Figured I’d make a bio since I’m posting here more lately!
My name is Gray. I’m 25 and use she/they pronouns.
I got into Ateez a little over a year ago and I’ve been able to see them twice in concert!
My biases change a lot🧍but Yunho and Wooyoung… beloveds
I also enjoy P1Harmony, Seventeen, SKZ, The Boyz, and Xikers, and am just getting into XLOV, TXT, BTS, and NCT. If you have any recs for groups I should get into/resources for the ones I already like pls feel free to reach out :)
I love language learning, music, good books, and good food!
My DMs are open! I’m a busy bee so I might not respond immediately but I’d love to chat/hear your thoughts/questions/suggestions.
If I start posting more of my own writing, I’ll make a masterlist. For now, it’ll all be tagged under #iykyh writes or #iykyh thoughts
What I post here is often adult content, so I humbly request that MDNI with my blog. Thank you for understanding!
summary: in which you discover you have a thing for when your boyfriend gets pissed off
warning: possessive/jealous/hard dom yunho, bratty sub reader, light bondage, spanking, choking, unprotected sex, squirting, creampie
genre: smut
pairing: idol yunho x afab reader
word count: 10.5k
masterlist
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The bass from the stage bled through the walls like a second heartbeat. Backstage was chaos in motion, staff moving in practiced patterns, headsets crackling, racks of outfits half zipped and half forgotten as the performance hit its opening marks. You stood just off to the side, tablet tucked against your chest, eyes flicking between the live monitor and the stage entrance.
Four years. Four years of doing this, styling, fixing, adjusting, watching from the sidelines as Ateez turned into something untouchable under stage lights. And four years of him. Yunho. You knew his rhythms better than anyone. The way his shoulders loosened when he was confident. The way his smile shifted depending on whether it was for fans or just for you. The tiny tells no one else caught.
Which is why the second the intro video skipped him….. You noticed. On the monitor, the sequence rolled out perfectly for the others, each shot crisp, dramatic, timed to the beat. Then Yunho’s part came. And it skipped him. He froze. Not visibly. Not in a way the crowd would clock. But you did. His posture shifted, just barely. His shoulders going a fraction tighter, his jaw setting in a way that didn’t belong to his usual stage persona. His expression didn’t drop, didn’t break…. but something underneath it did.
A flicker of irritation. Sharp. Controlled. Real. Your breath caught. And there it was. That feeling. Low. Sudden. Familiar in a way you hated admitting. Because you’d seen it before. Not often. Almost never, actually. Yunho wasn’t the type to get mad. Not openly. Not carelessly. He was patient to a fault, steady even when everything around him went to hell. But the few times he had…. A rehearsal that went too long. A staff mistake that kept repeating. That one night, months ago, when Wooyoung pushed him just a little too far and his voice dropped into something quiet and dangerous……
Yeah.
You remembered. You remembered exactly how it felt. The way your stomach tightened. The way your thoughts stopped cooperating. The way something warm and reckless curled low in your chest like it had been waiting for that version of him. And now watching him recover mid performance like nothing happened, like the skip didn’t matter, like he wasn’t even remotely affected….. You knew better.
Because you could still see it. In the tension of his neck. In the way his movements were just a little sharper now. In the way his eyes didn’t soften when the camera finally found him again. You swallowed. Hard. “Did that just skip him?” one of the staff muttered beside you, frowning at the monitor. You didn’t answer. Because you were too busy staring. Too busy thinking….
He’s annoyed.
And worse….
I like it.
Your grip tightened slightly around your tablet. God. That was new. Or maybe not new. Just… finally acknowledged. Yunho hit his next mark perfectly, like always. Clean. Controlled. Untouchable. But you could see it now. And once you saw it…. You couldn’t unsee it. And somewhere between the next beat drop and the next formation change… A thought slipped in. Quiet. Dangerous.
I wonder…
Your tongue pressed lightly against the inside of your cheek.
…what it would take to push him there again.
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The apartment was quiet in that comfortable, lived in way. A low hum from the TV filled the living room, some random show Yeosang had thrown on more for background noise than actual interest. He was sprawled across one end of the couch, half focused, half scrolling on his phone, completely at ease.
You sat at the other end, legs tucked under you, phone in hand as you debated between two different places to order food from. Your thumb hovered over the screen, scrolling, pausing, scrolling again.
The bathroom door clicked open. Yunho’s bedroom door followed. Then silence….. then footsteps. Your eyes flicked up automatically. And there he was. Yunho stepped out, hair damp, a towel slung low on his hips, another one loosely in his hand as he dragged it through his hair. Water still clung to his skin, tracing slow paths down his neck, his chest….
You swallowed.
“Baby…” His voice carried that soft rasp that always came after a hot shower, warm, relaxed, almost. “Did you turn my PC off while I was in the shower?” There it was. You felt it before you even processed the words. That tiny shift. That edge. You bit the inside of your cheek, forcing your expression to stay neutral as you glanced back down at your phone like you hadn’t just been caught.
“You were in the shower…” you said lightly, shoulders lifting in a small shrug. “It was running hot.” Silence stretched just enough to feel it.
“I paused my game.” His voice didn’t raise…. Just lowered. You looked up again. And yeah. There it was. His jaw. Clenched. Not aggressively. Not dramatically. Just tight enough that you could see the muscle flick. “All my progress is gone now.” Your stomach flipped. God. There it was again. That feeling. Stronger this time. Closer. Easier to grab onto now that you knew what it was. You should apologize. You knew you should. That would be the normal thing. The good girlfriend thing.
Instead….. Your lips pressed together, like you were trying to hold something back. “Mm… that sucks.”
Yeosang snorted from the other end of the couch, not even looking up. “You didn’t save?”
“I paused it,” Yunho repeated, a little sharper this time, running the towel through his hair again like he needed something to do with his hands. Your eyes tracked the movement without meaning to. Then back to his face. Still calm. Still controlled. But not soft anymore. And the worst part? You could feel it building. That curiosity. That reckless little thought from a few nights ago creeping back in, louder now.
What happens if you push a little more?
You tilted your head slightly, finally setting your phone down on your lap. “Why didn’t you just save it?” you asked, tone innocent. Too innocent. Yunho’s eyes snapped to yours. Not angry. Not yet. But focused. Sharp. And aware. “You don’t always get the option to save mid match.”
There it was.
That tone.
You felt it like a spark against your skin.
Your fingers curled slightly against your leg. “Oh…… sounds like a you problem.”
Yeosang choked. Coughed into his fist, finally looking over at you like, are you serious right now? But you weren’t looking at him. You were watching Yunho. Waiting. His hand stilled in his hair. Slowly, he lowered the towel. His head tilted just slightly. And his eyes stayed on you. Too long. Too quiet. “You think that’s funny?”
Your pulse kicked. The silence after your comment sat thick in the room. Yeosang had gone very still. The TV kept playing, laugh track and all, but it sounded distant now, like background noise in a dream. Yunho didn’t move. He just kept looking at you. Not confused. Not loud. Just assessing. You felt it crawl up your spine.
You shrugged. Like none of this mattered. Like his jaw wasn’t tight. Like you weren’t acutely aware of the way his chest was still damp, the towel hanging low on his hips, the faint steam still clinging to him. “I’m ordering food,” you said, picking your phone back up, crossing one leg over the other like this was the most normal conversation in the world. “What do you want?”
Yeosang made a small noise. Something between a cough and a stifled laugh as Yunho’s tongue pressed briefly against the inside of his cheek. There it was again. That micro expression. That controlled irritation he almost never let out. “You’re not gonna say sorry?” he asked. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even sharp. But it wasn’t soft either. Your heart did an annoying little skip again.
You kept your eyes on your phone. Pretended to scroll. Pretended you weren’t hyperaware of every shift in the air around him. “For what?” you replied lightly. “You should’ve saved.”
Yeosang very slowly stood up. “I’m… gonna go check something in my room.” Smart man. He didn’t look at either of you as he walked down the hallway, but you heard his door click shut.
Now it was just you.
And him.
And the air felt different.
Quieter.
Thicker.
You could feel his presence before he even moved. Slow footsteps across the floor. Not rushed. Not angry. Deliberate. You swallowed. Still pretending to scroll. Still pretending you weren’t waiting for it as he stopped in front of you. Close enough that your knees almost brushed his legs.
“You’ve been doing that a lot lately,” he said quietly and your breath hitched before you could stop it. “Doing what?” His head tilted slightly. “Acting cute when you know you’re being annoying.” Oh. Your stomach tightened so fast it almost hurt. You forced your expression to stay neutral, even as warmth crept up your neck. “I’m not acting cute,” you murmured.
His gaze dropped to your mouth for half a second. Then back up. “That little tone?” he continued softly. “The shrug? The, sounds like a you problem?” Your pulse was loud in your ears now. You shouldn’t push. You really shouldn’t…..
You gave him another small shrug. “What do you want on your pizza, Yunho?”
The room went very still as he exhaled once through his nose. Not loud. Just steady as he leaned down slightly. Close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. Close enough that you caught the faint scent of soap and steam and him. His hand came down on the back of the couch, right beside your shoulder. Not touching you. Just there. Cornering without actually doing it.
“Keep acting like a brat,” he said softly, voice lower now. “See what happens.”
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The bass in the practice room rattled the mirrors. Ateez were halfway through a run through with bbt when the door cracked open and you slipped inside, arms full of takeout bags. The smell hit first, immediate and distracting. Mingi was the first to notice. “Food!” he yelled, dropping dramatically to the floor mid choreo.
Hongjoong cut the music with a sigh. “Five minute break.”
Sweaty, breathing hard, slightly annoyed from repetition. The room buzzed with leftover adrenaline. Yunho was near the center mirror, hands on his hips, chest rising and falling. His shirt clung to him, damp at the collar. Hair pushed back, eyes focused, still in performance mode.
He hadn’t noticed you yet. You liked that. You walked further in, smiling as the others crowded around. “I come bearing peace offerings,” you said, setting the bags down. “Marry me,” Wooyoung said immediately. “You say that every time,” you shot back.
“Hey.”
Derek. You felt him before you turned. He leaned casually against the wall, water bottle in hand, grin easy, familiar. One of the newer bbt dancers. Talented. Loud. Oblivious. Oblivious to the fact that you weren’t available. “You brought enough for me too?” he asked, stepping closer.
You normally brushed him off. Gave him polite distance. Kept it clear. But today? You could feel Yunho’s presence now. Behind you somewhere. You didn’t turn to check. You didn’t need to. You smiled at Derek. A little warmer than usual. “Of course,” you said lightly. “I always make sure everyone’s taken care of.”
Derek’s grin widened. “See? That’s why you’re my favorite stylist.”
You heard a water bottle hit the floor somewhere behind you. Harder than necessary and your pulse jumped as Derek stepped closer, close enough that his arm brushed yours as he reached for one of the food containers. “You know,” he continued, lowering his voice slightly, “we’re grabbing drinks Friday. You should come.”
You normally would’ve laughed it off. But instead, you tilted your head. “Oh? Who’s we?” He smiled, leaning in just a little. “Me. Obviously.” The air shifted. Subtle. But heavy. You felt it across your shoulders like a weight. You let your eyes flick past Derek’s shoulder. And found him. Yunho was standing a few feet away now. Still. Watching. Not smiling. Not speaking. Just watching.
Your stomach tightened instantly as you turned back to Derek. Let your fingers lightly brush his wrist as you handed him a drink. “I don’t know,” you said softly. “I might be busy.” Derek’s gaze dropped briefly to your hand and he laughed. “Busy can be rearranged.”
Across the room…. Yunho’s expression changed. Not explosive. Not dramatic. Just…. Focused. Sharp. Controlled in a way that wasn’t relaxed anymore. Hongjoong glanced between the three of you. He noticed. Of course he did. “Break’s over in two,” he called, tone neutral but eyes on Yunho.
Derek leaned closer, lowering his voice again. “I could make it worth your while.”
Oh.
That one did it.
You felt it before you saw it. The energy behind you changed. A hand landed on the mirror beside your head. Not touching you. Just there. Close. Heat. Presence. Silence. Derek straightened slightly. “Yunho,” he said casually. “You need her for something?”
Yunho didn’t look at Derek. Not at first. His eyes were on you. “You done?” He asked quietly. Not loud. Not aggressive. Just calm. Too calm. Your heart was beating so hard you were sure Derek could hear it as you turned your head just enough to look up at your boyfriend. All wide eyed false innocence. “Done with what?” Your voice came out soft. Innocent. Perfectly confused. And for half a second, Yunho’s eyes stayed on you. That simmering tension sitting just beneath the surface.
Then he turned. And whatever he’d been holding in? He stopped holding it. His gaze locked onto Derek. Not calm. Not neutral. Not even close. His jaw was tight enough now that the muscle visibly flexed. His shoulders squared. His entire posture shifted in a way that didn’t belong to the gentle, patient version of him everyone was used to. The room felt it instantly. Mingi went quiet. Seonghwa stopped eating mid bite. Even Wooyoung didn’t say anything.
“You’re new,” Yunho said, voice low but no longer soft. “So I’m gonna tell you once.” Derek straightened instinctively, grin slipping off his face. “Don’t flirt with my girlfriend again.” Silence. Thick. Heavy. Final. Your heart slammed so hard it almost hurt. Yunho had never claimed you like that in front of staff. Never like this. Not with that tone. Not with that look.
Derek blinked. “Man, I didn’t…”
“I don’t care what you meant,” Yunho cut in. Not yelling. Worse. Controlled anger. The kind that didn’t need volume. “You don’t touch her. You don’t lean in. You don’t ask her out.” Each sentence landed deliberate. Measured. “You got it?”
Derek swallowed. “Yeah.”
“Good.” And just like that, Yunho stepped back. But the energy didn’t dissipate. It clung to him. His chest still rising a little faster than it should’ve. His eyes still sharp. His hands flexing once at his sides like he was containing something bigger. No one joked. No one teased. They all felt it.
Hongjoong cleared his throat lightly. “Back to work.”
Music started again. Derek retreated to bbt’s side of the room. And you were still standing there. Frozen. Because you’d wanted to see him mad. You’d pushed for it. And now that you had it? It was stronger than you expected. More intense. More possessive.
Slowly, your eyes lifted to him again. He didn’t look at you. Not immediately. He walked back to his spot on the floor. But when he finally did glance over…. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t affectionate. It wasn’t teasing. It was a warning. And something else. Something darker. Something that made heat flood straight through you so fast your knees almost gave.
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The studio smelled like hairspray and coffee. Bright white backdrops. Rolling racks of wardrobe. Stylists weaving in and out with brushes, clips, lint rollers. The kind of organized chaos you’d been living in for years. Ateez were mid rotation through looks, one by one cycling through hair, makeup, wardrobe adjustments before stepping in front of the camera.
Yunho was across the room. Already styled. Already perfect. White button down half open at the collar, sleeves rolled just enough to show forearm, dark slacks tailored to sit just right on his hips. Hair slightly tousled in that effortless way that took twenty minutes to achieve. He wasn’t looking at you. But you could feel it. Every time you moved. Every time you laughed at something someone said.
He wasn’t angry like yesterday. He was watching. And that was worse. Even as the two of you went to bed the night before, he had pulled you into his side, wrapped an arm around you like nothing was wrong.
You were currently standing between Mingi’s knees as he sat in the styling chair, fingers working product through his hair, comb smoothing it back. He’d been suspiciously quiet for a minute. Too quiet. “I know what you’re doing.” You stilled for half a second. “What am I doing?” you asked casually, eyes still on his hair.
Mingi’s mouth twitched. “Don’t play dumb. You’re not that good at it.”
You snorted softly. “You’re dramatic.”
He leaned back in the chair slightly, lowering his voice just enough so only you could hear. “You’ve been poking him for days.” Your fingers paused mid adjustment. “You sure you want to really piss him off?” There wasn’t teasing in his voice. Not entirely. It was observant. Careful. Because Mingi knew. He’d seen Yunho mad before.
You swallowed, pretending to focus on smoothing down a stray section of hair. “I’m not trying to piss him off.” Mingi gave you a look through the mirror. “Yeah, you are.” Your eyes met his in the reflection. And you didn’t deny it. That was answer enough. He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly. “You’re brave.” Or reckless. He didn’t say it, but it lingered.
Across the room, someone called Yunho’s name. He stepped toward the set, adjusting his cuffs. But before he did, his eyes flicked up. Met yours in the mirror. Just for a second. And even from across the room, you felt it. Like he’d already decided something. Your pulse kicked as Mingi followed your line of sight. “See?” he muttered. “That look.”
You tried to keep your voice steady. “What look?”
“That, I’m gonna let you keep running your mouth and acting like a brat, look.”
Heat crawled up your neck as Mingi leaned forward slightly as you finished adjusting his hair. “He’s patient,” he added quietly. “But when he’s done being patient?” He let that sentence hang. You hated how your stomach tightened at that. You stepped back, brushing your hands together lightly. “All done,” you said.
Mingi stood, but before walking toward the set, he leaned close to your ear. “Just make sure you actually want what you’re asking for.” Then he walked off. Leaving you standing there. Breathing just a little too fast.
Across the room Yunho stepped into the lights. And when the photographer started directing him… he didn’t look soft. He didn’t look playful. He looked focused. Controlled. Like he was holding something back. And for the first time since you started this little experiment…. You wondered if maybe… You’d pushed far enough.
You stayed near the edge of the set, arms crossed loosely, eyes tracking him without meaning to. The camera shutter clicked in steady bursts. “Chin down… yeah, right there…. hold it.” Yunho didn’t miss a single mark. Every movement precise. Every angle sharp. He shifted between poses like second nature, hand brushing through his hair, head tilting just enough, eyes locking into the lens with that same controlled intensity you’d been noticing all day.
And every once in a while… his gaze would flick past the camera. Find you. Just for a second. Long enough to make your stomach twist. Then he’d look away again like nothing happened. Like he wasn’t watching you back. The photographer finally stepped back with a satisfied nod. “That’s a wrap.”
The room exhaled. Energy shifted instantly, staff relaxing, someone turning off one of the lights, the music lowering. Jongho stretched, groaning. “Finally.” Wooyoung dropped dramatically onto a nearby couch. “I need alcohol. Immediately.” San snorted. “You always need alcohol.”
“Yeah, but now it’s justified.” Seonghwa djusted his sleeve, glancing around. “There’s that bar a block from KQ.” Jongho raised a brow. “The private one?”
“Mm,” Seonghwa nodded. “No fans. No cameras. Just us.”
Wooyoung was already standing. “Say less.”
Jongho grabbed his phone. “I’m in.”
Mingi looked over at Yunho. “You coming?”
There was a brief pause. Yunho was by the mirror, fingers adjusting the cuff of his shirt again, something he’d done three times already. “Yeah,” he said finally. Short. Simple. But when he turned, his eyes flicked to you. And stayed there. The noise of the room faded for a second. Just enough for you to feel it. That same look from earlier.
Wooyoung clapped his hands. “Alright, whoever is coming, grab your stuff, five minutes.”
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The bar was low lit and tucked away, exactly like Seonghwa promised. Warm amber lighting, leather booths, no phones pointed their way, no whispers. Just music low enough to talk over and drinks arriving steadily.
Hongjoong and Seonghwa didn’t come, but the rest of the group had taken over a long curved booth in the back corner. Mingi and Wooyoung were already arguing about something ridiculous. San was laughing too loud. Jongho was pretending he wasn’t keeping track of everyone’s alcohol intake even though he was drinking more than everyone. Yeosang was wiping his face where San landed a sloppy kiss.
You sat between Mingi and Yunho. Close enough to feel both of them. Mingi’s shoulder occasionally bumping yours when he laughed. Yunho’s high brushing against yours every time he shifted. And that was the problem. He was… relaxed. Completely. Three drinks in, shoulders loose, posture open. Laughing at something Wooyoung said. Head tipped back slightly when he smiled. Soft again. Easy. No tension in his jaw. No edge in his eyes. Like you losing his game progress hadn’t happened. Like the practice room hadn’t happened. Like the photoshoot hadn’t happened. Like you hadn’t spent almost the entire week carefully prodding him to see that look again.
Your fingers tightened around your glass. Why was that annoying? You didn’t even know. You should’ve been relieved. You should’ve liked this version more. This was your boyfriend. The one you loved more than anything. The patient one. The affectionate one. The one who rested his arm casually along the back of the booth behind you without even thinking about it.
But instead…. You felt restless. Your eyes slid sideways toward him. He was mid conversation with Mingi now, smiling, completely unbothered. And it irritated you. Which was ridiculous. You shifted in your seat slightly, crossing your legs the other way. Your knee brushed his thigh more deliberately this time. He didn’t react. Just kept talking.
