0x11s @jellyroll22 @eshia16 @scarletxatz @jkayy-prodian @honghwalvr @0mrrp @h0efor2ho @mingismarmalade @ickssspencer @nadinenaya @ayleekay2006 @freyaphoria @daydreamqueenjaycee @urijjongbear @lol-imtrash2000 @sweatyracoon @oceanside-view97 @holykstan @rellz-bellz @odessa-is-my-queen @hwxbibi @sksngs @haven-cove @dollysecrets @jjongsgoodgirl @sitycc @nadinenaya (if you were not added, you did not have your age in bio or i missed you!)
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
The apartment itself pauses.
Six souls, unmoving: three sobering quickly, standing in the kitchen like they all just woke up from a shared dream; one standing against his closed door, his head in his hands; one sitting on the edge of his bed, watching his prized possession sleep. As if no one wants to be the first to move. The air conditioning unit grumbles awake, and the birds outside have long since gone to bed. Everything is still.
Very much sobered up now, Seonghwa can only stare at the guestroom door as if Mingi’s words had been written all over it.
‘You don’t know what you’ve done’.
He was right, he had no idea what Mingi was insinuating, but it frightened him nonetheless. Hongjoong cracks one of his knuckles, a nervous habit. The three of them all step apart, searching each other for an answer to the same question.
What have they done? How did they possibly forget the fear that they saw Mingi display right in front of them for weeks, and especially tonight when he had seen them in the lobby? Yunho’s odd behavior? They had ignored their gut instincts because of the immense trust they held for their friend. They let their inebriated thoughts and lust win in the heat and shock of the moment, but now they were all stragglers, left to fend for themselves in the open space of the living room. Suddenly, the outside world felt like it had all fallen away.
Hongjoong looks towards the front door, noticing now that only five pairs of shoes sat in the little shoe rack by it.
All men’s.
And maybe you were the type of person to put your shoes elsewhere, like in the closet, but the more he looks around, the more he notices how little personality your apartment holds – there were no pictures of friends or family secured in frames or hung on the wall anywhere, no little trinkets or souvenirs, no purse, no wallet. No sense of identity. No pictures of you and Yunho together either. Things that they’d overlook normally but still expect to be there. In the bedroom he had seen a stuffed animal or two on top of the dresser, a vanity in the walk-in closet that had some makeup neatly organized off to the side and presumably your journal sitting on top of it. But that was it. In this large, luxury apartment, he was noticing just how devoid it really was apart from some good quality furniture.
Maybe you just moved in? But he doesn’t see any boxes around. Maybe you just weren’t into decorating? But even someone who isn’t interested in decorating still had personal items. He also notices a hook near the front door with about four different keys hanging from it. He realizes he still has more questions than answers, and that same creeping suspicion crawls up his spine again.
One by one, they drop onto the couch they had been on earlier, in deep rumination. An hour or so passes before Yeosang turns to the door again. He gets up without a word, walking around the couch slowly, like he didn’t want to frighten Mingi with his footsteps if he was even awake to hear them.
Yeosang hesitates, as he steps closer to the guestroom door. A dark cloud hung over his head, weighing him down. He knew he was right to trust himself, and he desperately needed to talk to Mingi to see if he was right to be scared. He nervously wets his dry lips and softly knocks on the door.
“Min…?” There’s no response, not that he really expects one, “Min, if you can hear me, could you please let me in?”
There’s still no response from the other side of the door. Yeosang watches the doorknob like he can just will it to open for him. He tries again.
Still nothing.
He sighs, resting his forehead against the door and closing his eyes. Suddenly, he’s exhausted, the weight of the events so far, as well as the mental gymnastics he’s been doing since following Mingi here are finally catching up to him.
“Mingi, please,” he pleads quietly, “I… I need to know.”
Again, there’s no response. Only the same sounds of the air conditioning whirring and the low murmurs between Hongjoong and Seonghwa.
But right when he turns his head, about to walk away, there’s a faint click. So quiet, he almost doesn’t hear it, thinking his mind is playing tricks on him.
He places his hand on the doorknob, waiting a minute to see if Mingi will open it himself. When he doesn’t, he turns it, and is honestly surprised to feel it turn all the way and open. Seonghwa gets up, wanting to go in and talk to Mingi too, but Hongjoong grabs his shirt.
“Don’t,” he says, “Yeosang will tell us what he says, just wait.”
Reluctantly, Seonghwa sits down again, leaning his head back on the couch and staring up at the ceiling.
For a long time, they don’t speak. Occasionally, they’ll hear muffled sounds like voices or shuffling from both the guestroom and Yunho’s room. Once or twice a police siren wails a couple streets down, or the low hum of an airplane engine would rumble overhead. At one point, they hear a small sound coming from the guestroom, like something dropped, and then again a little louder, but they don’t investigate. If it was something serious they would’ve heard more concerning noises than that. And they settle back on the couch, resuming their listening to the nightlife in the city below them.
“Something he said is bothering me,” Seonghwa murmurs after about another half an hour, more to the ceiling than to his friend beside him.
Hongjoong laughs once without humor, “Multiple things he’s said have been bothering me.”
“He insinuated that we know her somehow. But I’m sure I’ve never seen or met her before tonight… I don’t know, it’s just bothering me because I feel like I’m supposed to and I just… don’t. What are we supposed to remember?”
Hongjoong sighs. He feels the same way. Mingi had implanted that frustrating question into all of them, and left the two of them the task of figuring it out for themselves until Yeosang came back, if he came back with answers at all. He keeps glancing back up at the hallway that leads to Yunho’s room.
Who were you?
“I have no idea.” Hongjoong thinks aloud, answering himself.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
When Yeosang stepped into the room, it took him a minute for his eyes to focus in the dim light. The lights in the main bedroom were off, only the light from the bathroom illuminating the space. Mingi held himself in a self-hug, sitting on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t look up when the door slowly opens. Yeosang locks the door behind him, correctly guessing that that’s what he would want him to do.
“Why did you let me in?” Yeosang asks, sitting down next to him. Mingi shifts uncomfortably, still not looking at him.
“I…” He trails off, having to force himself to keep talking, “I need you with me. I’m… it’s so… selfish of me, and I’m sorry but I can’t bring myself to tell them alone–”
Yeosang scoots closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder as he starts to ramble.
“Hongjoong and Seonghwa?” He asks, and Mingi nods, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “What can’t you tell them?”
Mingi starts to shake. He clenches his jaw, and closes his eyes to try to will his body to stop, but him tensing up only makes it worse. Yeosang moves even closer, wrapping an arm around his friend. Mingi can’t help but think this would be the last time in a long time Yeosang will want to be around him once he finds out. But he has to tell him. They have to know. Now.
Wordlessly, and shaking like a leaf, he takes his phone off of the nightstand and opens it, typing something into a search engine. He places it with the screen down on Yeosang’s leg before the results of his search even load, letting him pick it up whenever he’s ready. Neither of them feel ready.
A dull ache of nausea arises in Yeosang’s throat once he picks up the phone, not yet turning it over. This was it. When he looks at the screen, everything will make sense, and the final piece of the puzzle will fall into place. However, now that he was here, and really listening to Mingi’s words now, he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know anymore. Something he can’t bring himself to tell the others, like a kid who knows he’ll be in trouble and doesn’t want to disappoint his parents. Mingi looks down at his hands in his lap, unable to watch Yeosang’s eventual realization.
Yeosang takes a deep breath in. Get it over with. Now.
He flips it. For a moment, he’s unsure of what he’s looking at, the bright screen blinding him for a few seconds. There’s many news articles and links in both Korean and English, a couple reddit threads, and other media articles with your name in their titles.
Missing Person: The Disappearance of Y/N Y/L/N and What We Know So Far
Y/N Y/L/N: Runaway Or Foul Play?
Y/N Y/L/N Has Been Missing For Seven Months: Family Fears The Worst
FBI Agent Predicts Y/L/N Case Will Go Cold By End Of Year
Yeosang goes rigid.
“I don’t understand…” he contradicts himself, knowing full well what this means, “I-I don’t– what, so did she run away– I don’t–”
Mingi covers his face with his hoodie sleeves, shaking even worse now as he listens to Yeosang trying to make sense of it all. But there was no sense in this. Only the cruel truth of madness that was being kept down the hall. Yeosang scrolls, only seeing more and more related images and stories popping up, and soon he’s shaking almost as bad as Mingi. He stands up, abruptly, the phone dropping out of his hand to the floor with a dull thud. His knees buckle soon after, dropping dangerously close to the phone. Not that he was thinking about that, honestly. He kneels about a foot away from the bed with his hands on the floor in an attempt to steady himself. The nausea is back, his stomach turning and turning.
“I don’t…” he repeats, trying to keep himself from gagging. His voice is quieter and more choked, “I didn’t know– we–”
Mingi kneels next to him on the floor, wanting so badly to hug him and cry with him, but he gave him space to process this. For now he’d just offer his proximity. Part of him is so relieved that someone else knows, but the larger, guilt-ridden part overshadows that relief.
“You didn’t tell us,” Yeosang says, lifting his head back up a little.
Mingi doesn’t reply. He doesn’t need to, really. He knows he didn’t tell them before it was too late, but even then, Yunho had gotten him into this when he knew beforehand. So would’ve the outcome truly been any different? He’s not sure. He wonders if he told them in the alley, whether or not they’d still come up and talk to Yunho at all, to confront him. Not that it benefits him in the least to wonder about the different scenarios that could’ve happened, he made a decision and the aftermath of it is happening now.
“Why?”
‘Why’ indeed. That was the golden question.
Mingi takes a deep breath before answering, “He… he threatened me. Threatened all of us.”
“What do you mean?” Yeosang asks, turning abruptly to face Mingi, “Yunho?”
“Yes… he’s blackmailing me. He’s been blackmailing all of us for months and we didn’t even know it,” Mingi says, once again feeling reprehensible relief to get this all finally off his chest. “He only sent those pictures and videos to the group chat so he could claim us all as co-conspirators if we ever go to the police about it.”
“But– but we didn’t know!” Yeosang protests exasperatedly.
“It won’t look like that on camera.” Mingi mumbles.
Yeosang freezes. “Yunho wasn’t filming us,” he says, though his tone sounds unconfident, “I would’ve noticed if he was filming.”
Mingi just shakes his head, “No, you wouldn’t have. Unless you knew where to look.”
The two of them look at each other, one in disbelief, and the other in shame of himself. Mingi swallows hard and points up to the corner of the ceiling, in the direction of a camera so small, Yeosang had to admit that Mingi was right: he wouldn’t notice it unless he knew where to look. And suddenly, the horror dawns on him of what this means.
“Why…?” Yeosang asks again, breathlessly. He can’t look away from the camera now that he knows where it is.
“So he can drag us down with him if we tell anyone.”
Yeosang goes numb. His heartbeat is so loud, pounding in his ears so much that he starts to get a headache. His world is crashing down on him all at once, the consequences of his actions, of not trusting himself when he knew – he fucking knew – something was off about this. It was such a large pill to swallow, especially since it was about his roommate. His roommate. How did he not know? How had Yunho done all of this so discreetly up until Mingi’s strange behavior that made everyone else finally notice something was going on? There was obviously so much to this than he probably knew, but he isn’t sure he wants to know any more right now. His stomach is killing him. He starts panting like he just ran a race, an anxiety attack crawling up his throat as he thinks himself into a spiral.
But he still has one more question for him.
“Min?”
“Mhm?”
He hesitates, “What did Yunho drop into the sink earlier?”
Mingi’s body goes rigid. He doesn’t meet his eyes again, so Yeosang knows it was nothing good. He slowly turns and takes a breath before opening the lowest drawer in his nightstand, revealing the eight-inch knife.
Yeosang’s eyes go wide, lips parting in shock. Mingi quickly shuts the drawer again.
“He wouldn’t–” he starts to say, but he stops when he realizes he doesn’t believe it anymore. He didn’t even believe it to begin with, quickly recognizing the severity of Yunho’s obsession with you, and the lengths he’ll go to to keep everything the way he wants it to be.
“Why do you have it?” Yeosang asks, nervously looking at the man next to him.
Mingi exhales shakily, “I just– I wanted to make sure Yunho didn’t have it when you guys found out, so he doesn’t use it to threaten you in case it goes badly.”
Yeosang sits with that for a couple minutes. When they first entered the apartment, the whole time until he dropped it, Yunho had a knife behind his back. Ready to use it. Waiting for them to give him a reason.
“You were right to be scared of him,” He says, squeezing his eyes tight like that can help him calm down. No matter what he tries, he can’t regulate his breathing, and Mingi’s starting to worry. His stomach lurches and he gasps.
“I need to…” he staggers to his feet, trying to swallow down the nausea.
“Yeah–!” Mingi says hurriedly, also getting up from the floor. He helps his friend slowly sit back down on the edge of the bed, and he could cry just because Yeosang doesn’t flinch away from his touch like he expected him to. Actually, he doesn’t move his hand away from Mingi’s at all. Still standing, Mingi has to look up at the ceiling for a moment to keep from crying again. He’s reluctant to let go of Yeosang’s hand, knowing how badly he needs to be grounded in this moment, but he also has to get him some water. He’s looking paler and paler by the minute. Mingi makes it quick, grabbing a little paper cup from beside the sink in the bathroom and filling it with water. Carefully, so as to not spill any, he sits back down next to Yeosang, handing him the cup. He sips it slowly, staring off into space.
They sit together in another long silence as Yeosang’s breaths finally begin to even out.
“Are you okay?” Mingi eventually asks.
Yeosang laughs without humor, “Not really, but I’m not about to be sick anymore.”
“Yeah,” Mingi says, shifting how he’s sitting a little, “I know the feeling.”
Yeosang takes a last swig of water and crumples the paper cup between his fingers. He plays with it for a while, giving himself something to fidget with until he tosses it into the mini trash can tucked halfway underneath the nightstand.
“Do you hate me?” Mingi asks before thinking, “For not telling you?”
Yeosang pauses. His immediate, angry first thought is yes, he’s pissed the hell off that he didn’t warn them before you and Yunho got them drunk and played them right into bed. His anger loops you into blame and fault too. But his rational side can’t bring himself to be angry. He understands why Mingi had such trouble telling them what he’s done, what Yunho’s done, the fear of what he can do if pissed off. He remembers what Mingi said when the three of them first walked back into the kitchen: ‘Did you meet him?’ Meeting the Yunho that was capable of kidnapping. The Yunho that was willingly blackmailing his friends to ensure control. The Yunho whose eyes turned black and sharp, and whose voice carried a seriousness and a darkness Yeosang had never heard come out of him before tonight.
Him.
“No… I can’t hate you,” He says, truthfully. Mingi nods once, Yeosang’s words hitting him deep. He doesn’t hate him. He doesn’t hate him, even now. Even though he knows the whole truth. The two of them make eye contact with each other for the first time in what seems like years. Not even a couple seconds later, they’re both starting to cry again. Yeosang throws his arms around Mingi and pulls him in tight, letting himself break down, crying into his shirt. Mingi grips the back of Yeosang’s shirt, anchoring himself to him as every pent up emotion spills out at once.
They don’t hear the additional voices outside.
