When a card network crash leaves her unable to pay for her pizza, Y/N has to negotiate a creative alternative with the staggeringly handsome delivery guy.
Tropes: Strangers-to-lovers fake-out, roleplay, comedy of errors.
Rating: Explicit (18+) for high steam, dirty talk and extra cheese.
The doorbell rang, its sharp chime cutting through the heavy steam of the bathroom.
Y/N froze under the spray, water dripping from her eyelashes. No way, she thought, glancing at the digital clock on the counter. It had only been fifteen minutes since she placed the order. The pizza place usually took at least forty-five.
"Hold on!" she yelled, shutting off the water.
She grabbed her bathrobe, throwing it on and tying the silk sash in a hurried, loose knot around her waist. Damp strands of hair clung to her neck as she padded barefoot across the hardwood floor to the front door.
She swung it open, breathing a bit heavily. Standing on the porch was a delivery guy who was, without a doubt, the most staggeringly handsome man she had ever seen in her life. He wore a faded red polo and a backward baseball cap, but nothing could hide his flawless, glowing skin, his perfectly plush lips, and those broad shoulders that seemed to take up the entire doorway. Strands of dark hair escaped the brim of his hat, framing an incredibly symmetric, beautiful face. He was holding a large, steaming pizza box, an amused glint in his dark eyes.
"Fast service," Y/N breathed, clutching the lapels of her robe a little tighter to her chest.
"We aim to please," he said, his voice a low, smooth drawl that sent an unexpected shiver down her spine. "I've got a large, extra-hot meat lovers here. Loaded with extra sausage. Just how you like it. And let me tell you, it's a lot to handle."
Y/N bit her lip, holding back a blush at the boldness of his line. "Right, let me grab my card." She stepped back, but he cleared his throat.
"Just a heads up, our network crashed on my drive over. System is completely down for cards. It's cash only right now."
Her stomach dropped, or rather, a very different kind of flutter ignited. "Cash? Oh, wow. I... I don't think I have a single dollar bill in the house. I use my card for everything."
The ridiculously handsome delivery guy sighed, a teasing smile playing on his lips as he looked her up and down, taking in her damp hair, the flushed skin of her collarbone, and her bare feet. "Well, that's a shame. I can't leave this big, heavy box without payment. And trust me, you don't want this meat going cold."
"But I'm starving," she pouted, stepping a little closer to the threshold. "Are you sure there isn't any other way I can pay?"
He played entirely innocent, tilting his head with a look of pure charm. "I mean, I could just cover it out of my own pocket. Take the hit for a pretty customer. It's fine."
"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly let you do that," Y/N said, her voice dropping an octave into a sultry purr. She leaned against the doorframe, letting the knot of her robe loosen just a fraction more, exposing the curve of her collarbone. "There has to be a way I can... repay your generosity. Why don't you come inside out of the sweltering heat? I'm sure we can work out some kind of... trade."
He hesitated, a slow, wicked smirk finally breaking across his gorgeous face. "Ma'am, I'm on the clock. I shouldn't really go inside a customer's house. But I do pride myself on excellent customer satisfaction."
"I won't tell if you won't," she whispered, reaching out to wrap her fingers around his wrist, pulling him gently across the threshold.
He didn't need much convincing. He kicked the door shut behind him with his heel, setting the pizza box down on the entryway table without looking at it. The playful innocence vanished from his eyes, replaced by a sudden, burning heat.
"Alright, lady," he murmured, stepping deep into her personal space, his hands finding her waist. "How exactly did you plan on handling this tip?"
Y/N didn't answer with words. Instead, she reached down and slowly tugged the silk sash of her robe, letting the heavy fabric part completely. Underneath, her skin was still flushed pink from the hot water. His breath hitched, his gaze instantly dropping, darkening with sudden, intense hunger.
"Looks like I'm going to have to work for it," he groaned, dropping the act entirely as his mouth crashed onto hers. His hands slid up the smooth silk of the robe, pushing it off her shoulders until it pooled at her feet. He lifted her effortlessly, her legs instantly wrapping around his waist as he carried her toward the living room couch, the backward cap tumbling off his head and onto the floor.
He pinned her to the cushions, his hands tracing every curve of her body with an urgency that left her breathless. When he pulled his shirt over his head, his chest was broad, sculpted, and warm against hers. Every touch was electric, a blur of tangled limbs, breathless gasps, and deep, bruising kisses that completely ruined any lingering thoughts of food. He took his time making sure she was completely taken care of first, his mouth and fingers working her into a desperate frenzy on the leather cushions.
When he finally moved over her, she looked up into his dark, blown-out eyes, keeping her voice in that breathy, teasing purr. "Wait... I'm a little worried about all that extra sausage. What if it's too much for me to handle? I might get way too full."
He smirked, leaning down until his lips brushed her ear, his voice dropping to a low, wicked gravel. "Well, ma'am, you ordered the extra large. You're just going to have to take every single bite. I'm sure a good girl like you can find a way to make it fit."
She let out a helpless gasp at his words, a thrill running down her spine right before he sank completely into her. He proved immediately that it was indeed a lot to handle, and the fast, heavy, delightfully unhinged pace left both of them absolutely wrecked by the time it was over.
An hour later, the living room was quiet, save for their heavy, synchronized breathing.
Y/N was curled against his bare chest on the couch, completely spent, her hair a wild, tangled halo around her head. He had one heavy arm draped over her waist, his skin slick with sweat. The lukewarm meat lovers pizza sat entirely forgotten on the entryway table.
Suddenly, the jarring, upbeat chime of a FaceTime ringtone shattered the silence.
They both bolted upright, eyes wide with a flash of pure panic. Y/N's phone was buzzing on the coffee table. She scrambled for it, glancing at the screen. Jungkook.
"Oh my god, it's my brother," she hissed.
Panic throwing her into survival mode, Y/N reached blindly over the edge of the couch, grabbed the closest piece of clothing on the floor, and threw it over her head without thinking. It turned out to be the faded red polo. It swallowed her frame completely, the collar sitting lopsided on her shoulder. She frantically tried to smooth down her wild hair with one hand while trying to look presentable.
"Act normal, act normal," her handsome companion muttered, trying to look casual while failing to find his own clothes.
Y/N swiped to answer, holding the phone up at a high angle to hide the disaster zone of the living room. Immediately, her five-year-old son’s face filled the screen, holding the phone way too close to his nose, while his three-year-old sister giggled in the background. They were inside a massive blanket fort alongside their uncle.
"Mommy! Look! Uncle JK made a giant castle!" he shouted, tilting the camera wildly to show a sprawling structure of sheets and couch cushions.
"Wow, buddy! That looks amazing!" Y/N said, her voice a little higher than usual. She squeezed her legs together, still feeling the warm aftermath of their "transaction."
Suddenly, her little daughter popped into the frame, squinting at the screen with wide, innocent eyes. "Mommy, your face is really pink. Are you hot? And why are you wearing Daddy's shirt?"
"Oh, no, sweetie," Y/N lied smoothly, her face turning even pinker as she pulled the collar up. "Mommy just... got cold after taking a really hot shower. That's all."
The "delivery guy" leaned into the frame, putting a casual arm around Y/N, completely forgetting his state of dress. His hair was messy, but he still looked effortlessly handsome. "Hey guys! Having fun with your uncle?"
"Daddy, why don't you have a shirt on?" his son asked, pointing a chubby finger at the screen.
"Uh," Jin blinked, his brain clearly still fried from earlier. "Oh, because I... just got out of the pool. Yeah. Late-night swim."
"But it's dark!" his daughter chimed in, her little brow furrowing into a stern, worried look. "It's dangerous to swim at night, Daddy! You said no swimming in the dark!"
Jin froze for a fraction of a second, completely caught in the trap of his own house rules. He shot a frantic, help-me glance at Y/N before clearing his throat. "Uh, right! You're totally right, sweetie. But it's okay because... mommy was sitting right there watching me. So I was safe."
Before the kids could interrogate him any further on the logistics of pool safety, the phone was gently swiped from their hands, and Jungkook's face appeared on the screen. He took one look at Jin's bare, gleaming shoulders, Y/N's flushed, guilty face, and the absolute state of her hair while wearing Jin's shirt, and an immediate, knowing smirk spread across his face.
Jungkook burst out laughing, shaking his head. "Mommy was watching, huh? A late-night swim, Jin? Seriously? Your hair isn't even wet."
"Hey, I... kept my head above water," Jin muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, a faint blush creeping up his collarbone, though he tried to maintain his usual confident, handsome grin.
Jungkook chuckled, rolling his eyes with pure amusement as he leaned closer to the screen. "Right, right. A very intense swim, clearly. And apparently you needed to wear Jin's... what is that? A Pizza Hut shirt? I don’t even want to know how or why you have that. Well anyway, the kids wanted to say goodnight before bed. I'm going to go ahead and corral them now so you two can... finish your laps."
"JK, it's not..." Y/N started, her face burning.
"Save it, Y/N," Jungkook laughed, waving his hand dismissively. "Enjoy the peace and quiet. We'll see you Sunday!"
The screen went black as he hung up.
Y/N and Jin stared at the phone for a three-second beat of absolute silence before both of them burst into breathless, exhausted laughter. Jin collapsed back against the pillows, pulling her down with him into his broad chest.
"Well," he grinned, his lips brushing her hot cheek. "The kids bought it."
"Jungkook is never going to let us live this down," Y/N groaned, burying her face in his neck, his red polo bunching up around her. "But... I suppose the extra sausage was worth it."
summary: in which the guys joke that yunho is a pervert but they have no idea just how right they are
warning: hard dom yunho, bratty sub reader, throat fucking, oral, anal, squirting, cum eating, edging, light double penetration, unprotected sex, creampie
genre: smut
pairing: idol yunho x afab reader
word count: 3.3k
masterlist
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“I’m not a pervert.”
Lies. Yunho knew it. The guys knew it. It’s why they said it. He wouldn’t have denied it if they weren’t literally filming a variety show. Now all the fans were gonna see it. Make memes about it. Bring it up every chance they could. He sighed and dug through his duffel bag that had his regular clothes in for him to change back into after the filming of the variety show was done. “What….” He pulled out a pair of lace baby blue thongs that definitely weren’t his. Yours. He shoved them in there a couple of weeks ago when the group had to go to Japan that way he had something from you with him.
“See…” a hand snatched the thong from him, dangling them in his face. “pervert.” San was grinning with Jongho laughing beside him. “Give them back!” Yunho snatched at them only for San to move out of the way. “Why are you carrying around thongs for anyways?” San passed them to Jongho when Yunho stood, towering over both of them. Annoyed. And his eye twitching. If only San knew who those thongs belonged to….. “They’re not mine.” Yunho snatched them from Jongho and shoved them back into his bag.
“Oh….” Jongho bumped his shoulder with San. “someone has a girlfriend he hasn’t told us about.” That made San perk up. “Oh! Is that why you’ve been so…. loose lately? You’re getting laid?” Him and Jongho laughed again all in good tease. The two of them and Wooyoung were like three annoying younger brothers sometimes. “It’s none of your buisness.” Yunho picked his bag up and started walking towards the small little change room Mingi disappeared into just a minute ago.
“He’s deflecting. That means we know her.” Jongho grinned as San laughed. The change room door slammed shut behind him and Yunho groaned making Mingi look up at him where he was pulling on his shoes. “Who pissed you off?” That’s the thing with Mingi. He could read Yunho like an open book. Yunho rolled his eyes as he started changing his clothes, letting the ones the stylist put him in drop to the floor. “San and Jongho found a thong in my bag…”
Mingi stares at him and Yunho just stares right back. Then Mingi burst out laughing. “Damn…. Didn’t know you were into that.” Yunho glared at him. “They’re not mine. They’re Y/N’s.” That made Mingi stop laughing for exactly seventeen seconds before he started laughing again. “Oh my god…. You mean… you’re telling me that San found his sister’s thong in your bag and he doesn’t even know it? I told you this was going to blow up in your face!”
“First of all,” Yunho pulled his shirt on. “she’s his step sister. And secondly, she’s a grown woman.” Mingi had tears in his eyes at this point as he stood up. “Doesn’t change the fact if San realizes then you’re a dead man.” And he wasn’t exaggerating either. San was a little overprotective of his sisters. He proved that a couple months ago at his eldest sister’s wedding when he threatened her husband that if he makes her cry he’d make him disappear all while he was doing that, Yunho had you, his younger, beloved, the one he’s most protective over, sister bent over an old table behind his parents house. He’d kept your panties that day too.
It started new years. KQ threw this big party and all the member’s families were invited of course. It didn’t take long after you had gotten there for Yunho to have you riding him in Mingi’s studio on the third floor. It was supposed to of just been that one time. But then it kept happening. Now it’s been six months and you were both taking it steady behind San’s back. “He won’t find out.” Yunho sounded like he was more trying to convince himself than he was Mingi.
Mingi snorted. “You have pictures of her naked on your phone…. all it’s gonna take…”
“He’ll never see them.” Yunho clenched his jaw. Mingi was never of supposed to of seen them either. But then a month ago his best friend grabbed his phone while Yunho was sleeping, looking for some unposted unit comeback photos he knew Yunho had and instead found you. You in nothing but one of Yunho’s shirts pulled up over your exposed ass. You wet right out of the shower. You with Yunho buried inside you. That one had been a video.
So, yeah….. maybe Yunho was a bit of a pervert.
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The dorm was quiet other than the low hum of the central air as Yunho and Yeosang dragged inside. “I’m getting a shower.” Yunho wasted no time dropping his duffel off in his room and then crossing the hall to the bathroom. The steam from the shower enveloped around him as his muscles relaxed under the heat. That was the only thing that relaxed. His mind? Not so much. All he could think about was you. Your thong in your brother’s hands. San finding out…… he’s seen San pissed only a handful of times through the years. And honestly, Yunho wasn’t so sure it would be the fact he’s seeing you but more so that he was sneaking behind San’s back. And San hated being lied to.
His neck popped as he rolled his shoulders stepping back out the shower. Water clung to him as he grabbed a towel, drying in haste, leaving his hair to just air dry. He had no shame as he stepped out of the bathroom completely naked and walked out towards the kitchen. Yeosang blinked at him from where he sat on the couch. “You’re just…. dangling ….. very largely everywhere.”
Yunho rolled his eyes. This was nothing new and maybe it was one of the reasons why Yeosang also joked he has perverted quirks. It being just the two of them, Yunho was naked often. There was sometimes sweat stains left in his gaming chair from his ass. Yunho opened the fridge and grabbed a beer, the first swig making him close his eyes and let out a sigh. Then his eyes snapped open as the front door opened. The voices of San, Wooyoung and you trailing inside. He tried sprinting back to his room but as soon as he moved, Wooyoung’s ecstatic giggle stopped him in his tracks.
“Ahhh…. Yunho,” San grabbed you and spun you around, still oblivious that you have seen every detail of Yunho. No idea that you’ve had every inch that was on display buried inside you multiple times. “See! You fucking pervert.”
Wooyoung was ogling. “I say let him keep it out.” He grinned at Yunho as he moved to sit beside Yeosang and you shoved away from San. “Will you move? I’ve seen a dick before.” San gaped at you as Wooyoung laughed and Yunho’s ears started turning red. “Well you’re not gonna see that one.” San grabbed the throw pillow Yeosang had in his lap and chunked it at Yunho. “Cover that thing up!”
Yunho clutched the pillow and held it against himself. His dick barely staying hidden behind the small material. He turned around to get to his room and get dressed but your voice stopped him. “Nice ass.” He could practically hear the smirk in your voice. He was sure you were staring at the fading scratches you left there from a few nights ago. You loved his ass. Loved gripping it when he rutted inside you like he was trying to empty his soul out.
“Y/N!”
Yunho could feel the tips of his ears burning as he disappeared into his bedroom. He was gonna make you pay for that. He was already thinking of many scenarios to make you pay that would have San ready to commit murder. The thought alone made Yunho snort as he tossed the throw pillow he was still holding onto his gaming chair. He casted a glance at his reflection in the mirror on his wall. His roots were starting to grow out in the blonde but he was holding out dying it since you loved it too much. He was realizing he was starting to do a lot because you liked something. But you also did a lot because he liked something. And Yunho was starting to think that maybe whatever this was the two of you had wasn’t so casual anymore…. that it wasn’t exactly steady.
“Knock, knock.”
“Jesus!” Yunho jumped, turning around and glaring at you. “What the hell are you doing?” Because he was still naked and San, Wooyoung and Yeosang…..
“Relax.” You waved him off as you walked into his room, shutting the door behind you. “They all went to get food.” You dragged your gaze down his body, eyes lingering on his shoulders, noticing how much broader he’s gotten lately. Then your gaze dropped lower to where his dick hung heavy. “San said he found some girl’s thong in your bag today….” You started moving closer. “I think he’s convinced you’re hiding a girlfriend.”
Girlfriend. That hit hard. Neither of you had put labels on it yet. On what you were. But Yunho certainly wouldn’t deny it if that’s what you wanted. “San’s nosy.” He watched you trace a hand up his abdomen, then back down and his dick twitched a little in anticipation. At just the thought of having you while your brother was out getting food and would be back any moment. It was a rush. And Yunho could be an adrenaline junky.
You dropped to your knees in an almost haste, now barely eye level with his dick and Yunho let you take over for a minute. Just stood there and watched. Stood there and groaned when you gripped him, bringing his hardening dick to your mouth. Stood there and watched as your lips stretched wide around him and he let you take your time to feed his length deeper into your mouth. The tip bumped the back of your throat with every slow thrust, spit dripping down your chin and onto your shirt.
He pulled out just enough to rest the heavy length on your tongue, tapping the wet tip against it a few times before dragging it across your flushed cheek, leaving a shiny trail of spit and precum. He didn’t give you time to catch your breath. Both hands gripped the sides of your head and he shoved himself back in, hips snapping forward until your nose pressed against his pelvis. The sudden force made your eyes water, but your fingers dug into his ass, nails biting deep enough to leave fresh red marks across the skin and Yunho groaned at the sting, loving that slight little tinge of pain as he started fucking your throat with steady strokes that made wet, obscene sounds fill the room.
“Look at you,” he rasped, voice low and rough. “Gagging on my dick like a desperate little slut. Bet you’re dripping just from having your throat used, aren’t you? Gonna come just from me fucking your face?” You moaned around him, the vibration making his hips stutter and he held you there a moment longer, buried to the hilt before pulling out completely letting strings of spit connect your now swollen lips to his glistening dick. “Strip,” he ordered, tracing his thumb on your bottom lip before you stood.
You snatched your shirt off first. The fabric dropping to the floor. Your pants were next. The jeans sticking at your wet thighs from how soaked sucking his dick made you. When you moved to reach to drag your panties off, he stopped you. “Leave those on.” He hauled you up and onto the bed, positioning you on all fours. You expected him to yank the black lace aside and sink into you, but instead he stayed behind you, one hand smoothing over the curve of your ass. “Nice ass?” he repeated, echoing your earlier words with a dark chuckle. “Saying that in front of your brother? Brats like that should be punished.”
Yunho wrapped his fingers around his dick and dragged the tip slowly over the thin black lace covering your pussy, pressing the fabric against your soaked folds. He stroked himself like that for a long second, letting the tip glide back and forth through your wetness, the lace growing darker and stickier with every pass as your hips started to twitch, trying to push back, but he only teased, never sinking inside you. He pulled back long enough to reach over to the bedside table. You heard the soft click of his phone unlocking. The camera light coming on, the lens aimed straight at where his dick was rubbing again at you.
“Please,” you whispered, voice hoarse and growing desperate. “Fuck me…. Yunho… I need it.”
He hummed in amusement. “Oh, I will.” The recording stayed on a few more seconds, capturing every desperate wiggle of your hips before he locked the screen and tossed the phone aside. Then he dragged one finger up through your slick, gathering the mess and grabbing your hair, pulling your head back, bringing it to your lips. “Suck.” You opened obediently, tongue curling around his soaked finger and cleaned it. Yunho’s thoughts drifted for a second….. yeah, San and Jongho might’ve been onto something when they joked he was a pervert.
He let your hair go, pulling his finger back and yanked your hips up. His dick, shiny with your juices, pressed against your entrance and he thrusted into you, bottoming out with a groan as you cried out. He bit his bottom lip as he thrusted slow and deep, coating himself with you before pulling back out. His tip dragged upward, circling your ass, smearing slick over the rim as he gave you one heartbeat to adjust before sinking in, inch by inch, until his hips met your ass and a low groan left him at the tight heat.
He stayed still for a few seconds, knowing the others could walk in any moment but he was starting not care, he wanted to give you time to breathe. To adjust. Until you started pushing back against him, voice shaky but defiant. “I know you can go harder than that.”
“Brat,” he growled, the word vibrating through his chest as his hands clamped on your hips and he started pounding into your ass without another second to breathe, the slap of skin loud and filthy. One hand slid beneath you, two fingers pushing into your dripping pussy while his dick kept driving into your ass, the dual stretch of his fingers fucking you and his dick buried in your ass making your vision blur and for pleasure to coil tight and fast until it snapped. Your scream muffled against the sheets as your whole body shook through the orgasm, squirting on his fingers and his bed sheets.
He didn’t stop though. Yunho just fucked you through it, fingers still working inside you until his rhythm faltered and he buried himself deep, dick pulsing as he filled your ass. He stayed inside you for a minute, breathing hard, before pulling out and letting his cum start to trickle down your ass as he dropped to his knees behind you, tongue dragging over your used hole, licking up the mess he’d left before moving lower to lap at your soaked pussy. The wet sounds of his mouth were almost as obscene as him fucking you had been.
When he finally pulled back, he hooked his fingers into the ruined black lace of your panties and peeled them down your legs. “Mine now,” he said, voice still rough, and tucked the damp fabric into his pocket.
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Yunho had just finished pulling on his favorite pair of grey sweatpants when he heard the others get back. Yeosang said something about never going anywhere with Woo and San again. Their laughter echoed down the hall and into his bedroom. It had only been about fifteen minutes since Yunho had you a mess on his bed. Now you were in the living room, dress. Missing your panties. And his bed was still a mess.
“Hey….” San peaked into his room to let him know they got pizza and immediately froze. He furrowed his brows, sniffed the air and frowned. “It smells like sex in here.” Yunho blinked at him, clearing his throat and lied straight through his teeth. “I jerked off.”
San had a look of pure disgust as he retreated from his door. “Oh my god, Yunho! While my sister was in the living room? I was right. You are a pervert.”
Yunho didn’t even try to deny it this time.
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A week later and Yunho was covered in sweat after Ateez set for BST. The London heat almost suffocating. But that heat didn’t compare to you also being there. You had begged San to let you come which he caved instantly. And Yunho was holding on by a thread.
You wore a white tank top that let him see the slightest sweat glistening on your shoulders. The shorts you had on barely covered your ass and he had to stop himself multiple times from just outright staring. And now? Now you were walking towards him, handing him another bottle of water. “You’re like…” you dragged your eyes down him, staring at his arms on display. “sweating everywhere.”
Yunho uncapped the bottle of water you gave him. “Trust me, I know.” He tipped his head back and your gaze lingered at his throat and the way his adams apple bobbed as he drank. “Mhm…” you stepped a little closer. Just enough for only he could hear. “I’m gonna do things to you with my tongue that your good lord never wanted to bear witness.” Yunho choked. Literally. He shouldn’t be shocked. Because he may be a pervert according to the guys. But you were just as much of a freak.
The water sputtered out of Yunho’s mouth as you laughed and patted at his back. The commotion had San’s attention now. He narrowed his eyes at the two of you then he froze. Blue. Lace. Strings peaking out the back of the top of your shorts as you bent over to grab a dry towel to hand to Yunho. No. No. Absolutely not. It clicked fast after that. Blue lace thongs. You for months now wanting to travel with them when you were allowed. Always going with San over to Yeosang and Yunho’s. Always at their dance practices. The lingering looks he’d catch Yunho give you but ignored because he just thought Yunho thought you were hot. A few of the guys did. But the other guys didn’t carry around your thong…..
“YUNHO, YOU ASSHOLE!”
Everyone froze then. Yunho finally stopped coughing. You and him stared at San as Mingi seemed to put two and two together and pulled his phone to record. “Here we go.”
San marched over, still a little breathless from performing. He seemed more shocked than angry. Ok. Maybe he looked a little angry. “You’re fucking my sister.” The accusation landed like a slap and neither you or Yunho denied it as chaos erupted around you.
“What?” Hongjoong looked exasperated.
“That explains a lot.” Seonghwa snorted as he grabbed himself a bottle of water as Wooyoung laughed. Loud. Tears forming in his eyes as a cackle tore from him. Yeosang didn’t look surprised at all. Being Yunho’s roommate, he’s already heard things he wish he hadn’t.
“Wait….” Jongho looked like he won the lottery. “THE THONGS WERE HERS?” He started laughing, pointing at San. “Man…. You picked up your sister’s used underwear! Used by Yunho!” He made the situation so much worse instantly because now San did look mad. Really mad. Disgusted and mad.
“We’re not fucking.” You argued, then slipped your hand into Yunho’s sweaty one. “We’re dating.”