Your jaw tightened faintly and Mingi noticed. Of course he did. He leaned closer, voice low enough that only you could hear. “You look disappointed.” You shot him a glare. “Shut up.” He smirked into his drink. Across from you, Wooyoung nudged Yeosang . “Look at her. She’s plotting something.”
Yunho’s head turned to you. Finally. His gaze dropped to you. Soft. Curious. “You good?” he asked. And that…. that might’ve been worse. The casual concern. The gentle tone. Your pulse jumped anyway. “I’m fine,” you replied too quickly. He studied you for a second longer. Then his thumb brushed lightly against your side where his arm rested behind you. A subconscious touch. Affectionate. Warm.
You almost flinched. Because that wasn’t what you’d been chasing. You hated that you missed the tension. Hated that you were almost… craving it. You leaned back slightly, pulling just out of his touch without making it obvious. His hand stilled for a second. There. A tiny shift. But it disappeared just as fast. He picked up his drink. Relaxed. Unbothered as Mingi leaned close again, voice a quiet murmur. “You mad he’s not mad?” Your teeth pressed together. “I’m not mad.”
Mingi hummed skeptically. Across the table, Wooyoung suggested shots. Yunho laughed, nodding along. And you just sat there. Agitated. Because for the first time since you started this… You weren’t the one controlling the reaction. He was. And he was choosing not to give you what you wanted.
Thirty minutes later, the table was louder. Looser. Messier. Empty shot glasses scattered between half finished drinks, laughter spilling too easily now, conversations overlapping in that chaotic way that only happened when everyone was just drunk enough. And you were definitely feeling it. Your head lighter, your thoughts less careful. Mingi clinked another shot glass against yours. “You’re keeping up surprisingly well.” You smirked, already lifting it. “You sound surprised.”
“I am. Yunho usually cuts you off by now.”
Your eyes flicked across the table where Yunho had moved to, leaned back in the booth, arm slung over the back, talking to Jongho. Still calm. Relaxed. Still not reacting. Your jaw tightened slightly as you tipped another shot back. The burn barely registered this time. Mingi watched you, eyes narrowing just a bit as he caught on. “Oh, you’re in a mood,” he muttered.
You ignored him. Because your focus had already shifted back to Yunho. Still laughing. Still easy. Still not giving you anything. Fine. You pushed off the table slightly, leaning closer into Mingi’s space instead, shoulder brushing his arm more deliberately now. “Another?” you asked, voice lighter, looser.
Mingi raised a brow. “You sure?” You tilted your head, giving him a small, challenging smile. “What? Can’t keep up?” He huffed out a laugh. “That’s not what I…”
“Then pour it.”
Across the table Yunho’s voice paused. Just for a second. You felt it. That shift. Subtle. But there. Mingi noticed too. His eyes flicked toward his best friend, then back to you. “You’re really doing this, huh?” You didn’t answer. Just held his gaze. Daring. Mingi sighed under his breath but poured the shot anyway.
You took it from him, your fingers brushing his a little longer than necessary. And this time you didn’t even try to hide it. You threw it back. Set the glass down with a soft clink. And laughed. Laughed a little louder than usual at whatever Wooyoung said next, leaning into Mingi again, your knee pressing against his under the table.
Across from you, Yunho had gone quiet. Not visibly. No one else would notice. But you did. Because now he wasn’t looking at Jongho anymore. He was looking at you. Not soft. Not curious. Not relaxed. Your pulse spiked instantly as you leaned even closer to Mingi, lowering your voice like you were telling him something secret. You weren’t. But it didn’t matter.
Because from where Yunho was sitting, It looked like you were. Mingi froze for half a second. “You’re actually using me to try to get a reaction,” he muttered. You smiled. Slow. Dangerous. “Maybe.”
Yunho set his glass down. Not hard. Just… deliberate. His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. There it was. Finally. That tension creeping back in. That control tightening instead of loosening. Mingi glanced at his best friend and groaned. “Yeah,” he muttered, leaning back. “You got it.”
You barely heard him. Because all your attention was on Yunho now. The tension was thick. Not loud. Not explosive. Just there. Yunho hadn’t said a word since setting his glass down. He didn’t need to. The look was enough.
Wooyoung suddenly slapped the table. “Someone come play pool with me. I’m bored.”
Jongho waved him off. “You cheat.”
“I don’t cheat. I improvise.”
San smirked into his drink. “Same thing.”
Wooyoung stood, already halfway toward the pool table near the back of the bar. “Fine. I’ll go alone.” You slid out of the booth before you even fully thought about it. “I’ll play.”
Mingi’s head snapped toward you. “Oh my god.”
You were smiling. Loose. Buzzed. Reckless and Wooyoung lit up immediately. “Yes! Finally someone with taste.” He grabbed your hand dramatically, tugging you toward the table. You giggled, stumbling slightly as you followed him, Yunho watching you. Watching Wooyoung’s hand wrapped around yours. Watching you let him pull you away.
The pool table was under softer lighting, a little removed from the main booth but still in clear view. Wooyoung handed you a cue stick, grinning. “You’re definitely gonna lose.”
“You underestimate me,” you shot back, leaning over the table to line up your shot. You were aware. Very aware. Of how you looked right now. The slight sway in your balance. The way your shirt rode up just slightly when you bent. The way your laughter carried.
Wooyoung circled the table dramatically. “Wow. That’s terrible form.”
You smirked at him. “Then fix it.”
He stepped behind you without hesitation, hands coming to guide your arms playfully. It was innocent. But from across the room…. It didn’t look that way. Your eyes flicked up. And there he was. Yunho hadn’t moved from the booth. But he wasn’t relaxed anymore. He wasn’t leaning back. Forearms resting on his thighs. Watching.
Your stomach flipped as Wooyoung leaned close to your ear. “You’re insane.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re poking the bear in public.”
You swallowed down a grin. “He’s not a bear.”
Wooyoung glanced toward the booth again. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Okay.”
You straightened up after missing the shot completely and Wooyoung laughed loudly. “Terrible. Absolutely terrible.” You shoved him lightly. “Shut up.” Your hand lingered on his arm half a second longer than necessary.
Yunho stood and your pulse spiked. Wooyoung saw it too. “Shit.” he breathed. Across the room, Mingi muttered something into his drink that sounded suspiciously like “I told her.” As Yunho walked toward you. Slow. Measured. Not rushing. Which somehow made it worse. You could feel the shift in the air before he even reached the table.
Wooyoung raised both hands immediately. “I’m innocent.” Yunho didn’t look at him. His eyes were on you. Wooyoung blinked. “Okay. That’s my cue.” Coward. Now it was just you. And Yunho. And the low hum of the bar around you. You leaned casually against the table’s edge, pretending this didn’t feel like standing in front of a loaded weapon. “Didn’t know you wanted to play,” you said lightly.
Yunho chalked the tip of the cue he picked up slowly. Too slowly. His eyes lifted to you. “Didn’t know you needed help.” Your pulse skipped as he stepped around the table, movements deliberate. Lined up a shot without breaking eye contact. Crack. Two balls sank clean. He walked around you to reposition. Close enough that the heat of him brushed your side as he passed. Your breath caught as he leaned in slightly. Not touching. Just enough that you felt his presence right behind you.
“You’re being a brat.”
Your stomach tightened so fast it almost hurt. You swallowed, forcing a small scoff. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He moved around you again, circling, assessing the table like you were just another piece in the game. “You do.” Another shot. Clean. Controlled. He set the cue down lightly, stepping closer this time. Not enough for anyone else to notice anything unusual. But enough for you to feel cornered without actually being cornered.
“You’ve been poking at me all week,” he continued quietly. “At home. At practice. Here.” Your heart was racing now as you forced a shrug. “Maybe you’re just sensitive.” His jaw tightened as he leaned down slightly, hand braced on the table beside your hip. “Sensitive?” he repeated softly. The music felt distant. The room felt smaller. You hated how warm you felt under his gaze. Thighs clenched together now. Hated how obvious it probably was.
“You want me annoyed?” he asked, voice still calm. “Is that it?” Your breath stuttered. You didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Because he saw it. The way your pulse jumped. The way your mouth parted just slightly. The way you didn’t deny it. He straightened slowly and smiled. Not soft. Not sweet. Something sharper. “You think that’s cute?”
Your fingers tightened against the edge of the table. “You’re drunk,” you muttered.
“I’m not drunk,” he replied evenly. “I’m patient.” The way he said it… made it sound temporary. His hand brushed the cue stick again, then he leaned in one last time, voice barely audible. “Careful what you ask for.” Then he stepped back. Completely composed. Like he hadn’t just called you out. Like he hadn’t just seen straight through you. Like he hadn’t just turned the game around.
The table reset. You grabbed the cue before he could fully take position again. “Ladies first,” you said sweetly. He stepped back just enough to let you. But his eyes didn’t leave you. Not once. You leaned over the table dramatically this time. Too dramatically. Taking your time lining up a shot that didn’t need that much concentration. You missed. On purpose. “Oops,” you murmured.
Yunho didn’t react. Just walked around you, stepping into position. You moved the cue ball slightly with your fingers while his back was turned. Just a nudge. Just enough. You knew he hated when someone cheated.
Mingi, watching from the booth, choked on his drink. “Oh god,” he muttered as Yunho straightened slowly. He’d seen it. Of course he had. “You just moved that,” he said calmly. You widened your eyes. “Moved what?”
“The cue ball.”
“I did not.” You bent down again, lining up another shot, this time letting your hip bump lightly against his thigh. “You’re delusional,” you said softly. Crack. Another ball sank, because of where you’d moved the cue. You grinned. “That counts.”
Yunho inhaled slowly through his nose as he stepped around the table again, jaw tightening slightly. “You’re cheating.”
“I’m not cheating,” you said innocently. “I’m improvising.”
He stopped walking. Oh. That one hit. Because that was Wooyoung’s line earlier. You were layering it on now. He moved closer this time. Not touching. Just close enough that you felt the warmth of him at your side. “Play properly,” he said quietly.
“Make me.” You shouldn’t have said it like that. You knew you shouldn’t have. But the alcohol was warm in your veins and the look in his eyes was exactly what you’d been chasing. His jaw flexed as he reached down and repositioned the cue ball back to where it had been. “You keep that up,” he murmured just for you, “and I’m gonna stop playing nice.”
Your stomach dropped in the best possible way. You leaned in again, pretending to adjust your stance. And very obviously tapped another ball slightly with your fingers when he wasn’t looking. He froze. His head turned slowly toward you. “You’re really testing me tonight.”
Your lips curved. “Maybe I just like winning.”
He stepped closer. Close enough that your back brushed lightly against his chest. One hand came down flat on the table beside you. The other took the cue from your hands. Firm. Not rough. But not gentle either. “Winning?” he repeated quietly. Your pulse was hammering now. You tilted your head back slightly, looking up at him. And you could see it. The annoyance was real now.
“You’re not even subtle,” he said.
Your voice came out softer than you meant it to. “Maybe I don’t want to be.” His eyes darkened slightly, hand gripping at your hip now….. His jaw tight. Then he tapped the cue lightly against the table. “Break,” he said flatly. “I need the restroom.”
You rolled your eyes playfully. “Running away?” He didn’t answer. Just gave you one long look. The kind that said, don’t. Then he turned and walked toward the back hallway. You exhaled slowly once he disappeared around the corner. Your pulse was still elevated. Your skin still buzzing. You hadn’t expected him to walk away.
For a split second, you felt weirdly deflated. Then…. A shadow fell across the pool table. “Didn’t know they let angels play pool alone.” You blinked, cringing at the pickup line. Great. A stranger. Mid twenties. Slightly drunk. Smiling too confidently. “I’m not alone,” you replied flatly, stepping back slightly.
He leaned an elbow on the table anyway. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“I’m good,” you said, turning your attention back to the cue like he didn’t exist. He didn’t leave. Instead, he stepped closer. “Come on. Just one drink.”
“I said I’m good.”
Across the room, Mingi noticed first. His posture shifted subtly. Then Wooyoung. The guy stepped even closer. Too close now. “You don’t gotta act shy.”
“I’m not shy,” you said sharply.
He reached toward your arm. That was enough. Mingi was already standing, moving. “Why don’t we back off,” Mingi said calmly, stepping between you and the stranger. The guy scoffed. “You her boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Then I’m not talking to you.”
And before Mingi could react, the guy leaned past him. Hand landing on your waist. You froze and Mingi’s jaw tightened instantly, shoulders squaring. He was about to push him. You could see it. But he didn’t get the chance. Because the guy’s body suddenly jerked backward. Hard. A fist collided with his jaw. The crack of it cut through the bar noise like glass shattering. The guy stumbled back, nearly falling.
Yunho. He grabbed the guy by the collar before he could recover and drove another punch into his face. Chaos erupted instantly. Chairs scraping. Someone shouting. Wooyoung jumping up from the booth. “Shit! Time to go!”
Jongho was already moving. Yeosang grabbing jackets. San pulling Mingi back before he joined in as Yunho shoved the guy off him and stepped back, fists still clenched, breathing hard. The guy was dazed, bleeding from his lip, stunned. “Touch her again,” Yunho said low, deadly calm now in a way that was far worse than yelling, “and I won’t stop.”
“Let’s go!” Wooyoung barked.
Mingi grabbed your wrist gently. “Let’s go.” You didn’t move. You couldn’t. Because you were staring at your boyfriend. You’d wanted him mad. You’d chased it. Provoked it. Played with it. But this wasn’t playful irritation. This was protective. Possessive. Real.
“Move,” Jongho said sharply.
Yunho grabbed your hand this time. Firm. And pulled you toward the exit as the rest of the guys spilled out behind you. The cold night air hit your face like a slap. The bar door slammed shut behind you. And only then did he let go. He was still breathing hard. Still keyed up. Still visibly pissed.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
The apartment door slammed so hard the walls seemed to feel it. Silence followed. Heavy. Sharp. Yunho didn’t move far from the door after closing it, one hand still braced against it, head slightly bowed like he was trying to get a grip on himself.
You stood a few steps inside. Heart still racing. The adrenaline hadn’t left yet. Neither had the tension. Yeosang glanced between the two of you, already reading the room perfectly. “I’m gonna shower,” he said quietly. No one stopped him. The bathroom door shut a second later.
Yunho exhaled once, slow and controlled, before pushing off the door. “You think that was funny?” His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. You crossed your arms instinctively, leaning back slightly like you needed the space. “I didn’t do anything,” you said, but it came out weaker than you meant.
His head tilted. Not amused. “You didn’t do anything?” he repeated. You felt your chest tighten. “I told him to leave me alone.”
“And before that?” he shot back. There it was. Not yelling. But no patience left. “You were flirting with Mingi, my best friend. With Wooyoung. Acting like….” he cut himself off, jaw tightening again. You bristled. “I wasn’t acting like anything.”
His eyes snapped to yours. “Don’t,” he said sharply. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what you were doing.” Your pulse jumped. Because he was right. And you hated how easily he saw through you. You swallowed, lifting your chin slightly. “Maybe I just wanted your attention.” The words slipped out before you could soften them.
Yunho stared at you. Like he was piecing everything together all at once. “That’s what this is?” he asked, quieter now, like he didn’t believe you. You didn’t answer. His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. A small, almost disbelieving exhale left him. “You wanted my attention,” he repeated.
You shifted slightly under his gaze, but you didn’t back down. “You were ignoring me,” you muttered.
“I was letting it go,” he corrected immediately. “Because I thought you’d stop acting like a brat.”
Your stomach twisted. “I didn’t want you to let it go,” you admitted, softer now.
“So you kept pushing,” he said. Not a question. “And tonight?” he continued. “That guy?”
“I didn’t… I can handle myself,” you said.
“I know you can,” he replied immediately. And that wasn’t what you expected. That threw you off. His voice was still firm, still edged, but not dismissive. “I’m not saying you can’t,” he continued. “I’m saying I shouldn’t have had to step in like that.” The room fell quiet again. Your chest felt tight. Not from tension this time. From something heavier.
“You scared me,” he added after a beat. That hit differently. Your eyes flicked up to his. The anger was still there. But underneath it…. something real. You swallowed. “I didn’t think it would go that far,” you admitted.
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing once across the small space like he needed to burn off the leftover adrenaline. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It did.” Silence stretched again. Thicker. More grounded now. Less game.
You shifted your weight, arms uncrossing slowly. “I like it,” you said finally.
He stopped moving. Turned back to you. “Like what?”
“When you get like that,” you admitted quietly. “When you’re annoyed. Or… mad.”
His expression stilled.
“I don’t know why,” you added quickly. “I just….”
“You like it,” he finished for you. You nodded. Small. Honest. And for a second he just looked at you. Really looked. Like he was recalibrating everything he thought he understood about the last few days. Then he exhaled. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” he muttered.
Your lips twitched faintly despite yourself. “Yeah,” you said softly. “I know.” The tension didn’t disappear. But it shifted. Less sharp. More… charged. Yunho didn’t move right away after you said it. Didn’t rush you. “You’re such a fucking brat.”
Your pulse jumped. “Maybe.”
He stepped toward you. Not fast. Every step felt… deliberate. Measured. Like he was choosing exactly how close to get. You didn’t move back. You didn’t move at all. And that told him everything. He stopped just in front of you. Close enough that you had to tilt your head slightly to keep eye contact. Close enough that your breathing wasn’t steady anymore.
His gaze dropped briefly to your mouth. Then back to your eyes. “Brat.” He repeated and your fingers curled slightly at your sides as his hand came up, tilting your chin up properly. “My brat.” Your stomach dropped. Heat flooding through you instantly. You didn’t look away. Couldn’t. “Your brat,” you breathed.
His jaw tightened slightly. “My brat.” He repeated then his hand dropped from your chin. But he didn’t step away. He stepped closer. Close enough that you felt his chest brush yours. “Go.”
You blinked, brows furrowed. “What?”
A faint, almost dangerous smile touched his mouth. “Room,” he said simply.
Your heart slammed. There was no teasing in it. No softness. Just instruction. And you loved it. You hesitated for half a second, just enough to test him. Because of course you did. A tiny, defiant pause. His eyes darkened immediately. “There you go again,” he murmured. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Your stomach flipped so hard it almost hurt. Yeah. This was new. This wasn’t the patient, easygoing version of him. This was controlled. Firm. Commanding in a way that made your thoughts go fuzzy. You turned. Finally. Walking toward the bedroom. Aware of him behind you. Not rushing. Not chasing. Just… following. Like he knew exactly where this was going. Like he was letting you take those few steps…. Before he took control of the rest.
The bedroom door clicked shut behind you. Louder than it should’ve. Or maybe everything just felt louder now. You barely made it two steps into the room before you felt him behind you, close, steady, not touching yet but there. Watching. Always watching. You turned slowly.
Yunho was leaning back against the door, arms relaxed at his sides, but nothing about him felt relaxed. Not his posture. Not his gaze. Not the way his eyes tracked every little movement you made. The room felt smaller. Like it belonged to him now. Like you did. He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “We’ve been together four years…” Your breath hitched. His voice wasn’t raised. Wasn’t sharp. But it wasn’t soft either. It carried weight. “why be a brat now?”
It landed right in your chest. You swallowed. Because there wasn’t an easy answer. Not one that didn’t make you sound a little unhinged. You shifted your weight slightly, fingers brushing against your own arm like you needed something to ground yourself. “I just…. It’s not like you always show you’re annoyed or mad…. you usually hide it….”
“And you really like that?” he pressed. Your breath wasn’t steady anymore. “When you get… like earlier,” you said softly. “When you’re not being patient with me.”
His eyes darkened just a fraction. “And instead of saying that,” he said slowly, “you decided to push every button I have.”
You gave a small, almost sheepish shrug. “Maybe.”
“You think that’s smart?” he asked. His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek again. He stepped closer. Close enough that your back instinctively hit the edge of the dresser behind you. His hand came up, fingers brushing your chin, not rough, but firm enough to keep your attention where he wanted it. “If that’s what you wanted,” he said quietly, “you could’ve just asked.”
Your breath caught. “That’s not as fun,” you murmured before you could stop yourself. His eyes flashed. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I figured.” His thumb brushed lightly along your jaw once before his hand dropped. “Since you like pushing,” he continued, voice steady, controlled, “we’re gonna fix that.”
Your pulse spiked instantly. You shouldn’t like the way that sounded. But you did. A lot. You could already feel yourself getting wet in anticipation.