They stay like that until there are no more tears left to cry, grips on fabric loosening over time.
“We have to tell them… now.” Yeosang mumbles, his voice watery.
Mingi nods once, slowly, “Yeah… we do.”
Though dread sits heavy on his shoulders like a weighted blanket, Mingi isn’t as nervous to face Hongjoong and Seonghwa. He won’t be alone when he tells them. And maybe he won’t be as scared of Yunho anymore now that they’ll know too. Although, he’s not entirely sure what they could do to protect him. Whatever Yunho wanted to do, he did it. Simple as that. As violent as that.
He stands up, even though he’d rather hide under the covers for the rest of time. Actually, he could think of hundreds of things he’d rather do than see the disappointed and horrified looks from his two eldest friends. But Yeosang was right: they had to know now. They had to hear it from them, and not find out for themselves.
Yeosang inhales deeply, but feels like he can’t get enough oxygen into his lungs. Was this how Mingi felt every day since he found out? He doesn’t realize it, but he now carries the same haunted look as Mingi, adopting the tense, frightened body language and dullened eyes that have seen too much. He stands too, swaying a little.
“Okay,” he says, looking like he wants to say something else, but shakes his head twice like he’s shaking the thought away. He takes his phone out of his pocket, pulling up the same search and result pages to show Hongjoong and Seonghwa. “Okay…” he says again, more to himself this time. One final push to get him back out to face them.
Okay.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Yunho stands in the living room, easily towering over Hongjoong and Seonghwa, who were still on the couch. He doesn’t ask where Yeosang was – he knows already, and as much as he tries to stay nonchalant, the two men on the couch notice he keeps staring down the door like he could burn through it with just his gaze. Not that he was angry per se, but they were talking for a bit too long for his liking. But he was good at keeping casual conversation with Hongjoong and Seonghwa about the company, upcoming schedules, mindless stuff he can talk about on autopilot. Acting like he didn’t shift into his darker persona and yell at them to get out of his room earlier. He could fake it just fine. And he knows he’s making the two of them uncomfortable, he just doesn’t care. He’s waiting for the two hiding in Mingi’s room.
The image of Yeosang making direct eye contact with the hidden camera had given him such a rush.
Nevermind that Mingi derailed his plan a bit in regards to when and how he wanted to eventually tell the guys, he could forgive him purely because of that look of shock and panic. That was enough. He had even laughed at his reaction from behind his screen, wishing he could’ve seen it in real life. Yet another thing to envy Mingi for. He cracked his knuckles out of habit, though this time he wasn’t mad in the slightest.
He would’ve kept the livefeed of it open on his laptop if you hadn’t stirred awake, woken up by the sound of the joints in his hand cracking. It hadn’t been particularly loud, but it had penetrated your subconscious and activated a groggy state of panic as you woke up. He quickly closed his laptop, thinking it was too loud or too bright, shushing and petting you back to sleep. Your heart was beating a little too fast to sleep again at first, but you tried. Eventually, you did fall asleep again, barely conscious as Yunho got out of bed and went to the living room, leaving the door open just enough so that the light from the hallway could shine through.
He liked his room to be pitch black when he slept.
You didn’t like sleeping in total darkness. Not here.
Hongjoong is scrolling through the schedule of the upcoming week, trying to find an answer to a question Seonghwa asked about it when the three of them hear Mingi’s and Yeosang’s voices both closer to the door. All of them wait. Yunho leans back against the wall that connects to the hallway from the living room.
Yeosang didn’t realize how unprepared he was to see Yunho until he opened the door and saw him directly in front of him. He almost slams the door shut again. Both of them jump slightly, and Mingi almost cowers again when he sees Yunho’s eyes slightly narrow at him specifically. But his tone gives nothing away. Frankly, he sounds downright delighted.
“Hey guys,” he says, watching them freeze in the doorway, “you catching Mingi up on what he missed out on?”
Once again, the look on Yeosang’s tear-stained face doesn’t disappoint him. Yunho grins. Rather bravely, they still enter the room fully, unsure of how they could tell the two eldest now.
Speaking of…
The second the two of them saw Yeosang, they stopped breathing. He looks like he had aged ten years, like he had seen something so harrowing, so heinous, he can barely get himself to move.
He looks like Mingi.
Seonghwa stands up, instantly and naturally launching into his role as the mother of the group.
“Yeosang? What’s wrong?”
He helps him sit down on the couch, looking to Mingi for answers, but getting nothing once again. Yeosang simply stares at where you had been sitting prior, clutching his phone with an iron grip. Hongjoong looks between Mingi and Yunho, waiting for some explanation, but Yeosang’s breaths become a concern again, bordering on hyperventilation. Yunho doesn’t take his eyes off of him. He knows Yeosang can feel him staring at him. He drops down onto the couch, right next to the spot the younger man was fixated on, putting his feet up on the coffee table as relaxed as can be.
The poor man’s eyes dart around the room as he tries to focus on breathing deeply, and Yunho knows what he’s looking for. To help him out, he nudges a little plant on the coffee table with a socked foot, revealing a tiny camera hidden within its leaves. Yeosang nearly passes out, his phone clattering to the floor, unable to breathe properly as the hyperventilation kicks into gear.
Mingi’s just about had it. He lets Hongjoong quickly pass him to get Yeosang a bottle of water while Seonghwa tries his best to calm him down, glancing at Yunho occasionally.
“Leave him alone, Yunho,” Mingi says, surprising not just himself, but everyone in the room.
Yunho’s mouth twitches into a sly smile.
“Or what, Min? What are you gonna threaten me with?”
Mingi could’ve punched that smug look right off of his face. His fear finally gives way to his anger, his frustration.
“I said leave. Him. Alone.” He enunciates every syllable, jaw tight.
“Hey! If you’re gonna fight, go do it somewhere else,” Seonghwa hisses, quickly turning his attention back to Yeosang. Hongjoong deposits the water bottle in Seonghwa’s hand, and sits back down, warily. To give himself something else to do, he picks up Yeosang’s phone that had fallen and landed by his foot, with every intention of just setting it down and forgetting about it. But the screen lights up, having not shut completely off yet.
He doesn’t mean to look.
“Yeosang breathe, you’re okay.” Seonghwa comforts him softly, screwing the bottle cap back on and side-eyeing the two towers who look like they’re about to start swinging at any moment. But it’s quite clear now: whatever it is, whatever the truth was, it was far from okay.
“You’ve been picking on him since they got here. Why?” Mingi steps forward, “Do you honestly take this much joy in being an insufferable prick?”
Seonghwa winces, internally begging Mingi to stop. He needs to get Yeosang out of there, but they’re caught in the line of fire.
But Yunho doesn’t say anything. He just lets him speak, lets Mingi dig his own grave, his silence and semi-amused look disconcerting everyone. Not once does he look away from him. Analyzing his best friend like he’s trying to figure out what size coffin he’d fit in.
“Mingi, don’t–” Seonghwa begins to say, but someone cuts him off.
“Oh my god…” Hongjoong’s haunted voice cuts through the air. Four gazes suddenly focus on him. He stares at Yunho like he has suddenly grown two heads, like something he’s never seen before in his life. Something macabre, sinister. The complete opposite of the golden retriever persona he’s marketed so well to the world. Suddenly he sees what Mingi was afraid of, that hidden darkness just barely contained underneath the surface that they never noticed all these years.
Seonghwa takes the phone from Hongjoong, impatient and rather miffed at being the last one to know. He very quickly wants to throw the phone far away once he registers what was on the screen. Yeosang buries his face in his hands, still struggling to get a proper breath in. The two eldest freeze, stark still and trying to process this. Until they can’t contain themselves anymore.
They aim towards Mingi, overlapping each other’s voices.
“This is a joke, right?”
“Tell me we didn’t just–”
“I’m gonna be sick–”
“Why didn’t you tell us before?!”
“Mingi, please say something.”
But Mingi ignores them. Yunho’s right there, let him explain himself. He’d love to hear what his excuse was, what could be the reason why he chose to do this to them. He crosses his arms, waiting.
Yunho sighs.
“Well Min, I guess you got what you wanted,” He says, taking his feet off the coffee table, “now they know.”
His words trigger a sharp pain in Mingi’s chest.
“Shut up, Yunho, I didn’t want any of this.” He retorts, his voice obviously burdened by a sudden rush of emotion. Desperation to make his friend understand that he hates everything about this. He can’t admit that Yunho knows that and just doesn’t care. There’s still a small sliver of hope he’s holding onto for him. What remaining good was left in him, Mingi wanted to bring that part back out into the light. Granted, he knew it would probably take a miracle at this point.
“Fucking crybaby–” Yunho bites back with a sneer.
“That’s enough!” storms Hongjoong, rising to his feet, “Mingi, take Yeosang back to your room, both of you need to calm down. Yunho, I want you to explain this. Right now. No more bullshit.”
There’s the leader, tapping into his authoritative role. He watches Mingi and Seonghwa help Yeosang back up onto his feet, and take him back into the guestroom. Seonghwa comes back out and shuts the door behind him, daring to glance over to Yunho. He has to remind himself to breathe, and does so manually for the next couple minutes. He stays standing, feeling inexplicably more secure if he’s upright. Ready to run.
Hongjoong is in no better shape, though he masks it well. Whenever it’s time to be the leader, the captain, he can switch off his emotions to focus on what’s best for the group. He’s mastered it over the years, but he never knew he was training for something like this.
Managing to control his trembling hands, he picks up Yeosang’s phone that Seonghwa had discarded on the couch cushion, and flips the phone so the screen is facing Yunho, the missing person’s poster reflecting brightly in his black eyes. Yunho doesn’t react whatsoever. Frankly, he looks bored.
“Yunho,” He warns, “you better say something in the next two seconds.”
Yunho lazily looks back up at Hongjoong, unblinking, unwavering, and ignoring the phone altogether. His eyes are dead. Hongjoong almost flinches back when he notices. There’s nothing there – not even when they flick up to meet his. They move, yes, but somehow they’re dull, devoid of any spark of life within them. The complete lack of guilt or worry cuts Hongjoong to the core. It wakes him up: this is what Mingi warned them about, who they had ‘met’ previously.
Then, Yunho speaks.
“What would you like me to say?” He drawls, “You have everything already.”
“I’d like to know what you’ve been fucking thinking,” Seonghwa rages suddenly, “how could you do this? Why? Why would you fucking do something like this?!”
Yunho huffs, already getting annoyed.
Hongjoong holds his hand up, “Hwa, stop. I’m gonna send you in there too if you don’t settle down.”
Seonghwa paces, running his hand through his hair.
“Go back to the beginning,” Hongjoong says, sitting across from Yunho, not letting him stare him down into submission, “did you really meet her in a cafe first?”
Yunho nods, “She didn’t lie.”
Even his voice is dead. Hongjoong shrugs it off as best he can as he continues this… interrogation.
“Did she run away or did you take her?” He peeks back down at the pocket the phone is in, remembering the title, ‘The Disappearance Of Y/N Y/L/N: Runaway Or Foul Play?’ the most. He was hoping to every deity she left willingly, hiding out with Yunho for an innocent and understandable reason, and he was just fiercely protective of her… while also exploiting her to his friends. That hope is quickly shattered by Yunho’s response.
“What do you think?” He says it with sick amusement. Hongjoong doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. The only thing he’s thinking of right now, honestly, is coming up with a plan to get out of there and notify the police. But first, he needs to gather information.
“Okay…” he swallows around the lump in his throat, struggling to keep his voice steady, “okay, well what– what have you said tonight that’s true?”
“We met in Incheon at a cafe. This apartment, technically, is hers. She and Min are close. She’s mine.”
A chill runs up Hongjoong’s spine, the hair on the back of his neck standing up at the word. Moreso the way he said it. So final, with no room for argument. It threw Hongjoong off so much he felt like he had to reset himself for a second. For right now, he puts a pin in that intonation and files it for later.
“A-And Mingi…?” Hongjoong leans forward, resting his forearms on his legs.
“Is part of it? Yeah.”
As if spoken into existence, the guestroom door opens, and Mingi walks back into the fray. He’s quiet again, taking care to not piss off Hongjoong and Seonghwa again and get sent back into the room like a kid getting a timeout from his parents.
“Speak of the devil…” Yunho quips.
But he also can’t help himself.
“Speak for yourself.” Mingi growls. ‘Look who’s talking’, he wants to add, but he refrains. He’s in quite enough trouble already.
Seonghwa doesn’t shoot him a warning look. He doesn’t try to intervene again. He sits in one of the chairs at the dining table, biting the corner of his thumbnail. Only Hongjoong barks another warning at both of them.
“How is he?” Seonghwa asks quietly.
“He’s fine,” Mingi replies, sitting at the other end of the table, away from Seonghwa to give him space, “laying down with the bottle of water.”
Seonghwa nods, though it just goes in one ear and out the other. He registers that Yeosang’s fine and that’s about it. Inside he is an amalgamation of emotions and nagging thoughts and questions the more he listens to Hongjoong and Yunho talk. A lit fuse, just waiting to explode.
“Anything else?” Yunho sighs, leaning back. Seonghwa grits his teeth.
Hongjoong blinks.
“Why?”
“Why not?” Yunho replies, a little too quickly.
Hongjoong balks, not prepared for that response, “Because you– you can’t just take a person, Yunho! Are you serious?”
Yunho rolls his shoulders back, bringing his foot up to rest on his knee. Tongue in cheek, he looks away and laughs to himself, completely smug.
That’s it.
“So, what, what’s the plan here?” Seonghwa snaps, “You’re just gonna keep her here forever? What the fuck are you gonna do when we tour, take a missing girl to the airport and hope her ID doesn’t alert every security agent there? You can’t just leave her here either, we’ll be gone for a month! And when we all have to enlist–” Seonghwa can’t stop his rambling, but he needs to understand this. He has to ask every question now, in the hopes Yunho will answer each and every one.
Yunho rolls his eyes, “You think I haven’t thought about that? By the time any of that happens, I’ll ensure she can stay here by herself. Without incident.”
Hongjoong can only stare at him in disbelief. Does he really think you’ll just stay? Because he tells you to?
Yes, he does.
“Yunho, you can’t be serious,” says Hongjoong, utterly bewildered, “you can’t just keep her trapped here forever.”
“Yes, he can,” Mingi says grimly, “if he wants to, he can.”
“What’re you talking about?” Seonghwa asks.
He just shrugs, “He’ll always get what he wants in the end. That’s all.”
“Nice attitude.” Seonghwa huffs, leaning back in his chair.
“I’m just saying–”
“Neither of you are helping,” Hongjoong scolds them. He’s already ready to send Mingi back into his room, but the added company while confronting Yunho offers better security. Strength in numbers. He can handle him. It’s Seonghwa that’s worrying him the most. He’s rarely seen him lash out like this, usually always the most calm and level headed in the room. The drastic change in his demeanor was so stark and sudden, he decides to keep an eye on him the rest of the night. For however long this would take.
Yunho just shifts his gaze to each of them as they bicker, like he’s watching a show. It is rather entertaining to him, especially when he already knows the outcome. This will only end one way. He just enjoys the pushback, the fight before they all break for him. For now he has to be patient, absorb their shock and anguish, remember their sharp words to use against them in the future, and just watch them collapse in real time. That’s his favorite part: to watch them fall apart piece by piece. He watched it happen with you, with Mingi (though he’d need to knock him down a bit harder to keep him under control after this), and with Yeosang.