“This is fucking gold.” Mingi was enjoying this way too much.
Yunho gripped your hand back. Clearing his throat and looking down at San. “Sorry…. we didn’t know how to tell you.” He had to play like he wasn’t absolutely losing his mind over you saying that you were dating.
For now, Yunho was just thankful San had no idea what perverted evidence he had with you on his phone.
The tow yard is pure chaos, repos are stacking up, and he’s short on staff but nothing runs him ragged like his own jealousy. Rough around the edges. Wrapped around her finger.
Characters:
Hongjoong x Female Reader
Yunho, Mingi, San
Warnings:
Smoking/Relapse, Heavy Jealousy/Possessiveness, Language
Genres:
Blue Collar AU, Romance, Small Town/Country, Emotional Tension
The engine of Hongjoong’s ’94 Chevy Silverado violently coughed itself to life, but today, the shattering rattle of the dashboard perfectly matched the dark cloud hanging over the driver’s seat.
To make matters worse, the ancient truck didn't have a lick of working AC. Even in the early hours of the morning, the heavy, suffocating Jacksonville humidity rolled right through the open windows like a hot wet blanket, doing absolutely nothing to cool down Hongjoong’s rising temper. Down here in northeast Florida, June didn't play around; it was barely 6:30 AM and the air was already thick enough to chew.
He had walked out to his driveway in the damp morning air fully expecting the empty space. He already knew his brand-new black Silverado was long gone. She had made a point of snatching those keys right out from under his nose last night before storming out.
No, the real insult was what she had left behind. Sitting in the driveway was your pristine, white Mercedes S-Class convertible, the very car that had given a nasty, unsettling lurch at a couple of stoplights yesterday.
When you had worriedly told him about it last night, he’d been exhausted, stressed from a long day running around the yard, and completely let his mouth run before his brain could stop it.
"It's probably just your damn shoes making it hard to reach the pedals right. Stop being dramatic," Hongjoong had muttered, rubbing his face as he walked into the kitchen.
You had frozen right by the counter, your jaw dropping. "Dramatic? Hongjoong, the car literally shuddered. And I wasn't even wearing heels yesterday. I had on sandals."
Hongjoong had turned around, gesturing vaguely at your feet. "Did they have a heel on 'em?"
"Well, yeah, a little block heel, but..."
"Well, there you go!" he’d cut in, throwing his hands up defensively. "I just don't understand why you gotta dress up so damn fancy for work anyway. You work in a double-wide trailer at a paver company, y/n, not on 5th Avenue. It makes no sense."
The kitchen had gone dead silent. It wasn't that Hongjoong hated how you dressed. In fact, most days he thought you were the most beautiful thing on the planet, and he was fiercely proud to have you on his arm. But every now and then, when the summer heat was brutal, the bills were piling up, and the stress of the yard was running high, his practical, blue-collar brain just completely short-circuited. He lived his life in grease-stained denim and steel-toed boots, so to him, putting on a nice dress and styling your hair just to sit in a dusty gravel lot seemed like a puzzle he couldn't solve. He loved who you were, but in moments like this, he just didn't get it.
"It was a sundress, Hongjoong. Not a three-piece suit," you said, your voice dropping to a dangerously quiet, terrifyingly level whisper.
You hadn't screamed. You hadn't thrown a tantrum. Instead, you had locked your eyes onto his, reached out, and calmly snatched his brand-new Silverado keys right off the kitchen counter. Before he could even utter a word of protest, you turned on your heel, marched straight out the front door, and left him standing alone in the quiet kitchen.
By the time you drove across town to Yunho's place, it was already past 9:00 PM. The heavy summer darkness had settled over Jacksonville, but the fury was still vibrating right through your bones. You hadn't even knocked, you just burst through his front door, your boots stomping heavy against the floorboards. Yunho had been sprawled out on the couch watching TV, blinking in shock as his little sister stormed past him toward the hallway in the middle of the night.
"Your best friend is an asshole," you snapped.
BANG.
The guest bedroom door slammed shut so hard the picture frames on the wall rattled, leaving your brother sitting in absolute, stunned silence.
Now, sitting in the sweltering cab of the backup '94 Chevy at the crack of dawn, Hongjoong knew he was in catastrophic trouble. He couldn't even take your Mercedes to work to avoid the heat. For one, the back lot of Kim & Sons Towing and Junkyard was a disaster zone of deep, rutted mud and jagged scrap metal; he absolutely needed a 4x4 truck just to navigate the property without getting stuck. But more importantly, he knew better than to risk getting a single smudge of black axle grease, Georgia clay, or junkyard grime anywhere near the flawless, cream-colored leather interior of your baby.
To make it even worse, when he had climbed into the ancient Chevy this morning, the battery had given him nothing but a pathetic, dying click. He’d spent twenty minutes in the sticky morning air, cursing under his breath, forced to pop the hood of your luxury convertible just to jumpstart his own piece-of-junk truck. Every turn of the dead ignition felt like a direct, silent insult from you from miles away.
By the time he finally pulled up to his brother-in-law's house to play chauffeur, since Yunho had recently gotten his license suspended for a legendary amount of unpaid speeding tickets on I-95, Hongjoong was already sweating through his work shirt.
Hongjoong aggressively fished into his pocket, pulled out a crushed pack of Marlboro Reds, and practically slapped them down onto the middle of the bench seat just as Yunho jogged down the porch steps. Hongjoong had his dark, choppy hair styled with heavy, face-framing bangs that fell into his eyes, paired with a short, edgy undercut at the sides and back. He wore a crisp, oversized white button-down shirt left entirely open over a dark gray ribbed tank top, layered with a heavy, thick silver chain necklace that caught the early morning light.
Yunho tossed his lunchbox into the cab and climbed into the passenger side. He was wearing a dark, faded AC/DC t-shirt, his soft, golden-brown hair styled into a messy, effortlessly tousled fringe that fell casually over his forehead. He looked entirely too relaxed as he glanced around the cramped, dusty, sweltering interior of the square-body.
Yunho didn't say a word as he reached down, snagged a cigarette, popped it between his lips, and pulled a cold, green Monster from his bag. With a sharp crack-fizz, Yunho took a long, slow sip, letting the icy caffeine cut through the southern heat. He let the silence stretch for a mile as Hongjoong slammed the truck into gear and kicked up gravel pulling away from the curb.
"So," Yunho drawled, his voice a deep, amused rumble. "Nice ride, boss man. Where’s the new Silverado?"
Hongjoong let out a harsh, frustrated groan, staring dead ahead through the cracked windshield. "Man, shut up. You already know."
"Oh, I do," Yunho chuckled, leaning his head back against the duct-taped seat and blowing a thick cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. "It was pretty quiet at my place until nine o'clock last night. Then I hear a brand-new V8 pull into my driveway. Then my front door flies open, and my little sister marches straight past me into my guest room. She looks me dead in the eye and says, 'Your best friend is an asshole,' and slams the door hard enough to wake the neighbors."
Yunho turned his head, a massive, teasing smirk splitting his face. "Honestly, y/n is lucky I didn’t have a girl over when she came storming in like that. Talk about a mood killer."
Hongjoong cut his eyes toward him, completely unamused, his heavy silver chain clinking softly against his collarbone as he scoffed. "You haven’t had a girl over in months."
"That’s not true!" Yunho snapped defensively, nearly choking on his smoke. He glared out the passenger window for a hot second, his shoulders dropping slightly as his bravado deflated. "Well... maybe it’s a little true. Fuck you."
Hongjoong let out a dry, humorless bark of a laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah. That's what I thought."
"Anyway," Yunho muttered, trying to quickly steer the conversation away from his dry spell. "I watch her back that gorgeous, shiny new truck right out of my driveway at 6:30 this morning. She looked real comfortable in it, too. Bet the AC in it was blowing ice cold."
Hongjoong winced, his fingers tapping an anxious, erratic rhythm against the wheel. The dark, chipped polish on his nails practically blurred against the faded vinyl. He grabbed the Monster out of Yunho’s hand, took a massive gulp to wash the bitter taste of regret out of his mouth, and handed it back.
"I didn't mean to rile her up like that," Hongjoong muttered, pulling a lighter from the dash and sparking his own cigarette. "She told me her car made a weird lurching motion at the stoplight. I was tired, and I told her she was being dramatic and blamed her sandals. Then... man, I don't know, I just went and said I didn't get why she dresses up so fancy just to sit in a paver trailer."
Yunho let out a loud, roaring laugh that echoed in the metal cab of the truck. "Oof! Oh, man, you are a certified idiot! You brought up the trailer comment again? You've known her since she was fifteen years old and you insulted her clothes and her shoes? Did you forget who raised her? She runs the entire backend of Jeong Paving Co. She schedules the crews, she keeps all those rowdy guys on their toes, and she knows exactly when a machine isn't running right. She hates the dirt, sure, but she isn't a drama queen and she doesn't make things up."
"I know! The second it left my mouth, I wanted to swallow it back down," Hongjoong stressed, running a hand down his open white shirt. "And to make it even better? The battery on this piece of shit Chevy was dead this morning. I had to use her S-Class to jumpstart this damn truck just so I could get out of the driveway. I was out there in the dark, hooking up jumper cables in the damn swamp humidity, terrified I'd drop a wrench on her paint."
Yunho absolutely lost it, pounding his fist against the dashboard as he howled with laughter. "No way! Man, she didn't just put you in the doghouse, she made you jumpstart your own punishment!"
As Hongjoong pulled the rattling, hot pickup into the gravel lot of Kim & Sons Towing and Junkyard, the massive yard was already buzzing. Rows of crushed cars, rusted metal, and overgrown southern weeds stretched out beneath the blazing sun.
Yunho stepped out into the heavy heat, running a hand through his tousled golden-brown fringe, then leaned his elbows on the open window to look down at his high school buddy. "Well, enjoy the heat today, Kim. Because she already texted me. She’s picking me up from the shop after work in your brand-new truck, and we're going to get tacos. Which means you get to drive this sweating tin can back to an empty house and think about your life choices."
Hongjoong rolled his eyes, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through his sour mood. "Yeah, yeah. Fair enough."
"And since you insulted my sister's automotive intuition and her style," Yunho added, his smirk widening as he pointed toward the back of the yard where a heavily rusted, grease-caked tractor sat waiting to be stripped for parts. "Your dad already told me we need to part out that old Ford tractor today. Now, I know you're the foreman... but you're doing the greasy undercarriage work yourself."
Hongjoong scowled, crossing his arms over the steering wheel, his heavy silver necklace shifting. "And why the hell would I do that when I can just assign it to you?"
Yunho leaned in closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Because if you don't, I'm texting my sister and telling her that her husband is smoking those nasty Reds again."
Hongjoong’s eyes went wide, his jaw dropping as he instinctively dropped his cigarette into the ashtray. "You wouldn't. Yun, come on. She’ll absolutely castrate me, she thinks I quit six months ago!"
Yunho just patted the side of the truck door with a brutal grinned smile. "Test me, foreman. Get to scraping."
Hongjoong let out a string of curses, throwing his head back against the seat in utter defeat. What he didn't know, and what Yunho was actively keeping to himself, was that you already knew about the smoking. You’d smelled it on his clothes weeks ago, but you were just waiting for the absolute perfect moment to use it against him. And right now, Yunho was happily weaponizing Hongjoong's own paranoia.
By noon, the Jacksonville sun was beating down unmercifully, and your phone buzzed on your desk at Jeong Paving Co., right next to a stack of newly approved job schedules. You pick it up, seeing Hongjoong’s name flash across the screen.
> **Hongjoong:** > Baby I’m sorry. I shouldn't have said you were being dramatic, and I shouldn't have blamed your sandals. I know you know your cars. And I shouldn't have said that about your clothes, I know you just like to look nice. I love how you dress. I will look at the lurching issue tonight. I promise.
>
You lean back in your office chair, a soft sigh escaping your lips. You are still thoroughly pissed off at him. Nothing gets under your skin faster than being told you're being "dramatic" or having your personal style questioned, especially when you work so hard to keep the backend of the business running flawlessly. He was tired, sure, but that didn't give him a free pass to dismiss you.
But God help you, you love that stubborn man with everything you've got.
A fond smile tugs at the corner of your mouth as your phone bursts to life again. This time it's a picture from Yunho. It’s a candid, zoomed-in photo of Hongjoong lying flat on his back on a piece of cardboard underneath that filthy, rust-caked tractor in the absolute dead heat of the junkyard. His oversized white button-down is smudged with black axle grease, and his face-framing bangs are sticking out at wild, sweaty angles. He looks utterly miserable under the midday sun.
> **Yunho:** > *[image attached]* > I’m punishing him for you. Your father-in-law wanted this tractor torn down, and I gave Hongjoong an ultimatum: do the undercarriage or I tell you about his little Marlboro habit. 😂 He practically scrambled under there. He still thinks you don't know! Make him sweat a little longer, sis. See you at 5:00 for those tacos. I cannot wait to ride shotgun in his new truck with the AC cranked.
>
You shake your head, typing out a response to your brother.
> **To: Yunho** > Oh my god, the fact that he thinks I don’t know about the cigarettes is the funniest part of this whole day. I smelled it on his white shirt weeks ago. Let him keep scrambling under there, it builds character. 😂
>
You pause, looking back at how miserable and overheated Hongjoong looks under that tractor. The brutal Florida humidity is no joke at midday, and your protective streak kicks in despite your anger. You tap the screen again.
> **To: Yunho** > But seriously, make sure he drinks some water so he doesn’t get dehydrated out there, and force him to actually eat his lunch. Don't tell him I'm worried though. I'm still ignoring him. See you at 5.
>
With a satisfied click, you lock your phone and slide it onto the desk.
Just then, the heavy glass door to your office swings open, and the familiar scent of diesel, hot asphalt, and a hint of peppermint chewing tobacco trails in. Your dad walks in, a wide-brim straw hat shading his weathered face, wiping his brow with a bandana. He stops by the window, looking out into the sun-baked parking lot before turning to you with a massive, booming laugh.
"Well, look at you," he chuckles, leaning his elbows on the edge of your desk. "Nice ride out front. Can my princess even see over the steering wheel of that big old thing?"
You roll your eyes affectionately, leaning back in your chair. "Barely, Dad. Had to slide the seat all the way to the dashboard. Your son-in-law was being an ass, so I stole it."
Your dad’s grin turns into a proud, knowing smirk. He taps his knuckle against your desk. "Good girl. That'll teach him to keep his mouth shut. What’d he do?"
"He told me my car wasn't actually messing up, that I was just being dramatic and it was my sandals," you scoffed, crossing your arms. "And then he had the nerve to ask why I even bother getting dressed up pretty for work since I just sit in a double-wide paver trailer instead of Fifth Avenue."
"Oh, he did, did he? Boy must've left his brain in his other pants. He knows better than to talk to my daughter like that."
He leaned against the wooden counter, a protective, warning glint in his eye. "You tell that husband of yours he needs to watch his mouth. Otherwise, I might just have to pack him up and take him on a little weekend road trip down to Uncle Jackson's place in Everglades City. And he knows damn well Uncle Jackson keeps a lot of very large, very hungry gators in the canal right behind his backyard."
You instantly rolled your eyes, a small shudder running down your spine as you pointed a warning finger at him. "Dad, stop. You know I hate that joke. It’s not funny, and you’re just gonna stress him out more than he already is."
"I don't think it's funny either," your dad replied deadpan, though his eyes were dancing with absolute mischief as he adjusted his straw hat. "But it keeps him on his toes. Alright, I'm heading out to the yard. I need to make sure the guys aren't completely grading the life out of the new kid."
"San?" you ask, a small smile forming as you think of the new hire.
"Yeah, San," your dad sighs, though there’s a fond tone in his voice. "Bless him, he’s a strong boy. Lord knows he can lift a bag of concrete like it weighs nothing, and he’s been working his tail off in this humidity. But that boy’s got more heart than head.. He's fresh out of Woodbine, moved down here thinking Jacksonville was the biggest city in the world. If I don't go stop 'em, the crew's gonna have that poor kid wandering around the yard looking for a bucket of steam or a left-handed shovel until clock-out time."
With a chuckle and a wave, your dad heads out the door, leaving you alone in the quiet, air-conditioned office.
A few minutes later, the door opens again, but it isn't your dad. It’s San. He’s carrying a clipboard of delivery receipts from the morning run, his heavy work boots thudding softly against the linoleum. The heat outside has his skin gleaming, and his tight work shirt does absolutely nothing to hide how broad and muscular he is. He’s undeniably gorgeous, but as he stops in front of your desk, he offers a shy, incredibly sweet dimpled smile, shifting his weight politely.
"Ma'am," San says, his southern drawl smooth and deeply respectful as he hands over the paperwork. "Your daddy told me to bring these straight to you. And, uh... I couldn't help but notice that beautiful black Silverado out front. Is that yours? It’s a mighty fine truck."
"It's my husband's," you say, flashing him a polite smile as you take the clipboard. "But it's mine for the day."
"Well, he's a lucky man," San says softly, his eyes crinkling with that effortless, boyish charm. He isn't trying to make a move or disrespect your marriage; he’s just naturally sweet, attentive, and incredibly pleasant to look at. "If you ever need any help loading up materials or anything at all in this heat, you just let me know, okay?"
After a few more polite pleasantries, San gives a small nod, turns around, and walks back out toward the yard. You lean back, watching him walk away through the large glass window, purely appreciating the view for a quick second because, honestly, the kid is built like a brick house.
What you don't realize is that Mingi, Hongjoong’s younger cousin who works right alongside you at the paving company, was standing in the break room doorway the entire time. Mingi was a few years younger than the rest of your group, and while he was sweet as hell and always meant well, he possessed a truly legendary, God-given talent for saying the absolute wrong thing at the absolute worst possible time.
He had just walked into the break room to grab a cold Gatorade from the fridge and witnessed the whole interaction. Mingi had absolutely no clue that you and Hongjoong were currently in the middle of a massive fight, but his terrible timing was about to strike again.
Sitting in the break room, Mingi grins ear to ear, cracks open his Gatorade, pulls out his phone, and fires off a quick, teasing text straight to his cousin.
Out in the junkyard miles away, Hongjoong is flat on his back on a grease-stained piece of cardboard, wiping a mix of sweat and black axle grease out of his eyes, his bangs practically glued to his forehead. His phone buzzes aggressively in his pocket. He groans, pulling his filthy hand out, and slides the screen open.
Mingi: joon get over here rn. san is up front w ur wife flashing them dimples and she is def checking him tf out thru the window lmao. new kid gonna steal ur girl if u don’t hurry up frfr 💀😂
Hongjoong stares at the screen, his blood instantly turning from boiling hot to ice cold. His jaw drops, his chest locking up tight as his knuckles go white around his phone. He is already stuck under a rusted tractor, sweating through his boots, driving a broken-down '94 Chevy with no AC while his wife is driving his brand-new truck. And now some incredibly attractive new kid from Georgia is flashing dimples at his woman, and she's watching him walk away?!
Hongjoong aggressively thuds his head back against the cardboard, letting out a loud, furious roar that echoes across the entire junkyard lot. "WHAT THE HELL!"
Yunho, who was sitting on a plastic milk crate nearby tracing a wiring harness, jumps a little at the sudden shout. He walks over to the side of the tractor, leaning down with a raised eyebrow, brushing his golden-brown fringe out of his eyes. "What the fuck are you yelling about, Kim? Did a wrench slip and hit you in the face?"
Hongjoong scrambles out from underneath the tractor, covered in black grease, his chest heaving as he shoves the phone right into Yunho's face. "Read it! Read what Mingi just sent me! That new kid San is over at the office flirting with my wife! Flashing his damn dimples at her, and Mingi says she was watching him walk away!"
Yunho takes the phone, glances at the text, and instantly lets out a massive, booming laugh, shaking his head. He hands the phone back to a completely spiraling Hongjoong.
"Oh, man, chill," Yunho says, completely unbothered as he leans his elbows on the tractor tire. "You know she is crazy about you. She’s been obsessed with you since high school. There’s no harm in a little window shopping. She's just looking."
"She shouldn't be looking at him or his stupid dimples!" Hongjoong snaps, defensively wiping his sweaty forehead with his forearm, only succeeding in smearing more grease across his cheek and through his edgy white button-down.
Yunho rolls his eyes, a massive smirk crossing his face as he shifts his stance in his AC/DC shirt. "Hypocrite. You flirt with the Daily's girl to get free soda refills all the time! I've literally watched you lean on the counter and flash your stupid smile just so we don't have to pay the two bucks for a 32-ounce Mountain Dew."
Hongjoong freezes, his mouth opening and closing like a fish as he tries to find a defense, his silver necklace clinking against his chest. "That’s—that’s completely different! That ain't flirting, Yun, that’s just smart business! I’m saving the company money!"
"Sure it is, foreman," Yunho chuckles, giving the side of the tractor a loud slap. "Now shut up and get back under there. You’ve still got an oil pan to drop, and your wife is still picking me up in your ice-cold truck at five."
Yunho couldn’t even look at Hongjoong’s panicked, grease-stained face without laughing, but the second Hongjoong scrambled back under the tractor to aggressively bang a wrench against the oil pan, Yunho pulled out his own phone. He knew Mingi had absolutely no clue what kind of domestic warfare he had just stepped into, and his thumb flew across the screen.
> **To: Mingi** > Dude! WtF!? You have terrible timing! Y/n and Joong are in the middle of a huge fight! Why do you think she has his truck?
>
Over at the paver office, Mingi’s phone buzzed on the break room counter. He picked it up, read the text, and his eyes went wide as saucers. He choked a little on his blue Gatorade, quickly glancing out the break room window toward the front parking lot where your shiny, black Silverado sat perfectly parked. The pieces instantly clicked together in his head.
Mingi: OH SHIT 💀 i thought he was just bein a nice guy lettin her drive it!! oh man joong gonna kill me. is he losin it??
> **Yunho:** > He just screamed loud enough to wake the dead and nearly broke his wrench. Don't text him anything else, you've done enough damage for one day lmao.
>
Back under the suffocating, dark underbelly of the Ford tractor, Hongjoong was still agonizing when his phone buzzed again. He fished it out with his clean hand, fully expecting an apology from his younger cousin.
Instead, his eyes widened as he read the screen:
Mingi: bro my b yunho told me yall r fighting!! fr don’t sweat it. honestly san’s ass isn't nearly as nice as urs so u shouldn't worry lol. plus she flirts w everyone anyway so it ain’t like he's special. u good 👍
Hongjoong stared at the glowing screen, his brain entirely short-circuiting. The text did not help. In fact, it was like throwing high-octane racing fuel onto a raging grease fire.
*She flirts with everyone?! What the hell is that supposed to mean?!*
In his current, overheated, insecure state of mind, Mingi’s warped attempt at reassurance didn't comfort him at all. It just translated to absolute chaos. If Mingi thought his wife was out here passing out attention to every single person who walked into the paving office, then Hongjoong’s panicked brain assumed the situation was a code-red emergency.
In a blind, jealous, panicked frenzy, Hongjoong threw his phone onto the dirt, grabbed his heavy iron wrench, and jammed it blindly back onto the next oil pan bolt. He yanked it with a violent, reckless heave.
The wrench slipped right off the slick, grease-covered metal.
THWACK.
The solid iron handle smashed directly into his forehead, right above his eye.
"GOD-DAMN-MOTHER-FUCKER!" Hongjoong shrieked, the sheer pain making his vision go white. He rolled completely off the cardboard, tossing his wrench across the yard where it hit an old oil drum with a massive CLANG. He curled into a fetal position in the dirt, clutching his face as a fresh, bright red bead of blood began to well up right near his eyebrow.
Yunho finally dropped his wire cutters, letting out a heavy, exhausted sigh. He walked over, looked down at his absolute trainwreck of a brother-in-law rolling in the dirt, and shook his head. He could hear Hongjoong’s phone vibrating in the dirt with another incoming text from Mingi, but Yunho wisely kicked a little dust over it.
"Alright, that's it. Slide your stupid ass out of the dirt before you accidentally decapitate yourself," Yunho demanded, his voice dropping its teasing edge, replaced by the gruff, grounded comfort of a lifelong friend. He reached down, grabbing Hongjoong by his open white shirt, and hoisted him up onto his feet.
Hongjoong stood there, panting, looking entirely pathetic. His choppy hair was a bird's nest of twigs and dust, his hands were black with axle grease, and a thin line of blood was trickling down the side of his irritated face, bypassing his heavy silver chain.
Yunho grabbed a relatively clean shop rag from his back pocket and slapped it against Hongjoong’s chest. "Press that against your head, Kim. It’s noon, it’s ninety-five degrees in the shade, and your brain is officially fried from jealousy."
Hongjoong pressed the rag to his bleeding forehead, his shoulders slumping as he stared at the ground, looking thoroughly defeated. "Yun, she thinks I'm a dismissive asshole. And now Mingi says she's out here looking at..."