His hand came back up, fingers wrapping around your chin again, tilting your head back so you had no choice but to look up at him again.”Look at me,” he said quietly. Like you had any other option. Your pulse was racing now. His eyes searched yours for a second. Making sure. Checking. “Take off your clothes.”
Your stomach dropped and heat flooding through you just as fast. You didn’t move right away. Of course you didn’t. Just a slight pause. A breath. That same instinct to test him one more time. His grip tightened just a fraction. “There it is again,” he murmured. Your lips parted slightly. “You don’t get to hesitate now.”
Your fingers slowly moved to the hem of your shirt. Eyes still locked on his. And the entire time he didn’t look away. Didn’t soften. Didn’t step in to help. He just watched. Just stood there, gaze steady, taking in every second. By the time you were done, your breathing wasn’t steady anymore. It was breathless, chest rising and falling, naked.
He stepped forward again. Your back brushed the dresser behind you, nowhere else to go, but you didn’t try to move anyway. You didn’t want to. His hand came to your waist briefly, sliding down, one finger slipping to see just how wet you already were. He had to bite back a groan. His other hand moved to his belt. The soft sound of it sliding free filled the room. “I want to see…” he said, voice low, controlled, right at your ear now, “how long you can keep that little attitude up.”
Your lips parted like you were about to say something…. Something smart. Something defiant. But it didn’t make it out. Because he kissed you. Not soft. Not rushed. Deliberate. Enough to shut you up. Enough to remind you who was setting the pace now. And in that moment, you didn’t notice what he was doing. Not fully. Not until your hands were guided behind you. Your breath caught. He was looping the belt around your wrists. Securing them behind your back.
“You’re real quiet all of a sudden,” he murmured as your chest rose and fell a little faster, then he dipped his head, tugged one of your nipples into his mouth, teeth nipping at it before pulling back. You stood there, no teasing left in your voice. No easy defiance.
Yunho’s gaze didn’t leave your face as his hand lifted again, slow, like every movement was chosen, not rushed. His thumb brushed lightly across your nipple, just enough to make your breath hitch again, just enough to remind you how aware you were of everything now. Heightened. Sensitive. Your hands bound behind you only made it worse. No control.
His other hand slid lower, fingers trailing along your side, down your hip again, until they rested against your thigh, firm, grounding, claiming without saying the word. You shivered and felt it. “I need to know…” he said quietly, voice low enough to wrap around you, “how out of control you want me.”
And there it was. Not just dominance. Choice. Because beneath all of this, he was still just your boyfriend. Still making sure. Still giving you the space to stop it. But you didn’t want to. Not even a little. Your chest rose, breath catching as you held his gaze. “All the way,” you whispered. It came out softer than you expected. But steady. Certain.
His hand tightened slightly against your thigh. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to anchor you. “Good,” he murmured as his hand moved again, firmer now, less testing, more certain, guiding your attention back to him, to where he wanted it.
“Get on your knees.” The words landed heavy. Your fingers tightened against the belt behind your back, a small, instinctive pull as that familiar defiance sparked again. You tilted your chin up slightly. “Make me.”
Yunho’s expression didn’t explode. Didn’t snap. It went still. Completely. His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek once. One hand came up, gripping your chin again, tilting your head just enough to keep your eyes exactly where he wanted them. “You really don’t know when to stop,” he murmured.
Your pulse hammered. But you didn’t look away. Didn’t back down. “You want me to make you?” he asked quietly. Your breath hitched. You nodded. Just once. And that was all he needed. His hand slid from your chin down to your shoulder, firm, guiding, until you were on your knees, looking up at him. “You don’t get to challenge me,” he said, voice low, steady, right above you now. “And then act surprised when I follow through.”
He stepped back just enough to give himself space and your eyes followed him instantly. He reached for his shirt first. Undoing each button one at a time like he had nowhere else to be. Your lips parted slightly. You couldn’t help it. Because normally your hands would already be on him. Helping. Pulling. Touching.
The shirt slipped from his shoulders, falling somewhere behind him, completely forgotten. Then his hands moved lower. To his waistband. Not rushing. Not even looking down as he adjusted it, just enough to make your stomach twist.
You shifted slightly on your knees. Instinct. Frustration. Need. He noticed. Of course he did. A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. “That look,” he said quietly. “you’re about to get impatient.”
Your jaw tightened slightly. “I’m not impatient.”
“Yeah?” he replied as his hand came down, brushing lightly along your shoulder, not enough to comfort, just enough to remind you he could touch you whenever he wanted. “You always get like this,” he continued, voice low, almost thoughtful now. “Hands all over me. Can’t keep still….. And now you can’t,” he added softly as he stepped back again, gripping his waistband and shoving his pants and boxers down, kicking them across the floor.
Your fingers flexed again behind your back, a small, frustrated movement as you saw how hard he was. You leaned forward. Already there. Already giving in. Your breath uneven, your lips parted, your body reacting before your mind could even catch up. And he saw it. And, God, he loved it. The way you didn’t even try to hide it anymore. The way all that attitude from earlier was slipping, piece by piece.
Yunho’s hand moved, steady at the back of your head, guiding himself closer, just brushing at your lips, not forcing, just enough to keep your attention exactly where he wanted it. “You want it,” he murmured, tracing his tip against your parted mouth like he was helping you put on lip balm. Your breath hitched. Because you did. And he knew it. His fingers tightened just slightly in your hair as he tilted your head up a fraction, making you look at him again instead of down. That alone made your chest tighten. Because he wasn’t giving it to you yet. He wanted you to feel it. To need it. Your fingers flexed uselessly behind your back again. That small movement didn’t go unnoticed.
“You know what…” he stared down at you. “I don’t you deserve to have me in your mouth.” Your stomach dropped. “
“But…”
He cut you off with a small tilt of his head. “After the way you’ve been acting this week?” he murmured. “I don’t think you’ve earned to swallow me.”
Your breath stuttered as you shifted slightly, frustration creeping in, your voice coming out softer than you intended. “Yunho….” A warning. A plea.
“Careful,” he said quietly. “You don’t get to start begging now like you weren’t just pushing me all night.”
You barely had time to react. One second you were still on your knees…. The next… He was pulling you up. Your balance tipped instantly without your hands, a soft gasp leaving you as he dragged you with him, steps quick and purposeful toward the bed. You stumbled, then fell back onto it, the mattress dipping under you as you landed. Your breath hitched. Heart racing.
Yunho didn’t rush after you. He followed slower. He was taking his time getting there. “Turn over.”
Your breath caught. There was no hesitation in him now. No question. Just instruction. When you didn’t move right away, he arched a brow at you. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”
You listened. Shifting on the bed, rolling over slowly, your hands still bound behind you making the movement clumsy, exposing in a way you weren’t used to. Vulnerable.
The mattress dipped behind you as he moved closer, presence immediately felt even before he touched you. A hand came to your back. Firm. Guiding. Keeping you exactly where he wanted you. Your breath stuttered as his hand traced slowly along your spine, not gentle, not rough, just there, intentional, grounding. “Where’d all that attitude go?”
Your fingers flexed behind your back again, a quiet, frustrated movement. “…still here,” you muttered.
“Yeah?” His hand pressed slightly more firmly against your lower back. “Doesn’t feel like it.” His hand kept guiding, trailing. You could feel his dick pressed against you….
His hand came down hard, sharp, against your ass. Your breath broke instantly, a soft moan slipping out before you could stop it and the room went still. Neither of you moved as your chest rose and fell quickly, your body reacting before your mind could catch up, heat rushing through you in a way that had nothing to do with embarrassment.
“You liked that,” Yunho said quietly. Not teasing. Not joking. Realizing. Your fingers flexed behind your back, breath uneven as you tried to steady it. You didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Because your body already had. His hand came back to your lower back. Not striking again yet. Just resting there. “…good to know,” he murmured.
You felt the belt tighten slightly around your wrists. Not harsh. Just firm. His grip closing around it, reminding you exactly how little control you had right now. Then his other hand came down again. Sharp. This time, you weren’t caught off guard. Your body reacted instantly, a broken breath slipping out, softer but more aware than before. And that did something to him. You felt it in the way his grip on the belt tightened just slightly.
His hand slid up your back again, slower this time, tracing the path he’d already learned made you react. “You like being punished,” he added quietly and your fingers curled again behind your back, instinctive, useless.
His grip on the belt shifted again, steadying you as he leaned slightly closer, his dick pressing against you, his tip brushing where you needed him and just as you were about to snap, he thrusted, sinking into you, knocking your breath out. He groaned, feeling the way your walls instantly clenched him. “Fuck….”
“Fucking move!” You snapped, voice broken, hands gripping the sheets. Yunho let out a breathless laugh. Then he moved. He pulled all the way back out then slammed back into you. His hands gripped your hips, thrusts hard, deep, pounding.
He moved one hand to his belt still bound around your wrists, holding you exactly where he wanted you, every movement controlled, measured, like he was testing how far he could push before you finally broke. And you were close. Your breathing was uneven now, every reaction coming quicker than the last, your body giving you away no matter how much you tried to hold onto that last bit of attitude.
“Still got something to say?” he growled, clenching his jaw, watching his dick slip in and out of you as you huffed out a breath, trying to push back, even now. “…you’re annoying.” A quiet, low laugh left him again. “Yeah?” he said.
His hand dragged slowly up your back again, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath catch. “Doesn’t sound like it.” And he was right, because you were whimpering now, moaning, barely able to hold yourself up. The obscenity of the squelching noises leaving from where he buried himself repeatedly echoed. “Fuck…. you hear that…. pussy talking to me…”
“Stop….” your voice broke, frustration finally spilling over, “fuck me like you mean it already!” The words came out sharper than anything you’d said all night.
Yunho exhaled slowly through his nose, jaw still tight, control still there, but thinner now. Your breath broke instantly. Tension snapping. Frustration melting into something heavier. Something deeper. His fingers pressed more firmly into your hips, anchoring you as he set the pace slower, watching as you started to cream on him and his eyes almost rolled to the back of his head at the sight.
“Yunho…” You moaned, broken, you could feel, pressure building, feel the sudden gush as you squirted, your voice gone, mouth open but no sounds coming out. “Look at you,” he murmured. “Can’t even talk now.” Your fingers curled tighter behind your back, your body reacting faster than you could control, every bit of that bratty attitude from earlier completely gone now. Replaced. Overtaken.
His grip shifted again, steadying you as your balance faltered, his pace staying firm, controlled, like he wasn’t going to let you get ahead of it this time. His hand tightened around the belt at your wrists, pulling you back against him, your back pressing flush to his chest as he brought you with him.
Your head tipped back slightly, breath breaking as everything hit harder in this position, your balance completely gone now, held up entirely by him now with his hand wrapped around your throat as he slammed up into you. “Yeah…” he exhaled. “That’s it…”
It hit you all at once. Your body tensed, then trembled, every reaction catching up at the same time, your breath breaking completely as you lost whatever control you had left. Yunho felt it instantly. The way you shook against him. Your fingers curled uselessly behind your back, your entire body reacting, the tension snapping and pulling you under completely.
And he didn’t slow down. Didn’t stop. He fucked you harder. Held you there as you came, your body wrecked, held up by him as he continued to chase his own release. “You’re mine…” he murmured, voice rough, barely held together now. “Say it.”
Your breath came out in pieces, your mind spinning, your body still shaking as another orgasm hit you harder than the first. “I…” you tried, voice catching as his hand tightened slightly around your throat, grounding you, pulling the words out of you. “Say it. My brat…”
“…yours,” you managed, barely more than a breath. “your brat…” That was it. The last thing holding him together snapped. A sharp exhale left him as he followed right after you, his hold tightening, pulling you closer against him like he needed to keep you there, needed to feel all of it at once as he came, pouring himself into you.
For a moment…. Everything stilled. Just your uneven breathing. His, just as rough. Your body still trembling slightly where he held you. And his hand still at your throat. Not controlling anymore. Just… there. Like he hadn’t quite come back down yet either.
Yunho finally eased back, his grip loosening as he pulled away, dick slipping out, some of his own release leaking out of you as the shift made you inhale sharply, the intensity slowly starting to ebb. But he didn’t let you go far. Didn’t give you space to escape. His arm wrapped around you instead, dragging you back against him, your back settling against his chest again, this time without that same edge of control.
Just… close. Warm. His chin dipped near your shoulder, voice lower now, calmer, softer, but still carrying that hint of amusement. “So…” he murmured, breath brushing your skin, “you like me mad, huh?”
Heat rushed to your face instantly and you huffed, twisting slightly in his hold before shoving at his chest, not hard, just enough to make a point. “Shut up.”
A quiet laugh left him. Soft this time. Completely different from earlier. “There she is,” he said, voice lighter now, teasing. “My brat.”
Your eyes narrowed, but there was no real bite left in it. Not anymore. Not after all that. His arm tightened briefly around you, pulling you back in for a second longer before finally letting the tension dissolve completely.
And just like that… the edge was gone. Replaced with something familiar.
idk bro, the way that wooyoung gets so shy whenever someone gives him a compliment makes me actually feel insane. so much so i had to write my feelings out like tumblr is my diary or something
cw; oral (m receiving) and it takes place in front of a mirror. this is just something short like it just popped into my head. srry, if i keep writing things these tags will get better omg
“look at how pretty you are…” you say, your voice gentle and barely audible even in the quiet room. your hand wraps around his cock, hard and flushed pink. he’s dripping at this point, because you’ve been at this for a while. he loves the praise, he loves to hear what you think of him but it’s so overwhelming for him.
wooyoung’s gaze flickers between yours, your pretty eyes looking up at him so innocently, and his own reflection in the mirror you have him sat in front of. you can’t fight the smirk that creeps on your lips when you catch him looking at himself, using this lack of attention on your actions to lean forward and swipe your tongue over the head of his cock to lap up the arousal that’s gathered there. he hisses above you, taken off guard, his cock twitching at the new sensation.
you look up at him through your lashes, watch as his eyes flutter, still going back and forth between you and the mirror. you watch his jaw go slack when you fully take him in your mouth, his plush kips parting to let out the quietest of moans.
“you’re so perfect, baby, every inch of you,” he moans again, a little louder. the combination of your words and your mouth is pushing him to the edge. you can both feel the way he throbs when you say it, you can taste the bead of precum that leaks out again, he’s watching his own chest start to heave, his face getting flushed. “that’s it, lemme hear you,” you say, coaxing the sounds you love to hear out of him
when he cums, he cums hard, with hands buried in your hair (not to push you, but to ground himself), and he’s watching himself in the mirror.
The styling room was quiet, save for the soft hum of equipment and rustle of fabric as you made the final adjustments to Yeosang’s hair. He sat still beneath your touch, head tilted slightly while you tousled the last wave into place. “All done,” you said, stepping back to inspect your work. His platinum blonde strands glinted under the lights, artfully messy, a little sharp around the edges, just like the moodboard had asked for.
Yeosang glanced in the mirror and nodded. “You’re dangerous with your hands.” You arched a brow, fighting a smile. “Tell that to your roots next month.” He snorted and slid off the chair with his usual quiet grace, stretching his arms before heading toward wardrobe. As he passed by the doorway, you caught movement in your peripheral.
Yunho.
Fresh from makeup, already in partial wardrobe, his vest wasn’t buttoned yet, sheer sleeves loose around his forearms. He filled the doorway with quiet confidence, black hair falling into his eyes. “You ready?” he asked casually, stepping in. You nodded once, but your fingers tightened slightly around your comb as he approached. His presence always filled a room. But today… today he looked carved from something darker, something deliberate.
He sank into the chair Yeosang had just vacated, resting his arms on the armrests, legs spread just a little too wide and you swallowed. From the counter, you grabbed the concept sheet, needing a second to compose yourself. You’d already glanced at it this morning, but now, with Yunho sitting there, watching you through the mirror, you studied it again. The reference photo showed him with his hair pulled back into a half ponytail, loose strands around the face, sharp angles softened at the jaw. You hesitated. Because Yunho had never worn his hair like that before.
Even the few times he’d grown it out, he always left it down, pushed back with a beanie or styled away from his face with texture and volume. Never pulled up. Never tamed. “You good?” he asked, tilting his head. His voice was calm, but you didn’t miss the curiosity flickering behind it. You lowered the sheet slowly. “You’ve never worn your hair up before.” Yunho shrugged, the movement lazy. “First time for everything.”
You turned away so he wouldn’t see your expression. Something about that answer, about the way he said it, like it meant something more, made the heat bloom low in your stomach. You cleared your throat. “Alright. Let’s see what we’re working with.” You stepped behind him, fingers brushing the nape of his neck as you began combing through his thick, dark hair. He didn’t flinch. If anything, he leaned back into the touch just a little and you pretended not to notice. But god… this was going to be a problem.
Your fingers moved with practiced ease, separating strands, smoothing them down, combing through from root to tip. Yunho’s hair was soft, mainly because you being a hair stylist and his girlfriend, you made sure to keep it healthy, it was silkier now that it had grown out past his ears, thick and slightly wavy in the back. You ran the brush down again, slower this time, focused.
And then he moaned. A quiet, low sound from deep in his chest, not dramatic or playful, but real. Felt. “I love when you play with my hair,” he said, voice like gravel wrapped in velvet. His eyes stayed half lidded in the mirror, jaw slack, neck tilted ever so slightly like he was offering himself up and your grip on the brush faltered. “Shut up,” you hissed, instantly flustered. “We’re at work.”
He grinned, the kind of grin that said he wasn’t sorry at all. “Didn’t say anything inappropriate.”
“You moaned.”
“Did I?” he said innocently. “Pretty sure that was just a sigh of appreciation.”
You smacked his shoulder with the back of the brush, and he laughed, warm and unbothered, but he didn’t take his eyes off you. Not once. You fought the urge to roll your eyes and instead leaned closer, reaching forward to gently section off the top half of his hair. The tips of your fingers grazed his scalp again, and you could feel it, the way he shivered, barely perceptible but very much there. “You keep reacting like that, and I’m gonna clip your hair up with a binder clip and call it a day,” you muttered.
“You know that would still turn me on, right?”
“Yunho.”
“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “But if you keep touching me like this…”
Your fingers paused just behind his ear.
“I’m gonna start thinking we’re not working.”
You inhaled sharply through your nose. You were dangerously close to threading your fingers into his hair instead of the tie you’d just picked up. But you couldn’t let him win. Not here. Not yet. You ignored every word he said after that, at least on the outside. Inside? You were a wreck.
The texture of his hair, the way it slipped between your fingers like ink, the low heat rolling off his skin, it all worked against your professional resolve. But you kept going, sectioning the top half carefully, gathering it like muscle memory, like it wasn’t driving you insane to feel him melting under your hands as he stayed still, unnervingly so, just watching you through the mirror.
When you finally tied it off, a few stray strands framed his face exactly like the reference photo, except better. Way better. His cheekbones looked sharper, his lips more plush, and his eyes… God, his eyes looked lethal now, framed by that loose dark curtain. Your hands dropped to your sides before you could do something you’d regret in public. That’s when the door swung open.
“Next victim,” Wooyoung announced, striding in like he owned the place. “What’s up, hot people?”
You stepped back automatically as Yunho slowly stood from the chair, rolling his neck once. The way his hair moved, soft and heavy in the back, controlled on top, made your stomach flip and he caught the look in your eye before you could hide it. And he grinned. Full blown, smug, knowing grin. “Thanks, baby,” he said, sauntering past you like nothing had happened. “That felt amazing.”
You knew he wasn’t just talking about the styling as Wooyoung flopped into the chair Yunho had just left, completely unaware of the storm he was walking into. “Think you can make me look that good, too?”
You cleared your throat. “I can try.” But you weren’t looking at Wooyoung. You were still watching Yunho, and he was still watching you over his shoulder, that damn grin playing on his lips as he walked backward out of the room.
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The main set was dimly lit, warm with moody tones and artificial smoke curling through the air. You stood with the rest of the styling staff behind the monitors, clipboard in hand, headset looped lazily around your neck as the photographer called out directions. The boys were cycling through individual shots, Yeosang already done, Wooyoung next, San prowling the edge of the backdrop waiting for his turn. And then there was Yunho.
Center of the frame. Looking like temptation in high definition. His vest was now buttoned up tight, hugging every inch of that maddening torso, the sheer sleeves catching just enough light to make you clench the clipboard tighter. But it was the hair. The fucking hair. Pulled back, slightly tousled, ends curling softly behind his ears, that elegant half ponytail making his entire jawline look criminal.
He wasn’t even doing much, just tilting his head, staring down the lens like he was trying to melt it. But your eyes were glued to him. You’d never seen him look like that. Calm. Controlled. Hot as sin. And he knew. You could feel it every time his gaze flicked slightly off camera. Like he was looking for you.