Ah, Yeosang. Perhaps his favorite reaction of the three so far. Seonghwa, though pissing him off, was a close second. He expected one of them to curse him out, but he hadn’t expected to get that deep under Seonghwa’s skin. He was pretty proud of himself for that.
But Mingi isn’t done yet. He’s finally reclaimed his voice after so long, he can’t hold himself back any longer. He bangs his fist on the table, startling Seonghwa.
“You keep her here like a prisoner, torture her to fit your sick and twisted fantasies, and you expect us to be okay with that?” he asks incredulously, standing back up.
And Yunho is game. He’s ready to start chipping away at this tower’s foundation again.
“You know why you have to be okay with that, don’t you, Min?”
“What do you mean?” Hongjoong looks from Yunho to Mingi, confused. They both ignore him.
“Oh, did you not get to tell them yet?” Yunho taunts, knowing the answer. Mingi isn’t surprised that he was watching them earlier in the slightest. He knew he’d be watching the second he brought Yeosang into his room, but for some reason, it makes him want to clam up again.
“Oh just shut up, Yunho.” He says, but there’s less bite in his tone.
“And you know damn well why,” hisses Mingi. “I don’t have to be ‘okay’ with anything you do. You can keep me from reporting you, but I will never be ‘okay’ with what you do to her or to us.”
“You understand why I’m harsh, Mingi? That’s how you get people to learn things quickly. I do it because I care. I got her for you! For all of us!” Yunho barks, his control waning the tiniest bit.
Mingi pauses. What the fuck was he talking about?
Hongjoong voices his thoughts out loud, “What are you fucking saying? You kidnapped some random girl for us?” his voice rising in volume. He’s even more confused now than he was before and he’s still only getting vague, passive aggressive hints from the two of them.
“She’s not ‘some random’ girl, she’s special.” Yunho says, getting more and more agitated.
“Oh, and that makes kidnapping her okay? I’ll bet you anything there’s nothing special about her and you’re just delusional.”
“Hey,” Yunho growls and stands to his full height, towering over Hongjoong, his growing rage evident in his tone, “you better watch your fucking mouth.”
But Mingi steps up to the plate, “Or what, Yunho, you’ll blackmail us? Kidnap someone else? Jeopardize everything again?”
“Blackmail us?” Seonghwa stands wide-eyed.
Mingi runs a hand through his hair, keeping his head down. This was where Yeosang had lost it. He doesn’t think he can stand watching Hongjoong and Seonghwa find out, but he knows he has to. There’s no choice anymore.
“There’s something you need to–” He begins to say, his voice notably quieter.
“I’ll tell them,” a small, deep voice says from the left side of the room. Mingi’s heart sinks.
Yeosang.
Dark circles already rim his eyes, his face and neck red and splotchy from intense emotional distress. Gaunt, like life was only just breathed back into him moments ago. He slowly moves towards the coffee table like a ghost, avoiding Yunho’s gaze the whole way.
Everyone watches him dig around in the small potted plant for a couple seconds, pulling out something small and black.
“What the hell is that?” Seonghwa stands, squinting at whatever Yeosang was holding, trying to see.
Mingi gulps.
“It’s a camera,” Yeosang says weakly, “everything’s been filmed.”
He cuts right to the chase. Blunt. He places it back down onto the coffee table like it’s fragile. Like if he breaks it, the world would find out what has transpired here tonight. Their very souls belong to the unblinking eyes of these cameras now. And he couldn’t even be thankful that San, Wooyoung, and Jongho weren’t involved, because they were. They were in the group chat too.
Seonghwa slowly sits back down, his hands balling up into fists on the table.
Mingi points to where the others are, capturing them in real time. The one atop the fridge, camouflaged with the dark exterior of the top of it, one just barely peeking out from behind a book on a shelf in the hallway, all so small no one would notice them at first, second, or third glance.
One of Hongjoong’s hands absentmindedly comes up to rub at his chest, urging his heart to beat normally again. His legs feel weak, but he refuses to buckle. He can’t. He knows what kind of message that would send to everyone in the room, and with all the strength he can manage, he refuses to let that happen.
“Why…?” He whispers, searching for a glimpse of the Yunho that he knew only hours ago.
“So he can drag us down with him if we tell anyone.” Yeosang answers solemnly, repeating Mingi’s words from before. “Same with the group chat.”
Hongjoong lets out a shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding, staring at Yunho in disbelief. He understands Mingi’s behavior now. He understands everything. Seonghwa doesn’t move or make a sound, he just sits still, stupefied.
Mingi and Yeosang both mentally check out. Yeosang sits on the couch, rigid and blank, and Mingi grips the back of one of the kitchen chairs, head hung low. They can hear Hongjoong and Seonghwa trying to work it out, make any sense of this, keep asking why, why, why. Hongjoong takes a step back, his heel hitting the leg of the couch. This couldn’t be him. This couldn’t be that upbeat, warm-hearted, eager teenager that saved him from his loneliness during training.
Tragically, he blames himself. If he’d been a better captain, more attentive, more observant, less of a workaholic, maybe he could’ve gotten Yunho the help he needed before he went and kidnapped someone. Before he devolved into the monster that now stood before them.
He tears his gaze away from Yunho, looking at half of his team just completely falling apart, and he knows the three others are waiting back at the dorms, none the wiser but almost equally as guilty. This was his fault. He failed him… he’d failed all of them.
Maybe he deserves this.
Luckily, his rational side refuses to give in that easily. If he needs to be in the fight of his life for the group to survive, then so be it. He has to try.
“Yunho… you have to let her go,” He says, quiet yet firm. The three others simultaneously look at their captain, astounded by his ability to stay collected. At least externally. “She is not your girlfriend if you’re forcing her to be, it doesn’t work like that. You must know that,”
The only response he gets to that is a slight twitch in Yunho’s jaw.
“Let us take her to the police, Yunho. Please–”
“‘Take her’?” Yunho repeats darkly.
The room stills again, the whole world holds its breath.
Yunho’s eyes flick over to the sink. Mingi’s blood runs cold.
Oh my god, he thinks in horror, he’s thinking about it. Though it scared him, he’s never felt better about taking that damn knife into his room than at this moment as he realizes he would.
He really would.
They’ve all really pushed him. Though he makes no move towards the kitchen for now, he still considers it. This was all the confirmation Mingi needed, and the pit in his stomach grows and grows.
Yunho instead just stares Hongjoong down, their equally overpowering, dominant auras fighting it out between them.
“If you seriously think I’d just let you take her away from me, then I must not have been clear about who’s in control here,” Yunho says, his voice low, stepping forward to corner Hongjoong.
“You’re not gonna scare me, Yunho,” Hongjoong says unmoving, matching his tone, “threaten us all you want. This is wrong and you know it.”
“Let’s say I let you. You think an idol can just waltz into the police station with a missing girl and not end up on the news?” Yunho snickers, “You’re hilarious.”
“We can just drop her off somewhere,” Seonghwa suggests, breaking his silence, “someone will take her to the police eventually, no one will have to know it’s us.”
“Do you hear yourself? You know we live in CCTV city, right? No one minds their business here.”
“So we’re just stuck,” Hongjoong deadpans, “that’s it? Nothing we can do about it? After everything we’ve done for you, you’re just gonna take us down if you get caught, no matter what?”
“I’m just making sure it’s fair,” Yunho shrugs, “you guys could’ve said no. You could’ve left. You made that choice, not me. I don’t recall forcing any of you to fuck her. I had to hold some of you back, actually.”
His words are sharp, and targeted. Candid and direct. They couldn’t say anything on the contrary, not when they knew he was right. Horribly, truthfully right. Not even Mingi, who was manipulated and threatened, sure, but forced? No. He’d given in when Yunho insisted. None of them were held at gunpoint, at no point did Yunho say to any of them that harm would come to them if they said ‘no’. And the evidence of that was all on camera. They didn’t do anything they didn’t want to do.
Psychologically, Mingi breaks. Did he really have a choice? Could he have said ‘no’? He can’t move. He can’t speak. Yunho watches him specifically, eating up every little expression of distress and guilt.
There we go, Min, he thinks, come right back down to my level.
“Look at you all, trying to be so morally superior all of a sudden,” Yunho laughs. From his peripheral vision, he can see Seonghwa getting more and more agitated. He can’t help himself.
“Oh what’s the matter, Hwa? Still taste her?”
It’s more than enough to fully set Seonghwa off. Mingi snaps out of his stupor in time to hold him back, hooking his arms around his middle, dragging him backwards and accidentally bumping into the dining table in the struggle to keep him away from Yunho. Yunho doesn’t even flinch. He just watches Seonghwa break down with cruel amusement. Truthfully, Mingi would love nothing more if Seonghwa punched Yunho unconscious, but that would only end very badly if he let him attempt to do so. Yeosang stands, watching Seonghwa fight against Mingi’s hold on him, shouting at him that it won’t help anything.
“STOP IT!” Hongjoong yells, “This all stops now. Yunho, you’re gonna come back to your senses right fucking now and let her go.”
Yunho takes another step closer to him, easily overpowering the whole room. He calmly takes a USB drive out of his pocket, waving it in the space between them and looking directly into Hongjoong’s eyes.
“Then stop me.”
Nobody dares.
The four of them stand frozen, though not from fear. Fear had engulfed them a while ago. No, this was something else. Something far worse.
Control.
He’d caged them too. Their lives, everything they’ve worked for, now in his hands. And oh, how red those hands were. The three of them understand Mingi now. Why he had begged them to leave earlier in the lobby, before Yunho could trap them like he had been. The person they knew Yunho to be was gone, replaced by the monster that had been there the whole time. Yunho tosses the USB onto the coffee table without looking, letting it clatter around in the loudest silence yet. It spoke for itself. Even in reach and unguarded, none of them lunged for it.
Then, they hear a small noise. A quiet gasp coming from the hallway.
You.
Wrapped in a blanket, looking so small in the middle of all of them, eyes wide and frightened.
“Oh no, did we wake you, baby?” Yunho croons, moving to your side and fussing over you. “I’m sorry, my princess.” He kisses your forehead, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders.
But you don’t look at him. You even wince a little as he kisses you and calls you ‘princess’ – it doesn’t sound as sweet coming from his lips as it did from Mingi’s. Thankfully, he doesn’t notice.
You’re watching the three other men in the apartment who look like they’ve just seen the devil incarnate, and you’re here to condemn them to hell forever. In a sense, they weren’t wrong, but you were no demon. You were simply surviving. You trust that Mingi will let them know that, and maybe they’ll understand it eventually. Still, it doesn’t soften their gazes on you now. Only Mingi looks semi-pleased to see you. He finds your presence is able to calm him more than he thought, though he’s only able to offer you a subtle nod, slowly letting go of Seonghwa. A simple nonverbal check-in to make sure you were okay. You lower your chin ever so slightly, looking back at him once to make sure he saw.
You were witness to a lot of the conversation that had just transpired. You had woken up when you heard a loud bang! coming from the kitchen, gotten out of bed when you heard raised voices, particularly Yunho’s and Mingi’s, and cowered in the doorway for a while until Yeosang showed them the hidden camera in the plant, inching forward in the hallway to see them. How much you had heard was unknown to Yunho. That doesn’t sit well with him.
You’d heard a lot. Most of it you wish you hadn’t heard at all.
It was startling to see and hear Mingi get upset, raising his voice and standing up to Yunho for the first time since you’ve known him. It was the first time you’d seen anyone stand up to Yunho, for that matter. God knows you couldn’t. And you had no interest in doing so, not when the one and only time you’ve seen someone do it, they were shot down and humbled immediately. You can tell Yunho is incensed, and wonder whether Mingi knew he was or not, or just didn’t care. Either of those scenarios made you nervous. Yunho had been lenient thus far with Mingi, but this was crossing a line. You can tell in the way he holds you a little too tight, and how he’s clenching his jaw.
“Do you wanna go back to bed, or do you wanna stay here with me?” He asks you, just loud enough so you can hear.
It’s rare that Yunho ever gives you options, and it takes you aback to be given some now. These are thinly veiled, the added ‘with me’ a not so subtle hint as to what he wants you to choose.
“I-I’ll stay here with you, Daddy,” you match his quiet tone. He sighs in relief, thanking you under his breath.
He pulls back to look at you. Your hair is messy, and your face is still a bit puffy from crying, eyes ringed with disrupted sleep. He’d love nothing more than to fix you, brush your hair, help you with your skincare, dress you like his little doll, to pamper you as he always does after a particularly rough night.
“Okay… why don’t you go get dressed and then we’ll talk with everyone. Sound good?”
“Get dressed by myself, Daddy?” You ask, looking up at him, confused. He hadn’t let you do that before. It was becoming more and more clear that whenever… ‘guests’ were here, Yunho’s always surprisingly permissive with certain things.
He tilts his head, “Is that okay?”
“I– Can I really do it by myself?”
Yunho holds back a smile and pets your hair. You’re so fucking cute.
“Of course, baby. Unless you’d like someone to come help you–?”
“I can do it!” You say a little too eagerly, almost interrupting him. One of the men in the living room, you think maybe Yeosang, lets out a breath of relief. With a small raise of his chin, signalling you to go, you turn and walk briskly back to the bedroom, already wondering what he’d like you to put on.
There’s a long beat before Seonghwa says something under his breath, “What the fuck…”
Yunho doesn’t respond, nor react. He collects the USB off of the table, pocketing it again, and watches the hallway with his hands in his pockets, like a concerned parent waiting for their kid. Yeosang is as stiff as a board, white-knuckling the fabric of his sweatpants just to hold onto something. Hongjoong’s throat burns from holding back every emotion imaginable, staring at the spot on the coffee table where the USB had landed, right in front of him. Like it was mocking him.
“So, should we call the others and let them know too, or?” Yunho says so casually, checking his phone and speaking like he’s alerting the others to a simple schedule change. He looks up when he gets no response.
“Jeez, guys, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,”
Seonghwa sits back down, all but collapsing back into his chair. Mingi and Yeosang both are stationary, unmoving statues staring blankly at nothing. Every word from Yunho just pushes them further down into their desolation.
“You sick bastard.” Hongjoong whispers, eyes narrowing as he tries to discern what has possessed the man in front of him.
Yunho smiles warmly.
“Guilty.”
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
You have to steel yourself before coming back out, knowing they’ll all be staring at you again. You press your forehead against the door, hand on the doorknob, preparing. The plan is to just avoid their glares completely, and keep your eyes down. Nervously, you do one more check of the outfit you decided on: another one of Yunho’s shirts, black satin shorts, and a pair of slouch socks. You hoped it was good enough to warrant Yunho allowing you to dress yourself from now on. A little taste of independence again. You exhale slowly, blowing the air out against the door and count down from three.
You try to open the door as quietly as possible, but the hinges give you away in the quiet stillness of the apartment. If you couldn’t see Mingi and Seonghwa at the table right when you opened the door, you would’ve believed you were alone. Mingi looks up and you look away, not wanting to see the regret in his eyes again.