"Mingi is an idiot who shouldn't be allowed to text people," Yunho interrupted firmly, adjusting his tousled fringe. He walked over to the passenger side of the truck and grabbed his wallet. "Come on, man. Let’s get something to eat and get outta this sun for an hour. My treat. We'll go to that diner down the highway with the heavy-duty AC, and you're gonna drink a gallon of water before you pass out."
The greasy, stale air inside the diner’s vinyl booth felt a little more suffocating the longer Hongjoong thought about the text. Even though the industrial air conditioning was blasting overhead, a cold sweat broke out along the back of his neck, completely unrelated to the mid-June Jacksonville humidity.
He’d already been spiraling over Mingi’s text about the new kid, San. But now, with his own words from last night echoing back in his head, the panic took on a whole new, terrifying shape.
"Oh my god," Hongjoong breathed, his voice dropping into a frantic whisper as he gripped the edge of the laminate table. He looked up at Yunho, his eyes wide and completely wild beneath his messy, sweat-spiked bangs. "Yun. Last night. The fight. I asked her why the hell she dresses up so damn fancy just to sit in a paver trailer. And this week this new greenhorn shows up from Georgia. Broad shoulders, deep dimples. Yun, is she dressing up all pretty for him? Has she been getting dolled up this whole week because of the new guy?!"
The sheer, unadulterated insecurity in Hongjoong's voice was palpable. He looked entirely pathetic, covered in black axle grease, a fresh purple knot swelling on his forehead, his oversized white shirt wrinkled and stained, genuinely terrified that a sundress and a pair of block-heeled sandals meant his entire marriage was crumbling.
Yunho let out a long, heavy sigh, slowly setting his fry back down in the basket. The teasing smirk finally faded from his face, replaced by the grounded, no-nonsense look of a brother who knew exactly who his sister was. He leaned his broad arms on the table, the faded graphics of his AC/DC shirt stretching as he stared straight into Hongjoong’s panicked eyes.
"Man, take a deep breath and stop being an absolute lunatic," Yunho said, his deep southern drawl firm and steady. "Are you seriously forgetting who you're married to? She ain't foolin' around on you, Hongjoong. You know that. And more importantly, you are letting yourself get spun out by a text from Mingi."
Hongjoong blinked, wiping a smear of grease across his cheek. "But Mingi literally just texted me saying she flirts with everyone! He said she's not treating the new guy special because that's just what she does!"
"Because Mingi doesn't know the difference between a girl being charmingly polite and a girl actually flirting!" Yunho interrupted, throwing his hands up in disbelief.
He leaned across the table, his voice dropping to an amused, deadpan whisper. "Joong, listen to me. This is the exact same guy who came home from his check-up last week completely convinced his orthodontist is wildly, deeply in love with him. He sat on my couch for an hour bragging about how she is 'totally obsessed' with his new, straightened teeth. And do you want to know what his airtight evidence was? He said that every single time she sits him back in the chair, she looks him dead in the eye and says, 'Let me see that beautiful smile.' "
Hongjoong stared at Yunho, his frantic blinking slowly cutting through his panic as the sheer absurdity of the statement registered in his brain.
"She is an orthodontist, Joong," Yunho delivered dryly, taking a slow sip of his ice water and brushing a stray lock of golden-brown hair from his eyes. "It is quite literally her state-licensed job to look at his smile. She’s checking his teeth alignment, not trying to invite him over for Sunday dinner. But in Mingi’s clueless head, a professional doing her job means he's a certified heartbreaker. So if Mingi looks across the office yard and thinks my sister is 'flirting' just because she's being sweet and taking delivery receipts, he is ninety-nine percent likely to be completely, hilariously wrong. She’s just a nice girl, and Mingi has the romantic radar of a broken compass."
Hongjoong sank back against the vinyl seat, the rigid tension in his shoulders finally starting to give way, his silver chain settling against his chest. He looked down at his raw, grease-stained knuckles, swallowing the heavy lump of anxiety in his throat. Hearing Yunho lay out Mingi's legendary lack of situational awareness made the ridiculous, jealous fog in his brain start to clear out.
"I know," Hongjoong muttered, running a hand over his face and wincing as his fingers brushed the tender cut on his forehead. "I know. I'm just... I'm a dumbass, Yun. I got tired, I let my mouth run about her clothes, and then I spent the whole morning thinking I drove her right into some greenhorn's arms."
"Well, you definitely drove her right into my guest room," Yunho chuckled, the familiar, mocking smirk returning to his face as he snagged another fry. "But you're fine. Your territory is safe. Now go wash that clay off your face. My little sister will kill me if I let you get an infection.”
Back at the paver office, the industrial AC hummed a steady, beautiful tune, keeping the midday heat firmly on the other side of the glass. You had just finished logging the morning’s delivery receipts when the heavy door to the break room creaked open.
Mingi stepped out, tossing his empty blue Gatorade bottle into the recycling bin. He was wiping his hands on his jeans, a look of profound, self-satisfied pride practically radiating off his face. He walked over to your desk, leaning his long, lanky frame against the high wooden counter, and gave you a wide, encouraging grin.
"Hey, don't sweat it, girl," Mingi said, his voice entirely too loud for the quiet office as he gave you a reassuring nod. "I just talked to Joong. I got you covered. I'm helping you guys make up."
Your fingers froze over the keyboard. The air in your lungs completely vanished, and your stomach took a violent, sickening plunge straight into your boots. You slowly lifted your gaze from the monitor, staring at him.
"Mingi," you said, your voice dropping to a dangerously quiet, terrifyingly steady whisper. Your eyes locked onto his. "What the hell did you do?"
Mingi blinked, his smile faltering just a tiny bit at your tone, though he still looked incredibly proud of himself. "What? I was just fixing things! Yunho texted me and told me you and Joong were having a massive blowout, and that's why you took his Silverado today. And I realized, man, my bad! I'd just texted him earlier joking around about that new kid, San, flashing his dimples at you while you watched him walk away."
You felt the blood drain entirely from your face. "You texted him what?"
"Right?! Terrible timing on my part!" Mingi chuckled, waving his hand dismissively. "But don't worry, I fixed it! I saw how stressed Yunho was about it, so I texted Joong right back to smooth it all over. I told him straight up that San’s ass isn't nearly as nice as yours, so you have absolutely nothing to worry about."
You buried your face in your hands, a horrified groan escaping your lips. *Oh my god.*
"And," Mingi added proudly, leaning in a little closer as if delivering the ultimate reassurance, "I told him you flirt with everyone anyway, so it’s not like he was getting any special treatment! See? Boom. Crisis averted. He knows you're just being you."
You slowly pulled your hands away from your face, gripping your desk with a look of pure horror. You knew exactly how Hongjoong’s brain worked. He was already an overprotective country boy, and right now, he was flat on his back in the mud, sweating in the heat, driving a broken-down '94 Chevy while you had his pride-and-joy truck.
And now, thanks to his own cousin, Hongjoong thought his polished, dirt-hating wife was sitting in the icy AC, evaluating the new hire's backside, and apparently "flirting with everyone" in the county.
"Mingi," you choked out, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs as you grabbed your phone off the desk. "You are an absolute menace. He is going to lose his mind.”
Your fingers flew across your phone screen in a blind panic. "Fucking Mingi," you muttered under your breath, casting a lethal glare at him. He was standing by your desk, blinking at you with a look of pure confusion. Bless his heart, he was sweet as hell, but boy was he thick as molasses sometimes.Get your ass back to work before I kick it out into the gravel lot!" you scolded, your voice cracking with stress.Mingi’s eyes widened, finally realizing he was in the blast zone. He didn't even grab his Gatorade cap—he just turned on his heel and scrambled out of the office before you could throw a stapler at him.
You hit Hongjoong’s contact and jammed the phone against your ear, bouncing your leg anxiously behind the desk. Ring. Ring. Ring. It went straight to his voicemail greeting. "Damn it, Joong, pick up," you hissed, hanging up and dialing again. Same thing. Straight to voicemail. You had no way of knowing that his phone was currently lying face-down in the dirt miles away.
You scrambled, scrolling rapidly through your contacts until you found your brother's name. You hit dial, pressing the phone so hard against your ear it hurt.
"Please, please, please pick up," you whispered to the empty air of the office, closing your eyes tight. "Yunho, come on, answer your phone..."
Over at the diner, the heavy-duty commercial AC was blowing a beautiful, icy wall of air over the vinyl booth. Yunho had just set down a massive glass of ice water in front of a thoroughly pathetic-looking Hongjoong when his pocket started vibrating aggressively.
Yunho fished his phone out, glancing at the caller ID. A massive, knowing smirk instantly split his face. He looked across the table at his brother-in-law, who was currently pressing a clean, cold napkin to the nasty red welt swelling up on his forehead, looking like a grumpy, wounded highwayman with his messy, sweat-spiked bangs falling over his face.
"Well, well, well," Yunho drawled, sliding his thumb across the screen to answer. "Look who it is. Hey, sis."
The second the call connected, your voice came bursting through the speaker, high-pitched and breathless with pure panic. "Yunho! Oh my god, thank heaven. Where is Hongjoong? Is he with you? You need to tell him right now that Mingi is an absolute idiot and a certified liar!"
Yunho didn't even have the phone all the way up to his ear yet, but your panicked voice was echoing so loudly through the speaker that Hongjoong caught every single syllable from the other side of the vinyl booth.
The second he heard you call Mingi a "certified liar," Hongjoong froze. He slowly lowered the cold napkin from his face, revealing the fresh, angry red welt swelling up right over his eye. His dark eyes darted toward the phone in Yunho’s hand, his sharp jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek.
Yunho held the phone slightly out in the space between them, a massive, thoroughly entertained smirk spreading across his face, his soft golden-brown hair framing his amused expression as he took a slow sip of his ice water.
"Whoa, slow down, sis," Yunho drawled, his voice dripping with amusement. "I can barely hear you over the sound of your husband’s pride crumbling into a million pieces. But yeah, he’s sitting right across from me. He’s currently sporting a brand-new knot on his forehead because he tried to fight a tractor wrench and lost. What did Mingi do now?"
"Yunho, I swear to God," you rushed out, your hand gripping your phone so tight your knuckles were white as you stared blindly at the schedules on your desk. "Mingi just walked up to my desk and told me he 'fixed things.' He told me he texted Hongjoong about San, and then texted him again saying I flirt with everyone! You have to tell Joong that Mingi is legally blind and completely brain-dead! I was just taking the delivery receipts!"
Across the table, Hongjoong leaned forward, his boots heavy against the diner floor. He snapped the phone right out of Yunho’s hand, cutting his brother-in-law off entirely. He slammed the phone to his own ear, his voice rough, possessive, and thick with a mix of leftover adrenaline and sheer country stubbornness.
"I can hear you, y/n," Hongjoong growled into the receiver, his breathing a little heavy. "I’m right here. And Mingi said you were sitting in the AC watching the new kid walk away. He said you were looking at his damn dimples!"
Your voice softened instantly through the speaker, all the frustration at Mingi completely melting into pure, desperate reassurance.
"Joonie, please," you begged, and the sound of that old high school nickname instantly put a massive dent in his stubborn armor. "I was looking at him because he was talking to me! He was handing me the delivery receipts from the morning run. That's it! Joonie, you know I love you. You’re the only one for me. You've always been the only one for me."
Hongjoong closed his eyes tight, letting out a long, ragged breath that he’d been holding in since he first got that text. Hearing you say it, hearing that familiar, fierce protectiveness in your voice directed entirely at him, instantly started to drain the toxic, boiling jealousy out of his chest.
He slumped back against the vinyl booth, his broad shoulders dropping. He looked completely ridiculous sitting in a nice, clean diner, covered from head to toe in black axle grease, his white button-down ruined, a bloody welt split open on his forehead, fiercely gripping a cell phone like it was a lifeline.
"I know," Hongjoong muttered rough and low into the receiver, his thumb tracing a nervous circle against the side of the phone. "I know you love me, baby. It's just... I'm stuck out here sweating my ass off, driving a truck that smells like old gym socks, and then I get a text saying some gorgeous new hire is flashing dimples at my wife. It drove me entirely crazy."
He rubbed his temple, wincing a little as his fingers brushed his dark bangs and the tender swelling above his eye.
"I'm sorry I called you dramatic last night, and I'm sorry I blamed your shoes," he said softly, his voice thick with genuine guilt as he finally swallowed his pride. "I should have just looked at your car. I was tired and being a stubborn asshole, and I deserved to have my truck stolen. I'm sorry."
Across the table, Yunho was watching the whole thing play out with a look of pure, unadulterated amusement. He leaned forward, the casual cut of his AC/DC shirt exposing his arms, grabbed a french fry from the basket, and loudly whispered, "Tell her your ass is better anyway!"
Hongjoong instantly shot his brother-in-law a lethal death-glare from under his bangs, kicking Yunho’s shin hard underneath the table.
"Shut up, Yun," Hongjoong hissed.
Through the phone speaker, your laugh rang out clear over the background noise of the diner.
"I heard that, Yunho!" you shouted merrily into the line. Then, your voice dropped into a purr that went straight to your husband's head. "And for the record, Joonie... your ass is definitely better. By a landslide."
Hongjoong’s chest puffed out instantly. A slow, incredibly smug grin broke through the black axle grease on his face, his country pride puffing up like a rooster in a chicken coop. He shot Yunho a triumphant, look-at-me-now glare across the table, his heavy silver chain clinking as he kicked his brother-in-law's shin under the booth a second time just to solidify his victory.
"Damn right it is," Hongjoong bragged into the receiver, his voice deep, smooth, and laced with absolute satisfaction. "Hear that, Yun? By a landslide."
Yunho just rolled his eyes, a lock of golden-brown hair falling into his face. "Yeah, yeah. King of the yard. Whatever helps you sleep at night, foreman."
Hongjoong leaned back against the seat, entirely ready to bask in the glorious warmth of being your number-one guy. But then, his brain did a sudden, violent re-centering. The cogs turned, shifting the pieces of the conversation into place, and the smug grin froze clean off his face.
His eyes went wide.
*Wait a minute.*
"Hold on just a second," Hongjoong stammered, his voice suddenly rising an octave as he bolted upright in the booth, gripping the phone tight. "How do you know it’s better by a landslide? To know it's a landslide, that means you had to have actually looked at the greenhorn's butt to make a proper comparison!"
Yunho choked on his fry, instantly burying his face in his arm as a massive, wheezing laugh escaped him, shaking his shoulders.
"Y/n!" Hongjoong accused, his possessive country-boy panic flaring right back up into a hilarious, frantic tailspin. "You did check him out! Mingi wasn't lying! You watched him walk away and you evaluated the merchandise!"
You let out another wicked, thoroughly satisfied giggle that echoed through the line, completely ignoring his frantic, jealous sputtering.
"See you two at five!" you chimed merrily, your voice dipping with absolute sweetness. Then, you paused, letting a deadly little beat of silence hang in the air just long enough to make his stomach drop. "Oh, and Hongjoong? I threw out the pack of cigarettes that were in your truck. You must have forgot they were in there when you quit six months ago. Bye!"
Click.
The line went dead.
Hongjoong froze mid-pace, the phone still pulled tight to his ear as the dial tone buzzed flatly against his eardrum. The color completely drained from his face, leaving him looking pale beneath the smudges of black axle grease. His mouth hung open, his jaw practically dropping onto his chest.
*She knew.*
*She didn't just find them. She had known the whole damn time.*
Across the table, Yunho was watching his brother-in-law’s face transform from frantic jealousy to pure, unadulterated terror. He set his burger down, leaning forward on his elbows with a massive, knowing grin. "What'd she say, foreman? Did she tell you she liked the view?"
Hongjoong slowly lowered the phone, staring blankly at the diner table like he’d just seen a ghost. His voice was a hollow, defeated whisper. "The Reds... she threw away my Marlboros. She said I must've forgot they were in there when I quit six months ago."
Yunho’s eyes went wide, and then he absolutely lost it. He threw his head back, letting out a loud, roaring laugh.
"No way!" Yunho wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. "Oh my god, she got you! Man, I told you she runs the backend of that company for a reason! She’s ten steps ahead of you, Kim!"
Hongjoong slumped heavily back into the booth, letting out a long, pathetic groan and burying his face in his grease-stained hands. Not only had he spent the last four hours agonizing over a new hire's dimples, but he had also voluntarily spent his entire morning scraping the rusted undercarriage of a filthy tractor just to keep a secret that you had already figured out weeks ago.
He lifted his head, looking completely exhausted as he glared at his brother-in-law, his dark, face-framing bangs sticking out wildly. "I'm a certified idiot, Yun. A certified idiot."
"Yep," Yunho laughed, sliding the basket of french fries toward him and tossing his tousled fringe back. "But you're a certified idiot with a great ass and a wife who loves you enough to make you sweat. Now eat your burger, foreman. You've got about four hours to wash the grease off before she pulls up in your brand-new truck to take us for tacos."
The clock finally hit 5:00 PM, and the brutal sun was just beginning to angle downwards, casting long, golden-orange shadows across the gravel lot of Kim & Sons Towing and Junkyard.
Right on time, the deep, powerful rumble of a modern V8 engine announced your arrival. You swung the brand-new, black Silverado through the gates, the factory-fresh suspension bouncing smoothly over the deep ruts. The AC inside the cab was cranking a glorious, icy breeze.
As you put the massive truck in park near the main shop office, you looked through the windshield, and your satisfied smirk instantly vanished.
Hongjoong and Yunho were leaning against the rusted tailgate of the square-body Chevy. Yunho looked perfectly in his element, his casual golden-brown hair catching the fading sunlight, entirely unbothered that he was currently bumming rides because of his suspended license. But Hongjoong, your usually swaggering husband, was an absolute disaster area.
He was completely drained, his broad shoulders slumped in pure exhaustion. Black axle grease was smeared across his jawline, his white shirt was a complete loss, his knuckles were visibly raw, swollen, and bruised, and worst of all was his face. Right above his eye sat a nasty, swollen purple knot with a fresh, jagged red cut leaking a tiny, slow bead of dried blood down his temple.
Your heart did a violent, panicked flip.
You threw the truck into park, popped the door, and hopped right down out of the cab. Dropping down from the high cab of a lifted, full-sized modern 4x4 truck was a long way down, but you didn't even care if you stumbled in your boots. The second your feet hit the gravel, you were in a dead sprint across the lot.
"Oh my god, Hongjoong!" you shrieked, your voice echoing off the metal garage bays as you surged straight over to him, entirely forgetting that you were supposed to be ignoring him.
You skidded to a halt right in front of him, your hands flying up to instantly cup his grease-stained cheeks. Your eyes wide with pure, unadulterated terror.
"Oh my god baby, your face!" you gasped, your thumb carefully, gently brushing the very edge of the swelling, mindful not to hurt him. "What happened?! Did a car fall? Did someone attack you?! Look at your hands!"
Hongjoong froze the second your hands touched his skin. For all his tough swagger and foreman authority, the absolute second you showed him an ounce of affection, he completely melted. He looked down at you through his messy, sweat-spiked bangs, his eyes going incredibly soft and wide. He looked like a guilty, wounded puppy that had just been caught chewing a shoe but was incredibly grateful to be petted anyway.
Before he could even open his mouth to fabricate a tough, manly story about a freak mechanical accident, Yunho let out a loud, mocking snort from two feet away.
"He got attacked by a stationary Ford tractor and his own sheer, unbridled jealousy, sis," Yunho chimed in, leaning his elbows back on the tailgate with a massive, ruthless grinned smile. "The second Mingi texted him about the new guy, foreman over here lost his mind. He yanked a wrench so hard he snapped a bolt and busted his knuckles. Then he got so worked up about San's dimples that he smashed himself right in the face."
Your eyes turned back to your husband, a mixture of disbelief and deep, visual proof of just how hard his practical brain had short-circuited over you today. You let out a soft, exasperated sigh, your thumbs gently rubbing his cheeks.
"You are an absolute idiot, Kim Hongjoong," you murmured, half-amused and half-scolding as you looked up into his dark, guilty eyes. "Mingi is your younger cousin, you know he is a dumbass sometimes. Why on earth would you believe him?"
"I know," Hongjoong mumbled, his rough voice dropping low as he leaned his face right into your palms, completely defeated, his heavy silver chain cold against his skin. "I'm a certified idiot, baby. I just... I completely lost it thinking about you looking at someone else."
Before you could fuss over him some more, Yunho stepped up, tossing his dusty lunchbox into the back of the Silverado. He gave Hongjoong a heavy, mocking pat on the shoulder, flashing a massive grin at you, his tousled fringe moving with the breeze.
"But don't worry, sis," Yunho drawled, his voice dripping with pure, unadulterated mischief. "His face might be completely ruined, but his ass is totally fine."
"Yunho, I swear to God, I am going to fire you!" Hongjoong barked, snapping his head around to glare at his brother-in-law, his face burning hotter than the pavement.
You couldn't help it, a loud laugh burst right out of you, the tension completely breaking in the hot afternoon air. You shook his head, keeping one hand firmly on Hongjoong's waist as you looked at the two of them.
"Alright, both of you get in the truck," you laughed, steering a grumpy, blushing Hongjoong toward the passenger side. "You both smell like diesel and old grease, and I need to get some ice on that forehead. The taco stand might have some. Move it, boys."
The icy blast of the AC inside your house was a sweet relief after the sticky heat of the taco stand, but the quiet tension that settled over the bathroom was even sweeter. You had finally dropped a thoroughly stuffed, still-teasing Yunho off at his place, leaving just the two of you alone in the quiet of your own home.
You sat on the edge of the bathroom counter, a small first-aid kit open beside you, while Hongjoong stood between your knees. He had finally cleared the stubborn layer of black axle grease off his face and hands and changed out of his ruined button-down, leaving his skin clean, though his knuckles were still raw and red, and his heavy silver chain remained securely around his neck.
You leaned in close, a cotton pad soaked in antiseptic held gently between your fingers. "Hold still, Joonie. This is gonna sting a little."
Hongjoong didn't even flinch as the alcohol bit into the fresh cut on his forehead. He just stared straight ahead, his dark eyes fixed entirely on the front of your dress, his dark, choppy bangs damp from the wash. His sharp jaw was clenched, but not from anger; it was the heavy weight of sheer guilt.
"I'm so sorry," he muttered, his voice dropping into a rough, quiet rumble that vibrated right against your knees. "For everything I said last night. I’m an absolute idiot, baby. I don't know why I let my mouth run like that."
You let out a soft, gentle sigh, carefully pressing a butterfly bandage across the angry swelling near his eye to hold the cut closed. "I know, Joonie. You were tired, and you were stressed. I forgive you."
You offered him a warm, reassuring smile, reaching down to cap the antiseptic, thinking that was the end of it. But Hongjoong didn't relax. Instead, his chest rose and fell in a heavy, ragged breath, and he reached out, his rough, calloused hands gently taking hold of your waist to keep you close.
"No, it's not okay," he continued, his voice cracking just a fraction as he finally looked up, meeting your eyes. The fierce, stubborn pride he’d carried all day in the yard was completely gone, replaced by a raw, vulnerable honesty that went straight to your heart. "I was completely out of line, y/n. You... you always look so pretty and put together, and god, I love it. I'm so damn proud to walk into any room with you on my arm. But sometimes..."
He paused, his thumb tracing a slow, hesitant circle against the fabric of your dress, his gaze dropping for a second as if he was ashamed to even admit it.
"Sometimes I just get in my own head," he whispered, the mid-June Jacksonville heat outside completely forgotten in the quiet of your bathroom. "I look at you, so polished and smart, running the whole backend of that office, and then I look at myself. I worry you're gonna look at me one day and just see a dirty grease monkey with no manners. I get terrified you're gonna realize you're too good for a guy who lives his life in steel-toed boots, and you're finally gonna tell your daddy to go ahead and take me down to Uncle Jackson's."
You froze, staring down at him as his words registered. For a split second, the sheer sincerity in his dark eyes held you captive, and then, the image of your tough, swaggering, foreman husband genuinely losing sleep over your dad's favorite threat hit you.
A sudden, bright giggle burst right out of your chest.
"Oh no!" you giggled, your hands coming up to cup his face, your fingers threading into the clean, soft strands of his dark, piecey hair. "Joonie, no! Oh my god, I would never!"
Hongjoong blinked, his gaze shifting slightly as a faint, embarrassed flush crept up his neck. "Y/n, I'm serious..."
"I know you are, and that's why it's so funny," you cooed, your voice dropping into a soft, fiercely affectionate purr as you leaned your forehead against his. "Listen to me, you stubborn man. I literally told Dad today how much I hate that joke and told him to stop saying it. I am absolutely crazy about you. I have been since high school. I don't want a guy in a three-piece suit who's afraid to get his hands dirty. I love you for exactly who you are, grease, loud trucks, and all. My dad is never taking you to the Everglades, I promise."
The last lingering bit of tension finally melted out of Hongjoong’s broad shoulders. Hearing you say it so fiercely, with that unconditional, protective warmth that only belonged to him, chased away every last bit of insecurity that had plagued him all day.
A slow smile broke through his lips, his eyes darkening with a completely different kind of heat as he looked up at you. "Yeah? You're stuck with the grease monkey?"
"Forever," you whispered.