You shifted your weight, arms crossed tightly now, forcing yourself to glance at your clipboard. It didn’t help.
“You good?”
You froze at Mingi’s voice, way too close. You turned your head to find your boyfriend’s best friend standing just to your left, hands in his pockets, a curious smirk tugging at his mouth. Before you could respond, Jongho’s voice came from your other side. “You’ve been staring for, like, five full minutes.”
“I have not,” you snapped a little too quickly.
They both blinked at you and Mingi leaned in, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You gonna survive or should we get you a cold drink?”
“Or a dark room?” Jongho added helpfully.
You opened your mouth to tell them both to shut up and that’s when Yunho shifted his stance in front of the camera, slowly lifting his hand to run it through the loose strands that framed his cheek. His fingers brushed right over the tie you’d fastened, tugging it just enough to make a few locks fall back over his face. It was so deliberate. And you knew exactly who he was doing it for. You made a strangled noise in your throat.
Mingi snorted. “That’s a yes.”
Jongho chuckled, nudging you with his elbow. “Better go fix his hair, noona. Looks like he messed it up just for you.”
“Pause for a second!” The photographer’s voice cut through the bass heavy music playing over the speakers, calling for a quick break to adjust lighting. Yunho stepped off the mark, taking a few long strides toward the edge of the set.
You were already moving. Clipboard forgotten, headset discarded somewhere near Jongho’s smug little smile, you crossed the floor with practiced ease, head high, face calm, totally unbothered. Except, of course, for the fact that Yunho had just intentionally ruined the half ponytail you had styled, and now everyone was expecting you to fix it.
He was waiting. Arms relaxed at his sides, smugness radiating off him like steam from a hot sidewalk. His eyes met yours and held, a glint of amusement, no, satisfaction, blooming behind his dark gaze as you stopped in front of him, ignoring the way your pulse skipped when he tilted his chin slightly, giving you full access to the mess he made. Of course he did.
“You pulled pieces loose,” you muttered under your breath.
“I did,” he said, voice low. “Terrible of me.”
You stepped in close, brushing your fingers through the front sections that had fallen out of place. He smelled like clean skin and faint cologne, bergamot and warmth. His hair was soft, still holding its shape where you’d styled it, except for the few strands he’d deliberately tugged loose like some kind of tease.
Your hands worked quickly, re tightening the band at the crown. But your breath caught when he leaned in just enough for his voice to ghost across your ear. “I missed your hands.” Your fingers stuttered. Then you yanked the tie just a bit tighter and he flinched. “Oops,” you said flatly, stepping back.
Yunho smirked, adjusting his vest like he didn’t just flirt with you while a dozen people watched. “You wound me.”
“Not yet,” you whispered, low enough for only him to hear and his eyes darkened. Just slightly. Just enough.
“Back to position, Yunho!”
He turned slowly, gaze dragging over you before he walked back to the center of the set, ponytail perfect once again, jawline sharp, and the ghost of a smirk still curving his lips.
You exhaled slowly as Mingi, off to the side, gave you a thumbs up and wiggled his brows. You were so screwed.
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The shoot wrapped with applause and scattered laughter, the energy still humming even as the team began to disperse. Monitors shut off, lights dimmed, props moved to the side. Staff collected clipboards and cables, stylists gathered their kits, and the boys started peeling out of concept clothes like they couldn’t wait to breathe again.
You lingered near the edge of the room, watching it all wind down, waiting to leave with Yunho. Wooyoung had already flung himself onto the nearest couch, shirt halfway pulled over his head, whining about being tired. San was laughing at him. Yeosang was still taking mirror selfies in full wardrobe. And Yunho had already changed. Gone was the sheer vest and tailored trousers, replaced now by his usual comfort fit, black oversized hoodie, sage green cargo pants.
But what made your chest tighten was that he’d left his hair up. The ponytail was still in place, slightly messier now, a few strands curling loose behind his ears, but still, it was up. Like he liked it. Like he didn’t want to take it out. And it looked obscenely good with that hoodie. He was sitting on one of the stools by the mirror, bent over slightly as he laced up his sneakers, sleeves pushed to his elbows. You tried not to stare. You really, really did. But there was something about the contrast, the softness of the tied up hair, the street style slouch of his clothes, the strength in how he moved that made heat bloom low and slow again in your stomach.
Yunho glanced up mid lace, catching you from across the room. And he smiled. Not the teasing smirk from before. Something quieter. Warmer. But still dangerous. He patted the empty space next to him on the bench. Didn’t say a word. Just the pat. Like an invitation. No…. like a challenge.
You took a small step forward, just one, already feeling the buzz under your skin like a lit fuse. And that’s when San’s voice cut through the air like a damn whistle. “Hey,” he called, swinging his duffel bag over one shoulder as he approached, all warm smiles and post shoot glow. “You two wanna grab food with us?”
You blinked. “Us?”
“Me, Mingi, and Jongho,” San nodded. “We’re gonna hit that Korean BBQ spot near the studio. The one Mingi always says has the life changing pork belly.’”
From the corner, Mingi threw up a fist and hollered, “Because it does!” Jongho just rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath about needing real sustenance as you turned slightly to glance at Yunho, who was now sitting upright, forearms resting on his thighs, eyes on you like he hadn’t even heard San. But the little tilt of his head and lift of his brow said it all, up to you, baby.
Your stomach did a little somersault as San looked between the two of you, then squinted. “Unless…” His voice lowered just slightly, amused. “You’ve got other plans?”
“No,” you said too quickly, straightening your shoulders. “No plans.” Yunho’s smirk returned, barely. He looked like he was chewing on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as you added, “I could eat.”
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The BBQ place was buzzing, the familiar clatter of metal chopsticks, sizzling meat on grills, and background music just loud enough to compete with San and Mingi arguing over the best dipping sauce.
You sat squished between Yunho and the wall, close enough that your thigh brushed his every time either of you moved. He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he hadn’t stopped leaning just slightly toward you the whole time, arm draped casually over the back of the bench, fingertips ghosting your shoulder every so often like he forgot they were there. He didn’t forget. You were pretty sure he was doing it just to see how long you’d last before combusting.
Jongho was flipping the meat like a pro, San was already halfway through the side dishes, and Mingi was leaning back in his chair, eyeing the empty drink menu like it had personally wronged him. “This is a crime,” Mingi announced. “We have grilled pork, rice, good company, and no soju?”
“We just sat down,” Jongho deadpanned.
Mingi scoffed, waving his hand. “I’ll order it. We need a bottle or three. Especially with them here.”
San snorted as you raised an eyebrow, amused. “Them?”
Mingi just grinned. “You’ll see.”
You rolled your eyes and slid out of the booth. “I’m going to the restroom. Try not to set anything on fire.” Yunho let his hand trail along your back as you passed, barely brushing your waist. You didn’t react. But he saw the way your breath hitched.
The second you disappeared around the corner, Mingi turned, eyes locked on Yunho like a heat seeking missile. “Well, well,” he said, dragging out the words. “You know she’s gonna pull your hair out by the time she’s done with you tonight.”
Yunho didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. Just lifted a slice of pork belly with his chopsticks and popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly. Then he smirked. “I hope so.”
San groaned. “Jesus Christ.”
Jongho shook his head, flipping another slice. “Can we not talk about hyung getting manhandled while we’re eating?”
Mingi laughed, raising his hand for the server. “I’m just saying, she’s been giving him that look all day. You saw it, right?”
San leaned back with a shit eating grin. “She looked like she wanted to mount him mid photoshoot.”
“Yeah,” Mingi nodded. “And he looked like he wouldn’t stop her.”
“Still wouldn’t,” Yunho said, completely unbothered and the other three groaned in unison. “God, it’s like watching a porno in slow motion,” Jongho muttered just as your footsteps sounded as you returned. The table went suspiciously quiet, all four guys suddenly very focused on grilling, pouring drinks, and not saying a damn thing.
You paused, eyes narrowing. “What’d I miss?”
Mingi handed you a shot glass without looking up. “Nothing. Drink.”
Yunho reached under the table and squeezed your thigh once. Just enough to make your eyes widen. Just enough to make you wonder what the hell he and his ponytail had planned for later.
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Dinner had stretched into that sweet, blurry haze where the food was mostly gone, the laughter was too loud, and everything tasted like salt and soju. Half a dozen empty bottles littered the table, side dishes were a mess. You were flushed, comfortably buzzed, your legs pressed to Yunho’s under the table, the two of you talking low between bites, laughter curling around every soft brush of his fingers against your thigh. But San had pulled you into a back and forth drinking game halfway through dinner and now you were laughing harder, cheek warm against Yunho’s shoulder while you teased Jongho for being the only one still sober enough to read the bill.
“Okay,” Mingi grinned, holding the next bottle high. “One more round!”
“God,” Jongho groaned, “You’ve said that four rounds ago.”
“Shut up and accept your fate.” Mingi filled every shot glass with wild bartender flair, sliding one each toward San, Jongho, Yunho, and then to you. But before Yunho could reach for his glass, your hand shot out and snatched it instead. All four of them paused as you turned, shot glass in hand, and looked right at Yunho. Then, without a word, you reached up and fisted the tie of his ponytail.
His breath caught. So did everyone else’s as you tugged, firm but not cruel, tilting his head back just enough to expose the sharp line of his throat, jaw flexing as he looked at you, pupils dark and blown despite the ambient lighting. “Open,” you said softly.
His lips parted instantly and you poured the shot into his mouth slow, watching the way his throat worked to swallow it down, his lashes fluttering just slightly as the liquor burned it’s way past his tongue. Then you let go and Yunho exhaled like he’d just been kissed.
You didn’t say a word, just turned back to your food like nothing had happened as the table erupted.
“WHAT THE FUCK!”
“Noona!!”
“Oh my God! I think I just got pregnant.”
Jongho buried his face in his hands. “I want to leave.”
Mingi was howling. San looked half deranged, half proud. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
You just smirked and sipped your own shot as Yunho leaned in close, voice a whisper of gravel and desire against your ear. “That was not smart.” You turned your head slightly, your smile lazy. “Who said I was trying to be?”
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Yunho and Yeosang’s apartment was warm, low lit, and smelled faintly like sandalwood and laundry detergent, clean, lived in, and just the right amount of chaos. The front door clicked shut behind the two of you, the night air replaced by the familiar comfort of home as you both kicked off your shoes.
“Hey,” Yeosang called from the couch without looking away from the TV. He was half buried under a throw blanket, eyes glued to the screen. Next to him, Wooyoung was curled sideways in a hoodie two sizes too big, elbow deep in a bag of chips. “You’re late. That pork belly better have been worth it.”
“Ask Mingi,” Yunho muttered as you slipped past the couch with a quiet smile and headed straight for the open kitchen and pulled open the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, twisting off the cap as the laughter from the TV show carried faintly through the space.
You leaned against the counter, sipping slowly. And that’s when you saw him. Across the kitchen, standing in front of the hallway mirror, Yunho was adjusting his ponytail. His hoodie was loose, sleeves bunched around his forearms, but it didn’t hide the way his shoulder blades shifted under the fabric, or how his back curved slightly forward as he undid the tie.
Your eyes dragged over every movement as he finger combed his hair back again, the dark strands catching light, falling heavy and soft between his fingers. He tugged it higher this time, a little tighter. The kind of hold that said, don’t even try to pull it out unless you’re ready to deal with the consequences.
His jaw flexed as he twisted the band into place. You didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. Just watched him. Because something about him, barefoot in his apartment, in baggy cargo pants and a hoodie, his hair tied up with your hands still technically the last ones to touch it, made your stomach flip.
He looked up and caught your reflection in the mirror. And you saw it happen. That flicker in his gaze. That change in air pressure. He turned slowly to face you, leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed, head tilted. “Thirsty?” he asked, nodding toward the bottle in your hand.
You didn’t answer him. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t flirt. Didn’t say a damn thing. You just capped the water bottle, set it quietly on the counter… and walked. Straight past the living room, past the hallway mirror, past Yunho, your shoulder brushing his chest as you passed him. No eye contact. No pause.
You didn’t need to look back. Because you felt him follow. His footsteps were silent, but the weight of his presence behind you was impossible to ignore. Heavy. Focused. Dangerous in the way that made your breath catch halfway down the hallway.
You reached his bedroom door and opened it slowly, slipping inside without hesitation. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of his bedside lamp. Warm toned, cluttered in a comfortable way, a jacket tossed over the back of his gaming chair, ipad on the nightstand, phone charger trailing off the bed. The scent of him lingered thick in the air, clean skin, cedar, a hint of something spicy from his shampoo.
You stepped to the center of the room and waited as behind you, the door clicked shut. Yunho stood just inside the threshold, hoodie slightly wrinkled, his hands loose at his sides, chest rising slow but deep. The hair tie had loosened a little in the walk down the hall, a few strands falling back into his face again.
He crossed the room in just a few slow steps, gaze fixed on you like he was already imagining a dozen ways the next hour might play out. His hands found your waist first, warm, steady, fingers pressing just enough to remind you how big they were. He pulled you flush against him, his voice low and amused right at your ear. “So,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth brushing your skin, “you gonna admit how much you love the ponytail now… or after I make you scream?”
You exhaled sharply, not from surprise, but because he was already kissing you, deep and slow, his mouth lazy but deliberate, like he had all night to ruin you and no intention of rushing a single second. He kissed like he knew you, every breath, every beat, every bite that made your knees buckle just a little. Because he did. And he used it.
Each kiss backed you up one step… then another… then another, until the backs of your legs hit the edge of the bed and he smiled against your mouth like he’d just won something. That was his first mistake. You grabbed the front of his hoodie in one hand. And his ponytail in the other. Yunho froze when you fisted it tight and pulled, just enough to tilt his chin up, mouth parting slightly as his breath caught. He didn’t expect that.
“You talk a lot of shit,” you said softly, voice threading with heat as you tugged him down to sit on the bed. He went willingly, eyes wide, lips still parted as you straddled his thighs with a slow roll of your hips, fingers still gripping the ponytail like a leash. “Funny how you think you’re gonna be in charge tonight.”
His breath stuttered. And that’s when it hit him. He wasn’t. Not even close. Yunho didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even breathe as you rolled your hips once against his lap and slowly leaned back just enough to slide your hands under the hem of your top.
His eyes followed every motion, lazy, hungry, dark with anticipation as you pulled your shirt up over your head, exposing skin inch by inch. You dropped it beside the bed without breaking eye contact, relishing the way his jaw tightened the moment your bra came into view.
You weren’t in a rush. You knew what you were doing. He’d spent the whole day teasing you, back at the studio, at the restaurant, with his smug little glances and that damn ponytail you styled yourself. Now? You were going to enjoy watching every single ounce of power drain from him as you peeled yourself open like a gift with his name on the tag.
Your hands moved down, undoing the button of your jeans next. Yunho’s hands twitched at his sides like he was fighting every instinct to grab you. “Don’t move,” you said quietly and his breath caught as you stood slowly, pushing your jeans down your legs with deliberate care, knowing full well his gaze was locked on every curve, every shift of your hips as you stepped out of them and kicked them aside.
You stood there in nothing but your bra and underwear, blue and black mismatched, head tilted slightly, arms relaxed at your sides. He looked ruined already. But you weren’t done. Not even close. You crossed back to him, slow and confident, straddling his lap again, the heat between your bodies undeniable as your mouth brushed his ear, breath hot and teasing. “Strip.”
His hands moved instantly. Because of course they did. Because unho wasn’t in charge tonight. You were. His hands came up immediately, he obeyed, just like you told him to. But not without a little flair. First, he reached behind him and tugged the hoodie off in one clean motion, the hem brushing over your thighs as it came free. He tossed it to the floor without breaking eye contact, his jaw set, chest rising a little faster now beneath his thin white tee.
But instead of rushing like he should have… he slowed down. One hand dipped beneath the hem of his shirt and paused, fingertips brushing his own skin, his abs tightening just enough to make you feel it under your thighs. His other hand gripped your hip like a warning, like a test, like, come on, baby, push me.
You tilted your head, one brow raised. “Are you stalling?”
“Maybe,” he murmured, thumb brushing your skin. “It’s more fun when you’re watching.”
You narrowed your eyes. Then leaned forward just enough to tug his ponytail again, sharper this time, not enough to hurt but enough to make him exhale hard through his nose, his hands freezing like you’d shut off the power in his body. “I said strip,” you whispered, your voice silk wrapped steel.
Yunho sucked in a breath and yanked the shirt over his head this time, fast, like he finally understood the stakes. You sat back and let your eyes drag over him, shoulders broad, muscles taut, stomach flexing under your gaze. You could feel the heat rolling off of him now, barely contained beneath his skin, like he was straining to keep himself still for you.
Then he reached for his his pants. And this time? He slowed down on purpose. Smirking. Dragging it out. Pushing your buttons the same way you’d pushed his. Like a challenge. Like a threat. Like a promise. Your fingers curled into his thighs.
“Careful,” you said, voice low.
“Or what?”
You leaned in, lips brushing his jaw. “I’ll make you beg before I even touch you.”
Yunho’s breath hitched as he moved you off him so he could kick his pants and underwear off. And for the first time tonight, he didn’t have a comeback as stood fully naked now. And he was gorgeous.
Flushed skin. Thighs tense. Chest rising in shallow breaths. That cocky smirk he wore so well? Barely hanging on now, threatening to break under the weight of whatever the hell you were about to do to him. He was already wrecked. And he knew it.
You let your fingers drag slowly up his bare chest, nails teasing his skin. He shivered, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach, touch, grab, do something. But he didn’t. Not without permission. “Now…” you whispered, standing up, reaching on your tippy toes so your mouth could brush the shell of his ear, “go get your favorite toy.”
Yunho tensed and you felt it. That flicker of hesitation. The way his breath stilled for a fraction of a second before he exhaled and carefully looked at you. He didn’t ask what you meant. He knew. You saw the flush creep higher up his neck, spreading to his ears. Saw the way his jaw flexed, his body practically vibrating with restraint as he nodded once.
And you didn’t miss the way his dick twitched as he turned toward the closet. He was trying not to look too eager. But you saw right through it. The closet door creaked open as he reached up to the top shelf, behind a stack of folded hoodies, and there it was. A black box. Sleek. Discreet. You’d only seen it a couple times before, during nights when the lines had blurred enough for him to let you in a little deeper, let you see the part of him he kept tucked between dominance and desire.
The part that liked you in control.
He brought it over to the bed, wordless, offering it to you like something sacred. You took it slowly. Opened it carefully. Nestled inside was the harness. The strap on he’d picked with you in mind, size, color, shape, weight. Everything. Yours for the nights he gave himself over to you completely. Like tonight.
You looked up at him, now standing at the edge of the bed, chest bare, dick heavy between his thighs, hair still tied up but starting to come loose around his temples as you took your time pulling the harness out of the box, laying it across the bed with quiet, deliberate grace. The leather was warm from storage, flexible but firm, the familiar weight settling into your palms like muscle memory.
Yunho stood in front of you, bare, still flushed from the inside out. His chest rose with every breath, his eyes dark and heavy lidded as he watched you step into the harness, pulling it up over your hips with a slow, practiced roll. “You remember how this works,” you said softly, fingers working the straps into place. He nodded. Then, without being told, he dropped to one knee.
Yunho’s large hands moved with care, adjusting the side straps with quiet reverence, tightening, pulling, making sure the harness hugged your hips just right. His fingers brushed your thighs as he double checked the buckles, knuckles grazing the soft skin just above your panties. The way he looked up at you from his knees? Obscene.
You hooked your thumb under his chin and tilted his head back. “Good boy.” A breath escaped him like it’d been knocked right out of his lungs. You let him stand then, let him climb onto the bed first, slow, crawling on elbows and knees, the muscles in his back flexing with every shift forward, his skin practically glowing in the soft lamplight.
He arched a little, already in position, already waiting. Obedient. Eager. Yours. You reached for the drawer in the nightstand, fingers finding the bottle of lube without even looking. You popped the cap and drizzled it generously over the strap, then more in your hand, warming it as you watched him exhale into the mattress. “You still want this?” you asked, voice lower now, serious, because even in the filth, this part mattered most.
Yunho turned his head slightly, lips parted, cheeks flushed. “Yes,” he rasped. “Please.” Your smile was slow, dangerous. “Good.” You straddled behind him, lube slick in your hand, heat rolling off both your bodies as you reached down and finally touched him, one hand steady on his hip, the other gliding the lubed up strap through your fingers once more before pressing it gently between his cheeks.