But you miss it.
What you think to be true is the complete opposite – Mingi looks at you and almost melts. You’re so beautiful to him, it nearly kills him to see you look so… domestic instead of dolled up. In clothes he knows you picked out yourself, even if you were thinking of what Yunho would approve of when choosing them. He looks at you, as much as he can because he knows Yunho will probably keep him far away from you for a while because of tonight. So he takes you in now. He memorizes every detail about you: the way one sock is slightly higher than the other, how you’re not quite sure what to do with your hands until you give up and leave them at your sides, how you looked at him in the bathroom, how you try to stop glancing over to him now.
As soon as he sees you, Yunho takes your hand and sits you next to him on the couch just like earlier. You notice Yeosang is missing as you settle, and wonder if he’s alright. Hongjoong moves to the kitchen area, not wanting to be close to either of you right now. It’s understandable, but it still hurts as you watch him distance himself.
You accidentally make split-second eye contact with Seonghwa when Hongjoong passes by him. Seonghwa looks away first, turning his head almost completely to the side so you’re not in his line of sight whatsoever. You lower your head and shift back onto the couch cushions even more, hiding behind Yunho and hugging your knees to make yourself even smaller.
“She’ll answer any question you have, won’t you, baby?” Yunho asks you, holding your hand.
You nod once, “Yes, Daddy.”
Hongjoong grimaces, no longer did he feel any sort of thrill in hearing you say that. Frankly, it made him feel sick to his stomach.
No one asks anything.
“So shy all of a sudden,” Yunho muses, looking at his friends. He waits another few moments before asking you something himself, “I’ll ask one I know you guys want to ask: you wanna be here, right?”
“Yes, Daddy,” you agree, “I… I like it here.”
Li-ar. Li-ar. Li-ar beats your heart. Even from behind Yunho, you can feel Mingi looking straight at you as you say it. You squirm uncomfortably, already wanting to go back to bed.
“You make her call you that all the time?” asks Hongjoong.
“What, are you jealous?” Yunho smirks knowingly. Your face turns red out of awkwardness. Hongjoong chooses to ignore him, getting his answer anyway.
You can feel the smug satisfaction in his touch as Yunho draws slow, idle circles over the back of your hand with his thumb. He doesn’t really need anyone to speak – he’s already won anyway. He’s just prolonging this torture for them for his own amusement and ego.
Instead of asking why again, Hongjoong asks, “So what exactly is the purpose of having her? You said you got her for us, I’d like clarification on what that means.”
Yunho grips your hand a little tighter, his nails digging into your skin absentmindedly. You silently beg them all to stop saying things like that to provoke him, knowing he’d probably take it out on you later. He had to keep himself under control in front of them, especially Hongjoong. To distract himself from the – what he feels to be – blatant disrespect towards you, he brings your hand up onto his thigh, playing with your fingers with both hands, just giving himself something to do and focus on.
“When I met her I knew she’d be perfect for us. Beautiful, kind, docile. I brought her here so I could train her to be a resource available to the group whenever needed. We work hard enough, so having an accessible live-in ‘girlfriend’ for all of us would be beneficial. Mingi was her first test.”
Mingi clenches his jaw but stays quiet.
‘When I met her I knew she’d be perfect’…does that mean he thinks you are? Were you perfect for him now? You definitely were special to him. He had said so earlier, defending you vehemently with venom in his voice.
Seonghwa props his elbows on the table, leaning his forehead into his hands.
“So the whole reason is that you’ve trained her to just be a sex slave for us? Is that what I’m hearing?” Seonghwa addresses, his voice shaking.
To protect yourself, your brain blacks that out, only focusing on what wouldn’t send you into a spiral. So he wasn’t kidding about how you’d eventually be introduced to the group. This was all planned. You hug your knees tighter, feeling a little stupid for not realizing it sooner. You’re voiceless, physically and metaphorically, with no say in what happens to you. What if you just want to stay with Yunho? There was no doubt that if you told him that, you’d inflate his ego even more
What if you just want to stay with Mingi– no. You let your legs go, as if pushing that thought away with them, back down to the floor. You can’t think like that. He’ll know.
“That’s not her sole purpose,” Yunho defends, a slight edge in his tone.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Mingi mutters, just loud enough for Yunho to hear. Yunho’s gaze snaps to him.
“What about you, Min?” He tilts his head, voice deceptively light, “You’ve been pretty chatty up until recently. Anything you wanna add?”
Mingi could throttle him right now. But he only stares down at the table, inactively picking at one of the placemats there.
“No,” he says stiffly, “there’s nothing.”
“You sure? Could’ve sworn you said something you wanted me to hear.”
“Would you stop picking on him?” Seonghwa shouts, startling you, “You’ve been after him and Yeosang all night. Give it a rest.”
Yunho goes rigid, but his poker face stays unwavering. He knew they wouldn’t react well to all of this, but them telling him what to do over and over again was getting ridiculous. He closes his eyes, tilts his head to the side and cracks his neck.
Your skin crawls and you look at him in fear.
He lazily shrugs it off, pretending to be nonchalant, but the wheels in his head are turning, twisting and conjuring all the possible ways to retaliate against Seonghwa and Mingi. And that’s the thing with Yunho: sometimes he wouldn’t take it out on anyone who has pissed him off in that moment. He takes his time to plan, to plot against them. Something carefully tailored to them specifically so that he can ensure their maximum suffering. He’d think of something good. He already has some ideas in mind for Mingi.
“Y/N?” Hongjoong calls for you, his arms crossed over his chest. “Do you feel safe here?”
You blink.
“Yes, sir.” It’s an automatic response. Nothing can hurt you here except careless mistakes. And you were on a good streak so far.
“You don’t have to call me that anymore,” he says quietly.
“Yes, she does,” Yunho says, finalizing it, “Ask her what you want to ask, Joong.”
Hongjoong pauses his pacing for a couple seconds, forcing himself to look at you finally. You meet his eyes for a moment before looking down at your lap. You glance over to Yunho out of the corner of your eye to see if he disapproves of how long you looked at his friend. In reality, it had only been two seconds, but any amount of time could be dangerous when Yunho is so close to erupting. Hongjoong crouches down in front of you.
“Y/N I wanna hear from you, not what you think Yunho wants to hear, okay?”
You nod slowly, still side-eyeing Yunho for guidance. He gives you nothing, his jaw clenching at Hongjoong’s words.
“Are you afraid of him?” Hongjoong asks, only looking at you.
For a moment, you consider saying ‘yes’. Telling the truth. Your mind rapidly plays a montage of scenarios that could unfold in the chaotic aftermath of a single word being uttered by you. A fifty-fifty chance of delving into disaster.
Yunho laughs like Hongjoong had said something absurd. His voice is still just as light but coiled like a snake, ready to strike in the blink of an eye, “You’re not afraid of me, are you, baby?”
You hesitate a little too long for anyone’s liking. You look down at the hand holding yours. The same ones that have soothed and pampered you, fussed over you when you were sick, held you tight to him so you didn’t feel alone in the dark. The same ones that sparked the lighter to set the bed on fire. The same ones that held the gun to your head in your dream. You clear your throat like you were prevented from speaking for a moment, hoping they (especially Yunho) believe that – your throat was still pretty sore and your voice only slightly less raspy than before.
“No, Daddy,” you confirm, convincing enough for Yunho, but falling flat for the others, “I’m n-not afraid of you. I love you.”
Your eyes meet Mingi’s as you speak. This time, you don’t look away so quickly. Hongjoong stands back up, and when you turn to him, your heart drops. You can tell.
He doesn’t believe you whatsoever.
He sighs and walks to the opposite couch, letting himself sit on the arm of it, still unyielding and holding some height as he processes this.
“This can’t be real,” Seonghwa mutters under his breath, “I can’t believe this.”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Hwa,” Yunho says, a thin smile playing on his lips, “she’ll be a good girl for you too. I’ve trained her well.”
“With fear and violence,” Mingi also mutters, looking up at Yunho through his lashes.
A heavy silence falls upon the room.
“With unorthodox methods, yes.” Yunho replies, his voice slightly lower. “And they’ve gotten me the best results,” He kisses the back of your hand, a silent praise.
He suddenly holds back a smile and you know whatever he’s thinking, it won’t be good. Abruptly, he lets go of your hand and moves away from you, shifting his body to turn towards you.
“Recite your rules.” He instructs out of the blue. Instantly, you snap to attention, the words flowing easily. They’re seared into your brain, into your very soul. You know them backwards by now.
“One, always be on my best behavior. Two, never answer the door for anybody but Daddy…” you trail off a little as Yunho leans slightly forward to you, “Three, always be ready for Daddy when he gets home–”
“And what does ‘being ready’ look like, baby?” He asks. You gulp, knowing he’s pressing on this one because it’s the most recent rule you’ve broken.
“B-being–”
“No,” Yunho interrupts, snapping his fingers down to the floor, “show them.”
That same red flush paints your skin again, coloring your ears red and making your face burn. But you obey, as you only know how to do, and you do so without hesitation nor complaint. You smooth your shirt as you stand, as if to preserve some dignity, and then sink to your knees, facing Yunho, your back to Hongjoong. It’s an effort to hold your chin up and keep looking at him, since you can see the appalled expression of Seonghwa in your field of vision. Mingi, of course, isn’t surprised at all.
And he hasn’t stopped looking at you.
“Good girl. Keep going,” Yunho says, leaning back. He looks down at you past the bridge of his nose, like you were something beneath him, something that was begging for his precious attention. You wet your dry lips and continue.
“Four, never disobey Daddy, and five… n-never try to leave.”
The air gets sucked out of the room. No one says a word. What could they even say?
But Yunho isn’t done. When is he ever? There are too many points to be made, too many warnings to give out.
“Baby?” He smiles down at you, nothing but warmth and tenderness evident on his face. Your eyes slightly widen with hope. He looks so proud of you.
“Yes, Daddy?”
“Go get my belt.”
You swear your heart stops. The world stops. Your whole body shuts down. The air is too thick to breathe, to fit inside your lungs, or travel through your blood.
Not the belt… what did you do?
Your mind races, replaying every tiny detail possible of what you’ve said, how you’ve said it, what you’ve done, how you did it. But there’s nothing. You can’t understand for the life of you. Yunho watches your face crumple, but your body slowly shifts into autopilot, never disobeying a direct order from him.
“No!” Mingi yells in desperation, nearly knocking the chair back as he stands up, stepping closer towards you, “Yunho stop this, she didn’t do anything wrong.”
White hot rage finally explodes from Yunho, whiplashing all three men at once, “Song Mingi, if you try to control me one more time, I will make sure you beg me to kill you before the night is over.”
His words cool like lava, still burning beneath a thin, black surface. The sky outside begins to turn a dark blue, ever lightening with each passing minute. You don’t realize how bad you’re shaking until you nearly fall, gripping onto the couch to stabilize yourself. Yunho makes no effort to help you. There’s no need to, he knows you’ll follow his orders perfectly. You’ll get yourself up again.
Never did Mingi think Yunho would ever physically threaten him like that. Threatening to kill him, no less, and with such conviction as well. He meant it. Mingi instinctually takes a step back, his heartbreak evident on his face. The devastating loss of his best friend, watching him devolve in real-time, chokes his heart. The fond memories turn sour, everything he once knew now blurry and deceptive. A sense of mourning overwhelms him.
“Go.” Yunho says to you. And you go, keeping your eyes down as you walk to the bedroom like you’re going to your execution.
“Mingi, what’s happening?” Hongjoong asks, but Mingi doesn’t respond. He only looks at you as you walk by him. Once you’re in the doorway of the bedroom again, out of Yunho’s sight, you turn around. You’re crying again, understandably. But it’s the way you look back at Mingi, silently begging him to help you though you both know there’s nothing either of you can do. Nothing.
Seonghwa watches you two, confusion written all over his face. Yunho’s hand twitches as he glares at Mingi. Clearly, he wasn’t as knocked down as he thought. No matter though, he already had plans to rectify that in place.
When you come back into the room, you’re holding his belt almost by your fingertips, like it burns to the touch. You kneel in front of Yunho again, holding his belt up so he can take it from you. He holds the end of it in one hand, dragging the other along the length of it against his palm, between his thumb and index finger before rapidly striking the pillow next to him, watching you all the while. Your shoulders jump at the sound of the strike, and a small whimper escapes from your throat. You could almost feel it hitting you already. Phantom pains prickle at your skin.
“Yunho…” Seonghwa starts to say, but quickly trails off when Yunho side eyes him, nostrils flaring.
Mingi covers his mouth with his hand, his arm crossing over his chest to help keep his other arm up. He doesn’t think he can handle watching you get hit again, but he also knows this isn’t about him. Your pain of getting hit far outweighs his being witness to it.
Yunho pulls the belt taut, admiring the silver buckle against the leather, remembering each fleck of blood that stained it with quiet fondness. He makes you wait. He painstakingly slowly wraps it around itself once, holding it in his right hand.
There’s one more beat of tense silence before he taps your cheek with it, enjoying watching you flinch but ultimately stay still. He points over to Seonghwa with it.
“Crawl to him.”
Dignity be damned, you’ll do anything to avoid getting beat again, and you’ll do anything when you’re this scared. You’re not sure what point he’s trying to make, and why Seonghwa specifically, but that’s not what’s important to you right now. Instantly, you start crawling towards him, kneeling again once you reach his leg that isn’t underneath the table. You feel safer now that you’re farther away from the belt. You wipe your tears away with your hand, ready.
“It’s so funny how only a couple hours ago, this visual would’ve had you begging me to let you have her again.” Yunho chuckles, once again running his palm along the leather.
You hate to say it, but Seonghwa’s a beautiful crier. Like a fallen angel watching heaven leave him behind, diamond tears glistening on his glass skin. All that was missing from the visual were wings. Clipped, but still there, proving his divine existence. His long, black, shaggy hair falls perfectly around his face, like an ornate frame. Every detail designed to make anyone want to keep looking, even if he’s in pain. Your good nature wants to hold him, comfort him, but just you being this close to him right now is what is setting him off like this in the first place. A devil, come to collect him.
He whimpers, being reminded of his sinful conduct.
And if he thought Yunho would end it there, he was sorely mistaken.
“Doll? Seonghwa looks so tense… sit on his lap.”
Seonghwa exhales shakily but doesn’t move, and certainly doesn’t relax when you cautiously place yourself on his lap, sitting kind of twisted, your legs dangling off the side of the chair but your torso turned to face him.
Up close to you again, he can see the marks he had made on your skin – when he didn’t know. It’s enough for the angel to produce more silver tears.
“Don’t cry, Hwa. Just ask me nicely if you want her again… remember?” Yunho jeers. Seonghwa’s hands are stuck firmly to his sides, face turned slightly to the side.
“Still too shy?” Yunho chuckles again, “Doll, why don’t you give him a kiss, maybe that’ll help him relax,”
Both of you turn red, and Seonghwa finally looks at you, searching your eyes. For what, you’re not entirely sure. You lightly place your hands on his shoulders, hardly touching him, only enough to stabilize yourself, and mumble a just audible apology before softly pressing your lips to his. He unknowingly follows the same psychological path of protection as Mingi. It helps that you kiss him, and he’s not forcing himself on you. At least Yunho isn’t making him do that. For now at least.