He let out a breathy, relieved laugh, but then his smile faltered slightly, shifting into something more sober, genuine, and sheepish. He rubbed the back of his neck, his clean but raw knuckles contrasting against his dark hair.
"And... about those Marlboros you found in the truck," he muttered, looking down at his lap before bringing his eyes back up to yours. "I'm sorry about that, too. I really did stop for a while. We've been so backed up on repos and short on guys, I let the stress get the best of me. Just a couple here and there. But I'm gonna try harder this time, y/n. I'm really gonna quit for good. I promise you."
You stared down at him, your hands still resting gently on his cheeks. Your expression softened, shifting from playful affection into something incredibly sweet, steady, and full of a quiet, life-changing weight.
"Good," you said softly, your thumbs tracing the line of his jaw. "Because it's really not good for the baby."
The bathroom fell into a sudden, dead silence.
The industrial hum of the central AC seemed to vanish entirely. Hongjoong froze solid, his body turning to stone beneath your hands. The words seemed to hang in the air between you, heavy and electric.
His eyes slowly went wide, wider than they had been when he got Mingi's text, wider than they had been when he took a wrench to the forehead. His jaw literally dropped, his chest locking tight as his brain completely stalled out. He stared at you, his dark eyes darting back and forth between yours, trying to process the syllables he had just heard.
"Baby?!" he choked out, his voice cracking violently as his hands gripped your waist so hard his knuckles turned white. "What do you mean baby?!"
You couldn't help the brilliant, radiant smile that completely took over your face. You reached down, taking one of his rough hands from your waist and wrapping your fingers around it, slowly guiding his palm up until you pressed it flat against your stomach, smoothing the cotton of your dress beneath his hand.
"I went to the doctor last week, Joonie," you explained softly, your eyes shining with happy tears as you looked at his stunned face. "I've actually known for a few days now. I was planning on waiting until Sunday dinner, since it's Father's Day, to tell you, but after the day you've had, I figured you really, really needed a little bit of good news today."
Hongjoong looked down at his own hand resting against your stomach, and then looked back up at your face.
Suddenly, a profound wave of realization hit him, and his eyes fractured with a whole new layer of emotion. The heavy, guilt-ridden memories of last night came rushing back. He remembered walking into the kitchen, short on patience and defensive, and snapping at you for dressing up "fancy" just to sit in a dirt lot. He’d thought you were trying to look good for the world, or worse, for some new hire.
But you hadn't been dressing up for anyone else. You had been glowing, feeling beautiful, and quietly carrying his child, all while handling the heavy lifting of the family business backend without a single complaint. He had completely, brutally misread the best thing that had ever happened to him.
The tough, swaggering country boy completely disintegrated right then and there. A massive, breathless, disbelieving laugh tore out of his chest, quickly followed by a heavy sob that he tried desperately to swallow down.
"A baby," he breathed, his voice cracking completely as he looked at your sundress, his fingers trembling against the fabric, his heavy chain catching the warm bathroom light. "Oh my god. I was... I was screaming about your clothes, and you were... Oh god, y/n. We're... I'm gonna be a daddy?"
"You're gonna be a daddy," you confirmed, laughing softly as he suddenly surged forward.
He didn't just kiss you; he buried his face straight into the crook of your neck, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you so tight against his chest it felt like he was trying to merge your two souls into one. He was shaking, a few hot tears leaking against your shoulder as he held onto you like you were the only solid thing left in the entire world.
"I'm quitting," he vowed fiercely into your skin, his voice thick with emotion, his grip tightening protectively. "I'm throwing out every pack in the county. I'm cleaning out the entire shop truck. I'll wash every bit of grease off my skin before I ever touch you guys."
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his face completely flushed, his dark eyes overflowing with a level of pure, unadulterated devotion and joy that you had never seen in him before. He looked at your face, then looked down at your stomach, his hand resting flat and steady against your dress.
"I love you so damn much," he whispered against your lips, his voice rough and deep with a fierce, brand-new protective instinct.
He didn't care about the yard, he didn't care about the truck, and he certainly didn't care about some greenhorn's dimples anymore. He slid his hands under your thighs, effortlessly hoisting you up off the counter with a gentle, reverent care that made your heart melt. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, the hem of your dress riding up slightly as you held onto his damp hair. He carried you out of the bathroom and into the dark hallway, his head completely spinning with the beautiful, terrifying, glorious reality that he was a family man now and he was going to spend every single day proving he was worthy of it.
A lone trainer and her uniquely protective Snorlax, Atlas, share a deep, silent bond that transcends a typical partnership. But when a ruthless figure from the past ambushes them on a remote route, a terrifying threat forces a dark secret to light—proving that true devotion can shatter even the most cruel and engineered curses.
Relationship: Seo Changbin/Reader (f)
Categories: F/M Romance, Dark Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending
Tags: Pokémon AU, Transformation/Curses, Protective Changbin, Team Rocket Plot
⚠️ Content Warning: This story contains mature themes.
Attempted sexual assault (By antagonist; interrupted/non-graphic)
Non-consensual human experimentation & kidnapping (Backstory)
Canon-typical violence, blood, and body horror (Forced transformation)
Your Snorlax, affectionately named Atlas, was an anomaly in every sense of the word.
You had found him looking utterly miserable near a riverbank, staring blankly into the rushing water with a sorrow so deep it radiated off his massive frame. He didn't look like a lazy Pokémon waiting for a snack; he looked crushed under an invisible, exhausting burden. You had named him Atlas right then and there—because he was a mountain of strength, yet he looked like he was carrying the weight of the entire world on his heavy shoulders.
Most trainers expected a Snorlax to be a literal roadblock—a mountain of fur and blubber that required a Poké Flute just to nudge out of the way. But Atlas? Atlas didn't care about sleeping twenty hours a day. He cared about *you*.
If you were making breakfast at the campsite, Atlas was right there, handing you berries with surprisingly nimble claws. If you were shivering during a cold night in the Crown Tundra, Atlas would gently scoop you up against his warm, massive chest, shielding you from the wind. And if an overzealous trainer or a wild Pokémon stepped just a little too close with bad intentions? His dark eyes would narrow, and he’d unleash a Hyper Beam that could level a small hill, standing like an impenetrable fortress between you and danger.
"You're too good to me, big guy," you murmured, leaning back against his soft stomach as the campfire crackled. You popped a Pecha berry into his mouth. He chewed happily, a soft, rumbling purr vibrating through his massive chest.
You patted his arm. "Honestly, I don't know what I'd do without you. Other trainers are always looking for legendary Pokémon, but I've already got the best partner in the world."
Atlas froze. The rumbling in his chest stopped instantly. He looked down at you, his dark eyes suddenly wide, shimmering with an intensity that felt entirely too... *human*. He lifted a heavy paw, hovering it over your cheek as if desperately wanting to cup your face, before hesitating and letting it drop back to the grass with a soft, melancholy sigh.
You frowned, reaching up to scratch behind his ears. "Hey, what's that look for? You know it's true."
He couldn't tell you. He *wanted* to tell you so badly it ached, but all that came out of his throat was a low, sad, *"Snor... lax."*
Inside that massive, round body, Seo Changbin was screaming.
He remembered the day perfectly. He had been a rising star in the professional battling circuit—confident, fierce, and a force to be reckoned with. But he had made the mistake of publicly humiliating a powerful man. He had dismantled the elite team of a mysterious, wealthy challenger on the high-stakes circuit, unaware that the man was Giovanni, the ruthless head of Team Rocket.
Giovanni didn't take losses. He took revenge.
His executives had ambushed Changbin after the match, dragging him into a top-secret underground facility. Giovanni had used him as a test subject for a horrifying new corporate weapon: **The Transmutation Prototype**. His scientists had been trying to find a way to compress a human prodigy's tactical intellect into the dense, high-durability body of a Pokémon to create the ultimate, obedient biological weapon. Giovanni had mockingly chosen a Snorlax form for Changbin, leaving him with a cruel curse: only true, unprompted love for the soul trapped inside the beast would ever break it.
But Changbin hadn't stayed a prisoner. His human mind intact, he had used the brute force of his new Snorlax body to tear through the laboratory doors and escape into the wild, eventually collapsing by the riverbank where you found him.
You hadn't cared that he was a giant Pokémon. You sat down, offered him half your sandwich, and talked to him like a friend. You gave him a name that recognized his strength while acknowledging his hidden pain. You took him in. You trained with him, hummed to him, and treated his soul with a gentleness he had never known. He had fallen entirely, utterly in love with you—but how could a human ever love a Snorlax back in the way the curse required? It felt impossible.
The next afternoon, the dark reality of the curse caught up to them.
You were trekking through a dense forest route, far from the main paths, when the trees suddenly parted. Black-clad Team Rocket grunts spilled into the clearing, flanking a man in a pristine, tailored suit. Giovanni stepped forward, his eyes sharp, cold, and calculating.
"Well, well. Look what we have here," Giovanni murmured, his voice dripping with smooth, aristocratic malice. He looked at your Pokémon, a dark smile pulling at his lips. "The missing prototype. I’ve been hunting for you for months, Changbin. Look at you, playing pet to a little girl."
Atlas immediately stepped in front of you, a low, menacing growl rattling deep in his chest. His stance was completely solid, blocking you from view.
"Step back!" you yelled, your hand instinctively dropping to your belt, your heart starting to hammer against your ribs. The isolation of the route suddenly felt suffocating.
"Take the beast," Giovanni ordered calmly. "And as for the girl... she's seen too much. Leave her to me."
An elite Nidoking lunged forward, locking Atlas in a brutal clash of strength. While Atlas was occupied, Giovanni moved with terrifying, practiced speed. He lunged around the side, grabbing you roughly and slamming your body into the dirt. Before you could even process the impact, he pinned your wrists above your head, straddling your hips. His hands tore roughly at your clothes.
"I took your humanity, Changbin, and now I'm going to take the only thing you have left to live for," Giovanni hissed loudly, his face inches from yours, his eyes dark and predatory as he forced himself down onto you. "Watch."
You screamed, kicking desperately, suffocating under his weight.
A sound tore through the forest—a sound that didn't belong to a Snorlax. It was a guttural, furious roar of pure, unadulterated human rage.
Changbin didn't care about the battle rules. Seeing Giovanni putting his hands on you, hearing your terrified screams as he attempted to violate you, snapped something deep inside his soul. He didn't want to win a match anymore. He wanted Giovanni dead.
With speed that defied his massive size, Atlas broke away from the Nidoking. He didn't use a standard Pokémon move. He threw his massive weight directly into the poison-type, sending it crashing violently through the trees, snapping trunks in half. Before Giovanni could even look up, Atlas slammed into him, knocking him completely off you.
Giovanni flew through the air, crashing into the dirt and coughing up blood, his tailored suit tearing against the rocks. But Atlas wasn't done. The sheer, suffocating aura radiating from the Snorlax was thick with an intent to kill. He loomed over Giovanni like a dark god of wrath, his heavy claws raised, aiming directly for the man's throat to crush the life out of him.
"A-Atlas, stop!" you choked out, scrambling backward in the dirt, your voice trembling. You weren't afraid of him, but you were terrified of what he might do out of sheer, desperate love for you. "Stop, please! I'm okay! He's done!"
He halted instantly at the sound of your voice. The heavy claw hovered inches from Giovanni's face. Atlas turned to look at you, his chest heaving, his eyes wild and terrified that he had scared you.
Seeing his boss pinned and bleeding, a Team Rocket executive quickly threw down a smoke bomb. A thick, choking purple fog erupted in the clearing. Through the haze, you heard the panicked, furious shouts of the grunts dragging a coughing, injured Giovanni back into the safety of their armored transport vehicle. The heavy engine roared to life, and the sound of the truck sped away into the distance, fleeing the forest.
The grunts had gotten away with their boss, but you didn't care about them. You ran straight toward your Pokémon, throwing your arms around his massive, furry neck as far as they could reach.
"Thank you," you whispered fiercely, burying your face in his soft fur. You could feel his heart hammering like a trapped bird against his ribs. "You saved me. You always save me."
Atlas stood frozen, his large paws hovering in the air before slowly, gently wrapping around your smaller frame, pulling you close as if he never wanted to let you go.
You pulled back just enough to look up into his face. Your eyes were shining with a profound, fierce emotion. "I don't care what anyone else says about Snorlaxs. You are the most selfless, protective, and beautiful soul I have ever met. I love you. Exactly as you are. I don't ever want a different partner."
You leaned up, pressing a soft, lingering kiss right to the center of his forehead.
For a second, the forest was completely silent.
Then, a blinding, golden light erupted from Atlas’s chest.
You stumbled back, shielding your eyes as the light expanded, swirling like a cyclone. The massive, rounded silhouette began to shift, shrinking, leaning out, taking the distinct shape of a broad-shouldered human man.
When the light finally faded, you blinked against the afterglow. Standing in front of you was a man with dark, intense eyes, sharp features, a strong jawline, and a remarkably built, muscular physique. He was breathing heavily, looking down at his own human hands in absolute disbelief.
"I... I have hands," he breathed, his voice deep, raspy, and thoroughly masculine. He looked up at you, his eyes instantly softening into that exact same, fiercely protective gaze you knew so well. "It worked. You broke it."
"Atlas...?" you whispered, your brain short-circuiting as you looked from him to the empty space where your Pokémon used to be.
He took a step toward you, a nervous but incredibly sweet smile breaking across his face. He rubbed the back of his neck—a gesture he used to do with his paw when he was shy.
"My real name is Changbin," he said softly, stepping closer until he was standing right in your space. "Giovanni... he was the one who cursed me. He used that prototype weapon because I beat him fairly on the circuit and he couldn't handle it. He said only true love could break it. I thought I was stuck like that forever... until you found me."
You stared at him, the pieces suddenly falling into place. Giovanni's words, the human-like expressions, the intense protectiveness, the way he always listened to you like he understood every single word.
"Changbin," you tested the name on your tongue.
He beamed, the shadows of his past completely vanishing. He reached out, his hand steady this time, and gently cupped your cheek. His palm was warm, solid, and incredibly real against your skin.
"I couldn't say it to you then, but my heart was screaming it every single day," Changbin whispered, leaning down until his forehead rested gently against yours. "I'm your partner. For life. If you'll still have me."
You couldn't help but laugh, a tear of sheer relief slipping down your cheek as you wrapped your hands around his wrists. "Well... you're a lot smaller now, so you won't be taking up the entire tent anymore. But I think I'll keep you."
Changbin laughed, a rich, joyful sound, before pulling you into a hug that felt just as warm, safe, and fiercely protective as it always had.
͙͘͡★pairing: IntergalacticBountyHunter!Yunho x AlienStripper!Reader
͙͘͡★summary: You're the most popular dancer at Planet Groove. Your #1 client? An eccentric bounty hunter who needs an informant. But is information truly all he wants?
͙͘͡★word count: 940
͙͘͡★warnings: sexual language, lap dancing
͙͘͡★a/n: I came up with this idea at 4:04am. these concept photos man
Yunho's coworkers think he's a skirt-chasing scoundrel because of his constant visits to Planet Groove, the hottest strip club this side of the galaxy.
And by the way his eyes are fixated to your hands that gently lift your skirt up, you'd think they were right.
Yunho bites his lips and tilts his head shamelessly, trying to get a full view of your lacy thong that barely covers your ass.
"Pink? Are those new? So pretty, but I'd prefer them on the floor." He hums in approval while leaning back, kicking his feet up onto the table.
"You're enjoying this a little too much. Am I really an informant? Or is this a personal visit?" You respond while elegantly spinning on the pole. Yunho is a regular of yours, always booking a private room with you. At first, you thought he was just another eccentric customer, but right away you realized he approached you intentionally.
He was a bounty hunter constantly after targets, and as the most popular dancer at the famous club, you were the perfect eyes and ears to have.
Yunho pouts. "Is there some kind of rule that says I can't have fun on the job?" Your eyes drift down to his crotch, a hard on apparent. "No. But make sure your 'fun' doesn't stain my couch, okay?" You climb the pole again and wrap your legs around it, letting your upper body dangle upside down. Your skirt flips completely upside down, giving Yunho his favorite view. Leaping up from his seat, he claps wildly. "That's my girl!! Wooo!!" He cheers and whistles then starts making it rain cash all over your body.
"Man I love my job." He says while sighing dreamily.
"Speaking of your job... You see that singer over there? The one with six arms?"
"Hmm. Yeah, she'd be hard to miss."
"Yesterday your target bought her another one of Jupiter's rings. I think they're getting pretty serious."
"Like us?"
"Shut up."
He laughs. "Sorry doll, I couldn't help it. So... where do you think they'd rendezvous after this?"
"I'd bet all the money in my underwear he's going to take her to the Velvet Stardust Inn after this." Yunho raises an eyebrow as his attention drifts down to the bits of bills sticking out from beneath the pink lace.
"Let me make your bet worthwhile, doll." Leaning back again, he manspreads on the couch, patting his lap. Taking a seat, you grip his shoulders as you dance slow and sensually, feeling ethereally beautiful under his neon-hot gaze.
You can tell he's undressing you with his eyes, but his hands remain stuck to the couch, gripping the cushions behind him. As his informant, the dances he got were all just a front, nothing but a cover. Yet, you still wanted him to get his money's worth.
Carefully, you discard your skirt and turn around, bending over in his lap. Shaking your hips to the loud beat of the music mere inches from his painfully-hard cock. His mind quickly gets carried away, imagining you grinding that pretty ass down on his member. He's so big and hard he knows he could make you come from the sheer friction alone. His tongue presses the inside of his cheek as he tries to restrain himself, the urge to tear those teasing panties off with his teeth becoming almost unbearable.
Instead, he distracts himself by slipping more bills into your waistband, the paper becoming worthless in his mind as he can only focus on your endless soft curves. Turning around once again, you grab onto Yunho's neck, body rolling and shoving his face into your chest. He groans deeply, his breath dancing against your skin, almost touching but not quite.
His arms shake while his confined cock twitches, pressing against your inner thigh. A small whine slips out from your lips and Yunho quickly looks up from between your bra, grinning obnoxiously.
"What was that? Does little miss 'I don't mix pleasure and work' like feeling my big dick-"
Before he could keep teasing you, you tear your bra off, giving him a face full of your tits. Yunho moans again, louder this time, not caring if you or the entire club knows just how much he truly desires you. With a pretty alien girl half naked in his lap, he was practically in heaven. Not even the brightest star in the universe could make him look away from you.
"He's just doing his job", you tell yourself mentally while you stare at his desperate face. Yunho is panting, face flushed, and breathing heavily. He looks up at you with begging, pleading eyes. In this moment, you definitely have him wrapped around your finger.
Unbeknownst to you, he'd gladly get on his hands and knees and perform tricks like a celestial dog if it meant he could kiss you just once.
Suddenly the timer blares out, signally the end of your private session. It pulls you two roughly out of the heated fantasy you just shared and thrusts you back into reality. Yunho sighs irritatedly, furrowing his brows and pressing his tongue into the inside of his cheek again. The look in his eyes is primal, filled with nothing but lust and need. How is he still so hot even when he's frustrated?
You gather his coat and laser blaster, ushering him out towards the door. "The Velvet Stardust Inn. Don't forget." You remind him of the intel.
Yunho looks confused for a moment, before remembering the whole purpose of seeing you.
"Oh yeah. Thanks." He says, leaving the establishment dazed and sexually frustrated.
there are two things that are irritating wooyoung lately: people won’t stop bringing up the fact that he had chlamydia a year ago, and the podcaster that seems to know more about sex than he does.
🎤︎︎ wooyoung x fem!reader | college au, mini-series, part 1/? ~10k words
🎤︎︎ 18+ reader is the host of a sex podcast, wooyoung is a frat boy whore, reader has a boyfriend (who is choi yeonjun.) drinking, banter, explicit content, making fun of religion(?), i genuinely don't know what else to tag i just wrote all of this in one sitting and i can't think about it anymore
“MISSIONARY IS FOR PEOPLE IN LOVE, it is not for people who want their backs blown out until they can’t fucking walk. To my men listening, which, I’m sorry if you are, if your girl is asking you for missionary, she’s in love with you. And to my ladies listening, which, I love you if you are, if your man is asking you for missionary, he’s in love with you.”
Wooyoung picks up his phone from the cupholder beside his gearstick and closes out of Spotify with a gruffled noise. “Bullshit,” he mumbles under his breath. “This girl has never had her knees above her head before.”
“Why’d you turn it off?” San asks from Wooyoung’s passenger seat, his face knitted in frustration. “I was listening to that!”
“She clearly doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Wooyoung argues, sinking further into the leather bucket seats of his car, downshifting as he comes up to a red light. “I don’t know why you insist on listening to it, she’s not giving you any tips you don’t already know.”
“Some of us aren’t as experienced as you, Woo.” He turns his head to see San staring at him with pointed eyes, the older man’s frustration hasn’t settled at all. “She’s a window into the female mind. Girls don’t talk about sex so openly.”
“They do if you just ask,” Wooyoung counters. “They say a lot if you just ask.”
Unscripted. The podcast his entire campus is listening to, talking about, praising, worshiping, Wooyoung hates it down to his very fucking bones. The woman whose voice was just grating through his car’s incredible speaker system claims her pod is an open conversation, an outlet where viewers can send in their questions, topics, so that the ‘taboo’ topic of sex can be spoken about openly, shamelessly.
Wooyoung has no issue talking about sex. It’s far from taboo for him, it’s talked about every day of his life, every hour, he thinks about it every minute. While he gets shit for it from just about everyone in his goddamn life, this woman who he cannot stand is treated like a deity for it. Usually a podcast is paired with a video, some kind of face to the name, something that viewers can fact-check. But this woman is a no-face, no-name ghost.
“You’re telling me if I laid a woman down and asked her to teach me to make her squirt, she’d do it?” San asks, back straightened, brows in his hairline.
Wooyoung turns his head with a dead stare, “Yes, San. It’s really that fucking easy.”
San huffs. “Well, imagine how much cooler it was when I already knew how to do it. You know the reaction I got, after learning step-by-step from Unscripted? My hips were sore the next day. My hips, Wooyoung.”
“You would have gotten the same reaction if you just asked her.” Wooyoung upshifts, engine roaring as his frustration grows. “Women like that shit, teaching, showing you exactly what to do. And when you succeed? God, none of you listen to me, you listen to the no-face, no-resume, self-appointed sex god.”
“No resume?” San snorts. “Maybe we’d rather listen to a woman tell us what women want, and not the self-appointed campus whore.”
Wooyoung can’t even be mad at the jab, because at a different time, he gave himself that exact title. It was like wearing a crown, having women flock to him, his bed filled with someone different every night, learning how to please others with his mind, two hands and his cock. He learned it all himself, by asking, by doing the work, and now his friends were getting a tutorial by some nobody named Unscripted? It’s so corny it threatens to ruin the concept of sex for him.
“Maybe you should try actually asking a woman what she wants,” Wooyoung snaps back, pulling his car into the driveway of his frat. A long strip of blacktop big enough to hold six cars, he liked being parked at the back, not blocked in by anyone else. He could leave whenever he wanted, to fuck whoever he wanted. He throws his car in park and turns to San again. “Maybe you shouldn’t assume what all women want just because a random one told you her tips are universal.”
“I really don’t get why you hate her so much.” San is shaking his head as he reaches for the forty-rack from the backseat. “If you don’t need the tips, then you can simply not listen. Why shit on everyone who enjoys it?”
“I’m not– why are you so offended?” Wooyoung asks before sliding out of the driver’s side, closing the door behind him. Locking the car, starting the trek up to the two story house, Wooyoung continues, “Who cares if I don’t like it?”
“I care because I enjoy it and you’re shitting on my enjoyment.” San keeps Wooyoung’s pace as the sound of bass grows louder, cans of beer clinking together in the case hanging from San’s fingers. “Maybe I wanted to find out if someone is in love with me when they ask me for missionary tonight.”
Wooyoung stops in his tracks. “If a girl wants missionary, she wants your dick so far inside her she can’t breathe. That’s it. She’s not in love with you, she wants your dick to tear her apart. That’s Unscripted.”
San stares for a moment before bursting out in laughter. “Man,” he wheezes, “you should be a guest star or something.”
Wooyoung’s face stays flat, unimpressed. “I would never want my name attached to that shit-show of a fucking podcast. It’d tarnish my good name.”
“Your name has about four STDs and three pregnancy scares attached to it. I don’t think the podcast would tarnish that.”
“I had chlamydia once, San,” Wooyoung bites, walking up the brick steps to the house, voice louder to travel over the sound of bass. “And I took the fucking medication. Drop it, no one talks about that anymore.”
San is smirking as he rips open the door, “Everyone talks about it, Woo. Just not to your face.”
Wooyoung doesn’t even have a chance to respond before the music swallows their conversation whole. Inside the house was a mass of bodies, too many to count, too many to breathe between. But Wooyoung tries anyway, letting the bass cleanse him of his frustration, or maybe that was the brunette he caught out of the corner of his eye that made instinct grab the wheel.
He stores the information for later, when he’s ingested at least three beers and he’s ready to take the party to his bedroom. Her friend was cute, too, darker hair and a silver hoop in her nose, he wonders if they’d both be down for taking the party upstairs.