Yunho inhaled, deep and shaky as you leaned forward, your chest brushing his back, lips ghosting his spine as you whispered, “Relax for me.” He nodded, head low between his arms, fingers twisting in the sheets as you started slow. One hand spread him open just enough, the other guiding the strap’s tip to his entrance. You pressed in carefully, not even breaching him yet, just enough for him to feel it. Just enough for him to know what was coming.
He sucked in a breath.
Then you pulled back.
Waited a beat.
And did it again, press, withdraw, tease.
“Fucking hell,” he groaned, hips twitching. “You’re doing it on purpose.”
“Mhm,” you murmured, pressing in just a little further this time, making him stretch around the tip before easing back out again. “I like watching you fall apart.”
Yunho whimpered into the mattress, whimpered, and it made your own body clench with heat. So you did it again. And again. And this time, you pushed in just deep enough to have his breath stutter and his fists ball into the sheets.
“Shit,” he choked. “You’re such a….”
You rolled your hips forward, shallow, controlled and he cut off with a hiss as you smiled, gripping his hips tighter. “Something you wanna say?”
Yunho turned his face toward the pillow, growling under his breath. Then, louder, sharper, “Just fuck me already.”
You stilled and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“Yes,” he growled again, louder this time, practically shaking with need. “Fuck…. please. Just fuck me.”
You let out a soft hum, shifting forward, your grip tightening on his waist. “Since you asked so nicely.” And then you pushed in deep. And Yunho moaned like he’d been waiting his whole damn life for it as you gripped his hips, steady and sure, as you slowly pushed forward more, inch by inch, watching the way Yunho’s back arched, muscles tightening, breath catching.
The stretch was deep, deliberate. And you didn’t rush it. You took your time filling him, giving him every inch, letting the harness settle flush against you as you bottomed out and he gasped. Fingers twisted in the sheets, forehead pressed to the mattress as he tried to breathe through it, through the fullness, the heat, the slow burn of being completely taken.
You stayed still, your hands sliding over the curve of his hips, soothing. One of them dragged up his spine, the other smoothing down to the dip of his lower back as you leaned over him, chest against his back. “You good?” He nodded, tight, shaky.
“Say it,” you whispered.
“I’m good,” he rasped. “So good.”
You kissed his back, soft and slow. “That’s my boy.”
And then you started to move. Gently. Just a slow pull back, a shallow thrust forward, measured, smooth, the kind of rhythm that let him feel it. Every inch. Every motion. You watched the muscles in his back ripple, the way his arms shook slightly from how hard he was gripping the blankets.
He moaned low, raw and guttural. “F…. Fuck…”
You smiled, hips rolling forward again, deeper this time. “I want you to feel all of it,” you murmured, voice dark against his skin. “No rushing. Not tonight.” He moaned again, desperate, helpless as you rocked into him again, dragging it out, building that pressure just right.
And Yunho was already trembling. Already ruined, and you’d barely even started. Your thrusts stayed steady for a moment longer, hips rolling deep and slow, just enough to keep him on the edge, trembling, mouth spilling breathy curses into the sheets.
But then you felt it. The shift. His body opening up, fully adjusted, muscles relaxing beneath your touch. His thighs spread wider, back arching just enough that you could feel how ready he was. You tightened your grip on his hips and snapped your hips forward, just once, firmer, and Yunho moaned, loud, raw, and absolutely wrecked.
“Arch back,” you breathed, voice sharp with command. “Now.” He obeyed instantly, shifting his weight onto his palms, back curving into a perfect arch that made you groan under your breath. “Good boy,” you said, and that praise hit him like a damn drug, his head dropping slightly, hair falling loose around his face as he whimpered.
And that’s when you grabbed it. His ponytail. Your fist wrapped tight around the base, yanking just enough to pull his head back and own every inch of him and Yunho choked on a moan. “Oh my… fuck!” You smirked. “You’re so easy to ruin like this.” Then you started to move. Harder. Deeper.
Each thrust slapped against him with purpose, your grip on his ponytail keeping him right where you wanted him, head tilted back, mouth parted, completely under you. He was panting now, loud, his thighs shaking, hands gripping the sheets like his life depended on it. “Look at you,” you murmured between thrusts, voice syrup slick and cruelly sweet. “All that cocky energy gone the second I fuck you right.”
He groaned, shameless, head tilting further back into your grip as you pulled his ponytail tighter and he whined. “Please…”
“For what?” you taunted, hips snapping faster now, driving into him harder, rougher, making the bed creak beneath the rhythm. “You wanted this, didn’t you?”
“Y… Yeah…. fuck, yes!” His knuckles were white, whole body trembling now. And still, you didn’t let up. Not when he sounded that pretty. Not when he looked that good. Not until you had him gasping and moaning your name like it was the only thing he remembered how to say.
Your hips slammed into him now, rhythm unforgiving, the slick sound of skin and dildo echoing through the bedroom loud and obscene. The bed creaked beneath you, headboard rattling slightly against the wall, but you didn’t slow down. Not when Yunho was begging for it with every ragged breath. He was a mess beneath you, his body rocking forward with every deep thrust, arms barely holding him up, sweat dripping down the back of his neck. You still had his ponytail wrapped tight in your fist, using it to keep his head tilted back, mouth open, his moans getting louder with every stroke.
And then he cried out. Loud. Too loud. His voice broke around your name, spilling into the room like a warning shot, and you knew without a shadow of a doubt, that anyone still in the apartment just heard Yunho moan like he was being fucked into the afterlife.
The image of Yeosang and Wooyoung out there, wide eyed and traumatized over their bowls of popcorn?
Delicious.
But not as delicious as the way Yunho came. Because it hit him hard. You felt it in the way his whole body locked up, how he whimpered your name one more time, desperate, broken, and then shuddered, coming untouched beneath you. His arms gave out, chest collapsing into the mattress as he trembled through it, cum dripping onto the sheets below.
You didn’t stop. Not right away. You rode him through every twitch, every gasp, your grip in his hair softening only once his body began to relax, tension leaking from his limbs like he’d just been exorcised. And maybe he had been.
You slowed, pulling out carefully and Yunho collapsed completely, face buried in the pillows, panting like he’d run a damn marathon. He looked ruined. And perfect. You reached down, gently unfastening the harness, sliding it off your hips piece by piece with the same calm authority you’d carried all night. The strap hit the floor with a soft thud, and you let your fingers trail across his spine once before sitting back on your heels, reaching for the edge of the bed.
But you didn’t even get the chance to move. Because in a flash, he grabbed you. Your yelp caught in your throat as Yunho’s hands locked around your waist, flipping you onto your back like you weighed nothing. The air left your lungs as your spine hit the mattress, and suddenly, he was above you, towering, eyes dark, hair half falling out of its ponytail, sweat slicked and completely feral.
The tables had turned.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he rasped, voice still rough from moaning your name. His hands slid up your sides with purpose, not slowing as they reached the clasp of your bra. You opened your mouth to say something, maybe to tease, maybe to push him again, but your breath hitched instead when his fingers made quick work of the clasp, dragging the straps down your arms before tossing the bra somewhere behind him.
“You think I was gonna let you finish with me and walk away?” he murmured, mouth already lowering to your chest. “Not a chance, baby.” Your eyes fluttered shut as his tongue dragged across one nipple, then the other, slow and possessive. Then he was moving again. Gripping your hips. Dragging you down the bed like he owned you.
“Yunho…”
You barely got the name out before your panties were halfway down your thighs, ripped off so fast you gasped. You barely had time to breathe, let alone process the shift, before his head dipped between your legs and his mouth was on you. No warning. No hesitation. Just pure, greedy need.
You cried out, back arching, hand flying to his hair, gripping what was left of the messy ponytail he hadn’t bothered to fix. He groaned at the pressure, tongue sliding through your folds with a hunger that was dangerous. “You’re so wet for me,” he muttered against you, voice all gravel and heat. “I didn’t even have to touch you yet.”
You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Because Yunho had taken back control. His tongue worked like he knew your body better than you did, slow licks, teasing flicks over your clit, then deep, firm pressure that made your thighs clamp around his head on instinct.
He didn’t stop. Didn’t fucking let up. If anything, he groaned into you, loved how tight your grip got in his hair, how your hips arched up to chase his mouth, how close you were already. “That’s it,” he murmured, dragging his tongue up your slit before sucking your clit into his mouth again. “You gonna come for me, baby? After all that talk?”
You whimpered, hands fisting the sheets now, one leg hooked over his shoulder as your whole body trembled. Every nerve ending was strung tight, on the edge, about to snap. And Yunho knew it. You felt it, that moment, that rush, your body about to tip over the edge….
And then he stopped.
You gasped, eyes flying open as the sudden loss of contact sent a pulse of frustration right through your core. “Yunho….” you started, voice high, broken. But he was already moving. Crawling up your body like a fucking storm, flushed and glistening, lips wet from you, hair wild, eyes locked on yours with heat so sharp it nearly split you open.
You didn’t even have time to ask why, because you felt it. His dick, hard again, pressed against your thigh as he settled between your legs. “You were gonna come?” he asked, voice low and dangerous, bracing himself on his forearms as his mouth hovered over yours.
You nodded, breathless, thighs still shaking and he smirked, dark. “Not yet.” Then he kissed you, filthy and deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue while his dick slid along your folds, hot and heavy, teasing you all over again.
You didn’t even have a second to recover from the intensity of his mouth before Yunho was grabbing you again, hands strong and steady, that dominant energy flooding back in like a tidal wave. “Up,” he ordered, voice rough and low. Before you could question him, he was already pulling you upright, manhandling you into his lap like he owned you, because, right now, he did. His back was pressed to the headboard, legs spread wide, and you landed right where he wanted you, knees on either side of his hips.
You barely had time to brace yourself. Because one hand gripped your waist, and the other wrapped around the base of his dick, hard again, thick and glistening from the way he’d been grinding against the bed while he wrecked you with his mouth. He lined himself up. And you sank down. All the way. Both of you moaned, loud and helpless, your hands flying to his hair, fisting the loosened ponytail, dragging his head back slightly as your hips met his and the stretch sent shockwaves through your body.
Yunho swore under his breath, his fingers digging into your thighs like he needed something to anchor himself. “You feel…” he started, but didn’t finish, just groaned, letting his forehead fall against your collarbone. “Fuck.” You rolled your hips once, slow, and he choked on a sound, trying to hold back.
You pulled his hair again, forcing his eyes up to yours. “Don’t,” you whispered. “Don’t hold anything back.” He moved. Fast. One hand locked around your waist, the other fisted in your hair as he shifted his hips and slammed up into you. You screamed. Your nails clawed at his shoulders, your breath catching violently in your throat as he pounded up into you again and again, no teasing now, no control games, just raw, relentless need. Each thrust knocked the breath from your lungs, your body rocked forward by the sheer force of it.
“Yunho!” you sobbed, voice high, strangled.
“That’s it,” he growled, mouth at your neck, breath hot and ragged, pounding up into you so hard the headboard slammed once, then again. “Say my name. Let them fucking hear it.”
You couldn’t stop even if you wanted to. His dick hit dead on with every snap of his hips, slamming right into your g spot like he’d mapped it himself. You were shaking, thighs locking around his waist, your back arching as you tried, failed, to ride it out.
Your hands gripped the loose mess of that ponytail, pulling as you cried out again, louder this time. “Yunho…. fuck, I’m…” You shattered. The orgasm tore through you like fire, your entire body convulsing as you squirted around him, soaking both of you, your scream ripped from your throat with such force it echoed in the damn room.
“Oh fuck,” Yunho growled, eyes wide as your body clenched around him, liquid heat dripping down his thighs. “God, baby, look at you…”
But he didn’t stop. He didn’t slow. You couldn’t even speak, your body was writhing, twitching, completely overwhelmed as he kept fucking up into you, watching your soaked, wrecked expression with pride written all over his face. “You’re not done,” he breathed against your lips. “Not even close.”
You were still pulsing around him, body trembling from that first explosive release, when Yunho wrapped his arms around you and moved. You gasped as he lifted you effortlessly, flipping you onto your back and laying you out beneath him. The sheets were damp, your body soaked with sweat and slick, and Yunho looked like something straight out of a fever dream, his chest flushed, lips parted, hair a complete mess now, the ponytail barely hanging on, strands falling wild across his face.
He knelt between your legs, still inside you, and you could see the twitch of restraint in every muscle as he gripped your waist. And slammed into you again. There was no rhythm now, just need. His hands dug into your sides, holding you in place as he fucked you with ruthless precision, dragging desperate, high pitched sounds from your throat every time he bottomed out and hit that same devastating spot.
The bed was a mess.
You were a mess.
Yunho looked like a man possessed, eyes locked on your face as you fell apart all over again.
“Baby,” you gasped, tears stinging your lashes, voice wrecked, barely audible. “Please…”
He grunted, teeth clenched. “Please what, baby?”
You couldn’t speak. Your mouth moved, but nothing came out except a broken moan as he leaned over you, hips still slamming into yours, and growled right into your ear, “You want me to feel you up, baby? Is that it?”
You could only nod, desperate, choking on your own pleasure, fingers clawing at his arms as your body started to seize beneath him again. And then it hit. Hard. Your second orgasm crashed into you like a wave, violent and blinding, your entire body arching off the bed as you cried out his name, thighs shaking uncontrollably, eyes rolling back.
Yunho’s grip on your waist tightened. One, two, three more thrusts…. And then he was gone too. His hips slammed forward one last time, buried deep, and he groaned, loud and guttural, as he spilled inside you, thick and hot and so much you felt it flood through you instantly.
His body dropped forward, forehead pressed to your shoulder, both of you panting, shaking, soaked in sweat and everything else. The room was silent except for the sound of your heavy breathing and the faint creak of the bed still rocking from the aftermath.
You didn’t say anything.
You couldn’t.
Neither could he.
Because Yunho had never come that hard in his life.
You were both completely, utterly wrecked.
Exactly as you wanted.
Exactly as you both deserved.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
The mirrored walls of the ATEEZ practice room were already fogging with heat and effort. Music thumped from the speaker in the corner, San and Mingi mid warmup while Jongho leaned against the wall, stretching.
The clock on the wall read 11:08. The others still weren’t there yet.
“Late again,” Mingi muttered, pausing mid stretch. “What’s new.”
Just then, the door opened. Yunho shuffled in first, hoodie halfway over his head, backpack slung lazily on one shoulder like he hadn’t fully woken up. Yeosang followed, looking suspiciously smug for a man who’d barely said a word. Wooyoung came in last, in borrowed sweats, sipping iced coffee and radiating the kind of chaotic exhaustion you only got from hearing your friends go feral in the next room.
Yunho kicked off his shoes with a grunt and peeled his hoodie off revealing the crime scene that was his hair. Tied up the night before. Wild and knotted now. Strands sticking out in every direction. Half his ponytail had somehow exploded, the other half barely holding on for dear life.
Mingi froze. And then burst out laughing. “Oh my god.” He pointed at Yunho, mouth open. “You look like you got hit by a car.”
“Shut up,” Yunho grumbled, raking a hand through the chaos like it’d help. It didn’t.
Jongho squinted. “You okay, hyung? You’re walking a little… weird.”
“He screamed her name,” Wooyoung added helpfully. “Loud. At least twice.”
Yeosang chimed in, sipping his own coffee without flinching. “Three times. I counted.”
Mingi was practically on the floor now. “You screamed? Jeong Yunho? Screamed? I gotta call Seonghwa.”
“No one’s calling Seonghwa,” Yunho muttered, tugging his hood back up, already regretting being born and flipped them all off.
Yeosang sipped his drink.
Wooyoung and San grinned.
And Mingi? Mingi looked at Yunho’s ruined hair, and smirked like the little shit he was. “She really broke you, huh?”
Yunho didn’t answer. But the crooked smile that twitched at the corner of his mouth said enough.
a/n: now we all know how this little fucker likes to bite, bet he’d looovvee marking you up
enjoy.
Your best friend would rather cut his own hands off than to keep them to himself.
Its like touching you was the only thing that kept his oxygen flowing, like it'd kill him to give you your personal space. You would like to say that you were used to it, but you'd be lying. In a way, you were; you always expected him to put his hands on you, but it was always in a new way.
It started with lingering caresses to your shoulder, then escalated to poking your sides. Further on to pinching your cheeks, then tugging your hair. All to get a rise out of you. He found it endearing how easy it was to annoy you.
Then one day, he tried something very new.
"Please!"
"No."
"Please!"
"No!"
"Pretty please!"
"Wooyoung!" you shouted, turning your head and shooting him a look that could kill. He only pouted and just as his lips formed to shoot back another plea, you threw your hands in defeat. "Fine!"
That all too familiar smug smirk of his graced his lips, and immeditely irritation began to brew. You grumbled as you took your place sitting on the floor in front of the couch. Wooyoung sat on it behind you, his legs placed on either side of your body. His hands carded their way through your hair, catching on tangles and knots as you mumbled incoherent complaints.
"Quit being a baby, you know I love playing in your hair." Wooyoung smiled, admiring the curls and frizz.
"Yeah, I get that, but I'm trying to get work done, but I can't really focus when you're scalping me."
Wooyoung scoffs, right as he tugs a rather tender area, "C'mon, you're being dramatic."
"I have the right to." You crossed your arms and stared at the TV in front of you as it played some sitcom reruns. As much as you gave him a hard time, his playing with your hair did somewhat relax you, but you'd take that to your grave.
Wooyoung's slender fingers parted the coils of your hair, fingers ruffling the roots to give it more volume. He admired the shine of it, how it fit to the curve of your neck and the way you shivered when the strands brushed your nape.
Your eyes were glued to the TV, silence washing over both of you, and he began to softly braid and part your hair, playing with it gently.
His eyes fell to where the delicate locks draped over your neck, and something deep in the nooks and crannies of his brain switched, and suddenly the junction where your neck met your shoulder looked... tantalizing.
Soft skin pulled over fragile bone, plush flesh that was warm to the touch each time his fingers brushed over it. His hands buried in your hair, he often found his eyes wandering to your neck, sliding a hand from your locks to gently trace a line from below your ear down the side of your neck, along your shoulder.
You ignored his lingering touches because it was Wooyoung; he was just being touchy as usual.
His fingers stopped right above the vein in your neck, while his other hand massaged slow, deep circles against your scalp, pulling a contented sigh from your lips.
"You're annoying," you mumbled, the relaxation very evident in your tone.
"I know," he responded, unable to tear his eyes away from your soft skin.
Enamoured.
His next move even surprised him.
You felt his warm breath on your skin, and he felt alot closer. Then his soft, plush lips were against your neck, and you opened your mouth to ask what the hell he was doing.
He brushed his lips across your skin in featherlight motion, before he opened his mouth, bared his teeth, and bit.
His teeth sank into the flesh of your throat, not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to really feel it. His warm mouth, the quick, sharp sting, his tongue sliding over the spot to soothe the bite.
Well, the noise that escaped you was somewhat unbecoming.
A high-pitched, soft whine. Definitely sensual in nature. Wooyoung pulled his lips from your skin and stared down at you in wonder. "Whoa."
You did not turn around. He felt the skin on your neck flare hotter, and you kept your eyes trained in front of you, as if you didn't look at him, you might disappear.
You did not, of course.
And Wooyoung grinned like he had just struck gold.
"Oh my god, you dirty pervert."
You whipped around and stared at him, lips formed in a pout, eyes glassy, and breathing heavy. "You're the one who bit me, you freak!"
"And you liked it, didn't you?" His eyes locked with yours, challenging, daring you to deny it.
"Woo..." you mumbled, bewildered and embarrassed. The air was thick, and the tension palpable; an unspoken heat lingered between you two. Wooyoung smiled, and he lowered his head so his face was closer to yours, the look in his eyes far from modest.
“How long.” He pressed, grinning wildly at this new discovery about his best friend.
“I’m not doing this, you just caught me off guard cause well y’know, you fucking bit me?”
“How long?” He ignored you. “Tell me-“ he poked the side of your cheek repeatedly. “Tell me tell me tell me tell me tell me-“
“Jung Wooyoung I will knock your lights out!”
“What are you into that too?” He laughed, tugging your hair playfully. You could never win. You sighed and rubbed your temples, the bite mark on your throat throbbing, matching a similar feeling that bothered you between your legs.
“If I bite you again will you cum-“
“And that’s quite enough!” You stood up, a flustered mess, getting ready to kick him out and retreat to your room.
But his warm hand gently slipped around your wrist, stopping you. He looked up at you from where he sat on the couch, as he lifted your wrist to his lips.
He presses your pulse point to his mouth softly, slowly opening his mouth silently, giving you the time to decide if you wanted this to truly end here. You made no move.