Not only did he look angelic, kissing him felt like heaven. Ultra soft, plush lips hardly moving against yours, pursed just enough to make it not feel like you were kissing a statue. His tears wet your cheeks, and you taste the salt of them on your tongue when you just barely lick his plump bottom lip to try to get him to open up a little more. Your orders were to get him to relax. You can hear the small tinkling of metal in Yunho’s hands, reminding you what’s at stake if you don’t put your all into whatever he asks of you. You turn your hands in, bringing them a little closer to play with Seonghwa’s hair that curls at the base of his neck.
Sell it.
The slight tickling sensation of you playing with his hair does eventually get him to relax just enough for it to be noticeable. Once he finally starts kissing you back, that’s when Yunho stops it.
“That’s enough. Good job, doll.”
You immediately separate from Seonghwa, taking your hands away as well. His breaths are a bit labored, but he’s not as stiff as he was. Hopefully Yunho can see that. You look back at him, awaiting your next direction as Seonghwa looks at you, breathless.
Yunho snaps his fingers again. “Down,”
In a second, you’re back down on the floor. Ready. Your lips still tingle slightly from kissing Seonghwa.
“You’re treating her like a dog,” Hongjoong says, his contempt obvious.
“Remember how they trained that dragon in Gringotts?” Yunho asks almost innocently, “It was trained to expect pain at the sound of a specific device. I simply adapted that type of training,”
Hongjoong stares at him, dumbfounded, “Are you seriously talking about ‘Harry Potter’?”
“It’s classical conditioning,” Yunho continues, ignoring him, “see how quick she is to obey me? It works. Fear always works.”
In your hazy mind, a famous phrase pushes itself forward, forcing you to focus on it. Is it better to be feared than loved? You weren’t sure you knew the answer. People always fail who they love, the ones who fail who they fear never live to do it again.
When did you turn into such a pessimist? It must be better to be loved. Fear may earn you power, but rarely respect. You think of Mingi. Was it a more prominent feeling to be loved by him or to be in fear of Yunho? Was it even love? Could either of you even call it that? How can you tell if anything here is real? Mingi can’t possibly feel that way towards you genuinely. You know it can’t be true. But… Yunho loves you.
Right?
“Alright, you’ve made your point, Yunho–” Hongjoong says, trying to get him to stop this display of power over you.
“Joong, you look rather ill at ease, too.”
This time, he doesn’t even need to tell you, you’re already crawling again. It’s a short distance from Seonghwa to Hongjoong, kneeling at the side of the couch in only two seconds. Hongjoong stands back up, side-stepping to avoid stepping on you.
“I’m fine.” He insists, his voice firm.
“Sit.” Yunho hisses.
Now Hongjoong falters, hesitantly looking between Yunho, and Seonghwa and Mingi. He can’t let them see him give in, but truthfully he’s scared of Yunho, especially after he threatened to kill Mingi. There was no good option for him to choose from. Sit, let Yunho win and ignore the pain of guilt that stabs at his chest as you’re puppeted on top of him. Resist, and earn the respect of Seonghwa and Mingi, but be left to face the wrath of Yunho. Perhaps if he resists, Yunho would make you do something worse than just kiss him. He doesn’t know. Either way, he loses. There is simply no winning in either scenario.
“Hongjoong,” a soft voice says. Seonghwa. He says everything with just a look.
‘You don’t have to be brave for us’. ‘We won’t think any less of you as our captain’.
He swallows hard. It’s against his natural instinct as a leader to yield to someone questioning and comparing his authority. But this is more than a challenge of power.
This is mutiny.
Maybe not in the public eye, but the internal dynamic of the group would be changed.
Facing his defeat, he makes sure to keep his head up as he sits back down on the couch. Defiant until the end, refusing to give Yunho the satisfaction. Never pretending this is okay with him. Once he’s down, you move closer, careful to approach him. The fire in his gaze only dims when he looks at you, offering you his hand to help you up. You take your place in his lap almost the same way you did with Seonghwa, modified for the couch. You sit very close to him on his right, sideways with your legs placed over his like you’re cuddling. Just like before, you try not to touch him too much, conscious of his comfort.
“Poor Hongjoong,” Yunho sighs, feigning sympathy, “our captain can’t handle not being the most dominant person in the room, huh?”
You can feel Hongjoong stiffen at his words, and yet he stays quiet. Smart. But despairing. You theorize that only Hongjoong and Yeosang are going to get out of this without ultimately suffering Yunho.
Where was Yeosang, anyway? You wonder if he went home, but would Yunho even let him go? You doubt it highly. He had to be in the guestroom again. A tinge of jealousy blooms in the back of your mind, also wanting to be anywhere but here. You didn’t blame him at all. For now, you refocus on Hongjoong, who has since placed a tentative hand on one of your knees, his thumb rubbing the soft skin.
Get it over with… end his torment. You listen to your inner voice and lean into him.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper to him too, but he just shakes his head in reply. You’re not quite sure what he means by it; no, you don’t have to apologize, or no, he doesn’t accept it. Whichever one it is, you can’t prolong this any longer.
He doesn’t make eye contact with you, but fixates on your lips. There’s a small flicker of some emotion you can’t quite place in his expression, and you hesitate for a split second before kissing him as well. Strategically, because he knew that since your faces were turned to the side, Yunho had an unobstructed view of the torment and humiliation he’s inflicting, Hongjoong places his left hand on your cheek, cleverly blocking most of what Yunho could see. He can’t help the small grin that tugs at the corners of his mouth when he hears Yunho huff in annoyance. A small victory. Like Seonghwa, he doesn’t exactly kiss you back, but doesn’t make you feel like you’re kissing something lifeless either.
Why must they fight you and agitate him when you’re trying to escape his belt? One of your more cynical thoughts intrudes. But you lean into his hand nevertheless, finding comfort in his touch.
You scoot just a little closer to him, your goal in mind, and kiss him deeper. He inhales sharply, his right hand coming up to your shoulder and pressing back, not enough to push you away, but to allow himself a small semblance of control in doing so. Gradually, he opens up for you more and more, letting himself forget everything just for a fleeting moment. You’re a welcome distraction from the bloody war that’s been going on inside his head. And so is he to you. His way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the room with him doesn’t fail you here either. You hold the hand that’s now moreso resting on your shoulder, hidden from Yunho, and he gently squeezes it. A small signal that says, we’re in this together, don’t worry.
You make a small noise against him and he echoes it back to you.
“That’s enough,” Yunho says. Again, you part from Hongjoong instantly, swinging your legs off of him and kneeling back on the floor
“Good girl,” he praises, and it sounds genuine coming from him. Maybe you’re making him proud.
“Thank y–” You begin, but then you hear a clicking sound you’ve never heard here before.
The balcony door opens.
You had stopped believing it could even open at this point. Yeosang comes back in, hands half hidden by his sweatshirt sleeves, and his head down. Feeling everyone’s eyes on him, he reluctantly looks up, pausing in the doorway.
“What’s going on?” Yeosang asks warily, not really wanting to know at all. His voice is tired, and his hair is windswept. For a second, it doesn’t even register to him that you’re there until you make a sound.
You gasp a little too loudly, and all eyes fix onto you. You don’t notice. Suddenly you’re able to take a deep breath, deeper than you’ve been able to in months. Your lungs and throat sing, the cool air caresses your face and pushes your hair back like a tragic, forbidden lover.
Wind.
An end of summer evening breeze, the kind that lets you know instinctively that autumn is coming. The kind that carries rumors of snow, an end to blistering hot days. You breathe it in as much as you can. There’s a hint of the city in its notes, asphalt and restaurant kitchens, the Han River and construction. Your tears fall gently, overwhelmed by such a simple thing. Yeosang probably tried to fight off the wind with his hood over his head until ultimately giving up. You’d let the wind braid and tangle your hair into a matted mess. Your nails dig into your thighs, wanting absolutely nothing more than to run out while the door is open, to get more of the fresh air. To feel this close to freedom for just a little longer.
“Sangie!” Yunho grins, “Almost forgot about you.”
It’s a terrible thing to say, especially to Yeosang, and Yunho gets the reaction he’s after. The words affect him deeply, so used to hearing it over the years from other people… but never his friends. To use his traumas against him now was just… low. Sadistic. Yeosang shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at the floor again, sinking deeper into a depression, courtesy of Yunho. He nudges the door closed with his foot, missing the absolute despair on your face once it clicks shut again. The scent of the city fades away rapidly as it mixes with the air conditioning. You deflate.
Mingi has to look away from you before he breaks every window in this apartment so you can breathe in the fresh air again. It takes every ounce of his self-control to stay still.
“Your timing is perfect, actually. Have a seat,” Yunho gestures to the couch. Hongjoong stands, fixing his clothes just to give himself something to do with his hands, and resumes his pacing in the kitchen this time. Farther away than before.
“Feel better, Sangie?” He asks, faking his concern. Yeosang nods, still keeping his head down as he takes Hongjoong’s place.
“You sure?” Yunho presses. He looks at you, raising an eyebrow as if clueing you in. You already know. You nod and get back up on the couch, Yeosang staring at you from the corner of his eye, bewildered as you drape your legs across his.
“Wh– what’s going on?” He asks again, leaning back and away from you, one of his hands coming up to your shoulder to keep you at bay, just like Hongjoong had done.
Yunho is quick to explain, “Oh she just wants to help you relax. Just let her.”
“Just do it, Yeosangie,” Seonghwa mumbles in monotone. He stares at the table absently, like he’s looking through it.
Yeosang looks back at you and slowly straightens up, still unsure and untrusting of what he has, literally, walked back into. Like your own special formula, you once again place your hand on his shoulder, but this time slightly closer to the back of his neck to guide him towards you. His eyes widen in shock when you kiss him, but he doesn’t try to push you away again. He tastes like the wind. You hold yourself back from pressing closer to him.
“Aren’t they cute together?” Yunho aww’s, resembling a kid playing with dolls and making them kiss. You suppose that’s not at all dissimilar to what’s really happening. “Do you think so, Min?”
Mingi, clearly agitated, bounces his leg up and down at a rapid pace underneath the table and doesn’t respond. Yunho shrugs, as if not knowing what his problem was.
Unlike Hongjoong and Seonghwa, Yeosang doesn’t kiss you back whatsoever, completely still and statuesque. Although it’s not unpleasant, you start to panic when he still doesn’t relax underneath you. He doesn’t give in at all.
After another few moments of nothing, you pull away just enough to whisper, “Yeosang please,” before resuming.
He makes a choked sound in the back of his throat, but his eyes that were shut tight initially, slowly begin to relax. His body is slow to follow, but in time, finally does. A single tear escapes him, wetting your cheekbone. You gently brush your fingers through his hair to soothe him, not wanting him to cry. It was painful for you to see any of them cry, particularly because you knew you were part of the reason why. And poor Yeosang, who just got in from clearing his head outside only to be immediately thrown back into the nightmare. But he plays along for you, he pretends for now. He rests his hand on one of your legs, wrapping his fingers under your knee to look like he’s pulling you closer. It’s enough.
“Okay, doll, that’s good,” Yunho says, fondness dripping from every word. You’re just the tiniest bit slower to part from him, searching him to make sure he’s okay for a fraction of a second longer before scooting away from him. You have to force yourself to look up at Yunho as you kneel. Exhaustion hits you all over again. Your knees begin to sting, still not back to normal from your last correction, and your stomach growls. You wonder what time it is.
“My good girl,” coos Yunho, but he doesn’t put his belt away. He lazily wraps and unwraps it around his hand in thought.
He may be delusional and borderline psychotic, but he’s not blind. Multiple things have made him suspicious of you and Mingi, and he wonders how he should handle it. Logically, it had to be Mingi’s fault. You told Yunho you loved him, unprompted. You said it with such conviction, such sincerity. It couldn’t be you who had started all of this nonsense, nor did he think you were actively encouraging his behavior towards you. However, he did think you were growing fonder of him – and he can understand why. In a good cop, bad cop dynamic, people will naturally gravitate towards the good cop, wanting to be held and coddled after the bad cop disciplines them. He understands. But he’s gonna have to end whatever fantasy Mingi has made himself believe in. He has to make sure Mingi understands who you belong to. Yunho sighs, wanting to let you go back to bed – you’ve done so well for him, and he hasn’t forgotten about your reward – but also needing you here for just a little longer.
He’ll be nice to Mingi for the moment. But only for the moment. He’ll show him mercy just this once, one last time before he brings hell upon him for his behavior tonight.
Fine. But he’s going to have his fun with it, that’s for damn sure.
“Doll? Go to Mingi.”
Your eyes widen in surprise. Really? You look at the man in question, who looks like he’s just heard the most outrageous thing in his life. Him? No way this wasn’t a trick of some kind. Even Hongjoong stops his pacing, turning around with a puzzled expression. You stare at Yunho, dumbly, like you’re waiting for him to reveal he was just trying to test you. But he’s dead serious, raising a brow when he sees you still not moving as directed. His hand that holds the belt twitches and suddenly, you’re in motion. You look up at Mingi through your lashes once you kneel right in front of him with your back to Yunho. You see Seonghwa out of the corner of your eye, the only sign of life being that his eyes had moved since the last time you looked at him, now watching you both.
Mingi also offers you his hands to help bring you up, which you take. You’ve just barely started to turn to sit sideways when Yunho stops you.
“No, doll,” he says, voice low, “you’re gonna straddle him.”
Both of you pause again. Of course he’d torture Mingi with you the most. You turn back to face him, and he helps you lower yourself down on his lap, his hands on your waist.
Two can play at this game, Yunho.
“W-Would you like me to kiss him too, Daddy?” You ask nervously, looking over your shoulder.
“If you’d like to.” He replies.
Oh, that’s dangerous, and everyone knows it.
“I-I–” you stammer, not knowing what to do. You’re so used to being given direct instructions, that when he lets you pick you just flounder. Helpless, lost in the ocean. Mingi gently squeezes your waist, just letting you know he’s here to help you calm down.
“It’s only fair,” Hongjoong says.
You turn to face him so fast your neck nearly cracks. What did he say? Why was he helping you?
He clears his throat, “I mean, he hasn’t really gotten to touch her all night while the rest of us did. Twice.” He holds back a grimace, repulsed at himself for saying this, but continues, “You said you got her for us. All of us. We should see that you’re gonna keep to your word.”
Hongjoong’s really killing two birds with one stone here. Keeping Yunho to his words as well as helping you and Mingi. You could kiss him all over again.
Yunho laughs once, a sharp exhale through his nose, and smirks.
“Okay,” he says, raising his hands up in mock surrender, “okay, fine. Go ahead, doll.”
You’re gonna have to thank Hongjoong later, shooting him a quick thankful look before settling more comfortably onto Mingi’s lap. He stays still, letting you come to him. It would be the real thing now, not just a kiss on the corner of your mouth, but a proper one. He holds his breath. You try to calm your racing heart. You can feel it trying to pound out of your chest, rattling your ribs.
Both of you inhale sharply once your lips are pressed together. Both of you know you’re fucked.
He tastes familiar. Safe, like home.
Oh no.