“You’re back!” Yunho beams from the kitchen, the older man’s head of blonde hair spotting him easily, his eye level above everyone else’s. “Where’s the beer?”
“San has it,” Wooyoung throws a thumb behind him, beside him, he doesn’t know where the hell San had gone. “He’s around here somewhere.”
Yunho smacks his teeth as he looks as far as his brown eyes can see, “Where the fuck else is there to go with a case of forty fucking beers other than the kitchen?”
Wooyoung eyes up the bottle of vodka standing tall on the counter. He wasn’t planning to get drunk tonight, just tipsy enough for his orgasm(s) to feel that much better, but the clear liquid beckons to him. Dares him. And Wooyoung never, ever backs down from anything, let alone a dare.
He pours a shot, then another one, then the jacket clinging to his shoulders feels suffocating. Not the seventy-five people in his house, no, but the leather on his shoulders that hangs off his body enough to feel a summer breeze on the back of his neck. It’s hot enough to swim outside, but Wooyoung was married to his leather jacket the way he was married to casual sex. Wooyoung, sex and leather go together hand-in-hand.
San finally barrels into the kitchen to pack the beers into the fridge, and Wooyoung grabs one before attempting to make his way to the stairs, up to his room where he could hang his precious baby in his closet. He’s stopped twice, a third time in the middle of the staircase, all by women who were wondering why he was going upstairs so early, and why he had no one at his side. Their eyes told him they wanted to take the spot.
After assuring all three of them he’d be right back downstairs, and offering them all a dance and a drink, voices on the other side of his beige bedroom door stop him from going inside. His brows furrow, irritation blooming because why the fuck are there people in his room? He starts to make out words, and the conversation makes his palm hover over the door handle.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.” A guy. A voice he doesn’t recognize.
A woman’s voice follows, “Come on, we never do anything like this, it’s risky. Isn’t that fun?”
“What if someone walks in?”
“Let them see.” Her voice drops into something seductive, low and velvety, it makes Wooyoung’s already-warm insides ten times hotter. “Don’t you want to fuck me? We don’t even know who’s room this is.”
“I… we should go back downstairs. Let’s get a drink, dance a little.”
Wooyoung can hear his own bed creak. “So you don’t want to fuck me?”
“That’s not what I said–”
“Fine.” The word is sharp, angry.
The bed creaks again, and before Wooyoung can move, his own bedroom door is ripped open, and a new, beautiful face he’s never seen before is staring at him like he’s a fucking pervert.
“Who the fuck are you?” she asks, voice edged with anger. No, that’s frustration– horny frustration.
Wooyoung can’t help his grin. “Who are you?”
She cringes– physically cringes before gritting her teeth, “Were you listening? Waiting to hear us fuck so you could jerk off or something, you fucking creep?”
Wooyoung doesn’t let the cringe make him falter. His smirk grows, finally looking over her shoulder to see the pitiful, utterly boring man behind her. Tall, buff, but the face of a fucking baby. Someone who definitely wouldn’t fuck her in a stranger’s bedroom, and even if it was Wooyoung’s bedroom, he kind of felt sorry for her.
“I was putting my jacket in my room, actually,” Wooyoung brings his eyes back to her just to watch all the color drain from her face. Before she can offer her apologies, he quips, “But I would have stayed for the show. It’s a shame you didn’t put one on for me.”
Her face that had just read apologetic a second ago morphs into shame, embarrassment, then the sort of rage Wooyoung was expecting. But it wasn’t directed at Wooyoung, it was directed at the man behind her, the one she had her back to, and kept it that way.
Without a word, she pushes past him to rush down the stairs, and Wooyoung steps to the side to let baby-face follow. But before he’s completely out of reach, Wooyoung stops him with, “Hold on.”
The guy turns, hands folded together to hide the tent that Wooyoung couldn’t comprehend why he wasn’t acting on. Sharp jaw, full lips, hair shaggy and unkempt like she had just had her knuckles in it, he was an attractive guy. From looks alone, he seems like a keeper, a real score for the girl Wooyoung would have been trying to get balls deep inside of right now if he wasn’t here.
He doesn’t know why he offers his advice. “When you have a girl like that, you take the risk.”
“You seem to take a lot of risks,” the man says coolly. “I know who you are, chlamydia.”
“Oh my fucking god,” Wooyoung groans, then walks into his bedroom. Stopping in his doorway, he turns to watch baby-face laugh down the stairs, and yells behind him, “That was a year ago, by the way!”
He can still hear the man laughing as he uses too much strength to hook his jacket onto a hanger, and then on the top rack of his closet. Frustration boils in his gut, and anger isn’t a party favor, so he makes his way to his bathroom, washes his face with freezing cold water, and lets his emotions reset before he even thinks about going back downstairs.
Wooyoung loves sex. He loves everything about sex, he loves giving, he loves receiving, he loves pleasure. Life is about enjoying, learning and changing and growing, and to Wooyoung, sex is the perfect blend of all life has to offer. He can’t imagine himself getting into a relationship, a pitiful one like that girl has, and sex becoming… regular. Boring. Not full of fantasy and shamelessness, being so carnally human, giving into your desire, but instead an activity, a routine, something you’re supposed to do so you do it.
No, sex to Wooyoung isn’t a routine, something to be fit into a schedule. Sex is fun, it’s about exploration, trusting someone else enough to be at your most vulnerable, and trusting them to carry you through it. Then trusting them to not call afterwards, or expect another night, or anything else from him at all, for that matter.
Maybe a skewed view on sex and relationships, but that’s Wooyoung’s fantasy, his life, his bible.
Just as he finishes his beer, there’s a knock at his door. He throws himself in-character, a lazy smirk on his lips, assuming it’s one of the girls he talked to on his way up here, in his heart he prays it's the best friends he spotted downstairs.
Much to his dismay, it’s neither. It’s the girlfriend from five minutes ago, still raging, apparently. Her arms are crossed, foot tapping against the carpet, eyes darting everywhere but on Wooyoung like she’s guilty. Already playing the part, Wooyoung leans into his doorframe as he asks, “Back to put on a one-woman show instead?”
She scoffs, “Like I’d ever fuck you.”
Wooyoung’s brows furrow. Interesting reaction. “Okay,” he starts, standing up a little straighter. “Then did you need a place to get yourself off or something? My bed has seen plenty of orgasms, don’t be shy.”
Her face morphs into pure disgust. “God, you’re disgusting, is sex all you think about?”
It’s a rhetorical question, but Wooyoung smiles anyway. “Kinda.”
“I’m here because I know who you are. I have about six friends who have fucked you, and I need your advice,” she says quickly, shamelessly, each and every one of her features flat and serious. When Wooyoung motions for her to continue, intrigued, she asks, “You would have done it, right?”
“Yeah,” she nods. Talking with her hands flying everywhere, she rages, “Fucked me in a random room, in a random house, at a random party on a random Friday night.”
“I’m sensing there’s more to unpack here,” Wooyoung says with growing boredom, shifting his weight on his other foot before leaning against the other side of his dooframe.
“Just answer the question,” she urges, hands landing on her hips.
Wooyoung lets out a short huff. “Your boyfriend is boring,” he says simply. “If you’re already bored with your sex life, then the relationship isn’t going to last. Go shopping, there’s plenty of dudes downstairs that would slobber at the idea of fucking you in my room.” He holds up a finger. “Don’t fuck in my room, though. My room is off-limits.”
Her lips scrunch to one side, a flush on her cheeks. “Is there any way to make him more… adventurous?”
“It’s a personality thing, baby. He doesn’t have the fun-guy gene. Like I said, go shopping, that’s what I’m about to do.” Wooyoung takes a step forward, closing his door behind him. “Shall we?”
“Why do you say that like it’s easy?” she snaps, not moving an inch, leaving an awkwardly small amount of space between them. Usually, Wooyoung would be all over it, but he isn’t in the mood to pick up the pieces of someone else’s relationship tonight. But it seems she’s insistent upon him putting it back together completely as she explains, “We’ve been together for over a year, I can’t just break up with him because he won’t fuck me in a frat house.”
Wooyoung sighs, leaning his back against his closed door. “You’re, what, twenty? Twenty-one? You have your entire life to have shitty, boring sex. Why are you rushing?”
“I refuse to believe that,” she crosses her arms. “That the rest of my life will consist of shitty, boring sex.”
“I can’t fix delusional,” Wooyoung mutters, and to him, that's the end of the conversation.
He’s three steps away from her before she starts it again. “That’s not delusion, that’s optimism. Manifestation. I shouldn’t expect someone like you to understand.”
He stops in his tracks, looking over his shoulder. He retorts, “Someone like me?”
Her brows are high, hands on her hips, one leg bent. Full of attitude. “You never called any of my friends back. Not one. Why would I expect someone like you to understand what a relationship would be like, what it takes to keep one, when you spend your free time sticking your dick in anything that has a hole?”
Wooyoung snorts, a little impressed by the jab, but he’s more irritated that everyone seems to be on his fucking ass tonight. What did he do? He even took San to the liquor store to buy more beer, he should be drowning in pussy by now.
“Fair enough,” he shrugs, he’s more than bored of the conversation at this point. “Enjoy the three minutes of missionary tonight, or will it be forty-five seconds with you on top because he’s too drunk to fuck you properly?”
Her face blooms in Technicolor, and he knows he’s won. With a wide grin, he gives her a little wave over his shoulder, and makes his way down the stairs. He doesn’t have it in him to go back to the kitchen for another drink, or to find any one of his friends and have a conversation, his patience is running thin and his dick is starting to ache from lack of use.
“Hey, Wooyoung.” He’s greeted at the base of the steps by a blonde, he thinks he fucked her last week. Maybe two weeks ago.
He gives her a smirk, “Hey, baby, good to see you.” What was her name again?
He keeps it pushing, searching for the staircase girls, or the two from the entrance that together resemble a monarch butterfly. If he can’t find any of them, maybe he’ll come back to the blonde. If he can remember her name.
Another beer miraculously finds its way to his palm before he finds one half of the butterfly, the one with dark hair, silver through her nose. He’s made out with her twice before the other half finds them, and to his satisfaction, it seems both halves of the butterfly had the plan to make it back to his bedroom tonight.
“One last topic for today: a little birdie asked me about threesomes, and in my heart, I genuinely can’t believe I haven’t touched on this topic sooner. I have a story, I know, surprise surprise, but this one is recent, so I’m excited to debrief it, because I think it’s too scandalous to even bring up to my friends.”
You throw your index cards on the bed. The rest would actually be unscripted, straight off the dome.
“This past weekend I found myself in a… compromising position. Well, several compromising positions, if I’m honest. Imagine you’re hooking up with a guy in a random bedroom of a house party, and the person whose bedroom it is walks inside and wants to join. Sorry– I paused, I was waiting for a gasp or something, but then I remembered I’m by myself.”
You laugh a little before continuing. “I was on my back, hooking up with this really sexy guy who I had met, maybe fifteen minutes prior. You know the house party deal, talk for ten minutes, the boring shit, but it’s the boring shit that gets you on the same page. We’re making out all the way up the stairs, and he pushes me inside this bedroom, undresses me, lays me out on the bed, his head is in between my legs before the door opens.”
“The second guy walks in, and there’s no moment of, what the fuck? Or, oh my god, get out of my room. He smirks, a sexy smirk, the kind of smirk that doesn’t need words, y’know? The guy who’s in between my legs doesn’t stop. He sees the other one, he knows he’s there, but he doesn’t even pause. The second guy takes my mouth, and then I’m being fed while the other one’s eating, and– you know the drill. It was overstimulating, but also… liberating, to be worshiped, to be treated like something holy by two guys whose names I didn’t even know.”
“I feel like MMF threesomes have become something for the male gaze, or maybe they always have been– actually, they always have been. In porn, the woman is treated like some kind of doll, thrown between two guys, used for their pleasure over and over, but what if it’s the opposite? What if it’s the woman who’s using two men for her own pleasure? Double the orgasms, double the penetration, double the foreplay, double the pleasure, what if it’s the woman calling the shots, like some kind of super-straight power bottom action? And I know I shouldn’t use gay terms for straight sex, but hear me out on this…”
“Some of us tend to fear taking control in the bedroom. With one man, with two men, it’s terrifying. But I’ve never been so satisfied or as confident as I felt in that bedroom, ordering pleasure and receiving it. Giving it because I wanted to, because sex is fun, and women are allowed to enjoy sex the way men do. If men can fetishize two women in the bedroom, why can’t we do it back? The only thing I wished for was that they would fuck each other, too. They only kissed. Boring. Sorry if you’re listening, there’s a reason I’m not saying your names.”
Because there are no names to fucking say.
“I need to dedicate an entire episode to exploring threesomes, positions, dynamics, everything. Unforch, there’s just not enough time today, but trust that I will come back to this topic and do a proper debrief of every single one of my thoughts, I just wanted to touch on the topic in case any of my listeners find themselves in the compromising position I was in mere days ago. Do it, enjoy it, and don’t be afraid to walk ‘em like dogs, girls. On the plate for next week are toys– for yourself, for your partner, the best ones for your partner to use on you, I’m diving into all of it. Stay tuned, and I’ll catch you next week, unscripted, as always.”
You press stop on your laptop, cutting off the recording, and take a deep, relieving sigh. Eyes catching the top right corner, you gasp, panic shooting up your spine as you read seven-thirty-two on the clock. Fishing your phone out from the duvet beneath you, you check your notifications, the fourteen texts from your boyfriend, and six missed calls.
You don’t even read them before pressing call on his contact.
“Where the hell are you?” His voice is gruff, angry. Which is fair, because you were supposed to meet him for dinner thirty-two minutes ago.
You hop off the bed, grabbing your mic and shoving it into your closet. “I fell asleep!” you lie, and it rolls off your tongue like butter. “I’m so sorry, Jun, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“We lost our reservation, I’m at the bar next door.”
He hangs up. You curse, throwing your phone back onto your bed before scurrying to your closet to pick out something for drinks and dinner instead of dinner and drinks. You throw your hair up after turning your makeup from daytime to nighttime, and hop in the car with record time. Speeding through the city, thankfully finding quick parking, you’re late to your fifteen-minute promise by four minutes.
Your boyfriend of over a year doesn’t even care that you took the barstool beside him. You barely take in your surroundings, your tunnel vision focused on Yeonjun and only Yeonjun, wondering how the hell you’ll make it up to him.
Wordlessly, he slides you a drink, a martini, extra dirty. Three olives. Your heart aches.
“I’m sorry,” you mutter, eyes finding your lap. “I didn’t mean to miss our reservation, but we can still have fun tonight, right?” You look around you, at the dimly lit bar that seemed to have lost all its patrons to the sardine-packed dance floor. “We can go dance, you love to dance. I’ll get us a reservation for next week.”
His head snaps to yours, dark hair meticulously styled around his forehead, his eyes dark with irritation. “It took me three weeks to get that reservation.”
“Am I going somewhere?” You tilt your head to the side. “Are you going somewhere? I think we have the time to wait another three weeks.”
“That’s not the point,” he urges, watching as you grab the skewer of olives from your martini glass, biting one off the end. “The point is that I did something nice for us, and you didn’t show up.”
“It was an accident,” you say, muffled with your mouth full. Swallowing, you reiterate, “It was an accident, Yeonjun. Don’t let it spoil date night.” His nose crinkles, mouth bending downward. You pop a brow, “What?”
“You called me Yeonjun,” he says, so low it could be considered a whisper. His eyes are brighter when he looks back up at you, “My name is Junie to you.”
It makes a smile break across your lips, a giggle falling past. “You’re right, I’m sorry, Junie. I’ll make it up to you tonight. Or…” you look around, scanning the crowd of drunken people, all seeming in their own world. “I could make it up to you now.”
A deep blush paints his cheeks crimson. “Don’t even start.”
“No?” you tease, smirk on your lips, eyes sparkling as you take a sip of your martini. “You don’t wanna fuck me in the bathroom? So mad at me for missing our fancy, expensive date, you don’t wanna take out all your frustrations on me?”
He shushes you, body turning toward you like he might clamp his hand over your mouth, his shoulders caving inward. “You can’t say shit like that in public, oh my god– what if the bartender heard you, and kicked us out?”
“The bartender is focused on drinks and tips,” you say simply before taking another gulp of your martini. “She’s not worried about me taking my boyfriend’s cock down my throat in the bathroom.” His right hand covers his lap, and it makes you laugh, a snarky giggle. “Look at you, your body wants it, I want it. What are you so afraid of?”
He uses his other hand to count. “A public lewdness charge, or lewd conduct, or public indecency. I’m gonna be a doctor, I will not catch a charge to do what I can do at home.” Your eyes roll without you giving them the okay to do so. He sees it, and immediately he presses, “Why are you so obsessed with this? Why can’t we have sex at your place, or at mine? That’s normal.”
“What’s wrong with trying to spice up our sex life?” Your martini glass hits the bar harder than intended. “I just want you to want me so bad you can’t help yourself, Junie. I want you to fuck me, to really fuck me like it’s not even me you’re fucking.”
Your boyfriend’s ears go bright red, his eyes dancing all around you, and for a second you think he might really clamp his hand over your mouth. “Can you stop saying that shit in public?”
“Whatever,” you huff. “I’ll stop. I’m sorry.”
After a moment of silence, another sip taken from his glass of whiskey, he runs both hands through his hair. Keeping his voice low, he leans into you so you can hear him, “Last weekend, after the party… I fucked you after, didn’t I? Like, really fucked you, like you weren’t even you or whatever.”
No. No, you didn’t.
“Yeah,” you smile, tight-lipped. “You did. Sorry. I must be ovulating or something.”
You’re not ovulating, you’re just fucking bored. You spend your free time talking about sexcapades, basically making up stories, soft porn on a podcast, but in reality, your life doesn’t even come close. The podcast is a dream, a fantasy, what sometimes you wish your life actually was. A sex life that was always new, changing, with one person who loves you as much as you love them, and wants to do new things just as much as you do. Someone who would never judge you for your wants, your needs, your fantasies that sometimes you’re embarrassed to think about, let alone bring up to someone else.
You want someone who you can tell all of them to. You need someone who wants to do them even more than you do, because they want to please you as much as you want to please them.
But that’s not enough to break up with the man sitting beside you, the one who knows everything about you, the one who is the love of your life in so many different ways. How is it that such a huge part of you, such an important part of you, is the only part of him that isn’t a mirror?
“I’ve been thinking lately,” Yeonjun says, his voice uneven like he’s unsure of bringing it up. You raise your brows to let him know you’re listening. “After you graduate, we should get married.”
You blink. “M-Married?”
“I know we talk about it all the time,” he sits back in the stool, keeping his eyes on the amber liquid in his glass. “But I think we should get married. Have a baby.”
You lean forward. “A baby?”
Being pre-med now, he’ll be in school for a hell of a lot longer than you, and he knows it. He smiles to himself, like he’s leaning into his own fantasy as he says, “You can stay home, take care of the baby and stuff until I graduate, start working.”
“I’ll stay home… while you’re in school?” you ask, brows high. “Who’s gonna pay for me and the baby?”
His eyes meet yours, brows knitted together in confusion. “My parents?”
“Don’t you think we should be, y’know, financially secure before even thinking about marriage?”
“I’ll be in my residency program by twenty-six,” he counters. “That’s only four years that my parents will help us. I want to marry you, I want you to have my kids.”
“I don’t want to be married at twenty-two,” you answer, too fast for Yeonjun, too fast for yourself. He winces like you punched him. “It’s not that I don’t want to marry you, I just… I don't want to be a married twenty-two year old.”
“What does age have to do with it?” he asks, and you’re stunned that age is what he’s taking from this. “Twnety-two, twenty-six, I’d marry you tomorrow, baby.”
Your head shakes before your mind can comprehend what’s transpiring. “Yeonjun, no. Absolutely not. Why are we talking about this now? Can’t we drink and dance? Have a fun date night like we planned?”
“Absolutely not?” he retorts, sitting straighter. “As if it’s a death sentence to marry me. I thought you’d be jumping up and down right now.”
“You think I’m the type to pop out a baby at twenty-three years old?!” you ask, bewildered. “Yeonjun, I… why would you think I’d be happy?”
“Hear me out,” he counters. “By twenty-two, we’ll have been together for over two years. We can have a long engagement, if you want, be married right before your twenty-third birthday. Technically, you’ll have the baby closer to twenty-four, and my parents only have to help us for two years.”
You’re horrified. What’s even more horrifying is that while you’ve been fantasizing about him fucking you right, he’s been fantasizing about you pregnant. And apparently working out all the logistics for it, too. “Yeonjun,” you whisper. “Let’s talk about this another time. Another day. In another year, or five.”
“This is what any woman would want,” he turns toward you fully. You can’t believe he thinks that’s true. “This is stability, a future. Why are you upset that I want a future with you?”
Your cheeks feel hot, the vodka in your stomach has long ago solidified. It’s heavy, pushing on your bladder, your gut. “I need to go to the bathroom,” you blurt. “I need to pee, I need to think about… about all that.”
You don’t give him time to react before you’re sliding off the stool. Your head feels fuzzy, and it could be from the vodka, from you literally eating zero calories today, but you know it’s from the bomb he just dropped. You know in your soul it’s because that’s a future you cannot give him– that you won’t give him. You didn’t even eat today, and he wants you to be the mother of his child? It’s almost comedic. Or at least it would be if you weren’t stumbling across the bar in the direction of the bathroom, feeling nauseous enough that you might not even make it there.
You can see it, like the light at the end of the tunnel, the glowing, pink neon sign that reads Girls Room. But the walls are closing in, your chest feels heavy, your breaths even heavier, slower, and the sign dims like someone was turning down the brightness.
“Woah.” An arm around your back, strong and thick, scoops you straight up. Were you going down? “Are you okay? Holy shit, you’re gonna pass out. Don’t pass out.”
Your eyes, half-open, can only see the man keeping you steady. Broad shoulders, absolutely insane biceps, slicked back, onyx locks, they show off his sculpted cheeks, his sharp jaw, his dimples. He’s cute, and he’s holding you up like you’re a fucking doll.
“Water,” you croak. He slings your arm over his shoulder, and with his height he’s basically dragging you across the room until he’s sitting you down on a chair, crouching beside you, holding a glass of water up to your lips.
“Slow sips,” he coaxes, his voice soft, pleasant. “Don’t chug it. It’s only eight, how are you hammered at eight o’clock? Guys, we need to be on her time.”
“‘m not hammered,” you mumble through sips. “I’m not even drunk, my boyfriend just told me he wants to tradwife me. I must be having an allergic reaction or something.”
Biceps snorts, you watch as his head tips back in laughter, his dimples showing. “You’re allergic to what, marriage?”
“Do you have any food?” you ask, stomach still feeling wretchedly hollow. Biceps ushers his hand to the table in front of you, and at that moment, you realize nothing in your life could be more embarrassing than this. There’s a table full of men, all with food and drinks in front of them, and you just… you just interrupted. Talking about being allergic to Yeonjun wanting to marry you.
Directly across from you, with the most appetizing plate of chicken tenders and fries in front of him, sat Jung Wooyoung. With his eyes on yours, a humored twinkle swirling in shit brown, you start to stand. “Fuck no,” you shake your head. “I’ll be going now, thanks.”
“Woah, woah, woah,” the man who saved you from eating shit on the bar’s floor stands with you, hands out, palms facing you. His face reads concern, scrunched up, clearly scared that you’ll crumble to the floor again. “Eat something, drink more water, then you can go. I don’t want them to stop the music so they can put you on a gurney.”
You scowl. Even if he saved you, now Biceps is at the top of your shit list.
You redirect your scowl at Wooyoung. Before sitting back in the chair, silently you reach across the table to grab his plate of chicken tenders, and place it in front of yourself.
“Jesus,” another one at the table mutters under his breath. Tall, blonde hair. “What’d you do to her?”
“I didn’t do anything,” Wooyoung shrugs. You eat his chicken, satisfied. “I’ve never even seen her before.”
You laugh, a punched sound of sarcasm. “Right,” you mutter.
“Wooyoung, you asshole,” another one whisper-yells. Shorter than the blonde, golden skin, brown, wavy hair. “You slept with her and forgot? That’s fucked up.”
“I never fucked him,” you seethe. “I don’t want chlamydia.”
The table waits a second before roaring in laughter. Wooyoung thins his eyes, his gaze pointed from across the table. You can’t help your growing, prideful smirk.
“I don’t have chlamydia,” Wooyoung announces after a second, jaw set, eyes dark and pissed. “She tried to fuck her boyfriend in my bedroom last weekend until I broke them up.”
You gasp, mortified. “You’re a liar!”
“Were you not trying to have sex in my room last week?”
“Okay, yes, but–”
“Exactly,” he smirks, satisfied. “So did you get three minutes that night, or forty-five seconds?”
“Wooyoung,” Biceps warns. “Stop it.”
“I got more than you did, I’m sure,” you counter. “Even if you’re disgusting and you.”
“Wow,” his hands come together in a slow clap. “Good for you. Has he gotten any more adventurous? I assume not, since he wants you, three kids, and a white picket fence.”