Carefully, Wooyoung closed his lips over the vein in your wrist, nipping at it oh so gently, his eyes never leaving yours.
Your heart was racing, pounding in your ears when you felt his soft tongue trace over the sensitive thin skin of your wrist.
"I wonder what other pretty little sounds I can pull out of you." Wooyoung whispered, releasing your wrist from his gentle bite, pressing a featherlight kiss against it.
“Will you sing for me?”
And thats how you ended up underneath him, stripped of all your dignity (and your clothes), legs parted and body trembling, as your best friend laid you out on the couch, his cock sliding deep inside of your guts, one hand secured around your throat the other holding the underside of your thigh hiking your leg up over his shoulder, littered in bloody bite marks.
Oh, he was insatiable.
Every inch of your body had the marks of his canines, a bite here a bite there, some so rough the indents were dotted in little spots of maroon. Your hair was an awful mess, your throat littered in teeth marks and hickies, your thighs sticky from your own arousal as he fucked his cock into you, Wooyoung's eyes crazed with lust as he drove you over that perfect edge again, cunt clenching and eyes rolling as you came around his cock again, sinking his teeth into your earlobe, groaning like he was starving.
"Holy shit, baby, you're nasty." Wooyoung laughed against the shell of your ear, his heavy breaths and whimpering moans going directly to your brain as he fucked you like you owed him money, rough and claiming and deep.
"W-woo...!" you cried, brain fuzzy and stomach coiling in pleasure, every part of your body sensitive and sore, and you were sure tomorrow morning there was no way you'd make it out of bed. He used your poor body like he was in heat, relentless and mean, yet whispering the sweetest nothing against your ear, licking the dots of blood that seeped from the marks he had left all over your shoulders.
"Fuck baby, just like that."
"You're doing amazing, sweet thing, taking it all so well."
"Taste so good, fuck, shoulda told me about this sooner."
"So soaked and ruined for me, love the way you whine."
Every drag of his cock inside of your soaked pussy pulled moan after pathetic moan from your raw throat, Wooyoung slotting his lips with yours and swallowing your sweet noises, sinking his teeth into the plush fat of your bottom lip, tugging and smiling against you.
His nails dug into the bites, drawing more blood from your skin, moaning when you clenched around him each time he inflicted more pain. You could deny it all you want, but clearly you were loving it.
Wooyoung found his favorite place to mark you up was between your thighs. So close to your sensitive pussy, each time he bit the sensitive flesh between your legs, your whole body would jump, and your cunt would gush even more. To which he drank up too happily, gluttony embodied as he moaned into your sex like he couldn't get enough.
"So fuckin' pretty baby, all marked up from me. You're mine, aren't you? Say it..."
Mustering up the bit of brain cells he hadn't fucked out of you just yet, you obeyed. "Y-yours Woo... all yours.."
Wooyoung groaned and licked up a greedy stripe up the length of your jaw, pressing wet, sloppy kisses along the side of your throat, completely pussy drunk. “Yeah you are.”
Even when your brain was mush and your thighs trembled so hard you would've thought you were seizing, he continued to enjoy you, opting now for eating your poor overstimulated pussy until tears streamed down your face, his hands gripping your thighs for dear life like he was holding himself afloat so he wouldn't drown in your wetness.
Tongue lapping and teeth nipping, finger brushing your sensitive skin, and his swollen lips latching onto your clit and sucking without mercy.
"Wooyoung- please!" You begged, your sore hands gripping at his shoulders. His hands kept you pried open for him, digging into your thighs, buried in your cunt like he was trying to make a home there.
"More?" he replied, voice muffled as he didn't dare take his mouth off of you, laughing when you whined pathetically. "I can give you more baby, just lie there and feel good."
You shook your head back and forth as your attempt to get him to have mercy on you failed, your back arching and your brain hazing, Wooyoung's tongue sliding inside of you, curling, twisting, drinking you up completely ensurient.
"Holy fuck, honey. You taste so fucking good. All of you. Every- shit- every bit of you. Wish I could've tasted you sooner. You would have let me, wouldn't you?"
His fingers trailed up your inner thigh and promptly slid past your walls and curled inside of you perfectly, and you were cumming in no time, his tongue swirling around your clit, nipping it every now and then as he dragged you through your orgasm.
"Woo-!" you cried, your muscles started to give out on you as that orgasm nearly knocked you unconscious, and yet he refused to stop, like he was drunk on your juices. Like he truly was addicted to your taste.
"Is that a yes?" Wooyoung whined, slowing his fngers inside of you and stroking your walls so languidly you could feel every bit of pressure. "I know baby I know. Don’t worry, you can let me eat you out every day, and we can still stay friends. I promise...." he moaned, eyes rolling, licking up between your pussy lips like he couldn't bear to stay away from it.
Warnings: threesome (ish), unprotected sex (wrap it up, guys), reader is shared, fingering, oral (f receiving). Reader is tipsy but everything is consensual.
The afterparty is smoky and loud, all neon and bass. It isn’t what you’d expected at all. Everyone is a little too close, a little too tipsy, and a little too eager to get lost in the moment.
Wooyoung walks beside you with his hand warm on your back, guiding you through the crowd. He looks breathtaking in his suit, tie loosened, hair messy from performing. He leans down ever so often to murmur something in your ear… but then he gets pulled into a conversation with a producer, and you’re left nursing your drink.
That’s when you see him across the room staring at you. Yunho.
Tall. Sharp jaw. Smirking like he’s up to something.
You look away quickly, trying to focus on anything but those eyes. Yunho has always been a point of contention between you and Wooyoung. He’s never been subtle about finding you attractive, and he flirts blatantly. If we’re being completely honest, you don’t mind, but you really don’t need the drama of coming between two bandmates.
It doesn’t take long before Yunho walks over to you, swirling his whiskey in his hand.
“Did he ditch you already?” he asks, eyes dragging over your dress.
You laugh, focusing on your martini. “He’s busy. I can handle myself.”
“Mm,” he hums, stepping closer, lowering his voice. “Shame. If you were mine, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight.”
The boldness of his statement steals your breath. He notices, and his smile widens.
“Why don’t we go and talk somewhere quieter,” he says, fingers brushing the small of your back. It’s a soft, light touch. “Just for a minute. He won’t even notice.”
“What do you want to talk about?” you ask, looking up at him.
He chuckles. “I dunno. The weather.” He starts walking away.
You shouldn’t follow him. But you do. You don’t even know why you’re following him, but the drinks have gone to your head and Wooyoung is off somewhere... and what’s the worst that could happen?
He leads you down a hallway toward a quieter lounge room, dimly lit, empty for the moment. The music is muffled here, the air warmer, the closeness suddenly very intimate.
He turns to you.
“You look incredible tonight,” he says, stepping in close. “I’ve been trying not to stare all evening.”
Your pulse jumps. “Don’t lie,” you laugh. “You’ve been staring shamelessly.”
“Fine, I’ve been staring,” Yunho laughs and sips his drink.
You shake your head and look down to the floor, face reddening. “You’re trouble.”
“Only if you want me to be.”
He runs a single finger down your arm, slow, tracing heat into your skin. Then he leans in, close enough for his breath to warm your lips.
And that’s when you hear a voice behind you.
“Yunho, what the fuck?”
You both turn.
It’s Wooyoung.
He shuts the door behind him and stares directly at his bandmate, jaw tight. It’s not anger… what is it? Jealousy? Or something else. He looks at you.
“So this is what happens when I leave you alone for five minutes?”
“I…”
He steps up behind you, body pressing to your back, his hand sliding around your waist like he’s reclaiming you.
“Did he ask you to come with him?” Wooyoung asks against your ear.
“Yes.” you breathe.
“What for?”
You don’t answer. You don’t have to.
Yunho smirks, closing in the last inches of space. “I was just keeping her company,” he says, eyes dropping to your lips.
Wooyoung’s hand tightens on your waist.
“Is that right?” his voice is barely above a whisper. “Because it looked like you were doing a lot more than that.”
The tension is palpable. You’re caught between them, one against your back, one in front of you, two heat sources, two sets of eyes devouring you.
Yunho lifts a hand to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, slow and bold. “She didn’t seem to mind,” he says softly. “Do you mind, baby?”
Wooyoung’s breath hits your neck. “Baby? You’re letting him flirt with you like that right in front of me?”
Your knees go weak.
“Let her flirt.” Yunho’s voice is low and gravelly. “She clearly wants to.”
Wooyoung turns you to face him. “Is that what you want? Tell me what it is that you want. Me or him?”
Your chest is rising and falling rapidly and you look between them. “I… I want…”
Wooyoung swallows, and something shifts behind his eyes, melting into hunger. “Tell me. Do you want Yunho?”
“Y-yes.”
Wooyoung narrows his eyes. “Do you want me?”
“Yes.”
Wooyoung breaks into a small smile and looks up at his friend. “Fine.”
He sits on the couch first, spreading his legs slightly and patting the space between them.
“Come here,” he says, voice low and warm.
Your heart thunders as you sit between his thighs, your back to his chest. His hands slide up and down your arms; they travel to your waist and pull your thighs up and open.
Yunho stands in front of you, arms crossed, dark eyes roaming your body with open hunger.
“She’s even prettier up close,” he mutters.
Wooyoung hums behind you. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
His hands slip under your dress, fingertips brushing the inside of your thighs. Your breath hitches when he slides them higher until his palm presses over your panties.
When he feels how wet you are, he leans in against your ear. “Is that for me… or him?”
You open your mouth and nothing comes out but a broken whine.
Wooyoung hooks his finger into your panties and pulls them aside, exposing you completely to Yunho’s gaze.
Yunho inhales sharply. “Fuck. Let me see.”
Wooyoung spreads your thighs wider, and slides one finger between your folds, dragging slowly from entrance to clit.
You gasp, gripping his knees.
“Good, right?” Wooyoung asks softly as he circles your clit, teasing, barely touching. “Tell me if it feels good.”
“Y-yes… so good.”
“Good, you found your voice,” he chuckles, and pushes two fingers into you at once. “Let me hear you some more.”
Your back arches, head falling against his shoulder as he curls them deep inside you, finding your sweetest spot immediately. His pace is slow but heavy, his free hand gripping your thigh to keep you open while Yunho watches every twitch of your body.
Yunho’s jaw is tight, breathing uneven. “She’s perfect,” he mutters.
“Come closer,” Wooyoung says lazily. “Get a better view.”
Yunho kneels between your legs on the floor, face inches from where Wooyoung’s fingers disappear into you. His eyes flick up to yours, dark and hungry.
“You like when I look at you like this?” he asks.
You nod, breath coming in gasps.
Wooyoung speeds up slightly, pushing his fingers deep, knuckles pressing against you with every thrust. You moan, loud and unrestrained, thighs trembling.
Yunho groans under his breath. “Fuck… she’s gonna make me lose it.”
Your orgasm builds fast with Wooyoung’s fingers stroking you deep and Yunho watching every second.
But Wooyoung slows suddenly, pulling his fingers out with a dirty wet sound that makes Yunho curse.
“Not yet,” Wooyoung whispers against your neck. “Yunho hasn’t had his turn.”
He guides you forward gently, and Yunho kneels in front of you, hands sliding up your calves until he grips behind your knees and pushes your legs wide.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs. “Now let me taste.”
When his mouth meets you, you gasp loud.
Yunho eats you like he’s starved. He’s wet, messy, and greedy,
tongue deep inside you, lips sucking your clit, fingers digging into your thighs to hold you open exactly how he wants.
You writhe, grabbing Wooyoung’s wrist where it rests by your head.
“Fuck, she’s shaking,” Wooyoung mutters, voice low. “You can touch me, baby,” he adds softly.
Your hand reaches blindly for his crotch and he’s hard already, straining against his pants. He groans as your fingers brush the outline of him.
Yunho moans into you at the same time, sucking harder, licking deeper. The room fills with wet sounds, his mouth devouring you like you’re something sweet.
You come undone fast, your body trembling, your hips jerking toward Yunho’s mouth. Your thighs tense, back arching off Wooyoung’s lap as your orgasm crashes through you, your moans breaking into gasps as Yunho keeps licking, keeps sucking until you’re shaking uncontrollably.
When you collapse back against Wooyoung, Yunho wipes his mouth and looks up at you with hungry eyes.
“You okay?” he smirks.
You can’t speak.
But Wooyoung can. “She’s ready,” he says, voice rough. “Put her on me.”
Yunho helps lift you, guiding you on top of Wooyoung, who is already pulling himself out, thick, heavy, flushed. Wooyoung sits back, chest rising and falling quickly with anticipation.
“Come ride me,” he says softly. “Let me feel you.”
Yunho helps lower you, aligning you carefully before you sink down onto Wooyoung’s length in a slow, deep stretch that rips a moan from your throat and a growl from his chest.
Wooyoung’s head falls back.
“Fuck, baby… you feel amazing…”
Yunho moves behind you, holding your hips, guiding your movements as you start to ride Wooyoung, slow at first, then harder, deeper.
Wooyoung’s eyes flutter shut, jaw clenched as he grips your thighs.
“Don’t stop… fuck, don’t stop…”
Yunho leans close from behind you, whispering in your ear.
He reaches down to free himself, stroking himself slowly as he watches you bounce on his friend. “Let me watch you both fall apart.”
Your body tightens, pleasure building again as Yunho strokes himself to the sight of you and Wooyoung moving together, your moans all mixing together and filling the room.
Wooyoung is close. You can feel it in the way he thrusts up into you, hands dragging you down harder, faster.
“Cum with me,” he moans. “Cum on me… right now… fuck!”
Yunho strokes himself faster, watching your faces, your bodies, your sounds.
You break first, crying out as your orgasm hits violently, tightening around Wooyoung, pulling his climax from him in a deep, guttural moan as he spills inside you, hips jerking uncontrollably.
Yunho comes seconds later with a shudder, hot ropes spilling over his hand as he groans your name.
You collapse forward into Wooyoung’s chest, breathless but satisfied.
Yunho leans in behind you and kisses your shoulder softly.
summary: in which you have a mirror kink and your boyfriend has been driving you crazy
warning: dom yunho, sub reader, mirror sex, oral, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, fingering, squirting, hair pulling, choking, unprotected sex, creampie
genre: smut
pairing: idol yunho x afab reader
word count: 6.4k
note: his damn mirror selcas been driving me fucking crazy!!!
masterlist
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Three mirror pics.
Three.
You’d been curled up on his side of the bed, scrolling while pretending you weren’t waiting for it. But the second it dropped, your soul left your body.
The first was casual, messy, he was stretched out, headphone in, wrist slung behind his neck. But it was that half lidded gaze, caught in reflection, that had your thighs pressing together. The second? A gold mirror that warped just enough to give his frame a mythic edge. Broad chest, defined arms, tight tank. Captionless. Like he knew.
And the third, God help you, the third had him fresh from a workout, damp towel tossed over his head, black tank clinging to his body, holding a protein drink with one hand and his phone in the other, snapping the mirror like it was a casual afterthought. But nothing about it was casual to you. Not when your mind immediately spiraled to the secret you’d been nursing for months. The thing you’d never told him.
You had a mirror kink. And not the shy kind. The kind where you got off at the thought watching him fuck you in one. Watching you in one. Seeing your legs shake, his body towering behind you, his eyes locked on yours through the glass. The kind of need that had grown too loud to ignore.
Especially now. With Yunho in Taiwan and your brain swimming with fantasies and zero outlet for relief, you finally gave in. That afternoon, you made a quick stop after work. You’d measured the wall a dozen times already, right across from his bed, displaying on half the wall, showcasing the bed and his gaming setup.
You took a step back, gaze flicking between the bed and the reflection. The view was perfect. Every angle visible. The way you imagined it every time he was behind you. Every time his voice got low in your ear. Every time you almost said please, let me ride you in front of a mirror.
You crawled onto the bed, settling in the very center, legs curled beneath you as you grabbed his pillow and inhaled. Your phone was still in your hand, opened to his post. That third pic staring back at you like a challenge. He had no idea what he started. But by the time he came back? You’d be ready. And the mirror would be waiting.
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The door to the apartment creaked open just past sunset, the soft clatter of rolling suitcases echoing in the quiet hallway. “Home sweet home,” Yunho mumbled, voice rough with travel exhaustion.
“Home smells like ramen and dust,” Yeosang replied behind him, kicking his shoes off without grace. “Remind me to ask Y/N if she left the window open again.”
Yunho dropped his bag by the wall, rubbing the back of his neck. Everything ached, his shoulders, his legs, even his eyelids, but the second he stepped into the familiar warmth of the apartment, the ache dulled just a bit. You weren’t there, but your presence lingered in the little ways. Your mug on the sink. Your hoodie draped over the couch arm. Your shoes kicked off by the door next to his.
“She not here?” Yeosang asked, already wandering toward his room.
“Guess not,” Yunho replied as he walked towards his bedroom, pushing his door open, expecting the usual mess, maybe your perfume lingering in the sheets, your lotion sitting half capped on his nightstand. What he didn’t expect was the massive, wall mounted mirror directly across from his bed.
He stopped mid step. Blinking. Processing. “What the fuck?” he muttered, brow furrowing as he took it in. It was sleek. Wide. Almost artistic in how perfectly it framed his bed. The sheets were freshly tucked, pillows fluffed, like you’d prepped the space with intention. The mirror’s reflection offered a full view of the mattress. From headboard to footboard. From every possible angle.
Yeosang peeked into the room, curious why Yunho hadn’t moved. Then he saw it too. “That’s new,” Yeosang said, blinking twice before gasping. “Oh my god,” He mumbled, realization creeping into his tone. “She…. she bought that. She mounted that. Dude. That’s not just a mirror, that’s a mirror. That’s a bed facing mirror.”
“I can see that,” Yunho said, voice a little hoarse now as Yeosang stepped in a little further, staring at the setup like he’d just discovered the Rosetta Stone of your sex life. “Do you think she watches? I mean, she must…. right? That’s like… prime viewing real estate. You could shoot a damn movie with this thing.”
Yunho’s brain was trying very hard not to spiral. But the mirror was right there. And now Yeosang was in his room, pointing at it like it was a conspiracy board. “Out,” Yunho muttered, pushing him toward the door.
Yeosang backed up, hands raised, grinning like he knew exactly what Yunho was imagining now. “I’m just saying… this place is looking a little less like your room and a little more like hers.”
Yunho shut the door in his face and turned back toward the mirror, exhaling slowly, rubbing his jaw. His eyes drifted to the bed. Then back to the reflection.
What the hell were you up to?
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The door clicked open just as Yeosang was halfway through complaining about how jetlag was making him see god in the form of a vending machine granola bar. The scent hit them first, something warm and spicy, the unmistakable comfort of takeout after a week of convenience store snacks and airplane food.
You stepped inside, arms full of bags and dressed in an oversized hoodie, Yunho’s, and jeans, and your expression was that same casual ease you always wore when you were about to get away with something. “I brought food,” you said, kicking the door closed behind you.
Yeosang nearly wept. “Marry me.”
You rolled your eyes and handed him the heavier bag. “Yours has double meat. Don’t say I never take care of you.”
“An angel,” he sighed, already halfway to the kitchen.
Yunho hadn’t moved. He stood just a few feet from his bedroom door, watching you like you were a puzzle he’d never solved before as you glanced over at him, giving him a soft smile. “You good?”
“Yeah,” he said, slowly. “Just… tired.”
You nodded and padded toward the kitchen, grabbing a drink from the fridge and reaching into one of the bags to pass Yunho his usual order. He took it, eyes lingering on your face. Waiting. Searching. But you didn’t say a word about the mirror. Not one comment. Not a glance toward the door. Not a sly smirk or teasing remark like you usually gave when you were baiting him.
Just… silence.
You talked with Yeosang for a few minutes, catching up on what Taiwan was like, laughing when he told you about San nearly falling off the hotel balcony trying to reach for his charging cable. You asked if they were enjoying their global thirst trap status. But even then, you didn’t mention it.
The mirror. In his room. Just existing now. As if it had always been there.
Yunho watched you closely. His brain was in a chokehold. You weren’t not being flirty. But you weren’t being obvious either. And now he didn’t know if this was just some decorating decision you made because you liked the aesthetic, or if it was something more.
Something deliberate. Something filthy.
You caught him watching you more than once, and each time you smiled like you knew exactly what he was thinking but refused to give him the satisfaction.
Later, Yeosang yawned and excused himself to bed, disappearing into his room with a wave and a promise to shower sometime next week and you turned to Yunho once it was just the two of you, your voice soft. “You okay?”
He blinked. “Yeah. Just tired. Long day.”
“Want me to leave you alone?”