He kisses you back slowly, taking his time. One of his hands lifts to cup your jaw, his fingers in your hair and his thumb by your ear. He presses his fingers against the back of your head, pulling you just a little closer. His lips are softer than anything, perfectly moulding to yours as he lets you take the lead. Subconsciously, his hips subtly grind up, just wanting to be even closer. He hates that he can’t enjoy this too much. He could, but Yunho might actually throw him off the balcony if he does.
After a few more heavy moments, you pull back, self-conscious and all too aware of the holes being burned into your back via Yunho’s gaze.
“Did I tell you to stop?” Yunho asks.
“N-No, Daddy, I’m sorry–”
“Tell me why you’re kissing him, baby.”
“I w-want to be good a-and help h-him relax,” You stutter pathetically, trembling on top of Mingi.
“And why else?” Yunho presses. You know the response he’s after – it’s the one that will shatter Mingi’s heart when he hears you say it.
Your eyes search Mingi’s, desperately trying to tell him that what you’re about to say isn’t true, and you barely noticeably shake your head ‘no’ as you speak, “Because Daddy told me to.”
Yunho’s dangling what’s rightfully his right in front of Mingi, knowing he can never have you like Yunho does. And though Mingi does pick up on your cue, it still pains him to hear the words leave your lips. How many times can you break the same heart?
“Good girl. Keep going,”
This time, Mingi leans in first, eager to taste you again. His lips are soft and desperate against yours, as if he’s trying to memorize every detail before Yunho takes you away from him. You can feel the tension in his body, the unspoken ache in every touch.
You’re trying to memorize everything too. How safe it feels, even just for a second if you let yourself forget about everything. The instant you two connected had been electric. A stubborn spark you knew you had to deprive of oxygen, otherwise it would grow into something dangerous and uncontrollable. But how could either of you tell if what you felt was genuine? Would you choose him if you were free to? If you had never been taken?
You don’t know.
He kisses you deeper, savoring everything. Each moment he’s allowed to touch you, to kiss you, feels like a fleeting eternity; and though he understands the consequences, he’s powerless to resist the intoxicating pull of the present. He knows by doing so he’s digging his own grave, but what’s a few feet deeper?
Yunho calls it once a small moan escapes from Mingi.
“Okay, baby. Come back to me.”
Mingi pulls back, panting softly, reddened lips shining. He doesn’t speak. Neither do you.
Yunho breathes slowly through his nose in thick, unforgiving silence. He watches you slowly move off of Mingi, on shaky legs, your expression dazed. You take a deep breath as you lower yourself back to the ground, crawling towards Yunho again and kneeling directly in front of him. You look up at him, so innocently it almost makes him laugh. No longer did he have suspicions, now he fucking knew. And you know what? He doesn’t even mind that much. This was part of the whole point: he wanted and needed everyone in the group to like you, be attracted to you, like having you around, like fucking you, etc. What he won’t allow is love. The only one you can love is him. Period. That’s it. He will not stand for anyone who comes close to challenging that, and if his best friend has to be the first to find out just what happens when he steps over that line, then so be it.
“Daddy?” You say, quietly, as if you’re afraid that if you speak you’ll set him off.
He refocuses on you and replies, “Yes, baby?”
“M-may I um…” you trail off, losing confidence for a second, eyes drifting to the belt still in his hands. You shyly pull on his pant leg like a little kid sheepishly asking their parents for something, “May I help Daddy relax too?”
Surprisingly, Yunho softens, genuinely not expecting that. Oh, you were such a good girl for him. A good girl who knew her place, unlike some others in this room.
“Of course, princess, come here.” He drops the belt to the side and lifts you effortlessly onto his lap, making you straddle him too. But instead of going for your lips first, he kisses the angry red bite mark he left on you earlier, dragging his tongue over it to help soothe the skin. You subconsciously grind your hips down into his, just trying to settle onto him more comfortably. Maybe just the slightest bit turned on again from Mingi grinding into you. Yunho chuckles against your neck – he can feel how wet you are through your little satin shorts.
“Careful, baby,” He murmurs, kissing your jaw, “I’ll fuck you in front of them again if you keep that up.”
You whimper, holding yourself still with your hands on his shoulders. You doubt you could handle another round, but you also doubt that he would care. Finally, he kisses you properly, reminding you of how much you loved him. He tastes familiar too. A quiet longing for something only you can give him, and vice versa. He doesn’t treat you like you’re fragile, not after he’s seen how resilient you are, how much you truly want to please him. You kiss him back, and he nips your bottom lip, eliciting a sweet little whimper from you. He groans, rolling his hips up into yours and smirking against your lips. He’s getting hard.
“Careful,” he repeats in a whisper before kissing you again. As subtle as possible, you raise yourself up a little, so you won’t feel it as much if he does it again. Thankfully, it saves you. You can still feel it against your clothed pussy but not as much. But Yunho grips your thigh and pulls you completely back down. You have to press your lips to his to keep a moan at bay.
Cute, he thinks. Every sound you make is for him. Belongs to him. Everything you did tonight was for him. And now, you volunteered, asked, to do this for him. Unprompted. Of your own free will. He can feel his self-control slipping the more he thinks about it, his cock already semi-hard again. So he pulls away, leaning back on the couch to look at you on his lap. He cups your face with his hand.
“You’re mine,” he says definitively.
“I’m yours, Daddy, only yours. I love you.” You say as convincingly as possible, out of breath. You bite your lip, acting innocent for him. He loves it, he can’t help it. He lets himself admire you for a while longer, loving how your face flushes for him, how you’re trembling in his hold, how perfect you feel on his lap.
Right where you belong.
Yunho taps your thigh, signalling you to get off of him and you do, placing yourself close to him on the couch. You rest your cheek against his shoulder, letting your eyes flutter closed.
“Are you getting sleepy again?” He hums, stroking your arm with his fingers.
You nod, eyelids heavy. “Yes, Daddy.” You cough suddenly, turning your face away from his body.
“My poor baby,” Yunho murmurs, brushing your hair back over your shoulder, “why don’t I get you some water and you can go back to bed? I’ll join you in a second.”
You nod, propping yourself to sit upright again. Your hands are folded in your lap again, the picture of obedience. A perfect little doll who had pleased her owner tenfold.
“Christ…” Yeosang mumbles under his breath so no one hears.
Yunho pats your thigh as he gets up, adjusting his sweatpants as he goes into the kitchen. Hongjoong avoids him, going back towards Yeosang in the living room, checking on him. Seonghwa, once again, shifted his gaze to you. When, you’re not sure. Mingi taps his fingers against the table, lost in thought. He stopped watching you and Yunho when you whimpered for him.
You blink sleepily as the fridge opens and you hear the soft clinking of bottles as the door closes again. The cabinet opens and closes as well, and the only sound in the apartment is water filling up two glasses. Halfway through the second it stops.
You, Mingi, and Yeosang all think the same thing at the same time. All three of you slowly turn to watch him halt all movement, his face turned slightly to his right, eyes cast down into the sink. His shoulders tense, and you can see his hand twitch slightly. He just… continues to stare, as if his eyes are playing tricks on him and if he blinks enough, it’ll be willed back where he left it. It’s a quiet disbelief. It’s a loud conclusion.
Yunho rolls his shoulders back, and hums almost amusedly.
Oh god… he’s furious. Why?
The sound of water resumes, but the air is different now. Thicker, charged. When he turns around, you’re wide awake again. His eyes are dead once more. He walks back slowly, every footstep ringing in your ears. What did you do? What did he remember? You couldn’t tell. He calmly hands you your glass of water and helps you up, placing a lingering kiss on your forehead.
“Go back to sleep, princess.” He purrs. So it wasn’t you he was mad at…
You nod, holding your water with both hands, not daring to look at Mingi whatsoever as you pass him. You feel everyone looking at you until you close the bedroom door behind you.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Yunho taps his fingers against his thigh, standing right where he was when he gave you your water. His other hand held the other glass in a death grip. Any tighter, and Seonghwa feared he’d shatter it. No one dares speak. They all wait for him.
“You three can go if you’d like,” He says eventually, his voice toeing the line between control and losing his mind.
Hongjoong and Seonghwa hesitate for a couple of minutes before they both get up, watching Yunho the whole time on high alert. But he doesn’t move. Neither does Yeosang. Hongjoong and Seonghwa wave him over, but Yeosang just shakes his head, ‘no’. Seonghwa gives Hongjoong a look, as if to say please go get him, but Hongjoong knows there must be a pretty damn good reason Yeosang would choose to stay here. So he drags Seonghwa out with him, putting their shoes back on, hoodies up, and closes the door behind them.
Yunho takes a sip of water. A couple minutes later, he walks back into his bedroom, shutting his door as well. Mingi finally breathes. Once he doesn’t hear Yunho moving around in his room anymore, he quickly beelines to his room, sitting on the bed trying to catch his breath. Yeosang follows him, closing the door and leaning against it. Mingi fans himself with his shirt for a minute, anything to calm down.
Then he looks at Yeosang.
“Why didn’t you go with them?”
“Is it okay if I stay?”
Mingi blinks once. Twice. Stay?! Who the hell in their right mind would ever choose to stay here? Though, he supposes, no one in this apartment was in their right minds.
“I– yeah. Yeah, Sang you can stay.” He gets up, starting to pull the covers on the bed back.
“Can I shower?” Yeosang asks quietly. Mingi nods, offering to give him extra clothes from the closet to change into.
He makes up the bed while he waits, grabbing him an extra blanket from the closet. He turns the light off just as the water turns off as well, and gets into bed.
He’s wide awake though, afraid of the morning. For the first time in hours, he checks his phone for the time. 3:09am. The morning was even closer than he thought. He puts his phone down on his nightstand and settles back against his pillows, staring up at the ceiling. Yeosang shuffles back in a few minutes later, hair damp and ruffled from apparent towel-drying. He gets into bed too, pulling the covers up over his shoulders, turning onto his side, facing away from Mingi.
“Why did you stay?” Mingi asks after a while, his voice just audible enough to be heard. Yeosang sniffles.
“I just… I can’t go home to an empty dorm. I’m gonna…” he admits, “I can’t be alone right now.”
“Nightmares?” Mingi asks.
“Yeah.” Yeosang whispers, curling into the blankets.
“Yeah…” Mingi whispers back, staring off into the dark, “I get them too.”
A couple hours later, Mingi is awoken by a hand covering his mouth, and a deranged, beyond angry Yunho, who had spent the rest of the night absolutely seething in quiet rage, hovering above him. He had watched the cameras in Mingi’s room, waiting until he fell asleep, and even when he did, he had to hold himself back from going in there, otherwise he might’ve killed him in his sleep. It took Mingi an hour to fall asleep, and three hours for Yunho to calm down enough to not have violent homicidal urges.
Mingi instinctually scrambles, trying to get his hand off of his mouth but Yunho pushes him down forcefully.
“Shhh,” Yunho leans in closer, inches from his face. His wild eyes flicker over to Yeosang, still passed out from emotional and mental exhaustion. Mingi can feel his breath on his face, and he himself starts hyperventilating out of fear.
Good, Yunho thinks, he has every reason to be scared.
Mingi may be acting up, forgetting his place here, but it was nothing a little correction couldn't fix.
summary: yunho and mingi will do anything for her. their best friend. the girl they love. even if that means turning their entire college campus into her favorite slasher flick.
warning: possessive yunho, possessive mingi, blood, gore, descriptions of death, torture and violence, yunho and mingi are both killers, more to be added
genre: horror, dark romance, smut
pairing: ghostface yunho x afab reader x ghostface mingi
word count: 6.3k
part two coming soon
masterlist
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
October 4th in Seoul gave way to weather that wasn’t too cold but certainly wasn’t warm either as Dr. Bae tugged the collar of his tan trench coat higher, muttering under his breath as he stepped off the curb, leather satchel bumping against his hip.
The fluorescent lights of the medical building behind him buzzed faintly, casting a weak halo over the freshly waxed hospital floor just visible through the glass. He hated night shifts. Hated this city. Hated that he’d let his ex talk him into moving back here for some quiet academic life bullshit.
His loafers clicked against damp pavement as he walked. The air was wet with the kind of thin mist that clung to glasses and made your clothes feel heavier. Campus looked half dead this time of night, students tucked into dorms, professors long gone, and only the occasional flicker of movement from the parking garage up ahead.
Still, something made him glance over his shoulder. Nothing. Just shadows and trees with too many limbs as Bae blew out a shaky breath and shook his head. “Paranoid,” he muttered to himself. “Need to cut back on caffeine.”
He passed the familiar fountain near the edge of the med quad, the one student groups decorated every holiday. It was empty now, drained last week in prep for mid month Halloween antics. Dry and quiet. Like a throat waiting to scream.
He didn’t see the figure slip out from behind the old alumni statue. Or the second one, hood up, pacing quietly along the garden path twenty feet behind him like a caged animal finally escaped and ready to pounce.
The hairs on the back of Dr. Bae’s neck stood up, unprovoked. That prickling sensation of being watched. He paused near the edge of the path where the lamplight ended, frowning as he looked back again.
Still nothing.
But he swore, no, felt, someone was there.
He shook his head and kept walking, shoes squeaking slightly now as the mist thickened. A sharp wind tugged at his coat, flapping it like a warning flag. The faint squeal of a door somewhere in the distance made him jump.
“You’re imagining things,” he muttered to himself again. “This campus is crawling with kids in masks by October. Probably some drunk frat moron trying to be funny.”
He didn’t hear the figure behind him step off the garden path. Didn’t see the black boots moving in sync with his own, or the glint of something silver tucked just inside a gloved hand.
Yunho. Patient. Focused. Quiet. Watching Bae walk straight into the trap.
Mingi was already ahead. Off the path. Behind the row of hedges, pacing, barely holding back the urge to strike. His fingers were twitching, flexing around the grip of his hunting knife. The same one he’d used on that girl who called Y/N a liar last semester. The first time he snapped. First time Yunho had to clean up a mess.
It’s not like Mingi killed her just to kill her. She was part of it. All of it. She was her friend. Y/N. The reason they were here now. The reason they now had blood on their hands.
Mingi was breathing too hard and Yunho could hear it even from where he was. He pulled his mask up, “Slow down,”Yunho mouthed into the dark.
Mingi ignored him. He always did when the rage was close to the surface. And it was tonight. Because this man, this doctor, he’d looked at Y/N bruised and broken and said, “Looks like a fall.”
He’d let her abuser walk free.
So Mingi had picked the knife.
But Yunho had picked the spot.
Dr. Bae reached the parking garage. Pulled out his keys. Pressed the unlock button making a soft chirp and the car lights to flash up in the second level. The stairs are twenty feet away.
He would never make it.
“Cold night, huh?”
The voice behind him is loud, sudden, taunting as Dr. Bae spins around, heart kicking into his throat.
A tall man steps out of the dark. Lean. Hood up. All black. The streetlamp barely catches the edge of the white Ghostface mask in his hand, dangling loosely at his side like it’s just some dumb Halloween joke.
Mingi.
Dr. Bae stumbles back a step. “Wh…. what the hell is this?”
“I think you know,” Mingi says, grinning. There’s nothing kind in it as he lifts the mask, slowly pulling it on.