Your cheeks burn. Biceps, again, warns, “Wooyoung.”
You stand once more, and this time, Biceps doesn’t stop you. The table watches as you stomp all the way back over to Yeonjun, body shaking with irritation, trading one poison for another. You almost forgot what you were coming back to.
“Are you okay?” he asks, cheeks still pink, face bent in concern.
Sinking back into the stool, you reach for your martini, throwing the rest of it back. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you spit out, “Fine.”
Wooyoung wouldn’t be able to explain himself if someone were to walk into his bedroom right now. They would find him in his desk chair, listening to Unscripted, the podcast he hates, while staring out his window like he was debating the seven wonders of the world.
“Everybody loves a curved dick. It’s like a walking, living, breathing toy, designed to make you cum a thousand times. If it curves upward, missionary, being on top, is your best friend. If it curves to the left, have him fuck you on your side. If it curves to the right, have him fuck you on your other side. If it curves down, you’re lucky if he’s ugly, because you’ll never have to see his face while fucking him again.”
He laughs, then he catches himself laughing, and stops. God, he hates her with such an unimaginable passion, fuck her for making him laugh. His dick is curved, so maybe a part of him feels targeted, but how dare she put him, and what he can only assume is a million other men, into a box? A category? A you can only fuck this way bracket?
The part about ugly guys is funny, but only because he’s not targeted by that one, and he understands the joke. But who’s to say the women he’s with can’t enjoy backshots because his cock curves upward? He’s never received a bad review for it.
He huffs, shutting his laptop, then he smiles when her voice goes silent. Then his stomach drops, because why was he listening to Unscripted past eight at night? And why was he letting her voice dictate his emotions?
He picks himself up, shaking off the thoughts. He needed to clear his mind, think about something else other than the shape of his cock… he needed to fuck. He texted Haewon, no response. Amara, busy. Nadia, working. Daeun apparently transferred schools. Mira didn’t answer either. He had about twenty goddamn minutes before he lost his mind.
Hissing through his teeth, he grabs his gym bag from the corner of his room and leaves. The guys in the living room playing FIFA didn’t ask any questions as Wooyoung basically sprinted through the front door. He always goes to the gym in the morning, at the brink of dawn, when the sun is spreading over the horizon, he’s never gone at night. He figures he’ll do cardio, sprint off the thoughts, the feelings, the ache in his dick that he can’t satisfy with his own hand.
He plugs his phone in after turning over the engine, and the moment his audio connects, it picks up right where she left off.
“I feel like men are insecure about it, and they shouldn’t be. It’s like circumcision, women don’t give a fuck if you have foreskin, as long as you keep it clean. Please, for the love of god, keep it clean–”
He curses as he rips the chord out of his phone. Fuck that. He’ll drive to the gym in fucking silence.
The gym is busy, as he knew it would be, he despises the gym when it's busy. That’s why he goes in the morning, when no one else on campus is awake, only the really smart types who have days jam packed full of shit that require brain energy. That’s what an ass crack of dawn workout is for.
He barely looks up as he scans his ID, but when he catches a glimpse of the face that’s starting to bother him as much as Unscripted’s voice, it catches his attention.
“Oh, hell no,” he groans. This is exactly the opposite of what he needs right now. “Why are you suddenly everywhere?”
You, behind the desk in your bright purple, collared shirt, scoff. “I’m everywhere? You’re everywhere.”
“Shouldn’t you be off getting married?” He can feel his smirk growing. “Pushing out babies and shit?”
“Fuck you,” you grumble, leaning back into the opposite side of the desk. “Shouldn’t you be off giving someone chlamydia?”
“You need to drop that now,” Wooyoung points at you. “I don’t have chlamydia.”
“Aw, is the big-shot whore bothered by my jokes?” you pout, using the worst case of baby-voice Wooyoung’s ever heard. His ears seem to frown, too.
“Big-shot whore?” Wooyoung repeats, face morphing into disappointment. “We need to work on your insults if bantering is going to become our thing.”
“We don’t have a thing,” you’re quick to answer. “There is no we, we does not exist. Go snort a line of pre-workout.”
Wooyoung grins, humored by your irritated expression. “Did he propose yet? Does he have a ring in his underwear drawer? Is he just dying to pop the question? Wait, let me guess: moissanite, set in sterling silver.”
“You’re an asshole,” you gruff, turning away from him like you had work to do. Wooyoung knows you’re not even reading the words on the paper you’re staring at.
He can’t help himself. He walks around the desk until he’s in front of you again and asks, “Does your boyfriend know you almost passed out when he told you his idea of your future?”
“No,” you respond without even looking up at him.
His grin widens. “Is it because he’s boring? Is that why you don’t want to marry him?”
“I do want to marry him,” you finally look up, eyes pointed, gaze angry. Wooyoung’s grin only spreads. “I just don’t want to marry him next fucking year. I think he’s insane for wanting to.”
Wooyoung’s lower lip folds over like he might start fake crying out of cuteness, “How sweet. He wants to lock you down after graduation so he doesn’t have to go wife-hunting while becoming an MD.”
Your face goes flat. “How do you know he’s pre-med?”
“I’m well-connected,” he shrugs. He just has Instagram. “Have you proposed that he doesn’t propose until he’s working?”
“Yes,” you turn again, ignoring his comedic wording, crossing to the other side of the desk as another gym-goer walks inside. You watch as they scan in their ID, what information pops up on the screen. When they walk away, you turn to him again, “Why are you so interested? Shouldn’t you be lifting by now?”
“I’m just absolutely perplexed trying to figure out how you’re going to marry a guy who doesn’t fuck you right.” Wooyoung’s leaning over the counter now, arms crossed, ankles crossed beneath it. Right at home. “Isn’t that, like, a huge part of being with someone forever? Great sex?”
You throw your hands on your hips, “Sex really is all you think about, isn’t it?”
“Humor me,” Wooyoung replies.
You sigh. “I’m wondering how I’m going to do it, too. You told me the night at the party that if I’m already bored with my sex life, then my relationship isn’t going to last. That’s kinda haunting me, even though you’re you, and a relationship is so much more than just sex.”
“Have you tried anything else, other than trying to fuck him in my bedroom?”
Wooyoung watches your cheeks flush in real time. You mutter, “I tried fucking him in the bathroom of Lucky Penny.”
Wooyoung laughs, genuine and true. “Everyone’s fucked at Lucky Penny. He wouldn’t do it?” You shake your head, and Wooyoung ties his lips to one side, shooting you an apologetic stare. “Man, I don’t think he’s fixable.”
“He doesn’t need to be fixed, Wooyoung,” you scold, running a hand through your hair. “There are so many other great, perfect things about him. Sex is the only area where— why am I even telling you this? I should not be confiding in you right now.”
Wooyoung stands, “What else are big-shot whores for, other than to fuck and give advice about fucking?” He’s smiling, but you both know there’s some truth to it.
“Go hit a PR or something,” you shoo him off with a dust of your fingers, turning around.
And surprisingly, he listens. He grabs his headphones from his bag, connecting his phone before putting them over his ears, walking towards the row of treadmills.
“I, personally, love a dick that curves upward. I know I said missionary is for lovers, but if a dick is curved—and even though you don’t love him—you’re going to finish more times in that one session than with your vibrators, and that’s my why.”
At the sound of her voice, he almost rips his headphones off and throws them in the trash. But now that he’s being spoken to personally, and being praised, he throws his bag against the wall, hops on the treadmill, and raises both the incline and speed.
“The reason why there’s different positions for curved dicks? Well, we never learned this in Sex Ed, and some of my listeners, I’ve come to find out, are seriously lacking in the female-genitalia knowledge department.”
Blah blah blah. It’s like he’s watching a repeat episode from one of those nineties sitcoms, he knows all the words, he can follow along like he’s reading the script. But even though his phone is in front of him, resting on the little ledge below the screen of the treadmill, he doesn’t reach for it to turn it off.
“That little recap was for those who didn’t listen to my squirting episode. And if you did, you get a recap anyways, because I think everyone should have it burned to memory where exactly you should stimulate to get your partner off. If you’ve never had a penetrative orgasm, or your curved-dick partner has never given you one, have them listen to this, and you’ll never wish for anything again.”
He’s gotta give it to her, she does know her shit. Wooyoung wonders if he’s met her, if he’s ever fucked her before. He comes to the conclusion that he would know if he fucked her, he’s had some great lays before, even incredible ones, but she seems different. In the sense that it would be memorable, he’d come back to that night in his mind, those nights he only has his fist and his cock. Those nights would be dedicated to her, and her terrifyingly vast knowledge of human anatomy and orgasms.
He stays on the treadmill for an hour, burning through the soles of his sneakers and yet another podcast episode. The topic was making out, which felt really adolescent, but actually had some decent tips that even Wooyoung hasn’t thought of before. Tucking the tips into his back pocket, he throws his headphones back into his bag, wipes down the treadmill, and chugs his water on his way back to the front.
You’re still there, arms crossed, looking like you hate the world.
Wooyoung smiles as he leans over the counter. “I have an idea.”
You smack your teeth. “Great, I’m about to lose brain cells.”
“Shut up,” he quips. “Why don’t you have your boyfriend listen to that podcast that’s going around campus? Unscripted?”
Your face falls impossibly further. “What? No, he doesn’t even watch porn, he would never listen to a sex podcast.”
Wooyoung snorts. “A man in his twenties who doesn’t watch porn? I can’t tell if you’re stupid for believing that or if this guy is secretly super religious.”
“Neither,” you snap. “Leave. Your workout is over.”
“How do you know?” He pops his brows, suddenly offended. “Maybe I’m taking a quick break.”
“Then do it somewhere else,” you shoo him away again, fingers sweeping the air. “And never talk to me about that podcast again.”
“Damn, are you super religious or something?” he asks.
“Wooyoung,” you warn.
“Fine, damn, fine.”
Wooyoung is home for exactly two hours before his night goes to shit.
He showered immediately upon walking through the door, which was a relief, but after laying in his bed and realizing he was in fact not getting laid tonight, the voice in the back of his mind started reminding him of every devious, terrible thing he’s ever done.
That was a strong contender for ruining his night. Instead, he picked himself up, went downstairs to the kitchen, and cleaned up. He did the dishes, loaded the dishwasher, cleaned every surface, even organized the top shelf of the pantry. The other guys knew not to talk to him– they knew when Wooyoung was in this mood, it was best to let him think on it, get it out of his system, rather than to bombard him with every question, every distraction they could think up.
He made himself food, allowed himself something comforting after all the extra cardio he did at the gym. That made it half better. But the real damning of his night happened about thirty minutes later, when he was in his bed, fist wrapped around his cock, fantasizing about the night he had a monarch butterfly in his bed, there were three knocks at his door.
“Busy!” Wooyoung called out, his voice shaky, so close to the edge he could taste it.
“It’s me.” You.
You.
He groans out his frustration, his orgasm that he could taste, now gone. Floating away in the wind, with the rest of his hopes and fucking dreams. Pulling up his sweats, sitting up in his bed, he calls out, “Come in.”
You spill into his room. Literally. You push the door open and it slams behind you, you waste no time throwing your bag to the floor and sitting on the foot of his bed. It takes you all of six seconds to put the pieces together.
“Why are you sweaty?” you ask. Wooyoung doesn’t answer, his face bored. “Why don’t you have a shirt on, and why are you sweaty?”
“I’m in my room, lights off, tissues on my nightstand,” he answers plainly. “What do you think I was doing?”
Like a skittish cat, you jump off his bed, yelping a disgusted noise. “And you just let me come in here? Oh my god, go wash your hands or something, that’s gross, Wooyoung.”
“It’s natural,” he shrugs, leaning back into his pillows. “It’s probably what you do immediately after fucking your boyfriend.” He made himself laugh with that one. You stay silent. His face drops. “Oh shit, am I right? I didn’t mean to be right.”
“Fuck you, whatever,” you snap. “I’m not here to bicker. I need your help.”
Wooyoung groans, head tipping back into his pillows, he already knows what that means. “God, go to fucking counceling or something, stop involving me in your relationship bullshit.”
“You were interested earlier,” you argue. “You brought this upon yourself the night you listened to me in the hallway. You should have told me to fuck off.”
Mumbling to himself, he repeats, “I need to stop being nice. I need to stop being kind.”
“You told me to listen to that podcast earlier, but she thinks like a woman, right? She is a woman, I mean. I need to think like a man,” you’re rambling, pacing at the foot of his bed. “You’re a man, Yeonjun’s mind is closer to yours than mine, like, biologically. I need to think like you. Or I need you to tell me what he’s thinking. I don’t know, but what I do know is that I can’t live my life like this, and I can’t be in a sexless marriage. You have to help me.”
“I am the last person on earth you want to help you,” Wooyoung announces. “I already told you to leave him, what the fuck else do you want me to say?”
“I don’t want to leave him, asshole.” You’re finally still at the center of the foot of his bed, arms wide on either side of you. “I said he doesn’t need to be fixed, but maybe just a little… shaping.”
“To the salon,” Wooyoung responds, in the same singsong tone from the Barbie movie. When your face bends in confusion, he asks, “Oh, we weren’t quoting that sound?”
“I need to fundamentally change my boyfriend’s brain,” you say matter-of-factly. “No, I’m not quoting a stupid video.”
Wooyoung sits up. “So there’s zero chance of you leaving the Jesus freak?”
“He’s not a Jesus freak,” you bite back, but take a step closer to his bed. “But no, there’s not. I love him.”
Wooyoung groans his frustration in a short, harsh noise. “God, fuck,” he runs his hands over his face roughly before they land on his bedspread again. “Okay, what do you want me to do? What’s the quickest way to get you out of my fucking bedroom, again?”
You grin, accomplished as you sit on the foot of his bed again. “I think my first order of business is making sex fun again, like how it was in the beginning. The marriage and baby shit I won’t make you deal with.”
“Thanks,” he responds, tone dripping in sarcasm. “Making sex fun… are you sure you can’t ask any of the six girls I fucked to help you with this? They’re all your friends, right?”
“Do you know how embarrassing it is to tell your friends that your sex life sucks?” you ask, and it’s not rhetorical. You don’t give him time to answer. “You already know, you witnessed it first-hand. Just help me, Wooyoung, something simple, something I can do tonight–”
“Edge him or something,” Wooyoung answers like he’s shoving the words out of his mouth. “You want him to act unlike himself, right? Push him to the limit? Then actually push him to the limit, and see what he does.”
Your face softens. Mumbling, almost under your breath, you wonder, “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Put yourself in control,” Wooyoung continues. “Make him obey you. Is he usually the dominant one?” You nod, coy all of the sudden. “Then you’re going to act unlike yourself, too. Show him what you want. Make him work for it.”
He watches you swallow, he can see the flush on your cheeks even under the dim lighting of his bedroom. His head tilts, a smirk growing, “Are you shy right now? Shy like a fucking virgin.”
“Shut up, Wooyoung,” you bark, but all the bite is gone into thin air, just like his lost orgasm. “I just… I don’t act like this with him. Loud and rude and stuff, I’m not like that with him. What if he doesn’t like it?”
“Like you said, you need to think like a man,” he finds himself soothing you, maybe he can consider this his one good deed of the day. “I’m a man, and I’m giving you sound advice. Try it. If he doesn’t like it, he won't leave you. If he does like it, he’ll probably grab the ring from his underwear drawer.”
You smile, the smallest laugh tumbling out of your lips. “I fucking hate you. If he proposes, you’re getting blamed for that, too.”
Wooyoung doesn’t even realize he’s smiling, too. “You’re really weird for coming to my house while I’m jerking off, by the way.”
“I know where you live, just felt easier to come here. Biceps let me in,” you shrug. “And I didn’t know you’d be jerking off.”
“Biceps?” Wooyoung pops a brow before realizing, “Oh, San.”
“I’m gonna go edge my boyfriend,” you announce, standing from his bed. Grabbing your bag from the floor, you give him a wave, “I’ll update you.”
“Expect an update!” you yell through his closed door, after you’ve shut it behind you.
It takes a minute before Wooyoung realizes he’s smiling, and he quickly wipes it right off his face. Getting cozy under his covers again, he reaches for the lube on his nightstand, and picks back up right where he left off.
Y/N tries to avoid intimacy by wearing an oversized tee and plain cotton panties to hide. The plan backfires completely when a year into their relationship, Chan finds the look incredibly hot, reassures her insecurities, and takes care of her.
Characters: Bang Chan x Reader (Y/N)
Rating: Explicit (18+)
Themes: Body positivity, praise, established relationship, domestic intimacy, playful humor.
Warnings: Explicit sexual content (NSFW).
The bedroom was warm, illuminated only by the soft, amber glow of the bedside lamp. You were lying flat on your back in the middle of the bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying very hard to convince yourself that your plan was foolproof.
You had deliberately slipped into your most oversized, faded t-shirt and a pair of plain, entirely unsexy cotton panties. They were the definition of full coverage, which was nothing like the lace or seamless thongs you usually wore. With how chaotic the last three weeks had been between late shifts and endless errands, your usual grooming routine had completely fallen through the cracks. The thick, dark curls between your thighs had grown in full and lush. Somehow, in the full year that you and Chan had been together, this had never happened before. You had always meticulously timed your waxes or shaving routines to ensure you were completely smooth whenever you were together. Now, you figured that by dressing down as unappealingly as possible, you’d gracefully avoid the issue altogether because surely, he wouldn’t put the moves on you if you looked like you were just ready to hibernate.
Your plan failed miserably.
Chan didn’t care about the oversized shirt. In fact, he seemed to love it. He was currently hovering over you, his heavy, muscular frame pinning you delightfully into the mattress. He had been trailing hot, slow kisses down your neck for the last ten minutes, his large, warm hands sliding confidently under the hem of your shirt.
His large, calloused palms glided up your torso, finding your bare breasts beneath the loose fabric. He cupped the heavy weight of them, his thumbs immediately finding your tight nipples and rolling over them with a slow, deliberate pressure. The sudden, intense contact sent a jolt of heat straight to your core. You let out a broken, breathless gasp, your back arching slightly off the sheets. Hearing your soft, needy moans only seemed to spur him on. Chan groaned into your neck, his mouth finding yours in a deep, bruising kiss while his hands confidently worked your breasts, driving you crazy.
As the kiss deepened, he shifted his weight, pressing his lower body firmly against your thigh. The sheer, rigid size of him through his sweatpants made your breath hitch. He was completely, devastatingly hard, and the friction of him rolling against you let you know exactly how badly he wanted you. He let out a low, frustrated growl against your lips, briefly breaking the kiss to reach down and adjust himself, shifting his length so he could press even tighter against your hip. The thick, heavy heat of him was impossible to ignore, sending a frantic rush of arousal straight between your legs.
Fueled by the sweet, helpless sounds you were making, his hands began to wander, sliding down past your waist to the elastic of your waistband. But as his fingers brushed the thick, plain fabric of your underwear, he paused.
Chan pulled back just an inch, his large hands resting flat against your hips as his gaze dropped down. A dark, intense curiosity sparked in his eyes, and a slow, wicked grin tugged at the corner of his lips.
"What are these, baby?" he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, rough growl. His thumbs hooked into the elastic, feeling the full coverage shape of them. "Plain cotton? I don't think I've ever seen you in these before."
Instead of being turned off, his breathing hitched, his pupils dilating until his eyes were almost entirely black. The sheer domesticity of it, combined with the way the soft fabric hugged the curves of your hips, was clearly driving him insane. Your plan was completely, utterly backfiring. The sight of you dressed down was making him hornier than if you'd been wearing the most expensive lingerie in your drawer.
His hands began to tug at the waistband, and a sharp jolt of panic spiked through your chest. Gently but firmly, you caught his thick wrists, stopping his hands right there.
"Channie, wait," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as you held him back.
Chan blinked, lifting his head just enough to look down at you. His dark eyes were fixed on yours with intense concern, and he softened his grip immediately, shifting his weight so he wasn't crushing you.
"Hey," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated right against your chest. "What's wrong, baby? Do you not feel well?"
The genuine, protective worry in his voice made your heart ache, but it also made your cheeks burn with an instant flush of heat.
"I feel fine, I want to," you blurted out, your heart doing a nervous, erratic dance against your ribs. "I really, really want to. But... I haven't had a single second to shave or wax in three weeks. Life has been such a whirlwind, and I’m a total mess under these right now. I'm just... I'm really embarrassed."
You shifted your gaze sideways, unable to look him in the eye, bracing yourself for the mood to shift. Your old insecurities whispered that you needed to be perfectly smooth to be desirable to a man like him, especially since he had never seen you any other way in your entire twelve months together.
Instead, Chan went entirely still.
When you forced yourself to look back up at him, a slow, heavy heat was pooling in his gaze, and his jaw ticked.
"A mess?" he repeated. His Australian accent bled through, thick, rough, and laced with a sudden, dangerous weight that sent a shiver straight down your spine. "Are you kidding me, Y/N?"
"I'm not," you mumbled, biting your lower lip. "It’s really grown out."
A low, appreciative growl rumbled deep in his broad chest. It was a sound so primal it made your core ache with a sudden, sharp pulse of arousal. Chan didn't back away. Instead, his fingers bunched tightly into the elastic of those plain cotton panties, his grip possessive, unyielding, and completely grounding.
"Show me. Please."
The sheer intensity in his voice caught you entirely off guard. Before you could protest, his large hands hooked into the fabric, smoothly sliding your panties down your legs and tossing them over the edge of the bed. You instinctively started to bring your hands down to cover yourself, suddenly hyper aware of your vulnerability, but Chan reached out with both of his large hands. He gently took hold of your wrists, wrapping his warm fingers around them and moving your hands away from your lap, resting them flat on the mattress beside your hips. He didn't pin you down or use his strength to hold you captive. He just held your hands out of the way, keeping his gaze locked on yours until you relaxed under his touch.
He shifted, sitting back on his knees between your spread thighs, his heavy gaze dropping down your bare torso, past your stomach, and settling directly between your legs so he could finally see.
When he saw you, taking in the soft, dark, unapologetic fullness of your pubic hair, which was completely raw and new to him after a year of dating, his breath hitched audibly. He looked entirely feral, like a man who had just been handed a prize he hadn't dared to ask for.
"Oh, god," Chan whispered, a ragged, uneven exhale escaping his lips as his gaze locked onto you. "You are so beautiful."
"You... you like it?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly, your deep seated embarrassment melting into a sudden, intoxicating rush of heat.
"Like it?" He let go of your wrists, leaning forward to bury his face directly into the warm crook of your thigh. He took a deep, dragging breath of your scent, his hands gripping your hips so tightly his knuckles turned white. "I am losing my mind right now. You have no idea what this is doing to me, Y/N."
He looked up at you, his eyes dark with unadulterated worship. He reached out, his long, blunt-tipped fingers gently burying into the soft curls, parting them with a reverence that made your toes curl. His thumb stroked over your sensitive skin, the contrast of the soft hair sending a jolt of pure electricity straight to your center.
"It’s so soft," he groaned, his thumb pressing a fraction deeper, finding the slick, damp heat hidden beneath. You let out a breathless gasp, your hips arching instinctively off the sheets into his touch. "It feels incredible. It smells exactly like you. Don't you dare ever hide this from me again."
But as he started to shift his weight lower, the lingering doubt flickered in your mind one last time. "I... I always thought I needed to be completely bare," you confessed, the old standards heavy on your shoulders. "Especially... especially if you were going to go down on me. I thought the hair would just get in your way."
Chan paused, his large hand resting flat and warm against your lower belly, pinning you gently to the bed. He looked up at you, his expression turning incredibly serious, his gaze searching your face until he was sure he had your full, undivided attention.
"Get in the way?" he repeated, shaking his head slowly, his voice dropping into a deep, steady register that brooked absolutely no argument. He slid his hands up to cup your waist, squeezing gently, reminding you of his size and strength.
"Listen to me, baby," he said softly, his tone shifting into something fiercely tender. "You never have to change your body for me. Ever. If you prefer being smooth, if it makes you feel better, I am never going to stop you from doing what you want with your own body. But if you’re asking for my opinion? If you want to know what drives me crazy? I like it exactly like this. Having you a little fuzzy..."
He leaned in, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, making you shiver violently.
"...it reminds me that I'm with a woman. A beautiful, grown woman. Not some sterile, airbrushed fantasy. I want you."
The words sent a profound wave of relief washing through you, instantly vaporizing the last remnants of your anxiety. For the first time, you felt entirely unburdened, completely seen and fiercely desired for exactly who you were by a man who made you feel utterly safe.
"A woman," you breathed, a breathless, genuinely happy smile tugging at your lips.
"Yeah. My woman," Chan murmured against your skin, his voice thick with possession.
He didn't waste another second. With a slow, deliberate movement, he parted your thighs further, pulling your knees up toward your chest as he settled himself comfortably between them. He looked up at you one last time, a dark, wicked smirk playing on his lips as his hands slid under your hips, lifting you slightly to meet him.
"Now, stop thinking about what you 'should' look like," he commanded softly, his hot breath fanning over your dripping center. "And just focus on how this feels."