“No.” He said it too fast making you tilt your head, eyes gleaming. “Okay.” Still not a word about the mirror. And Yunho? He was losing it.
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It was late. The apartment had gone quiet, save for the low hum of Yunho’s computer fan and the occasional creak of the walls settling. Yeosang had been out cold for at least an hour, snoring softly behind his closed door. You were in the shower. And Yunho hadn’t moved from his chair in twenty minutes.
He sat at his desk, bathed in the soft glow of his monitor, headphones around his neck, fingers still on the keyboard, but he wasn’t playing anything. Not really. The game on his screen had gone idle, long forgotten. Because he couldn’t stop staring.
The mirror.
That damn mirror.
It reflected everything, his bed, his window, the soft blue LED strip behind his headboard, the faint impression of your body still left in the comforter. It was perfectly angled. Clean. Precise. A visual invitation. And you hadn’t said a single word about it.
His eyes dropped to the base of the mirror again. No packaging. No tools. No struggle marks on the wall. Which meant… you hadn’t just bought it. You planned this.
Yunho leaned back in his chair slowly, his knee bouncing. He wasn’t a dumb guy. He’d been around you long enough to read between the lines, to catch the shift in your voice when you were playing coy. But this? This was another level.
And now every memory of every time he’d caught you watching him change, every time you’d slowed down when he touched you in front of a window, every time he’d snapped a selfie and you’d gone weirdly quiet after, was crawling back through his brain, tying itself to this mirror like it was the missing puzzle piece he hadn’t even known to look for.
The bathroom door opened with a faint click but he didn’t turn. He could hear you moving, bare feet padding softly down the hall, the faint rustle of fabric as you toweled off. You emerged a few moments later in one of his oversized shirts, damp hair falling over your shoulders, your skin dewy and flushed from the heat.
“Hey.”
“Yeah?”
Yunho didn’t move. Just spun lazily in his chair to face you. “You, uh…” He paused, nodding toward the mirror with the smallest lift of his chin. “You gonna tell me why you put that up?”
Your smile was maddeningly innocent. “Why do you think I put it up?” That. That right there. That tone. Yunho leaned back in his chair, spreading his legs just slightly, still watching you like a storm on the horizon. “You know exactly what that mirror displays.”
“Mm.” You shrugged, stepping into the doorway, the hem of his shirt brushing your bare thighs. “It’s a good angle.”
“For watching TV?” he deadpanned.
“For watching things,” you teased, not giving him more.
Yunho exhaled through his nose, laughing low and dark as he tilted his head just a little. “I post a few mirror pics while I’m gone, and suddenly you’re redecorating my room?”
“You’re assuming it was about the pics,” you said, leaning casually against the frame. “Maybe I just wanted to watch myself ride your dick.”
Yunho’s hands gripped the arms of the chair like the air had been punched out of him as you smirked. Then you stepped forward and his breath caught as you walked into the room like gravity pulled you straight to him. His thighs parted instinctively, just enough for you to climb into his lap without a word.
You settled over him slowly, one knee on either side of his hips, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders. Yunho’s head tilted back slightly to look up at you. His hands hovered at your waist, not touching. Not yet. “You couldn’t stop looking at it, could you?” you murmured, voice soft and close.
He shook his head once. “You planned this.”
You nodded. “Of course I did.”
He finally touched you, sliding his hands beneath the hem of the shirt, his shirt, fingers skimming the backs of your thighs as he held you in place. “You want me to fuck you in front of it?” You leaned in, lips brushing his jaw. “I want to see how wrecked I look when you make me come.”
His grip tightened and low groan escaped him, almost a warning. “You’re evil,” he breathed.
“And you,” you whispered against his ear, rocking your hips just barely over the bulge beneath you, “haven’t even seen what I look like in that mirror yet.”
Yunho was seconds away from losing it. You in his lap, your bare thighs pressed to his, your voice like silk and smoke in his ear, he was drowning in it. And the mirror only made it worse.
He could see everything. The flushed curve of your cheeks. Your hands slipping under his shirt, your body arching ever so slightly against his chest. The way you leaned in, lips grazing his jaw, whispering that filthy little promise like it was nothing. “I want to see how wrecked I look when you make me come.”
He growled under his breath and gripped the backs of your thighs, standing up without warning, lifting you against him like he needed to own the moment again. He turned, carrying you the few steps to the bed, setting you down with the kind of force that made the mattress creak and your breath hitch.
His gaze was glued to the mirror. To you. But before he could climb over you, before he could even blink, you slipped from his grasp like water through fingers. A teasing smile playing on your lips as you slid off the edge of the bed and dropped to your knees right in front of him.
Yunho froze. Completely. His breath caught in his throat, his eyes locked on your reflection in the mirror behind you. Your hands rested on his thighs now, your fingers running up the solid length of them, dragging over his sweats with slow, sinful intent as you looked up at him, blinking once, lashes heavy, voice a murmur. “Sit.”
He didn’t question it. Couldn’t. He dropped onto the bed behind him like gravity had taken over, legs spread, pupils blown wide as you sank between them and the mirror gave him everything.
Your knees pressed to the floor. The stretch of your thighs. The curve of your back. The soft rise and fall of your chest as you stared up at him like you were about to pray with your mouth open.
And God, your eyes never left his. Not in the mirror. Not in person. “You wanted to know why I put it there?” you asked, fingers already trailing up his thighs, dangerously close to where he was hard and straining beneath the thin fabric. “This is why.”
He swallowed hard, jaw clenched, chest rising with every shallow breath. “For you to watch,” you whispered, dragging his sweats down just enough, revealing the way he twitched beneath his boxers. “Every second. Every reaction. Every time I ruin you.”
Yunho let his head fall back for half a second before jerking it forward again, eyes locking with the mirror, then with you as you smirked, hooking your fingers under the waistband of his briefs, tugging them down slowly, dragging your lips along the crease of his thigh. “Eyes up, baby,” you purred.
And when your mouth finally closed around him, slow, warm, devastating, Yunho’s body jolted in the chair, his hands flying to the arms of it like they were the only things anchoring him to the planet.
The only sound in the room was the wet drag of your mouth, his breath stuttering, and the distant creak of the mattress as he fought the urge to thrust into your throat.
Yunho hissed as you pulled back and licked a stripe from the base of him to the tip, your tongue flattening against the underside before circling the swollen head. You tasted him like he was a treat you planned to savor, letting your lips wrap around just the top at first, eyes locked on his through the mirror.
He gripped the sheets, knuckles white as you went lower. Your mouth stretched over him inch by inch again, your pace unhurried, deliberate, like you wanted him to lose his mind one second at a time. He watched your cheeks hollow as you took him deeper, your hand wrapping around what didn’t fit, stroking in time with the slow drag of your mouth.
“F… fuck,” Yunho breathed, his head tipping back for a second before snapping forward again, like he couldn’t bear to miss a moment. The mirror gave him the full view. His dick sliding past your lips, disappearing into your mouth. Your hand stroking in time with each bob of your head. The way your spit slicked him, catching the light, shining as it dripped down your chin.
And you looked like you were in heaven. You moaned softly around him, the vibration making him jolt, his thighs twitching under your hands. “You’re fucking evil,” he groaned as you pulled off with a soft pop, eyes never leaving his. “I’m just getting started.”
Then you sank down again, deeper this time, your throat tightening around him, swallowing him slow as your hand worked the base. Your tongue flattened along the underside, and Yunho swore under his breath, hips lifting just slightly before he caught himself. But you felt it. Saw it. Loved it. So you did it again.
Over and over. Slower. Wetter. More intentional. You sucked him like you wanted to ruin him with your mouth alone. And Yunho watched it all. Watched the way your throat bulged. Watched your fingers flex against his thighs. Watched his own dick disappear between your lips and come back out coated in spit. “You’re gonna make me come,” he warned, voice ragged.
You pulled back again, dragging your tongue along the tip, eyes dark with something wicked. And then you sank down again, letting him hit the back of your throat, holding him there just long enough to make him curse under his breath before easing off again.
Your moans were soft now, vibrations teasing along the underside of Yunho’s dick, your throat wrapping around him like silk. But the longer you sucked him, the deeper you moaned, knowing what it did to him. You wanted him to feel it. To watch it. And he did. Every filthy second reflected right back at him.
He wasn’t just close, he was spiraling. And then you moaned again, low, needy, full of want and Yunho’s grip snapped. He growled, deep and sharp, and his hand shot down, threading into your hair. In one smooth motion, he pulled you off his dick, your lips releasing him with a gasp as you blinked up at him, breathless.
“Get the fuck up here,” he ordered, voice low and wrecked. You didn’t resist, not even for a second as he pulled you up, mouth crashing into yours before your knees even hit the bed. His tongue swept in, tasting himself on your lips, swallowing the little moan you let out against his mouth. You barely had time to breathe before he was dragging you higher onto the mattress, pushing you down.
Yunho hovered over you, chest heaving, his eyes flicking toward the mirror once again, and it changed everything. He saw the outline of you beneath him. The way your thighs parted instinctively. The way your shirt rode up when you shifted your hips just the slightest bit, silently begging. He looked back down at you, lips curling. “Take it off.”
The oversized shirt came up and over your head in one slow pull, baring your chest to him completely. You tossed it aside, eyes locked on his like a challenge, your breathing shallow, nipples already tight from the cool air and the heat between your thighs.
Yunho’s mouth parted. “Fuck,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. Then he leaned in. His lips brushed your collarbone first, slow, reverent. Then lower, teeth grazing just beneath your breast before his mouth wrapped around one nipple, sucking softly. He moved down your body like he was worshipping it, tongue dragging across your skin, hands pinning your hips when you squirmed.
You felt him everywhere. The way his hair tickled your stomach, the heat of his mouth trailing down your ribs, the press of his dick still wet against your thigh where it propped out his sweats. And in the mirror, you could see it all.
Yunho glanced up at your reflection again as he kissed just below your navel. His voice came low, thick with lust. “You’re gonna watch me make you come, baby,” he whispered, teeth nipping the skin above the waistband of your panties. “Every. Fucking. Time.”
You whimpered as his fingers hooked under the band of your panties, slow and deliberate, eyes never leaving yours in the mirror and you spread your legs wider and he pulled them down your legs in one slow, lingering drag. You felt the air hit you, cool and teasing, and the way his pupils blew wide at the sight made your stomach flip.
He tossed the panties aside without even looking, his hand sliding up the inside of your thigh, warm and steady, spreading you open for him. And when he saw how wet you already were, slick, swollen, needy, he sucked in a breath through his teeth. “All that,” he murmured, brushing one knuckle along your folds, “from sucking my dick?”
Your breath hitched. But he didn’t wait for your answer. He climbed lower, shoulders settling between your thighs like he belonged there, palms braced on either side of your hips. Then one of his hands began sliding up, up your stomach, over your ribs, between your breasts, until he wrapped his fingers lightly around your upper torso, holding you in place. “Keep your legs open,” he said quietly.
And then he buried his mouth in you. His tongue thrust into you immediately, hot, deep, hungry, making your back arch off the bed with a shocked, broken sound. His grip tightened gently on your upper body, holding you down, keeping you open as he fucked you with his tongue like he’d been starved for you.
Your hand flew to his hair, fingers tangling desperately. “Y… Yunho!” He groaned into you, the vibration shooting straight through your core, making your hips jerk upward, only for his other hand to press your thigh down, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.
In the mirror, you saw everything. His broad shoulders between your legs, the slow roll of his head as he licked deeper, the obscene way your hips trembled with every thrust of his tongue. Your own expression, lips parted, eyes glazed, chest rising unevenly, reflected back at you like you were watching a scene you weren’t meant to see.
He pulled back just enough to drag his tongue from your entrance all the way to your clit, lips closing around it in a soft suck before he spoke again, breath warm against your skin. “Look,” he commanded.
You forced your eyes open and met the reflection again. “I said look,” he repeated, voice darker, dragging his tongue through you again, slower this time. “I want you to see what you look like when you fall apart for me.” Then he thrust his tongue into you again, harder. Deeper. His hand tightening on your torso to keep you from writhing out of reach as he devoured you like he couldn’t breathe unless he was inside you.
Your moan was raw, your thighs trembling around him. “Good,” he murmured, tongue flicking in hard, deliberate strokes. “Let it happen.” And you did. God, you did. You came with a choked sob, legs shaking.
You barely had time to breathe, core pulsing from the orgasm Yunho had just coaxed out of you with his tongue, his mouth glistening, jaw flexing as he looked up from between your thighs like he’d just claimed you. And then he was moving. Crawling up your body, dragging his lips over your skin, slow and unrelenting.
He kissed the inside of your thigh. Your hip. The curve of your waist. He licked a stripe between your breasts and bit your collarbone with a low groan like he needed to taste every part of you after what he’d just done. His mouth hovered at your ear. “You watched yourself come,” he whispered, voice deep and rough. “But now it’s my turn.”
You didn’t understand what he meant at first, not until he grabbed your thighs, flipped you gently, and pulled you up with him, dragging you into his lap as he sat in the middle of the bed, strong legs spread and your back flush to his chest.
He adjusted you like he’d done it a hundred times, your thighs over his, your arms resting over his, your whole body splayed wide and open in front of the mirror.
The reflection hit hard.
You, completely bare. Your legs spread across his. Your lips swollen, skin flushed, nipples hard from the cool air and his touch. And Yunho, shirtless now, sweatpants pushed low, chest rising slow as his dark eyes took in the image of the two of you tangled together.
“Look at you,” he murmured against your ear, voice thick with awe and filth. “You look like a fucking dream.” You shivered, then you felt it. His hand sliding down, slow and steady, fingertips brushing the sensitive spot between your thighs. You were still so wet, your body reacting to the reflection, to his voice, to the weight of his chest at your back and the sharp press of his dick beneath you.
“Keep watching,” he whispered. And then he slipped two fingers inside you making cry out, head falling back against his shoulder as he sank in deep, his fingers immediately curling, knowing exactly how to touch you.
“Yunho!”
“Eyes on the mirror,” he reminded you, lips brushing your temple. “I want you to see how perfect you are when I fuck you with my fingers.”
You forced your eyes open. And oh god. Watching it was so much worse. So much better. His hand between your thighs. His fingers thrusting into you, slow and filthy, wet sounds echoing in the quiet room. Your legs twitching, your body trembling against his. And Yunho’s other hand slid up your stomach again. Palming one breast, teasing your nipple, holding you still against his chest like he was presenting you to your own reflection.
“You wanted this mirror?” he rasped, thrusting his fingers deeper. “Then you’re gonna use it.” Your hips bucked as he groaned, breath catching in your ear. “Yeah, that’s it. Watch how you take me. Watch your legs spread, your pussy dripping, your mouth open like you’re already begging.”
“I… I’m not…”
“Yes, you are,” he growled. “Look at you.”
And fuck, you were. A mess. Beautiful. Flushed. Drenched. On display, in his lap, being slowly ruined by his hand and his voice and the reflection of your own unraveling.
And Yunho? He was barely holding on. Because now he knew. This wasn’t just your kink anymore. This mirror had made him feral for you. “Just like that,” Yunho whispered, fingers thrusting deeper, rougher now. “Fuck, you’re so wet… listen to that.”
You could hear it. The wet, filthy sounds of his fingers pumping into you, echoing in the quiet room like a soundtrack to your unraveling. Your hips twitched, thighs trembling where they were stretched open across his, your back arching against his chest. His arm was locked around your middle, holding you still while he worked you with the other.
The mirror in front of you was a goddamn crime scene. Your body splayed out like a fantasy, your legs spread and twitching, your chest heaving, your head thrown back on his shoulder as his hand disappeared between your thighs again and again. “Keep watching,” Yunho growled, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “You wanted this. Look how pretty you look coming undone for me.”
Your moan cracked in your throat as he curled his fingers just right and you screamed, a high, wrecked sound as your back bowed and your walls clamped around him. “That’s it,” he gasped, voice laced with awe. “Right there, baby, come for me. Give it to me. Let it out.” And you did. Your orgasm hit hard, a sharp, blinding wave that exploded from your core and tore through your whole body. You sobbed out his name as your thighs snapped closed around his hand, your hips jerking uncontrollably.
Your body tensed, your stomach clenched, and a hot gush of wetness spilled out around his fingers, soaking his hand and his lap and the sheets beneath you. “Holy fuck,” Yunho choked out as you squirted, crying out, overstimulated and wrecked, your head spinning as pleasure rolled through you so violently you could barely stay upright and your legs wouldn’t stop shaking.
Yunho didn’t stop. He slowed, barely, still thrusting his fingers, still curling them just right, watching the way your body jolted, helpless in his lap. “Look,” he groaned, his voice completely wrecked, breath hot in your ear. “Look what you did.” You forced your blurry eyes open and the mirror showed you everything.
Your thighs twitching, glistening and wet. Yunho’s soaked fingers slipping out of your still clenching pussy. Your lips parted, eyes glassy, chest covered in sweat. The way you trembled in his lap, absolutely ruined. You whimpered, body limp now, too sensitive to even move.
Yunho pressed a soft kiss to your temple, hand sliding gently down your thigh, soothing now. “You okay, baby?” he murmured, holding you close. You nodded, still trembling. But then your fingers curled around his thigh. And he froze.
You lifted your head, slow and steady, turning in his lap until you were straddling him. His eyes searched yours, mouth parted, completely unprepared for the shift in your energy. Your voice was low, wrecked, commanding.
“Lay back.”
Yunho obeyed instantly, breath catching in his throat as you pushed gently on his chest until he leaned back against the pillows, sitting at the center of the bed, body tense with anticipation as you reached down, fingers tugging at the waistband of his sweats and briefs, dragging them all the way down, off this time, until he was fully bare beneath you, dick hard and flushed, glistening from the earlier attention you gave him with your mouth.
His eyes flicked to the mirror, then back to you as you climbed into his lap again, knees planted on either side of his hips, your soaked core hovering just above his dick. One hand wrapped around the base of him, lining him up as you leaned forward, your other hand sliding up his chest, past his neck, until it curled around his jaw. “Look at the mirror,” you said, voice thick with heat. “Don’t look at me.”
Yunho groaned low in his throat, muscles tightening. But he did as he was told. His eyes snapped to the mirror just as you began to sink down, slow, agonizingly slow, the stretch so perfect it knocked the breath from both of you. “Fuck,” he hissed, his head pressing back into the pillows, fingers digging into the sheets.
You kept your hand on his face, fingers holding his jaw firm. “I said don’t look away.” In the mirror, you were everything. Hair messy, skin flushed, legs spread as you straddled him, his dick disappearing inside you inch by inch. Your mouth parted in a silent moan, your hips rocking as you took all of him, slow and steady, until you were fully seated, stuffed so deep you swore you could feel him in your ribs.
“Look at me,” you whispered again, but you meant the mirror. And he did. Eyes wide, blown out, glued to the reflection of your body claiming his as you started to move, a slow roll of your hips that made both of you shudder. His hands came up to your waist, gripping tightly, but he didn’t guide you, he couldn’t. He was too busy watching.
“Is this what you wanted?” you whispered, voice wrecked. “You like watching yourself disappear inside me?” He moaned, eyes fluttering shut, only for you to grab his chin again. “Open,” you demanded. “Watch me ride you.”
His eyes snapped open as you started to ride him in earnest. Long, deep rolls of your hips. The slick sound of your bodies meeting again and again. His dick sliding in and out of your soaked pussy while the mirror showed everything in perfect, obscene clarity.
You.
In control.
Taking him.
Milking him.
And Yunho couldn’t look away if he tried as your hips snapped down, again and again, thighs burning as you rode him hard, faster now, rougher, your wet heat sucking him back in every time he tried to breathe. The slap of your skin echoed through the room, filthy and relentless, but it was the mirror that made it obscene.
Yunho’s eyes were locked on it. Watching your body bounce in his lap, your tits moving with every grind, your slick dripping down the length of him. Watching your mouth hang open, sweat shine on your skin, his dick disappearing inside you over and over.
You were feral. Hair sticking to your neck. Legs trembling. Pleasure curling up your spine like fire as you used him for everything he had. “Fuck, baby…” he groaned, hands gripping your hips now, harder, holding you down when you tried to rise. “You’re gonna make me come.”
You smirked through a breathless moan, clenching around him just to prove a point. “Good.”
And that was it. His restraint snapped like a rubber band. With a growl, Yunho surged upward, grabbing you tight and flipping you over in one fast, fluid motion. You yelped as your back hit the bed, then gasped when he grabbed your thighs and dragged you down, down until your knees hung over the edge and your feet touched the floor.