Dr. Bae bolts toward the stairs, but another figure is already standing there. Calm. Still. Mask already on. Knife in hand. A single tilt of the head.
Dr. Bae skidded to a stop, chest heaving, eyes locked on the second masked figure blocking the stairs.
Ghostface.
This one wasn’t like the other.
This one was still. Unmoving. Slightly taller. Knife held low and loose like he’d used it a hundred times and didn’t need to show off.
That quiet made it worse.
Dr. Bae turned, ready to bolt back toward the fountain but the first Ghostface was already there.
He was humming now. Off key. Childlike. The way you might if you were carving a pumpkin or cutting the crusts off a sandwich.
“Oh, don’t leave,” Mingi cooed, voice warped through the mask. “You haven’t told us yet.”
“T…. Told you what?” Bae stammered, stumbling back into the stairwell door, hand fumbling for the handle.
“Why you lied.”
The voice from behind. Calm. Flat. Yunho.
Dr. Bae froze.
“We read your report, doctor,” Mingi went on, slowly circling him now. “Said she fell. Said there was no sign of a struggle.” He tilted his head. “Is that what you saw when you looked at her? A girl who tripped down a staircase with bruises shaped like fingers?”
Mingi laughed, a sudden, sharp bark that made the doctor flinch. “Maybe your daddy paid for med school too.”
Bae’s hand finally found the doorknob. He twisted, shoved. Locked. He backed away fast, palms out. “Listen, I don’t know what this is, okay? If this is some kind of performance art, or a protest, or some deranged….”
“Wrong answer,” Yunho said as he stepped forward, the glint of his blade caught the light for just a second before Mingi struck.
Not deep. Not yet. Just a sharp slash across the thigh. Enough to drop the doctor hard onto the pavement with a strangled yell.
Mingi crouched beside him, playful now. “C’mon, doc,” he murmured. “You’re the expert. What’s the verdict? Blunt force trauma? Defensive wounds?”
He drove the knife into Bae’s shoulder, the man’s scream echoed down the empty quad as Yunho crouched behind him, hand gripping the doctor’s mouth shut as Mingi pulled the blade out slow, savoring the way Bae’s body writhed under them.
“Want to know a secret?” Mingi whispered, crouching low to eye level. “She doesn’t even know we’re doing this. We’re doing this for her.” He tilted his head. “Sweet, right?”
Yunho didn’t speak. He just watched. Let Mingi say it all. Let the doctor die knowing exactly why.
Mingi carved a deep final stroke across the doctor’s chest, one that bled fast, final, and messy.
“Looks like a fall,” he mocked, eyes wild behind the mask.
Dr. Bae didn’t move again.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
The sun hadn’t fully committed to shining, but it was trying. A pale golden haze filtered through the Seoul skyline, softening the harsh edges of glass and steel as Y/N tugged her oversized hoodie tighter around her frame and stepped onto the sidewalk. Her headphones dangled from her pocket, forgotten. She liked to walk in silence lately. Something about the early chill and the sound of her own footsteps made her feel more grounded, more here.
Campus was just waking up. Students with sleep crusted eyes stumbled out of dorms in sweats and slides, cradling iced Americanos like lifelines. A group of freshmen darted past on scooters, laughing too loud for this hour. Leaves skittered across the sidewalk, kicked up by the occasional gust of wind that still carried the hint of yesterday’s rain.
Y/N’s boots made soft taps on the pavement as she turned the corner onto 4th, the familiar scent of espresso already drifting down from Café Meridian, her favorite spot just before her psych lecture.
The bell above the café door jingled softly as she pushed it open, immediately hit with the warmth of dark roast and cinnamon. Her usual barista, Hana, offered her a sleepy smile from behind the counter, apron already stained with syrup and oat milk.
“Good morning,” Hana greeted, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. “Your usual?”
Y/N nodded, flashing a small smile. “Please. Extra cinnamon if you’ve got it in you.”
“Anything for my favorite sad girl.”
Y/N rolled her eyes with a quiet laugh, leaning against the counter. The café was mostly empty, just a couple of grad students whispering over laptops and an older man reading something by the window.
Her gaze drifted lazily to the mounted TV in the corner. The sound was low, barely audible under the hum of milk steamers and indie rock playing from the speaker above the menu board. But the headline was enough to catch her eye.
LOCAL MED PROFESSOR FOUND DEAD ON CAMPUS. INVESTIGATION ONGOING.
Y/N blinked. Her brows pulled together as she stepped a little closer, coffee temporarily forgotten.
The screen showed a still photo of a man in a hospital coat. Dr. Bae. Her brain took a second to match the name to the face.
He’d looked after her. Well…. Looked might have been generous.
The image cut to footage of flashing red and blue lights near the edge of the medical quad. Yellow tape. A grim faced detective giving an empty statement.
“No suspects at this time. We are reviewing footage from surrounding buildings.”
Hana slid her drink onto the counter. “You okay?” she asked softly, following Y/N’s line of sight.
Y/N blinked again, as if shaking herself loose. She nodded quickly, forcing a tight lipped smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just… that’s weird, right?”
“You knew him?”
“Kind of. He… signed off on a report last year. For me.” Her voice dipped into something quieter, more guarded. “Didn’t really do much.”
Hana’s smile faded. “You want me to add something stronger than cinnamon in there?”
Y/N let out a little laugh, offered one last smile before heading back out into the morning mist, her breath fogging in the air as she crossed the quad. Her lecture hall wasn’t far, just past the old library, the ivy covered archway already decorated with early Halloween streamers.
The lid of Y/N’s coffee creaked as she adjusted her grip, thumb brushing over the condensation. She was halfway across the street back to campus, mind still lingering on the news broadcast.
Dr. Bae. Dead.
It didn’t make sense. People like him didn’t just… die. Not in parking garages. Not on this campus. Not this close to her.
The breeze picked up again, curling under her hoodie as she passed the edge of the quad. Her psych building loomed ahead, stone steps framed by skeletal trees and a peeling campus map no one ever read. She took the path beside the garden hedge, a shortcut she always used when she was running late.
She didn’t hear the footsteps. Didn’t feel the presence until a shadow moved beside hers. A low voice, smooth and casual, broke the silence right at her ear.
“Boo.”
Y/N let out a startled yelp, sloshing half her coffee down the side of her cup as she spun and shoved the figure behind her. “Mingi!” she hissed, glaring. “You’re so quiet when you sneak up on people, god, what the hell!”
He just smiled. That slow, lazy grin he always wore when he knew he was pissing her off on purpose. His head tilted slightly, black hair falling into his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept, not that he ever really did, but there was something else today. Something darker.
He wore all black, as usual, slouchy tee with a torn sleeve revealing faint ink along his bicep, low slung chains around his neck, and a silver ring flashing as he reached out to steady her cup before it dropped.
“Reflexes still sharp,” he said, voice low, almost amused. “Proud of you.”
She rolled her eyes, heart still kicking against her ribs. “You’re such a creep sometimes.”
“I’m your creep,” Mingi said without missing a beat, lips quirking. “Besides, I was just walking. You were the one completely zoned out.”
“I was thinking,” she muttered, brushing her hair out of her face. “About the news.”
That caught his attention, making Mingi go still slightly, head angling just enough that the shadow fell differently across his face. “What news?”
“That doctor. From the medical quad.” Her voice dropped to a hush. “Bae. They found him dead.”
“Yeah?” Mingi’s voice didn’t change. If anything, it softened, lower, curious. “Weird.”
“Super weird,” Y/N nodded. “They said he was… stabbed or something. I don’t know. Cops are looking into it.”
“Mm.” Mingi reached up to scratch the back of his neck, fingers brushing the chain around his throat. “You okay?”
She looked at him. Really looked. And something about the way he stood there, casual, unbothered, dark eyes fixed on her like she was the only person in a hundred mile radius, made her stomach twist.
But she nodded anyway. “Yeah. Just… the timing. It’s messed up.” It was almost exactly one year since that night. Since everything. When she first met Bae and he waved off her injuries as if they were nothing. An accident.
Mingi’s mouth twitched. “Yeah,” he echoed. “Timing sucks.” A beat passed between them before he jerked his head toward the building. “You heading to class?”
“With Yunho.”
“Of course,” Mingi smirked, falling into step beside her. “Professor Uncle still giving his, I’m totally not a narcissist, lectures?”
Y/N groaned. “Mingi…”
“What?” he blinked, too innocent. “I’m asking academically.”
She nudged him hard with her shoulder making him grin even wider, but the grin didn’t reach his eyes. Not really.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
The classroom for Professor Shultz’s, Advanced Psych & Moral Philosophy, was always way too cold.
Y/N tugged her hoodie sleeves down over her hands as she stepped through the heavy double doors, her coffee long since drained, warmth only a memory. The tiered lecture hall had maybe twenty students already trickled in, some tapping away on laptops, others half asleep against their backpacks.
And then there was him.
Yunho.
Back row. Hoodie on. Cap pulled low. A quiet storm in the corner of the room. He had one AirPod in, one out. Legs stretched long in front of him, ankles crossed, a notebook cracked open in front of him even though he never really took notes. He just liked to doodle in the margins, half finished horror icons, movie quotes, occasionally the outline of a ghost mask that would later vanish beneath a scribbled shadow.
He looked up as she approached, lips quirking just slightly as Y/N slid into the seat beside him without asking, without thinking. It was routine by now. Comfort. Her safe spot in a class that never felt safe.
“Morning,” she whispered.
Yunho tilted his head, pulling out his AirPod. “You’re late.”
“Coffee,” she said simply.
His eyes scanned her face briefly, lingering just a second too long, like he was checking for something. Bruises, maybe? Her asshole ex did still go there. Stress? The kind of tension that didn’t come from lack of sleep.
“I saw the news,” she murmured, dropping her voice as Professor Shultz started loading his slides at the front. “About Dr. Bae.”
Yunho didn’t answer right away. He leaned back, arms folding across his chest. The chain on his wrist clicked faintly against the desk edge. “Sloppy kill,” he said under his breath, so low it took her a second to register the words.
She blinked at him.
“I mean…” he added quickly, smirking now, teasing, like a joke. “if this is, like, some masked psycho running around campus? Sloppy. Cameras all over the med quad. Could’ve done better.”
Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You’re such a freak.”
“You love that I’m a freak.”
“You watch too many horror movies.”
Yunho tapped his pen twice against the desk. “Correction, I study them. You never know when the knowledge might come in handy.”
She nudged his arm, and he let her, letting the contact linger as Professor Shultz cleared his throat at the front of the room. “Phones away. Eyes up. Today we’re talking about moral relativism and the psychology of guilt.”
Y/N stiffened.
Yunho felt it.
He glanced at her again, softer now, his voice barely audible as he leaned just an inch closer. “Hey,” he said. “You good?”
She nodded, swallowing. “Yeah. Just… I didn’t sleep great.”
Yunho didn’t say anything, but his foot nudged hers under the desk. Not by accident. Not a joke. Just there. Steady.
She pressed her foot back against his, just for a second.
Professor Shultz began to drone on about Nietzsche and subjective morality, the words bouncing off the walls of the lecture hall like flies hitting glass.
Yunho’s eyes stayed on the professor. But his thoughts were already outside. Already planning the next one as the projector flickered once, briefly casting warped shadows across Professor Shultz’s face before settling into a PowerPoint slide that read, The Psychology of Guilt: Is There Such a Thing as a Justified Crime?
Yunho could feel Y/N shift slightly beside him. Not much. Just a small twitch of discomfort. She didn’t like this topic. Not since… last year.
Not since Darren. Darren Shultz. Professor Shultz narcissistic, rich, asshole, nephew. And Y/N’s ex.
Professor Shultz adjusted his tie, he always wore the same one on Thursdays, navy with faded gold stripes, and gripped the podium like he was about to launch into a TED Talk. The air in the room tightened.
“Let’s open this up,” he said smoothly, eyes scanning the class. “Hypothetically… if someone commits a violent act, but claims it was justice, retribution, should we empathize with them? Or are they still a criminal? A monster?”
He let the silence stretch a beat too long. Then his eyes landed squarely on Y/N.
“Miss Y/L/N.”
Her breath caught and Yunho’s pen stopped moving.
Shultz’s smile was polite. Too polite. He always used her full name. Always said it just a little too loud. “What’s your take?” he asked. “Should someone be excused for violence if they believe it’s protecting someone else?”
Y/N straightened in her seat, glancing briefly at Yunho beside her. He didn’t look back. He was watching Shultz. Staring.
Hard.
“I… think it depends on the context,” she said carefully. “Motive matters. If someone’s trying to protect someone they care about, especially from something ongoing or dangerous, it’s different than just… revenge for its own sake.”
“Mmm,” Shultz hummed, clearly enjoying this. “So you’re saying you’d justify premeditated violence under the right emotional circumstances?”
“I’m saying it’s complicated,” Y/N replied, her voice steady despite the sting behind her ribs.
“Let’s try something else,” Shultz said, eyes scanning over his students now, mirth in the depths of them. Pettiness. “Rapid fire. Think fast. Gut instinct. That’s how we uncover what you really believe.”
He turned suddenly, finger outstretched like a loaded weapon, once again staring at Y/N.
“Miss Y/L/N.”
Y/N stiffened in her seat again and Shultz smiled, all shark teeth and faux encouragement. “Let’s play a game of guilt or innocence. You’ll be the jury. Ready?”
Y/N nodded slowly, tension creeping down her spine as Shultz held up one finger.
“A man breaks into a home, finds a child being abused, and kills the abuser. Guilty or innocent?”
Y/N blinked. “Uh… innocent?”
“Wrong,” Shultz said sharply, his voice bouncing off the walls. “Still murder. Try again.”
Yunho’s hand twitched on the desk as Shultz stepped closer to the front row, still facing her. “Scenario two. A woman poisons her husband after discovering years of infidelity. Guilt or innocence?”
Y/N hesitated. “Guilty?”
“Wrong,” he snapped again, louder this time. “Self defense of emotional autonomy. Come on, Y/L/N. Think.”
A few students glanced around uncomfortably. Someone in the middle row let out an awkward laugh as Y/N’s cheeks flushed.
She glanced sideways at Yunho, who was dead silent, jaw tight, eyes trained straight ahead. His fingers tapped once, twice, on his notebook. A code only Mingi would know if he were there.
I’m going to kill this man.
“Last one,” Shultz said, voice sickly sweet. “A girl accuses someone powerful of abuse. No charges stick. No consequences. Was she lying?”
Y/N’s breath caught as Shultz stared at her like he already knew the answer he wanted to hear.
“No,” she said, voice tight. “She wasn’t lying.”
Shultz didn’t say “wrong” this time. He just smiled.
And that was worse.
Yunho turned toward him slowly, leaning forward, elbows on the desk. His voice was calm, casual.
“Hey, Professor?”
“Yes, Mr. Jeong?”
“Just curious…” Yunho’s lips curled upward, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “What’s it like, teaching ethics when you clearly don’t have any?”
Shultz blinked, thrown. “Excuse me?”
Yunho shrugged. “It’s just impressive. The way you twist real trauma into lecture material. Bet your nephew’s real proud.”
A ripple of “ohhh shit” energy buzzed through the class as Y/N looked over at Yunho like he’d slapped the professor with a textbook.