When his tongue made contact, swirling deeply through the soft, warm curls to find your sweetest spot, you let out a loud, uninhibited cry, your fingers instantly locking into the sheets beside you.
It didn't get in his way at all. If anything, the plush texture of your hair only seemed to drive him wilder. Chan drank from you greedily, his tongue flattening out to stroke you from bottom to top, his lips wet and heavy as they pressed into your softness. The friction of his stubble against your sensitive skin, cushioned by the soft fullness of your hair, created a sensation so intense, so deeply overwhelming, that your hips began to roll helplessly against his mouth.
He groaned into you, his mouth completely devoted to your pleasure, pushing you straight over the edge. Your fingers flew up to tighten in his blonde hair, pulling him flush against you as a violent, shattering orgasm took over your body, your ragged moans echoing in the quiet bedroom. Chan stayed right there through every single tremor, sucking your sweetness into his mouth, utterly obsessed with the taste, the scent, and the perfect, natural beauty of the woman in his arms.
Afterward, the room fell into a lazy, heavy silence, broken only by your synchronized, breathless pants. Chan slowly crawled up your body, careful not to put too much of his weight on you, and collapsed onto the mattress by your side. He immediately pulled you against his chest, wrapping his thick arm around your waist and burying his face in your hair.
You leaned into him, completely relaxed, a soft smile resting on your lips as your skin tingled with the afterglow.
For a few minutes, he just held you close, his chest rising and falling steadily against your back. But then, you felt a sudden, familiar vibration against your shoulder. Chan was chuckling quietly to himself.
You rolled over slightly to look at him, raising an eyebrow. "What are you laughing at?"
Chan propped his head up on his hand, looking down at you with a completely straight face, though his dark eyes were dancing with mischief. He cleared his throat, leaning in close.
"Well, you know," he began, his Australian accent full and thick. "You really shouldn't have worried, baby. I am Australian, after all. We're famous for knowing exactly how to navigate the bush."
You froze for a fraction of a second, letting the sheer, unadulterated dumbness of the joke process in your brain. Then, a loud, startled laugh burst from your lips. You grabbed the pillow from beneath your head, spun around, and smacked him right in the chest with it, your face flushed with a mix of giggles and fake outrage.
"Oh my god, Channie, no!" you yelled, hitting him with the pillow one more time for good measure. "That is a terrible joke. An absolutely horrible joke."
"Oof—hey!" Chan laughed, his huge, dimpled grin flashing bright as he effortlessly caught the pillow mid-swing, wrenching it out of your hands and tossing it to the floor. The playful humor in his eyes instantly shifted into something much heavier, much darker, as he pinned your wrists down against the mattress once more. He didn't lose a single second, shifting his heavy frame right back between your open thighs.
The sheer, rigid weight of his length pressed hard and demanding against your soaking center, making you let out a sharp, breathless gasp.
"Terrible or not," Chan whispered, his voice dropping into a rough, gravelly rumble as his eyes locked onto yours with fierce intensity. He shifted, locking his hips against yours and dragging his hard length firmly against your wet heat. "The geography lesson is over, baby. I’m taking what's mine."
Y/N ruthlessly teases her heavily muscled husband about his four-inch size, sparking a raw, possessive surrender that leaves them both completely undone.
Pairing: Seo Changbin x Pregnant Reader (Y/N)
Genre: K-pop Fanfiction / Smut / Established Relationship AU
Warnings:
Explicit Content (18+ / MDNI)
Size Kink / Size Degradation
Breeding Kink / Pregnancy Smut
Consensual Kink & Heavy Dirty Talk
The air in the bedroom was thick with the familiar, heavy heat of a dynamic they spent the last year perfecting. It was a private language built out of his deepest vulnerabilities and her total, ruthless command over them. Tonight felt different though. There was a faint, new fullness to Y/N’s curves. The quiet shift in her body added an entirely new layer of intense heat to the room. Y/N was utterly obsessed with his physique. She loved the sheer mass of his dense, stone-carved shoulders, the incredible thickness of his chest, and the terrifying power in his massive thighs. Running her hands over him was a masterclass in contrasts. She loved the solid, unyielding weight of his strength, especially now as it pressed against the new, ripening softness of her own changing shape.
On the bed, Changbin was already breathless. His hands gripped the sheets as Y/N sat astride his chest. He spent the last hour worshiping her with an intense, laser-focused devotion. He used his hands and mouth until she was slick and trembling. To anyone else, it looked like pure selflessness. But they both knew the truth. It was a beautifully orchestrated prologue, a stalling tactic he still leaned into because the contrast of what came next turned him inside out.
Y/N looked down at him, her fingers tangling in his hair, forcing him to meet her gaze.
"You're so big everywhere else, Changbin," she murmured. Her voice was a smoky, deliberate purr that made his chest heave. Her eyes slowly traced the broad expanse of his shoulders, the thick muscle of his chest, and the heavy line of his jaw. "You're built like an absolute truck. It’s honestly disappointing that your cock is so incredibly small."
Changbin let out a low, shaky whimper, his face flushing a deep, dark crimson. He loved it. Hearing her voice map out the exact contradiction of his body, the sheer mass of him compared to the neat, compact reality between his legs, instantly sent a violent spike of heat straight to his core.
Y/N shifted her weight, moving down the bed until she was kneeling between his muscular thighs. Her hands traced the thick, solid bundles of muscle that made her feel so beautifully delicate by comparison. She reached out and wrapped her fingers around him. The contrast was stark against her hand. "Look how adorable your pretty little cock is. Barely four inches, Changbin. It’s almost precious, sweetheart. Too bad you couldn't possibly satisfy anyone with it."
The specific number made his stomach flip with a familiar, acute embarrassment. He knew four inches was fully functional and only slightly below average. But on a frame as wide and powerful as his, it looked tiny. Knowing she was looking right at his deepest insecurity made him ache with a helpless, desperate arousal.
"Y/N, please," he choked out, his eyes dark and dilated.
"Shh," she whispered as she leaned over him. Her lips traced a path down his stomach before she began to kiss all over his inner thighs. She moved with agonizing slowness, trailing her mouth across his balls. She teased him until his hips bucked helplessly against the mattress, his cock twitching and leaking.
As she lingered there, she tapped a fingernail lightly against the smooth, bare skin of his pelvis. A soft, mocking laugh vibrated against his thigh.
"Did you really think shaving all your pubic hair would make it look any bigger?" she taunted, looking up at him with a wicked, amused glint. "It didn't work, Changbin. It just highlights how little there is to see. It’s a shame, really... you're so tiny I can't even choke on it when I suck you off. I can take all of you so easily."
A strangled groan escaped his lips. His hands instantly found her hair, guiding her rhythm as she took him into her mouth for a few deep, effortless strokes. He was practically vibrating, completely undone by the verbal weight of her words, stripped of every single ounce of his pride.
Before he could cross the line, Y/N pulled back, leaving him desperate and aching. She crawled carefully back up his body, mindful of her belly, and leaned in to kiss him deeply. It was a slow, bruising kiss that tasted of his own desire and anchored his attention completely to her.
Then, she laid back against the pillows, shifting her hips and settling her legs wide apart for him, fully exposing herself in the dim light. She looked up at him, her eyes locking onto his face as she whispered, "It's pathetic how bad I want you inside me."
Changbin rose over her, kneeling between her thighs. His immense bulk threw a heavy shadow over her recumbent form. When he guided himself inside, Y/N let out a soft, sharp sigh of pure, unadulterated relief. He fit perfectly. The friction was instant, neat, and incredibly vivid.
Changbin stayed upright on his knees, his hands resting on the mattress on either side of her hips. He looked down as he began to set a slow, deliberate pace. He was completely transfixed, watching his dick pump in and out of her. Y/N wanted to see it too, but with Changbin on top and the newly formed curve of her bump blocking the view, she had to strain. Pressing her weight into the mattress, she propped herself up on her elbows, lifting her upper body just enough to peer over the roundness of her belly.
Y/N absolutely loved to watch his cock slip in and out of her tight wet pussy. There was something mesmerizing about the sight, the visual proof of how small he was, contrasted with how entirely drenched and open her body was for him. From her angle, looking over her bump, it looked so neat, so perfectly contained. Because he wasn't overwhelming her anatomy, she didn't have to brace herself. She could just focus on the effortless, slick glide of him hitting her sweet spot with crystalline clarity.
"Look at how easily I take all of you," Y/N taunted softly, watching him slide deep inside her over and over. "Can't you go any deeper, Changbin? Oh, wait... there’s barely anything there to push. Is this really all you have for me?"
The degradation pushed his arousal past the point of no return. This time, a dark, possessive spark flared in Changbin's eyes.
"Yeah, it’s tiny, Y/N," Changbin growled. His voice was rough and thick with heat, his chest heaving with a sudden, uninhibited pride. "But it was still big enough to put a baby inside you, wasn't it? I might be small, but I still knocked you up. This wet, tight pussy belongs to me now. My tiny dick did that to you."
The absolute thrill in his voice, the fact that he was so intensely turned on by the knowledge that he had successfully claimed her and gotten her pregnant despite his size, sent a violent, staggering wave of heat straight to Y/N's core.
Before she could recover, Changbin suddenly shifted, pulling out of her and rolling her onto her hands and knees. He moved behind her. His large, muscular frame completely overshadowed hers as he guided his small dick back into her wet, swollen depths from behind.
The change in angle was staggering. Because of his compact length, he pressed flush against her backside, allowing him to slide deep and create a relentless, friction-heavy rhythm. He leaned over her back. One large, heavy hand splayed across her newly formed baby bump, holding her firmly against him. His other hand reached down between her thighs, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing it with a steady, commanding pressure.
"Tell me," Changbin demanded. His voice was a rough whisper in her ear as his hips slammed flush against her backside. "Tell me who owns this body?"
The combination of the dirty talk, his hand claiming the child they made, and the relentless, perfect friction of his fingers sliding against her clit sent Y/N entirely over the edge. Her walls began to clamp down around him ruthlessly.
"You do. Oh, Changbin. Don’t stop. I'm coming!"
"Yeah, take it all," Changbin growled, leaning down over her back, entirely unhinged by the tight, desperate squeeze of her walls. "Take every single one of my four inches. It's all you get, Y/N, and you're fucking begging for it."
With his fingers working her clit and his tiny dick pumping deep inside her, Y/N completely shattered. A powerful, full-body orgasm gripped her, and she squeezed around him with a fierce, pulsing tightness. The pure, unobstructed heat of his smaller size inside her hit her perfectly. She let out a loud, breathable sob of pleasure, tears prickling her eyes as wave after wave of release hit her.
Feeling her climax clamp around him in violent, undeniable waves shattered the last of Changbin's restraint. He let out a low, primal, ragged groan. He was completely consumed by the raw, dominant thrill of having her pregnant and helpless beneath him. He buried himself deep inside her and came. His whole body shook as he locked his arms out, desperately fighting his own exhaustion to keep from collapsing his heavy frame onto her back.
Afterward, the room fell into a heavy, breathing silence. They tumbled down onto the mattress, tangled in the sheets, sweating and breathless. Y/N was completely dazed, the afterglow washing over her.
As the frantic rhythm of his heart began to slow against her ribs, Changbin shifted, pulling her back against his chest in a spooning position. The sharp, mocking edge of her dominance melted away, replaced by an intense, grounding warmth. Changbin's large, heavily muscled hand remained slid down, resting protectively over her lower stomach. The hard lines of his forearm contrasted beautifully against her soft flesh.
"Hey," she whispered softly, tilting her head back to look at him.
Changbin smiled, his eyes dark, heavy, and completely content. The lingering traces of his old vulnerability were there, but the real shame was entirely gone, burned away by the game they played.
"You really are a monster," he murmured, a small, breathless laugh escaping him as he kissed her jaw. "But I love you so much."
"I love you too," Y/N smiled, turning slightly to hold his massive frame tight against her. She pressed her face into the warm crook of his neck, breathing him in. "And I gave you exactly what you wanted. It felt amazing. You fit me perfectly, Changbin. I mean it. Even if you are a smug bastard about it now."
Changbin searched her face, finding nothing but absolute sincerity and deep affection. He let out a long, ragged sigh of relief, his fingers gently caressing her baby bump before finally pressing a soft, genuine kiss to her lips.
"Next time," he whispered against her mouth, a wicked little spark returning to his eyes, "you're going to have to be meaner."
Fed up with the shallow world of men, she swiped right on a monster. Now, a 7'4" High Infernal Incubus is here to prove that "too much" is exactly what she’s been missing.
Characters: Song Mingi (Incubus) x Female Reader (Human)
The dating landscape had become a wasteland of "Hey" and "u up?" Y/N was tired of men who didn’t even pretend to be interested in anything but talking about themselves. The guys she’d actually agreed to meet were staggeringly boring, spending entire dinners reciting their resumes, and when things finally moved to the bedroom, they were painfully selfish. They took what they wanted with zero regard for her pleasure, falling asleep or checking their phones the moment they were finished.
After one too many lukewarm lattes with a guy who talked about his crypto portfolio for forty minutes, she deleted all the apps, swearing off dating completely.
That night, she found Impish, or rather, it found her. It was the digital underbelly of the dating world, a high-stakes platform for humans and the supernatural alike. It didn't ask for your favorite hobby; it asked for your Threshold. The tiers ranged from Level 1: Fae-Curious to Level 10: Eternal Damnation.
She had briefly entertained the idea of playing it safe. Her first match had been with a Level 1 Fae named Felix. He was ethereal, with skin that looked like polished marble and eyes that held the spark of a thousand stars. He was, objectively, the most delicate thing she had ever seen.
And that was exactly the problem.
She had stared at his profile for ten minutes before swiping left with a frustrated groan. She wasn't about to spend her nights standing next to a man who would perpetually make her look like the before picture. If she was going to risk her soul, she wanted something substantial. Something that felt like a predator, not a porcelain doll.
Y/N set her filter limit to Level 8: High Infernal and started scrolling. Then, she saw Mingi.
He looked like a god of the modern age: 7’4”, hair a striking mix of bleached bone and icy blue, and piercing dark eyes that felt like they were pinning her to her bed through the screen. His bio was exactly what she was looking for:
Mingi
7’4” | Lv. 8 | Incubus
I’m not looking for a fling; I’m looking for a partner to integrate into my life. I’m built on a scale most find impossible. I’ve never left a partner unfulfilled. If you’re looking for something short term, swipe left.
Y/N felt a spike of insecurity, but she decided to go for broke. She reached for her Pitchfork, the Impish version of a Super-Like.
Pitchfork Sent. Good luck!
20 minutes later her phone buzzes on her nightstand. She nearly falls off her bed reaching for it.
Mingi: A Pitchfork? Bold. Usually, humans who stumble into Level 8 are either lost or delusional. Which are you?
Y/N: Neither. I’m just finished with boys who are afraid to leave a mark. I don't want "delicate." I want someone who isn't looking for an exit strategy.
Mingi: Careful. You’re flirting with a sentence, not a date. If I decide to integrate you, I don't share, and I don't let go.
Y/N: I’m looking for a reason to stay. Prove you're worth it.
Mingi: Friday. The Devil’s Den. Wear the version of you that swiped right on a monster.
The Devil's Den
The jagged limestone entrance of The Devil's Den felt like the mouth of a beast. Y/N stood there in a pleated leather mini skirt and a lace bodysuit, her red-bottomed boots clicking against the floor like a countdown.
"You look lost, little angel," the bouncer, a tusked brute, grunted. "Not safe for a snack like you to be wandering around alone. Someone might decide to see how you taste."
"Then it's a good thing she isn’t," a voice rumbled from the shadows.
Mingi stepped out of the shadows, and Y/N’s bravado evaporated instantly. He wasn't just tall; he was a 7’4” titan who seemed to block out the very air in the corridor. He looked almost human, dressed in sharp, dark silk, until his thick, midnight-blue tail snaked out from behind him. The spade-tip dragged slowly, possessively, against the red bottom of her boot, the muscular appendage twitching with a life of its own.
"Mingi," she breathed, her neck craning back as she looked up and up and up, her head barely reaching the center of his chest.
He looked down at her, his dark eyes hungry as they raked over her. A slow, dangerous smirk pulled at his lips. "Y/N. You dressed up for me," he rumbled. "How... adorable.”
He led her to a booth in the far corner where the table was black obsidian, reflecting the red neon "Sin" sign above the bar.
"Sit, little doll," Mingi murmured. His eyes tracked the way her leather skirt rode up, flashing a stretch of thigh as she slid onto the velvet bench. He didn't just sit across from her; he seemed to claim the entire corner, his massive frame making the booth feel like a cage.
He ordered two "Circle Eight" cocktails, the dark liquid swirling like liquid garnets in the dim light.
"Drink," he commanded, his gaze pinning her to the seat. "A little liquid courage."
“I’m not scared.” Her voice trembled in betrayal.
He reached across the obsidian, his hand nearly twice the size of hers. He didn't just touch her; he covered her entire forearm, his skin radiating a feverish, unnatural heat.
"I didn't pick you because you're brave, Y/N. I picked you because you said you were looking for something long term," Mingi said, his voice dropping into a dark, velvet register. "I need someone who can handle exactly how much I have to give. Most humans are too small, too fragile. They want a thrill, but they aren't willing to make the kind of room for me that I require."
Y/N felt a flutter in her chest, a sense of relief she hadn't expected. She thought of the "little boys" who couldn't commit to a second date, let alone a life. She looked at him, thinking he was talking about the space in her heart and her future.
"I've got plenty of room," she whispered, her confidence returning.
Mingi’s roguish smile widened, his dark eyes hooded as they raked over her small frame, lingering on the curve of her hips. He knew she was thinking about a relationship, but he was thinking about the fourteen inches of High Infernal reality she would have to accommodate.
"I hope so," he murmured, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin of her wrist. "Because I want to see if you're actually capable of expanding your life to fit me. Once I'm in, little doll, I don't plan on leaving."
He leaned in, his scent of sandalwood and smoke intoxicating. "A warning: my saliva is a potent aphrodisiac. Once I kiss you, there is no turning back."
"Prove it," she whispered.
Mingi pulled her forward, his forked tongue flickering against hers. The moment they touched, the aphrodisiac hit like a circuit breaker flipping in her brain. Her blood turned to liquid fire.
"Delicious," he murmured against her mouth. "Let's go home, little doll. I have a lot of work to do on you."
The Penthouse
At his penthouse, the space was all cold glass and dark steel. Mingi moved with a predatory grace, guiding her to a bed of black silk. He was clinical yet cruel in his preparation. His midnight-blue tail acted like a third limb, snapping out to pin her wrists above her head against the headboard with effortless strength.
"I want you so desperate that you’re begging me to fill you," he whispered.
He used his hands first, his fingers long and thick, stretching her with a relentless, rhythmic pressure. As he moved down to prepare her further, his massive hands gripped her thighs, pinning them wide against the bed. With his hands fully occupied, his tail snaked down between her legs. She felt the smooth, muscular tip hook into the edge of her lace panties, expertly dragging them to the side.
The moment the fabric moved, his forked tongue replaced his fingers. The dual sensation was unlike anything she had ever felt; the split muscle moved independently, flickering against her with a precision that sent her over the first cliff. She screamed his name into the quiet of the penthouse.
He didn't give her a second to recover. He slipped her panties completely off her legs, tossing them onto the floor.
"Again," he commanded.
He introduces his tail as a primary player. While his forked tongue flickered and his fingers worked deep inside her, the midnight-blue limb uncoiled from her waist, the sensitive spade-tip joining the coordinated assault. Between the visual and the impossible friction, Y/N’s vision blurred. She came even harder the second time, her frame racking with a violent, prolonged orgasm.
Only then did the clothes finally hit the floor. Y/N’s breath hitched as she saw the sheer, terrifying reality of him. He was built on a High Infernal scale: a thick, heavy length pulsing with dark heat and already leaking a clear, shimmering fluid in the low light.
"Mingi... you won't fit," she whispered, her voice hitching as her eyes fixed on the impossible reality of him.
But the potent aphrodisiac from his saliva was already working through her system, a slow-burn chemical command that overrode her fear and acted like a sedative for her inhibitions making her body betray her logic. Her knees fell further apart, her thighs trembling as the toxins forced her muscles to relax and yield, opening her wider than she ever thought possible to make room for the weight of him.
"I've made sure you will," he cooed. "You’re just gonna feel a big stretch."
He positioned himself, his piercing dark eyes hooded. He bit his lower lip, teeth sinking into the plush flesh as he watched his cock stretch her tight, wet pussy open. He was mesmerized by the visual of his girth disappearing into her inch by inch.
"Look at you," he groaned. "Look how much of me you're taking."
As he began to push further inside, the sheer scale of him felt impossible. "Mingi... wait," she gasped, her hands shaking as they pressed against his massive chest. "I can't... I can't take any more. It's too much."
Mingi paused, but he didn't pull back. Instead, he leaned down, his large hands framing her face with surprising gentleness. He held her gaze, those piercing dark eyes glowing with a predatory warmth that pinned her to the sheets as effectively as his tail.
"Shh, look at me, Y/N," he whispered, his voice a low, sweet honey that vibrated in her chest. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, tasting her panic and soothing it away. "You were built for this. You were built for me. I’ve spent all night preparing you. You can take every bit of me, little doll. I promise."
He kissed her again, deeper this time, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones as he watched the fear in her eyes melt into trust. "Trust your body," he murmured against her mouth. "Trust me."
With a final, authoritative drive, he seated himself to the hilt. Y/N let out a choked cry, her eyes wide. Mingi propped himself up, pressing one massive hand against her lower abdomen. Under her skin, the imprint was terrifyingly clear, a long, hard ridge mapping out his length inside her.
"Do you like having every inch of you stretched by me?"
"Yes," she whimpered. "Yes, Mingi. Please... don't stop."
As he began a slow, soul-crushing grind, his tail snaked upward, wrapping firmly around her throat. The heavy, warm pressure wasn't just a restraint it was constant reminder of the 7'4" titan claiming her. Just as the stretch became a continuous, heavy thrum, he lunged forward, catching her nipple between his teeth and biting down with a sharp, calculated pressure.
The jolt of pain was electric, a stinging contrast to the deep pressure below that sent a fresh, desperate rush of moisture between her thighs.
"You like that? When it hurts?" he asked, the smirk audible in his voice as he felt her pulse hammer against his tail.
"Yes," she gasped, her head falling back against the pillow. "Mingi, I love it!"
"Good," he murmured, his thumb catching a stray tear as he pulled back to look at her. "Because I’m going to fill you so completely that you’ll be leaking me for days."
He looked down, fascinated, watching the way the bulge of his dick shifted under the skin of her stomach with every thrust.
At his peak, the recurved barbs at the base of his length flared outward, locking him into her. The anchor was physical, but it was the neurotoxin that soothed her.
As the barbs seated, a rush of heavy, golden heat flooded her veins. The toxin forced her nervous system into total relaxation. Any fear evaporated, replaced by a dazed, chemical peace as her body tightened instinctively around the barbs in a silent welcome.
"What... is that?" she whispered, her fingers tangled in his icy blue hair. Her grip went slack as the neurotoxin took hold, her hands moving through the soft strands in a dazed, rhythmic motion.
Mingi let out a low, guttural purr at the sensation, leaning into her touch like a great beast being tamed. He loved the feel of her small hands on him as he held her pinned.
He smoothed a hand over her belly, feeling his pulse thudding against her from the inside. "Stay still, little doll," he murmured, his voice a possessive vibration. He leaned down, pinning her as the lock and the toxin held her fast. "You aren't going anywhere until I'm finished with you. And I think... that’s going to be a very long time."
Y/N drifted on the waves of bliss, a dazed smile on her lips. For the first time, the hollow ache of the "little boys" and their shallow world was gone. She was finally, completely fulfilled, claimed by someone she never wanted to leave.
This is complete fiction and doesn't represent the real people etc.
*********
It was still the early blue of the morning that only lovers see. Usually you wouldn't be awake at this time but you had woken up from a very enjoyable dream with heat spreading between your legs.
You glance across the pillow. In the morning light Mingi looks beautiful, his eyes closed and quiet breaths from his soft lips. You don't want to wake him up - he just came back from Japan and his flight got in late. He didn't even bother getting fully undressed, just crashed on your bed in a tangle of blankets and necklaces.
You turn around, staring at the mole on his cheek and the way his chains are resting against his throat really isn't helping.
Your movements make him shift though and his big hand lands on you stomach and pulls you in toward him. Now, flush against his chest, you feel every part of him as his leg snakes over yours.
You try to move a little but all that does is make your ass press into him and you clench, the only thing between you is the fabric of his boxers.
You're unsure what to do, his warm breath caressing your neck and his arm heavy around you. All you can think about is the things he did to you in your dream and you press your thighs together.
But you're so tightly wrapped into him that the small movement makes your ass rub against his cock and even in sleep his breathing hitches and he grinds his hips back into you. You stifle a gasp as you can't help but press back into him more.
You feel his cock starting to harden and arch your back further into him, the pressure between your thighs becoming unbearable. Mingi’s arm tightens further around you and he groans in your ear.