The mirror was right there. And now you were facing it as Yunho shoved your back down, chest to the mattress, one hand on your lower back, the other dragging down your spine in a slow, heavy stroke. “Look at yourself,” he growled.
You barely managed to lift your head, and what you saw made your breath catch. You. Bent over. Legs parted. Dripping. Yunho behind you, broad and flushed, his dick hard and glistening with your slick as he lined himself up again.
He didn’t give you time to beg as he slammed back into you. You screamed, choked on your own moan, as he filled you all at once, deeper now, the angle brutal and perfect. His hands gripped your hips like he was hanging on for dear life as he began to thrust, fast, hard, his body slapping against your ass with every snap of his hips.
The mirror turned it into a show. You watched yourself bounce forward with every thrust. Watched his hips slam into yours. Watched your mouth open, your body tremble, your knuckles clutching the sheets.
“Fuck, fuck…. look at that,” Yunho gasped, eyes flicking between your reflection and the curve of your spine beneath him. “You see that? That’s mine.” He grabbed your hair, pulled just enough to arch your back harder, to force your eyes back to the mirror. “You see how good you take me?” he panted. “How wet you are? You’re dripping, baby. All over me.”
You whimpered, too wrecked to speak. And still, he kept fucking into you, deep, punishing, relentless. Your body jolted forward with every snap of his hips, bent over and soaked, your legs shaking, breath catching in your throat, but you kept your eyes on the mirror. You couldn’t look away.
Neither could he.
“Look at you,” he growled, voice low, gravel in your ear. “You see that? That’s your pussy taking all of me, dripping around me. So fucking pretty, baby.” You whined, back arching as his hand slid up your stomach, over your breast, to your throat, gripping gently, just enough to hold, to claim, to feel the pulse of you coming undone in his hands.
Your back slammed against his chest as he pulled you up, his thighs braced wide beneath yours, his dick still buried inside you as he bent his knees and started pounding up into you. Hard. Deep. Devastating.
You screamed, pure, broken sound, as he kept one hand around your throat and the other locked tight on your hip, holding you wide open on him, forcing you to stay there and take every brutal thrust. “Eyes on the fucking mirror,” he snarled, his lips brushing your ear. “You see that? You see what you do to me?”
You were gasping, moaning, body twitching violently as the new angle hit everything at once. “You feel that?” he growled again, voice soaked in filth. “Feel how deep I am? That’s your pussy choking my dick. So tight, so fucking good. You were made to be fucked like this.”
Your mouth fell open, a sob slipping free.
“Watch yourself,” he whispered. “Watch your face. You’re about to come again, aren’t you?” You nodded, helpless.
“Say it.”
“I… I’m gonna come…..”
“Louder.”
“I’m gonna… fuck…. I’m gonna come!”
And then your whole body snapped. Your thighs clamped down. Your core seized around him. And your orgasm ripped through you like a tidal wave. You screamed, legs trembling violently as hot wetness gushed out of you, your pussy spasming hard around his dick, soaking his thighs, the bed, the sheets….
“Fuck yes,” Yunho hissed, both arms suddenly wrapping around your waist, pinning you to him, his pace going ragged and brutal as you kept squirting, kept clenching, kept gasping his name like a prayer.
He held you there, locked in place as he slammed up into you again and again, chasing his own edge now. “Mine,” he groaned, voice nearly unrecognizable. “You’re mine, baby… fuck…. fuck… mine!”
And then with a deep, guttural sound, Yunho buried himself to the hilt, arms wrapped around your trembling body as he came hard. You felt it. The heat. The twitch. The full body shake as he pulsed inside you, holding you tight, like he never wanted to let you go.
Both of you staring at the mirror.
Both of you ruined.
His breath stuttered against your shoulder, chest rising and falling like he’d just run for his life. He kissed your neck. “You’re never taking that mirror down,” he whispered.
You smiled, wrecked, still in his lap, his dick still buried deep.
pairing & prompt: jeong yunho x f!reader - semi-public
word count: 1143
content notes: established relationship, outdoor sex on a car, unprotected sex, f!masturbation
“Come on, baby. You don’t want me to fall asleep at the wheel, do you?”
You looked over at Yunho, now in the third hour of driving the two of you through the countryside, and responded, “I can’t. We’re in the car. People can see through the windows!”
Yunho looked at you with a false pout on his face. “What people? There’s nothing out here but trees and birds! Nobody will see anything.”
“I don’t know…” You tried to look reluctant, but you both knew you wanted to give in.
“What if I dare you? You can’t turn down a dare. It’s the rules.”
“What rules?”
“Rules of the dare. I dare you to touch yourself while we’re driving.”
You scoffed at him, turning to stare out the window. Fuck, he was right. Some part of your brain was insisting that a dare was a binding obligation. And besides, there are worse ways to occupy your time on a car ride. Why not take up the excuse?
Without turning away from the window, you spread your legs wide across the leather seat and slid your dress up your thighs. Slowly, you slid your hand between your thighs and began to caress yourself through the fabric of your underwear.
“No chance,” Yunho said when he saw you. “Take those panties off first, baby.”
With a coy smile you slid them down your legs and off, grabbing them so they wouldn’t get lost on the floor. Yunho reached his hand out, demanding, and you cautiously handed him the panties.
He grinned wickedly and threw the underwear into the back seat, where you wouldn’t be able to reach. “That’s my girl. Now you can really have fun.”
And you did. You were tentative at first, painfully aware of the sun shining through the car windows on your bare skin. You closed your eyes and teased gently around your entrance, soon feeling yourself getting wetter from the combination of your fingers and the excitement of the situation. When you started to circle your clit, you heard Yunho’s rough exhale, and opened your eyes to look at him.
He smiled at you, making sure you noticed him licking his lips. “Don’t you want to fuck yourself? Go on, baby girl. Slip some fingers in there for me.”
You rolled your eyes at him, but happily obeyed, sliding first one, then two fingers into yourself. As you got lost in pleasuring yourself in front of your boyfriend, you stopped caring about the sounds you were making, and you didn’t even try to hide your moans.
The moment was so consuming that you jumped when you felt Yunho’s hand on your thigh. Looking up, you saw his deep brown eyes locked on you.
He took a deep breath and turned to watch the road, looking back at you frequently. “Maybe you should stop now. This is turning out to be a little too distracting.” You noticed him move his hand to his lap, pressing against his dick, desperate for stimulation.
You chewed your lip a moment, then raised your eyebrows at him. “No, I don’t want to stop. You dared me, and now I’m not bored anymore.”
“Baby, if you don’t stop, I’m gonna crash this car. Or I’m gonna have to pull over and fuck you.”
You smiled and went back to fingering yourself as you said, “Fine by me,” and closed your eyes again.
Almost immediately, you felt the switch from driving on smooth pavement to the bumpiness of grass, then the car stopped.
You opened your eyes to see Yunho staring at you, almost angry. “Get out of the fucking car,” he growled. Slowly, you complied, part of your mind wondering if you had genuinely upset him somehow. You stood by the closed back door as he strode around to meet you.
Without even a second of pause, he took you by the shoulders and pressed his mouth to yours, tongue immediately parting your lips. You braced yourself against the car with one hand, reaching with the other to grope him through his sweatpants. As he moaned into your mouth, you gently tugged on his bottom lip with your teeth. Moving his hands to your bare ass, beneath the fabric of the dress, he pulled your body closer to his.
Suddenly he stopped kissing you, and with his large hands still on you he pulled you toward the hood of the car. “Turn around,” he demanded.
Smiling at him, you turned to lean over the still-warm hood of the car. You barely noticed Yunho sliding his pants just down to his thighs, before he lifted your dress up onto your back. All thoughts of possible onlookers had vanished, and neither of you cared at this point anyway.
As he pulled your legs a bit further apart, you heard him whisper, “I know you’re ready for me,” then he pushed into you. He tried to give you a moment to get used to his girth, but finally feeling your warmth around him was too much and he started to move inside you.
Even in the heat of lust, he knew exactly what you liked and how to make you feel every inch of him. He fucked you rhythmically, making you gasp repeatedly against the metal of the car. His large fingers gripped you tightly, pulling you against his every thrust.
All your efforts in the car had you already at the edge. “Yunho, fuck, I’m-“ You could barely speak as you began to come, words turning to cries as your climax hit.
He stopped his movements as you came down from your high. After catching your breath, you started to move on his cock again, intending to work him toward his own climax, but he pulled out of you and pulled you up by your arm.
“Not like that, sweetheart. I want you on your knees.”
As you knelt in the grass, Yunho’s fingers tangled themselves in your hair. He groaned as you took him deep into your mouth, working the exposed part of his shaft with your hand. As his sounds deepened, you focused your lips on the head of his cock, swirling your tongue around the tip and savoring his taste.
In moments, his grip in your hair tightened and his breath hitched as his orgasm approached. You moaned encouragingly as he came on your tongue. When he had finished, you swallowed and gently licked him clean, making him shudder.
As he caught his breath, he reached down to help you stand before pulling his pants back up. When you had gathered yourselves and readjusted all your clothing, Yunho pulled you to him again, this time without any staged aggression.
He kissed you softly but deeply, his hands caressing your back. As you parted, he said, “Remind me to dare you to do things more often.”
Warnings/tags: 18+ MDNI, smut, porn with little to no plot, face riding, face riding, pussy eating, overstimulation, softdom!Wooyoung, slightly feral Wooyoung, established relationship, trying new things, reader's a bit nervous, noisy Wooyoung, talkative Woo because duh this is Wooyoung.
A/N: EHEYEHEUEHEY— Hi :3 new fic for yall because the poll said yay (wow how obvious was that teehee), i got the idea from this one reel on insta, buuut that fic's going to be for another day :] enjoy, and as always, this is fiction and this is not how I depict the idols in real life!!
Title from Freak by Doja Cat
Dividers from @saradika-graphics
"Babe?" Wooyoung called out softly as he entered your apartment, gently kicking off his shoes and placing them by the door. He had planned to surprise you by coming home early, but the usually warm and loud home seemed quiet.
Except for the familiar sounds of your whimpers coming from your room.
A sharp inhale came from him as he gently strode towards the source of the noise, pressing his ear to your door to confirm that you were indeed—touching yourself.
Wooyoung, being the curious little shit he was, gently pushed your door open to see you perched up on your knees, ass up as you fingered your squelching pussy. Slick was already leaking down your thighs while you watched something on your phone which was leaning against a metal water bottle.
Another sharp breath came to him when he saw what you were watching. Face riding. Specifically the pornstar seemed to be riding her partner's nose.
Fuck, that was hot.
He could see how much you were struggling to make yourself cum, your fingers not being enough to fill you up anymore, needing his hand or his cock to satisfy you.
He had to sit down, getting dizzy with all his blood rushing down to his crotch as he continued watching you get off on such a video.
When you let out a frustrated whine, Wooyoung finally decided to slide into your room, taking over as he gently touched the globes of your ass.
"Can't get off on your fingers anymore, can you, sweetpea?" He crooned, massaging your ass cheeks while you whimpered softly and nodded.
"Do you wanna try that out, pretty? Ride your boyfriend's face?"
With the question hanging in the air, Wooyoung stopped groping your ass, gently rubbing the skin instead as he waited for your answer.
"Ye–yeah.. I.. I wanna," you murmured almost shyly, your hand that you were using to finger yourself with retreating to your chest. God, you were cute.
"Then come ride my face."
Having Wooyoung lie down was the easy part. It was the sitting on his face part that kind of scared and turned you on at the same time.
What if you accidentally suffocated him? What if he wouldn't enjoy it? What if—
You were pulled out of your thoughts by your boyfriend gently tapping your outer thigh, looking up at you with lust filled eyes.
"Don't overthink it, pretty, just sit my face and let me do all the work. I'll help you ride me. Like always."
He grinned, reassuring you whilst gently tugging you down. You were still nervous, but with his gentle coaxing, you managed to finally settle down on his face.
Wooyoung groaned at the moment of contact of his mouth to your pussy. He had been waiting literal weeks for it, after being busy with work for so long.
"Fuck—" he groaned against your messy slit. "You're so wet, mnf—"
Flattening his tongue against your cunt, he licked a stripe from your sopping hole to your clit before suckling on the bud.
One of your hands flew to his hair while the other held onto the headboard, trying to support yourself and not put your whole weight on Wooyoung.
As if he could feel you holding back, he pulled you down harder, making you fully sit on his face, making you squeak as he made out messily with your drippy cunt.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, you taste so good— you always taste so good, baby.." Wooyoung babbled, his talking muffled as he slurped and covered your mound with spit.
By the time, you had started to feel your orgasm building up, he suddenly stopped, making you whine as you looked down.
"Ride my nose, baby, that's what you wanted, right? I saw that video.. come on, ride my big nose, get off on it, make yourself cum."
Your legs shook as Wooyoung kept encouraging you, your cheeks flushing at the sheer fact that he caught you watching such a video which led you to this position.
Biting your lip, you finally sunk down again, using his nose to make yourself feel good.
Wooyoung helped you find a rhythm, grasping your hips, and rocking them back and forth. It felt.. good. Like you were riding the tip of his cock, but better since you could see how his eyes rolled back and how he panted against your pussy.
Finding a good rhythm and pace, you gained a bit more confidence, gently tugging on his hair and making him groan beautifully.
"Mmn, just like that, sweetheart, ride my nose as if it were my dick.." he grunted, moving one of his hands away from your hips to palm his aching cock in the confines of his jeans.
You felt your orgasm building up with each grind, your clit rubbing against the bridge of his nose, causing soft whiny sighs to come out of you before you finally started to cum.
Wooyoung moved you back to his mouth, so that he could slurp up your juices, and drag your orgasm out by suckling on your pudgy nub.
"That's it, come for me, beautiful—mmngh.."
After what felt like forever, Wooyoung had you in a mating press, eating you out for the nth time. You stopped counting after the third orgasm, and you couldn't handle any more.
"Woo— I can't–" you whined, holding his hand in one whilst pushing his face with your other. Wooyoung pouted as he moved away from your pussy to speak.
"Just one more— one more and I'll stop, and we can eat dinner.. though I've been liking this dessert—okay, ow, ow‐!"
He chuckled when you pinched his cheek in your position, funny how you thought that you were in charge.
"Come on, one more, pretty girl, and I'll cook dinner. What'dya say?" He grinned, making you huff before nodding softly.
Author's note: Recently saw a post of how Mingi gets super "excited" when he's performing on stage and I cannot get it outta my mind. So I wrote this while listening to Bouncy and Deja Vu. I do welcome feedback or any thoughts! Enjoy~ Bye-um~
Description: He dances like he’s fucking the stage. You watch like you're already under him. You were meant to be invisible—just the crew. But Mingi saw everything. Tonight, he’s going to take everything.
Warnings: Smut (18+), Rough sex, teasing, dominant Mingi, subby moments, reader takes control, oral (f. receiving), unprotected penetrative sex (wrap it up in real life!), begging, overstimulation, creampie, power play, intense chemistry, backstage tension, hotel sex, slow burn turned explosive.
Masterlist for my page: Lies Lost In Silence
You weren’t supposed to watch them like that.
You were crew—staff. Professional, behind the scenes. But when you were in charge of ATEEZ’s stage production, you had to pay attention. Cues, spacing, light timings, set transitions—it was your job.
That’s what you told yourself.
Except the problem wasn’t the lights.
It was Song Mingi.
It started subtle—like static in the air. A few accidental glances between set changes. A smile that lingered just a second too long. That deep laugh of his echoing in an empty rehearsal hall while your pulse thudded in your throat. Nothing obvious. Nothing unprofessional.
And then… came the performances.
Because when Mingi performed?
It was unholy.
Every roll of his hips was a calculated sin. Every lyric he growled into the mic dripped like filth through the speakers. And the worst part?
He knew.
He knew you watched him. Not like a fan. Like a woman starved. You were sharp, professional—but during “Bouncy” when he rolled his hips toward the crowd and made direct eye contact with you backstage?
He smirked.
And from that moment on—it became a game.
You started smirking back.
A bite of your lip here. A tilt of your head when he looked your way. You weren’t blind to the way his eyes tracked you every time you crossed the back of the stage. He’d lick his lips sometimes. Adjust himself as he walked off after a set. You’d pretend not to notice.
But tonight?
You noticed everything.
The concert was chaos in the best way—lights perfect, crowd loud, performance flawless. Mingi was possessed on stage. Sweat-soaked, shirt clinging to every muscle, veins popping as he rapped and danced and fucked the air in front of 20,000 screaming fans.
But his eyes—his eyes were locked on you.
Every time he turned. Every time his hips thrust or his tongue dragged over his bottom lip. You.
And when he came off stage?
That bulge in his pants wasn’t subtle anymore. Neither was the tension in his jaw.
You didn’t say a word. Just handed him a towel backstage, holding eye contact for a beat too long.
He took it without breaking the stare. Smirked.
That was all it took.
By the time the final confetti hit the floor, you were soaked between your thighs—and he looked ready to pounce.
So when your hotel room door flew open less than an hour later, and Mingi stood there—still in his post-show adrenaline high, panting, eyes dark and heavy—you weren’t even surprised.
Just aching.
He slammed the door behind him, stalking forward like a man possessed.
“You don’t know what you’ve been doing to me,” he muttered hoarsely, hands grabbing your waist like he was afraid you’d vanish.
And then his mouth was on yours.
Hungry. Heated. Claiming.
His lips were rough, demanding—tongue sliding past your lips as he pushed you back until the backs of your knees hit the bed. He pulled back just enough to speak, forehead pressed to yours, his breath hot and ragged.
“I see the way you look at me. Every night on stage. Like you want me to fuck you right there, in front of everyone.”
His hand slid down, fingers brushing between your legs through your shorts. He hissed.
“Fuck. You’re wet. Just from watching me?”
You nodded, breathless.
And that was all it took.
He dropped to his knees like a prayer.
Pulled your bottoms down with zero ceremony, tossed them somewhere he wouldn’t care to find later, and spread your legs wide over the edge of the bed.
Then—his mouth was on you.
Tongue dragging through your folds, lips wrapping around your clit, fingers curling just right inside you. His moans were desperate. Hungry. Messy. The kind of oral that made you forget your name.
When you came—hard, fast, shivering—he just groaned into you, like your orgasm was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
But you weren’t done.
You pushed him down onto the bed, straddling him as you undid his jeans.
“You looked like you were going to come untouched on stage,” you teased. “You always get this hard after performing?”
His cock twitched in your hand.
“You,” he panted. “You fucking make me like this.”
You slid down on him slowly, both of you moaning.
“Then behave,” you whispered. “And let me ride you.”
His jaw clenched. His hands gripped the sheets instead of your hips. Obedient. Desperate.
You rolled your hips slowly, grinding yourself down hard against him. He twitched inside you, whining softly, eyes locked on the way your body moved above him.
“Please,” he groaned, voice breaking. “Please let me—just let me move—”
You smirked down at him, wicked.
“Beg harder.”
Mingi’s control was already crumbling. By the time you rode him deep and slow enough to draw your second orgasm from the pit of your stomach, he was trembling beneath you—his cock twitching inside, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Don’t come yet,” you whispered into his mouth, lips brushing his. “Not until you watch me fall apart again.”
And he did.
Watched every second—eyes glassy, jaw slack, his cock throbbing inside you—as you came undone all over him again with a loud cry, your walls fluttering around him.
That was the final thread.
And then he snapped.
He flipped you onto your stomach in one smooth, animalistic motion. Your cheek hit the sheets, and your ass was up before you could breathe.
“You made me wait,” he growled, voice low and dangerous. “Made me watch you fuck yourself on my cock like a fucking goddess. Now you’re gonna take it.”
He slammed into you, deep—a filthy, brutal rhythm that stole the air from your lungs.
“You felt so fucking good riding me,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips like he might break them. “But this—this is how I want you.”
Every thrust was desperate. Sharp. Raw.
He was chasing his orgasm like he’d die without it—his cock thick and pulsing inside you, body trembling, breath ragged against your back.
“I’m gonna come,” he gasped, teeth sinking into your shoulder, “Gonna come so deep you’ll feel me tomorrow—”
“Do it,” you moaned. “Fill me up, Mingi. Now.”
With a strangled groan, his rhythm shattered—hips jerking, cock twitching—and he came, hard, deep, hot, spilling into you with helpless moans and broken gasps of your name.
He collapsed over you, cock still buried deep, breath hot on your neck, both of you completely wrecked.
After a long, pulsing silence, he chuckled—dark and low.
“…Next time,” he whispered, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder, “I make the rules.”
You smiled against the sheets, still panting, legs trembling.
“Next time,” you murmured, “you better beg harder.”