Shultz opened his mouth, closed it again and Yunho just leaned back, hoodie bunched up around his shoulders, cap shadowing his eyes. “Thought so.”
Class ended ten minutes early.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
The air smelled like fried garlic and fresh rice the moment they stepped off the main road, campus fading behind them as Y/N and Yunho turned down the narrow alley that led to Namji’s, their favorite restaurant.
The sign above the door flickered between OPEN and PEN like always, and the plastic sheet covering the entrance crackled in the breeze as they pushed through it. The place was tucked between a record store and a laundromat, the kind of hole in the wall spot that only regulars knew to find.
One long booth hugged the wall, with scuffed black tables and mismatched chopsticks, and the walls were covered in faded band posters and photos of customers who looked way too happy for how spicy the food was.
Y/N tugged her hoodie off and shook out her hair as they stepped inside, cheeks still flushed from the walk. Yunho held the door for her out of habit, cap still low over his brow, hood up. From a distance, he looked like someone who wouldn’t speak unless spoken to.
Up close?
He watched everything.
Mingi was already there, sprawled in the booth against the wall like he owned the damn place. Hair messy, silver rings flashing as he typed something on his phone, black nails drumming against the tabletop.
Jongho sat across from him, halfway through a bowl of tteokbokki, waving them over with his chopsticks. “Yah, slowpokes! You missed round one.”
Mingi looked up at them, eyes landing on Y/N first. “About time.”
“We had class,” she said, sliding into the booth beside Jongho. Yunho took the seat beside Mingi, bumping his knee under the table in greeting.
Mingi watched her tuck her hair behind her ear, the way she avoided eye contact for just a second too long. “You okay?” he asked quietly, just for her.
She glanced up, blinking like she didn’t expect the question. “Yeah. Just… I hate that class.”
He didn’t push. He just nodded, eyes soft. “Shultz is a dick.”
Jongho coughed into his water, nearly choking. “Understatement of the year.”
Y/N let out a breathy laugh, but it didn’t last. Her fingers fidgeted with the sleeve of her hoodie. Jongho leaned in. “What happened?”
“She called a murderer innocent,” Yunho said casually, reaching for a side dish. “And the professor called her out like he was hosting, Survivor: Sociopath Edition.”
Y/N groaned. “Don’t make it worse.”
“You kidding?” Jongho smirked, leaning back. “It’s Shultz. He is the worse.”
Yunho’s eyes stayed on her, the heat under his skin barely restrained. He hadn’t stopped thinking about that moment. The way her voice caught. The way Shultz smiled.
And then she looked at Yunho again. And smiled.
Soft. Real.
Something in him cracked a little deeper.
Mingi clocked it. The way Yunho looked at her. The way he didn’t even pretend to look away. He didn’t say anything, just smirked into his water glass.
“I swear,” Jongho said, oblivious, “if that guy was my uncle, I’d legally change my name.”
Mingi grinned. “Don’t worry. He won’t be around long enough to ruin yours.”
Yunho didn’t laugh.
But he did reach for the menu like he hadn’t just plotted a murder in his head.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
By the time the food hit the table, things had started to feel almost normal again.
Almost.
The table was covered in dishes, kimchi fried rice, bulgogi, jjajangmyeon, a bubbling pot of sundubu jjigae that Mingi claimed for himself with dramatic flair.
Jongho was recounting some story about catching two freshmen hooking up behind the gym, “I swear they were hiding in a mop closet, like it was some rom com scene from hell” and Yunho was actually laughing now, low and under his breath.
Y/N sat between Yunho and Jongho, chopsticks pinched around a spicy rice cake, the burn still lingering on her lips from her last bite.
“Okay but real talk,” Jongho said, pointing his chopsticks between them. “If you had to survive a horror movie, who’d last longest?”
“Me,” Mingi said instantly, mouth full. “I am the horror movie.”
Yunho gave him a look. “You’d trip running away from your own reflection.”
“Yeah, and I’d still get up and finish the job,” Mingi smirked, leaning back. “Come on. Be honest. You’d want me on your team.”
Y/N snorted. “You’d be the guy who survives just because the killer thinks you’re too annoying to be worth the trouble.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Yunho would survive,” Jongho declared. “He watches enough slashers to have an actual strategy.”
Yunho didn’t deny it. He just dipped a dumpling into soy sauce and said, deadpan, “Double tap the body. Don’t check basements. Don’t trust the final girl unless you are the final girl.”
“You’re not normal,” Y/N muttered around a laugh.
“I never claimed to be.”
Mingi, mid chew, added, “Final girl energy though? That’s you.”
Y/N froze just slightly. Not visibly. But Yunho noticed.
“Baby, this place is a total waste, but whatever, they’ve got decent dumplings.”
Y/N’s spine went ramrod straight.
Darren.
The girl with him giggled, high pitched and syrupy, and said something about calories and carbs. Darren laughed like he gave a damn.
He didn’t see them at first. He was too busy playing the charming asshole card.
“Oh. Shit.” He stopped cold.
Y/N didn’t look up.
Yunho did. His eyes locked with Darren’s across the restaurant. Something passed between them, silent, charged. Yunho didn’t blink.
Darren’s new girl tugged on his arm, confused. “What’s wrong?” And he recovered quickly. Too quickly.
He smirked.
Of course he did.
“Nothing,” he said. “Just… used to come here a lot. Let’s go sit.”
Yunho’s jaw flexed and Mingi was already looking at him. He hadn’t even turned to see Darren, he just knew. He could feel it in the air, in the shift behind Yunho’s eyes.
Y/N finally looked down at her lap. Her hands were shaking.
Yunho leaned close. Just enough that only she could hear. “You want to go?”
She shook her head. “No. He doesn’t get to ruin this too.”
Yunho swallowed hard. “You sure?”
She nodded.
But he was already picturing it.
Not the confrontation.
The end.
The way Darren would look begging on his knees.
The way Mingi would grin through the blood.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
The sun had barely shifted, but the wind had picked up again. The clouds had thickened just enough to dull the warmth, and the trees along the dorm path cast long, crooked shadows on the pavement.
Y/N tugged her hoodie back on as they walked, the leftover spice from lunch still burning on her lips. Jongho walked beside her, his backpack slung over one shoulder, still sipping from a takeaway iced tea.
“Thanks for walking with me,” she said quietly, brushing her knuckles against his hand before tucking both into her sleeves.
“Of course,” Jongho said. “You know I always will.”
Their steps fell into a familiar rhythm. It had been like this since last year, since everything. Jongho was one of the few people who didn’t ask stupid questions. Didn’t demand proof. Didn’t flinch when she told the truth.
He just believed her.
“You okay?” he asked after a while, glancing at her sideways. “You were quiet after… you know.”
Y/N hesitated. “Yeah. It was just weird. Seeing him.”
Jongho didn’t say his name. He never did unless she did first. “He’s not worth the brain space,” he muttered, voice hardening. “Still walking around like nothing happened. And now he’s got a new girlfriend? Classic narcissist behavior.”
Y/N gave a humorless laugh. “She has no idea what she’s getting into.”
They walked in silence for a bit longer, feet crunching against leaves scattered across the sidewalk.
Then Jongho sighed. “You see the news this morning?”
She nodded. “The doctor?”
“Dr. Bae, yeah. Med quad guy. Found him near the parking garage last night.”
Y/N’s stomach twisted.
Jongho shook his head. “I don’t usually say this, but… he deserved it.”
That made her blink.
Jongho never said things like that.
“He was the one who looked at you and said it was a fall,” he added, bitter. “He knew better. He just liked the amount of money Daddy Shultz tossed at him more than his morals.”
Y/N swallowed hard. “It’s not like he was the only one.”
“No,” Jongho agreed. “But he was the first. And the loudest.”
Y/N bit the inside of her cheek.
Jongho sighed. “I don’t know who’s doing it…. killing people, but if it’s someone out for justice?” He shrugged. “I’m not losing sleep.”
She stopped walking and he turned back, confused.
Y/N looked up at him. “You don’t mean that.”
Jongho gave her a soft, crooked smile. “I don’t want you to be afraid anymore. That’s all.”
Y/N didn’t know what to say.
So she hugged him. Right there, under the low archway of her dorm’s entryway, where the paint was chipped and the ivy was starting to curl down from the brick. She wrapped her arms around Jongho, and he hugged her back, careful but firm.
“I’m glad you’re still here,” she murmured into his shoulder.
“I always will be.”
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
The lecture hall was dark except for the pool of white light spilling from the desk lamp on Professor Shultz’s podium. The rest of the room was bathed in shadows, rows of empty seats sloping down into quiet nothing.
The faint scratching of red ink filled the silence, his pen dragging furiously across yet another mediocre paper. He muttered to himself as he flipped the page, nose wrinkling in disdain. “Inadequate understanding of moral relativism… lazy citation formatting…”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Teaching was beneath him. He only took this position because the department owed his family a favor. And yet here he was, grading papers from undergrads who couldn’t even spell Nietzsche.
Outside, the wind picked up.
The door at the back of the hall creaked.
Shultz didn’t look up as the creak happened again, just letting his voice echo. “Hello?” He called out.
Silence.
He rolled his eyes. Probably some idiot freshman thinking it’d be funny to sneak in and jump scare him for the spooky holiday season. He capped his pen and stood, walking toward the edge of the stage, eyes narrowing toward the back of the room.
That’s when he saw it. Standing in the aisle halfway up the steps. Tall. Still. Black robes draped like shadow itself. A white Ghostface mask tilted just slightly to the side, catching the light in all the wrong ways.
Shultz blinked. “Seriously?”
The figure didn’t move.
He groaned. “It’s October. I get it. Spooky season. Ha ha. Get the hell out of my classroom.”
Ghostface didn’t budge.
“I’m serious,” he barked. “Leave, or I’m calling security.”
He turned toward the desk to grab his phone only to freeze as another figure stepped out from behind the side curtain.
Another mask.
Another robe.
This one moved like smoke. Quiet. Lethal.
Shultz’s blood turned cold as he tried to play it off, voice shaking just slightly as he stepped back. “If you’re students of mine, trust me…. this little stunt? You’ll fail this class. You think this is funny?”
The first Ghostface, the one in the aisle, started walking. Slow. Purposeful.
Yunho.
His boots echoed with each step, deliberate and chilling. The hem of his cloak whispered against the concrete floor. “Let’s play a game,” the voice distorted through the mask. “A series of questions.”
Shultz backed toward the desk, pulse now rabbiting beneath his skin as Yunho kept coming. “You get them right,” he said, tilting his head. “We’ll let you live.”
He paused.
“Get them wrong…”
Mingi moved. Fast. He was behind Shultz in a second, hands shoving hard between his shoulder blades.
Shultz stumbled forward with a choked sound, landing hard on his knees in front of Yunho, hands scraping against the floor. His glasses went askew, one lens cracking on impact as Yunho crouched.
Face to mask. He tilted his head again. “I love pop quizzes,” he whispered and Mingi’s laugh echoed from behind them, low and sharp like glass shattering in the dark.
The concrete was cold beneath Shultz’s knees. His palms stung from the fall. One lens of his glasses had cracked diagonally, making the world shift every time he blinked. He reached up, trembling, trying to adjust them, but the dark shape crouching in front of him made him freeze.
The mask was inches from his face. Too close. Too still. The exaggerated cartoon scream twisted into something unholy in the stark overhead light. The figure tilted his head, just a little. Not playfully. Curiously. Like a predator getting ready to study his prey.
Ghostface leaned forward, just enough to cast his shadow across the professor’s lap. A gloved finger tapped once against the ground like a metronome. “What’s Y/N’s favorite scary movie?”
Shultz blinked. “What?”
The blade flashed. Not swung. Not stabbed. Just lifted, slowly, until the glint of silver hovered between them. “Come on, Professor,” the voice taunted. “You know so much about psychology. Trauma. Girls like her. Surely you paid attention.”
Behind him, the second Ghostface, let out a low, off key hum. Childlike. Mocking.
“I… I don’t….” Shultz stammered, sweat beading at his brow. “This isn’t…. I don’t know! Halloween? The Shining?”
Yunho exhaled slowly, like he’d just been disappointed by a student he knew had potential.
“Wrong.”
The blade moved. A flash of silver, clean, precise, and then pain exploded through Shultz’s left thigh as Yunho drove the knife in just deep enough to draw a scream. Not fatal. Not sloppy. Just punishment.
Shultz was sobbing now.
The cut bled slow and steady, staining his pants, his glasses had fallen off again. His voice was barely audible through his ragged breathing and pain choked plea.
But Yunho wasn’t finished. He crouched again, calm as ever, voice a quiet, thoughtful echo behind the mask. “Let’s try again.”
Shultz whimpered. “Please..”
“What’s Y/N’s favorite scary movie?”
“I…. I told you….” The professor tried standing, “I don’t ….”
Yunho’s hand twitched and Mingi didn’t wait for a cue, he kicked the professor’s leg out from under him, sending him sprawling again.
“Wrong,” Yunho said softly, and drove the knife into the professor’s shoulder. Clean. Precise.
Shultz shrieked.
“Try again,” Yunho said, withdrawing the blade.
“Is it… is it The Babadook?” Shultz wheezed. “Or…. Hereditary?”
“Wrong.”
A slash across the arm.
Mingi hummed like a game show buzzer as Shultz screamed again, louder this time, echoing through the vast, empty room.
“You’re really bad at this,” Mingi said, wiping his blade against the edge of a student’s abandoned hoodie hanging over a chair.
“Come on, Professor,” Yunho whispered, crouching lower again. “Think. She wore the shirt twice. Quoted it on her birthday. Had you actually looked at her for one second like a human being instead of a case file…”
Shultz choked out a gasp. “Scream! Is it…. Scream?”
Yunho stilled, tilting his head toward Mingi.
Mingi froze too.
Then Yunho asked, very softly, “Which one?”
Shultz blinked. “Wha…. what?”
“Last chance,” Mingi said, voice sharp, no longer playful.
Shultz’s voice trembled. “The….. the second one?”
Silence.
Utter, awful silence.
Yunho shook his head slowly. “Wrong.”
Mingi grabbed Shultz by the collar of his bloody button down, yanking him up to his knees. The professor thrashed, weakly, but it didn’t matter. Mingi held him steady, strong arms like a vice.
Yunho stepped forward. Calm. Unhurried. The blade in his hand catching the flickering light from the old classroom projector still running a loop of lecture slides behind them.
“The first one,” Yunho said, voice low and final. “It’s the best one. Billy and Stu? Classic.”
He tilted his head.
“Just like this.”
Then, with surgical precision, he reached out, and slit Professor Shultz’s throat. A clean, efficient line. One long pull of the blade and blood sprayed, hot and fast, across the tile floor and Yunho’s boots. Shultz gurgled. Twitched once.
Then went still.
Mingi let him drop, the body hitting the floor with a heavy, wet thud.
Yunho stood over it for a moment, breathing slow and steady behind the mask. Then he wiped the blade clean on the hem of Shultz’s own shirt and slipped it back beneath his cloak.
Mingi stepped beside him and they disappeared out the back exit of the hall, boots echoing against the cement, the sound swallowed by silence.