'Morning baby,’ he rumbles, his voice deep and gravelly with sleep. His hand slowly moves down and he grips your hip, controlling your movements in his lap and grinds you into him.
‘Did you miss me?’ He asks, lips against your shoulder.
‘Mmhmm, missed you,’ you say. Your hips are in rhythm with each other and your thighs slick with wetness.
That's when he bites down on your shoulder and you cry out, digging your nails into his arm. He soothes the bite and moves his hand down between your legs.
‘I want to hear how much you missed me,’ he says into the curve of your neck, peppering kisses as he goes.
His hand between your legs presses gently but he doesn't do anything, waiting for your words.
‘I missed you, I missed your arms and your kisses and I m-missed…’ Your words start to stutter as his fingers move between your folds and press down on your clit. Mingi circles it slowly with nowhere near enough pressure.
‘I missed your hands,’ you say.
‘I know there's more baby,’ he says, pressing his now hard cock into your back, his fingers dipping inside you and making you gasp.
‘I missed this, I missed being pressed against you, I missed your cock,’ you say as his fingers start to move more. His thumb begins rubbing against your clit and you cry out.
‘That’s my girl,’ he whispers close to your ear, the sounds of sleep and arousal twisted together in his voice. ‘I think you deserve to cum on my fingers for using such pretty words.’
His long fingers curl in to hit you right where you see stars and his thumb presses with the perfect pressure that he knows will undo you.
The tightness in your stomach grows quickly, the lingering effects of your dream and the week without Mingi adding to how well he knows your body. Before you know it you’re pressing your face down into the pillow, crying out as your orgasm rips through you.
Mingi kisses your neck as you come down and you feel him pushing his boxers off.
He pulls you back so you’re tucked into his chest again and hooks your leg on his forearm. You arch your back and feel his tip brushing against your folds, coating him in your wetness. His other arm comes from under your back to rest across your collarbones and hold you tight against him, his hard necklaces pressing into your back.
‘Please Mingi, I need you,’ you say, reaching down to help guide him into you. He pushes in slowly, letting you get used to the stretch as he goes, kissing your shoulders and neck all the while.
He moves at a tortuously slow pace and his breathing starts to come harder on the shell of your ear.
‘This is all I could think about while I was away,’ Mingi says.
‘Mmmm, show me how much you wanted me,’ you say. You reach your hand back and push your fingers into his hair as your hips try to push back harder on him.
A laugh rumbles out of his throat and he flips you on your stomach and cages you in with his arms either side, still inside of you, legs straddling your hips. You can feel his weight on you and his chains tickling your back.
‘Oh I plan to,’ he says, pushing deeper inside of you, the new angle making you grip the sheets underneath you. You can feel every vein of his long, hard dick as he thrusts hard into you.
He reaches for your hands and laces his fingers into yours, now claiming and heavy upon almost every part of you. You push your hips back as much as possible to meet his and it doesn’t take long before you’re both breathless and moaning.
‘Let me see you when you cum baby,’ you say. He grunts as he pulls out and flips you on your back. He slides back in easily and you wrap your legs around his waist tight.
He kisses you like he’s starved and your arms pull him further into you, desperate for his touch as though you haven't already been wrapped up in each other.
The intensity builds as he slides his hand into your hair and pulls your face into his neck. You mark him with your kisses and he stills his hips to let you grind on him until you cum with a muffled scream.
As soon as the first intense wave of your orgasm slows he's pounding into you, desperate for his own release. As he gets closer he whimpers in your ear, telling you how he missed you and he loves you.
‘I'm so glad you're home, please cum for me baby,’ you say. He pulls back enough to look you in the face and, his movements losing rhythm, you watch the beautiful expressions on his face as he fills you.
Breathless, he kisses you gently as he pulls out and drops his weight on to you, his head on your chest, your legs unwrapping from him.
‘Shall we have a shower?’ he says.
‘Later.’
Stroking his back gently you both fall back to sleep as the world outside is starting its day.
Warnings: established relationship, non idol au, MDNI 18+, no use of y/n, soft mingi (hes whipped for his wife), terms of endearment (baby, darling, princess), sub mingi, begging, pain play (slapping & scratching), orgasm denial, light degradation, mommy kink (i will not apologize), deepthroating, choking/gagging (on dick, light breath play, SO minimal), p in v, unprotected sex (sock that wang before you bang), praise, crying/overstim. Lemme know if i missed anything!
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Authors note: hello my sweets! This is my first fic on tumblr after a long writing hiatus so please be tender with me! Always open to feedback ect. ect. Ect. This came to me in a dream and i had to put it into the world. Please enjoy!
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The door clicks shut behind you and your shoulders slump. Another day finished at your new job. While grateful you were exhausted, hoping for a relaxing night with your husband. The smell of dinner cooking made your heart swell as you slipped your shoes off.
As quietly as you could, you padded to the kitchen hoping to catch him before he realized you were home. Mingi stood by the stove, stirring a pot as the rice cooker chimed indicating it had finished.
“Hello darling.” you cooed, emerging from the hall.
Mingi turned, face lighting up as he began to cross the kitchen. He slid his arms around your waist, arching down to bury his head in your neck.
“Welcome home baby. Are you hungry? I missed you.” He inhales your scent on the final word, sending a shiver down your spine.
“Starved,” you reply, sliding your palms up his neck to cradle his cheeks. You place a kiss on his nose before he gives you a squeeze you reward with a proper kiss.
The next few moments feel like home. Moving around each other in the kitchen, silently taking your roles in setting the table and dishing up food.
Mingi can tell something is off but doesn't want to pry just yet. Instead he asks you about your day, discusses upcoming dinner plans with Yunho and his wife, compares calendars to get a weekend getaway to Jeju scheduled.
Everything was perfect, he was perfect. And yet, you felt so out of control. Mingi knew it.
“Princess,” he whispers. Pulling you out of a daze you hadn’t realized you slipped into. “Should we talk about it now or would you like to wash up first?”
With a sigh you smiled shyly at him, “I think now, now would be good.” So he sat down his cup, placed his hands in his lap and nodded. Giving you his full attention.
The dam broke before you even realized you had been holding it back. Explaining everything that had been going on at work. How your boss was wonderful but putting too much on your plate while you were still finding your footing in your new role. Feeling alone at the company as you seldom found time to leave your office to keep deadlines. How your shoes rubbed you raw all day and your creamer had run out before you realized it.
The more you went on the sillier you felt but he listened. He didn’t make you feel like you were a tempest in a teapot. He let you finish, only moving to kneel beside you and wipe your tears.
He rubbed the back of your hand as he looked up at you, “How long have you been holding that all to yourself princess?”
You just shook your head and he understood. Pulling you with him as he rose, he placed a kiss on your head.
“Go wash up. I’ll take care of the dishes and when you’re done we can decide what to do next.” You nodded up at him before rising to your toes to kiss him.
Making your way to the bathroom you turned the nob, letting the room fill with steam. The water was warm, helping to wash the day away. You lost yourself in thought, being pulled from your mind as the shower door clicked open. Mingi slid in, taking his place behind you. Engulfing you in a hug as he stood there grounding you. You finished your shower in silence, washing each other, feeling the tension begin to rise.
You turned off the water and he wrapped you in a towel, lifting you over the lip of the shower. “Thank you darling” you giggled, placing a kiss on his jaw before exiting to your bedroom.
You sat on the bed in one of Mingi’s t-shirts and panties, running a brush through your hair as he entered. Black sweats hung low on his hips, water still dripping down his neck. His eyes were dark as he crossed the room, stopping in front of you and kneeling at your feet.
Slowly, he ran his palm up your calf. Turning it over to lift your foot to his shoulder. He stuck out his bottom lip and gazed deeply into your eyes telling you everything you needed to know.
You took his jaw in your fingers, leaning forward and sliding your ankle off his shoulder. The heat between you became palpable as the control shifted, “Do you want to be good for me baby?” He whined in return, placing his palms flat on thighs. “Use your words princess.”
“Ye- yes mommy. I want to be good for you.” He choked out, the flush running from chest up his neck.
You smile down at him, “Good. On the bed for me darling, sit against the headboard.”
He nodded, rising to his feet and stumbling as he got on the bed. You turned with him, eyes never leaving his figure. He settled just as you asked, looking like he was already floating. His legs are spread and his palms placed back where they belong.
“What is your safeword?”
It takes him a moment to register what you said, “Lemon, and the color system.”
“Good, place your hands behind your back or under you. Whichever is most comfortable.”
He's moving before you've finished, opting for under his ass. The wiser choice knowing he gets handsy the hornier he gets.
Then you get up from the bed and turn away from him. Slowly walking to the dresser, removing the shirt you’re wearing to fold and place back inside the drawer. Leaving you in nothing but your pink lace panties.
He’s watching your every move. Tracking you like his prey, turning his head as you round the foot of the bed back to him.
“Eyes forward.” And his head snapt to the end of the room. You can see his breathing pick up slightly, you haven’t even touched him.
You crawl onto the bed, straddling one of his thighs and resting your hands on his shoulders. He doesn’t turn his head to look at you, hoping to be rewarded. You can feel his heartrate pick up under your palms.
You run one of your hands up his neck, stopping when your thumb cradles his ear. The other sliding down his chest for your thumb to gently graze his nipple. Sending a jolt though his body, you felt the muscle of his thigh firm and you rolled forward.
He whimpered, keeping his focus on the foot of the bed.
“So responsive my darling.” you dropped your tone, leaning into his chest, “Being such a good boy for me. Do it again wont you, make mommy feel good.” You began to circle his nipple more consistently now. His breath caught and he let out small moans, refusing to hold back the way his legs twitched.
“Thats it,” you rolled your hips forward, dropping your head to his neck and beginning to place open mouth kisses along his flushed skin, “Fuck, Mingi. You feel so good. Doing so good darling.”
He moaned loud into your ear, refusing to hold back anymore. “That's it baby, let me hear you. I’ve barely even touched you and you're already a moaning mess” You leaned forward, pressing your knee rested between his legs firmly against his growing erection. “Hard for me already, probably leaking into your sweats. You think there will be a wet spot already?”
“Hng- yes mommy. So hard for you, make me fe-el so good.” he was moving more now, out of restlessness or desire to please you weren’t sure.
“Look at me,” and he did. Pupils blown, nostrils flaring through his already labored breathing.
“You’re mommy's good boy aren't you. So pliant, so easy. I haven’t even touched your cock and you're so vocal. How long have you needed this darling?”
“Been- been thinking about you all day. How soft you are, your smell. Waiting, waiting for you to come home.” You palmed him through his pants while he spoke. Enjoying how he struggled to get the words out.
Your stomach tighter at his honesty, knowing how much he craved you.
“So patient for me. Should I reward you for your patience baby? Think you deserve it?” He nodded feverishly.
Your palm connected with his cheek, hard. “Tsk, you know better. Use your words darling.”
“Please mommy, please. Want- need to feel you. Please, I didn’t touch myself all day.” He pled, eyes getting glossy.
A familiar warmth flooded your body. Mingi has always been a vocal lover boy but when he was in your control his true soft side always came out.
You began kissing down his neck from the shell of his ear as your hands slid down his body. Stopping at the hem of his sweats, giving his hips a squeeze to encourage a lift. He did and you slid them down his thighs, no boxers. His cock sprang free against his stomach, thick and angry, already soaked in precum.
You sat back on your heels to take him in. Already drunk on you, skin glistening
“Slide down a bit for me darling. You can let your hands rest at your sides.” And he does, knowing what's to come if he continues to listen.
Slinking back up his body you kissed him, straddling both his thighs. Your clothed cunt brushing against his neglected cock, soliciting a deep moan. You kissed him harder now, picking up one of his hands and placing it on your hip. He placed the other to match and began rubbing up and down your sides, kneading the flesh that round out your hips. Teeth clashed as you both let out unabashed moans, spurring the other on.
You began to move as one, falling into a familiar rhythm. Grinding down against him, enjoying the way he would jump as the lace bit against his flesh.
Abruptly you pulled back and set his hands back on the bed. He twitched and whined as you rocked against him.
“Don’t complain now darling, you’ve been so well behaved.” and he nodded back at you. He kept his eyes forward as you rose to your feet, towering over him. Slowly you slid your panties down and discarded them to the floor.
You sat back on your knees, avoiding contact as you leaned back to his lips. Slotting your tongue between his, you sat down on him and he moaned into your mouth. Feeling how wet you were, sliding up and down his length. Giving him some but not all of the pleasure he craved. You felt him strain to hold still, trying not to buck into you.
Then he faltered, rolling his hips to meet yours. He heard it before he felt it. You had slapped him, harder than before.
“Don’t fucking chase.” your hand was on his throat now, just enough pressure for him to feel you, “You will take what I give you and nothing more. Sit still.”
“Yes. I understand. I'm sorry.” his fingers curled into his palms as he spoke.
You hummed in acknowledgment, sitting back to take him in your hand. He was big, filling your whole fist. You squeezed him at the base and he moaned, folding forward. You didn’t release him, pulling your other hand back to slap his inner thigh and he cried out. “Be. Still.”
Nodding his head he sat back against the pillows. Slowly sliding your hand all the way up him, smearing your shared arousal along his length. Your thumb traced his slit as you reached the tip, wiping all his precum over your fingers and the head. You leaned forward once more, eye level with his cock.
“Eyes on me, don’t cum.” Its all the warning you gave him before placing him on your tongue and taking him all the way to your throat. The familiar stretch made you gush, feeling your pussy clench around nothing.
You began to bob your head, taking more of him each time you drew him back in. Every time you looked back up to him his eyes were still on you, just as you instructed. Then you took him all the way down, gagging as your nose came in contact with his pubic bone. He moaned loudly and twitched against the back of your throat. You swallowed around him as many times as you could before coming back up.
“You taste so good princess” He moaned again as you bobbed on his tip faster, taking him all the way into your throat without warning or any sense of rhythm. You could feel his abs tightening under your hand as you rubbed his belly, wanting to feel as much of him as you could. Takinghim all the way to the back of your throat once again you slid your hand up to his chest. Taking the muscle into your hand, kneading it before pinching his nipple harshly.
“Fuck! Gonna cu- please. Gonna cum mommy.” you pulled all the way off enjoying the way his face scrunched and he groaned as his cock slapped against his lower belly.
“Oh no. Did, did you want to cum? Too bad, I’m having far too much fun playing with you. Do you think you can hold it together enough for me to ride you?” You raked your nails down his thighs while you asked.
He nodded and you leaned forward once more. Grabbing his face in your hand you watch the fire behind his eyes glow in anticipation.
‘Use your words. Do you think you can handle it?”
His adamsapple bobbed as he swallowed, holding your eye contact. “Yes, I can take it. Please let me feel you.”
You sat back, making contact with him. The head of his cock rubbing against your clit while you sat there, gently rocking.
“I’m not convinced you really want it, maybe I should just go take care of myself in the bathroom.” You began to sit up.
“No!” He cried out, “please mommy, please. I need to feel you. Miss how tight you are. Please, please I’ve been good- I’ll be good.” You ran your hand up his thigh, rubbing the slightly raised skin.
You sat all the way up on your knees, taking him into your hand. Rubbing all of your arousal that has pooled in your folds along him his tip connecting with your clit. Not caring much about his pleasure. Finally you put him in, rolling your hips just a bit.
“Thankyou thankyou. Fuuuck, thank you baby.” He was doing everything he could to not move or touch you. Opting to dig his nails into his own thigh so as to not disobey your directions.
Without any warning you slid down to the hilt, taking everything he had to give you. You shared a loud moan, enjoying the sting and the stretch that catches you by surprise every time. You felt him twitching inside you, his body begging you to move. In the end his body won, betraying the hold he tried to have over it and bucked up into you.
You slapped him again, pulling a cry from him while you saw the tears run down his cheek.
“Color?” You asked, soothing the mark.
“Green.” His tone was sure and level.
So you struck him again and began to bounce, setting a ruthless pace. Giving little to no care to his own pleasure chasing your own release as he rubbed your g-spot.
“Touch me.” and he did, sliding his hands up your thighs and over your belly. Cascading up your curves around to your shoulder, pulling himself up to your level. Your tongue was on his throat now, licking and nipping at his skin. His hands slid down to your ass, kneading the flesh and relishing in the way it moved with every bounce.
You took him all the way in again, sinking your teeth into his unsuspecting collar bone as he connected with your cervix. He was twitching uncontrollably now, doing everything he could not to cum.
“You’re close aren't you. I can feel it in the way you're holding me, like I can ground you enough to hold on.” You started to move again, agonizingly slow. “You want to cum baby?” You caress his cheek, meeting his eyes.
He nods, eyes heavy and bloodshot.
You kiss him gently before slamming down onto him again, setting a brutal pace. Your hand connects with his cheek, again, and again.
“Do it, cum.” And he does, loudly and shaking. He bucks up into you, milking himself with every stroke. Groaning and crying through it all before he finally falls back releasing you.
You don’t move while he comes down, sliding off his softened cock once his breathing steadies. You stay connected to him, running a hand down his leg before you sip off to the bathroom.
You return with a warm wash rag, wiping it up and down his thighs before producing a cool one for his face. He leans into your touch as you wipe the sweat from his forehead and the tears fom his cheeks.
“How are you doing darling, what do you need? Did so good for me baby, took everything I gave you. Was it too much, does it hurt anywhere?” You scan his face looking for discomfort as you run your hands down his body.
“Oh my perfect wife.” he pulls you into his body, breathing you in deeply. “You were perfect, not too much. I like this side of you, we haven't played like this in a while.” and you nuzzle into him. His heart beat runs before settling down again as you feel him wrap his arms around you, holding you close.
~~~~~~~~
Do not steal, plagiarize, translate or feed to ai. This is a work of fiction and does not reflect the individuals mentioned in the slightest.
A chance meeting at a concert send-off turns into a dangerous flirtation when an idol realizes a calm, unreadable fan knows him far better than she should. What begins as damage control quickly blurs into a private game of power, secrecy, and desire. One neither of them is willing to walk away from.
Character List
You — A composed, magnetic adult content creator who understands the power of anonymity and control.
Kang Yeosang — An idol caught between professionalism and a private obsession he thought was safely hidden.
Jung Wooyoung — The sharp-tongued bandmate who recognizes a crisis when he sees one and pushes for containment.
Content Rating
Rating: Mature (18+)
Warnings: Suggestive sexual content, adult themes, parasocial dynamics, power imbalance, secrecy/identity tension.
Not the Only Fan
The Fan
Send-off was loud in that familiar, controlled way. Fans buzzing, staff ushering people forward, and security reminding everyone to keep it moving. Yeosang slipped into the rhythm easily. Smile. Eye contact. Thank you.
Then you handed him a photocard.
Unlike the frantic energy of the others, you were relaxed. You looked at him with a smile that made the hair on his arms stand up. He went still. His eyes traveled over your face with a slow, searching intensity.
“Hi, great show tonight,” you said, your voice a low, smooth contrast to the chaos.
“Hi,” he breathed.
He didn't look away as quickly as he should have. His eyes narrowed.
“…Have we met before?”
You blinked, playing it cool.
“I don’t think so? I’d probably remember meeting an Angel.”
He didn’t laugh. He was too busy cataloging you.
“Your eyes,” he murmured, almost to himself. “And the way you… you have a very specific way of smiling.”
“Is that a good thing?” you teased.
“It’s a very familiar thing,” he countered, leaning closer. “The last tour stop… you were in the front row, right? Left side?”
You shook your head, seeing his composure was beginning to fray.
“No. I’ve actually never been to an ATEEZ show until tonight.”
Yeosang faltered.
If you weren't at a show, then where?
His mind raced trying to place you. Then, he saw the small, gold necklace you were wearing. It was the same one you’d worn in a “get unready with me” video he’d watched three times the night before.
The blood drained from his face.
He wasn't looking at a fan; he was looking at the woman from the screen. The woman whose private, late-night updates were his favorite escape.
He was a subscriber.
And he’d just spent thirty seconds trying to prove how well he knew your face.
“Oh,” he whispered, the syllable catching in his throat.
His ears turned a violent shade of crimson as the realization hit you both at the same time. He looked completely undone, his professional idol mask totally shattered.
You leaned in, your lips inches from his burning ear, your voice a sultry silk thread.
“It’s always nice to meet a fan,” you murmured.
You pulled back just enough to catch his panicked, blown-out gaze and gave him a quick, deliberate wink.
He let out a sharp, choked-off breath as he handed you back the now signed photocard.
“Your secret’s safe,” you added quietly, as his manager ushered him on to the next group of waiting fans.
Damage Control
The moment the doors closed, Yeosang collapsed onto a sofa in the dressing room.
Wooyoung sauntered over, his usual playful smirk quickly fading into a look of genuine concern as he peered into Yeosang’s dazed face.
“What happened to you?” Wooyoung asked.
“You look like you just saw a ghost. Or like you accidentally liked someone's old post.”
“No way. The girl from your ‘hidden’ folder? She was here?!”
“Yes, and she knows,” Yeosang groaned.
“I practically doxed myself. And then… she called me the fan. She winked at me.”
Wooyoung’s expression shifted to sharp calculation.
“Yeosang, this isn't funny. If she knows who you are on that platform, she has enough leverage to blow up your whole career. You have to handle this. Now. Message her. Use the private chat. Make sure she understands the gravity of this.”
Yeosang hesitated, then felt the weight of his phone in his pocket.
“I'll handle it.”
The Private Tier
In the silence of the hotel room later that night, Yeosang’s thumb hovered over the screen. He was supposed to be cautious, but seeing you in the flesh had changed the game.
kys_ovation:
I’m reaching out because I’m… worried. About the secret. If anyone found out I was the one behind this account, it wouldn't just be a scandal. It would be the end of me.
You:
You mean the fact that one of the biggest idols in the world is my highest paying subscriber?
kys_ovation:
Please. I'm serious. I need to know I can trust you.
You:
Yeosang, please relax. I’m a professional. I keep things private. Especially things important to me. Besides, you were doing so well today… right up until you started describing my smile in front of your manager.
kys_ovation:
I couldn't help it. Seeing you there… It was like the screen was a lie. You’re even more beautiful in person. And that wink? I’m surprised I’m still standing.
You:
Careful. If you keep talking like that, I might have to start making content just for you. A private tier for my favorite ‘fan.’
kys_ovation:
…A private tier? Is that a promise? Because ‘subscriber’ stopped feeling like enough the second you whispered in my ear.
You:
What are you saying, Yeosang? Do you have a request?
kys_ovation:
I don't want what everyone else sees. Not a post for the public. I want… a voice note. Right now. I want to hear you say my name. I want to hear how it sounds when you’re alone in your room thinking about me.
You:
That’s a very specific request. You’ve thought about this before, haven’t you?
kys_ovation:
Every time I log in. I want the version of you that belongs to me, not the internet.
You:
Check your private inbox in about 8 minutes.
And Kang Yeosang? Keep your headphones on. I’d hate for anyone to accidentally hear your ‘loyalty’ reward.
The Eight-Minute Wait
The door clicked open.
Wooyoung walked in, towel around his neck, looking for his charger. He saw Yeosang staring at the clock on his phone, looking winded.
“Did you fix it?” Wooyoung asked.
“Did she promise to stay quiet?”
Yeosang didn't even look up, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm against the bedspread.
“She’s being very cool about it, Wooyoung. We're on the same page.”
“Good,” Wooyoung snorted.
“Just remember: if the staff asks why you’re glowing tomorrow, don't mention the ‘content.’ Mention skincare.”
The Reward
Yeosang waited until the door snapped shut, the click of the latch echoing his own anticipation.
He watched the seconds tick down—
two minutes, fifty-eight seconds… fifty-nine…
The notification pinged.
A voice file, titled simply:
For your ears only.
He slid his high-fi headphones on, the noise-canceling silence making his own pulse sound like a drum in his ears. He hit play, closing his eyes as the darkness of the hotel room suddenly felt suffocatingly small.
The recording started with a soft, static hum. The sound of a quiet room.
Then, a sharp intake of breath, followed by the rustle of sheets that suggested you were lying down, the phone held close to your lips.
“Yeosangie…”
Your voice was a low, honeyed murmur, stripped of the playful edge from the send-off. It sounded intimate, heavy with the kind of intent that made him feel like you were right there, hovering over him, panting in the dark.
“I’ve been thinking about the way you looked at me today. Like you wanted to take me home right then and there. I liked it… knowing I could make an angel fall so easily.”
He felt a hot shiver race down his spine, his grip tightening on his phone.
There was a pause, then a soft, breathy laugh before you continued, your voice dropping to a whisper that felt like a physical touch.
“Hmmm… I think I’m going to enjoy having you all to myself tonight. Sleep well, Yeosang. Try not to dream of me too much… unless of course you want to.”
The recording cut off with a faint, lingering exhale.
Yeosang sat there for a long time, the silence of the room now feeling heavy and electric. He didn't take the headphones off. He just stared at the ceiling, his breath hitched in his throat, his heart refusing to slow down.
Wooyoung was wrong.
This wasn't damage control.
This was an invitation to a game Yeosang had no intention of losing.
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