my name is arden, i am a 23 y.o. kpop multi fan with biases in the boyz, ateez, nct, and aespa. i've been a writer for a little while but never really posted anything online for others to read so please be kind <3 in my free time i obsess over ji changmin or jennie kim, im also employed lol
౨ৎ PAIRING: ex-soldier!jeong yunho x survivor!reader
౨ৎ GENRE: angst, fluff later in the story, survival, post-apocalyptic, fem!reader
౨ৎ WARNINGS: themes of survival, potential blood, mentions of weapons, dangerous situations, yunho is a little bit rude at times
౨ৎ WORD COUNT: 2.0k
౨ৎ SUMMARY: you’re a survivor, and have been since the beginning of the end of the world, since the great war. yunho is an ex-soldier who wants no part in saving humanity. somehow, you convince him otherwise, and the two of you embark on a journey to rescue mankind, and, maybe, find love and safety in each other along the way
౨ৎ A/N: my first series! i’ll do my best to update regularly, and i hope you all enjoy this little idea i had. i’ve wanted to write a dystopian story for a while, so i hope you all like this one! lmk if you’d like to be on the taglist for future chapters <3
Another cold morning envelopes your small makeshift campsite. At this point, it’s a miracle you can still wake up in the morning. As you crawl out of your tent, the smell of distant smoke fills your lungs and you wince, still not entirely used to the putrid scent that burns your nostrils.
The world has been basically uninhabitable for around six years, ever since the huge world war that left the earth divided and destroyed. Those who weren’t killed in the brutal fighting have taken refuge in various factions, some peaceful, but most are combative and unapproachable. You prefer to work alone.
Quickly gathering your small tent and other provisions, only items you can easily carry across the countryside, you start to move, scanning the surrounding forest for any hostile animals or people. Feeling somewhat safe for now, you continue on the path. The road is mostly dirt, with weeds and grass littered across it, evidence of a lack of human inhabitance for a very long time.
At this point, you don’t even remember the last time you were in contact with another person. A few months? A year? Two years? Time seems to go by both quickly and slowly, molding together. The sun rises and falls as it always has. You had always thought time was a curious and fickle phenomenon just like the seasons, ebbing and flowing as months and years pass with no change in the world around you.
The dirt and dead leaves crunch beneath your worn tennis shoes as you walk, shivering slightly as a cool breeze carries fog across the path. For many months, you’d been on the search for a place called Haven. You had heard rumors from people you used to stay with when you’d needed to be nursed back to health, back when you’d been attacked by a rogue survivor group with guns.
The family that had found and helped you used to talk of a group of people who are trying to rebuild the broken world. This had pushed you to leave the safety of the family’s home, searching for this allegedly peaceful group. Maybe you could help bring back some normalcy. Besides, what else would you do with the rest of your life if not try to bring back some form of humanity?
The insistent fog is making you uneasy, as much as you try to push down the growing fear you feel inside the pit of your stomach. Every time you hear a twig snap, your heart leaps into your throat, anxiety creeping into your mind.
Taking a deep breath, you push on, knowing at some point you’ll make it to somewhere you can rest.
Suddenly, another twig snaps. You tell yourself it’s a squirrel or deer or something, but something isn’t sitting right. Just as you round the bend, the dirt road leading down a small incline, you hear the unmistakeable sound of a knife being unsheathed. Your heartbeat quickens as you freeze, your eyes squeezing shut. You’re scared to turn around, so you run. As fast as your tired and sore feet will carry you.
It doesn’t take long for you to realize you’re being followed. Closely. Still not daring to look back, you take a right into the woods, hoping to outrun the assailant. Unfortunately, just as you think you might be able to lose them, you trip over a root tangled in the underbrush. With a sharp yelp, you fall, your backpack crashing to the ground with you, the wind leaving your lungs as your chest collides with the hard earth.
As you gasp, trying to regain your breath, you see them. A group of about three men, each wielding various weapons, but the main one a knife, long and sharp. “You think you can outrun us for long, girl?” one of them snarls, stepping closer.
Fear has engulfed you as you try to scoot back, your ankle pulsing with a sharp pain.
“We should take ‘er in, boss.”
“Yeah, she’s young and agile.”
The boss steps closer enough for you to smell the smoke on his clothes, making your nose scrunch with disgust. Just as he’s about to yank you up by the arm, you hear a shot ring out. Your head snaps up, seeing another man, this one hooded and standing on top of the hill, a pistol held in his hands, aimed right at the man hovering above you.
“Let her go.”
The man holding your arm scoffs, not releasing you. “And why should I rele—?”
He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before the hooded man fires another shot, this one hitting one of the men in the arm, making him scream in pain. You’re in shock as the man holding you drops your arm, quickly gathering his men and running in the other direction.
You quickly try to grab your backpack, not knowing whether to trust the man who saved you or not. Knowing you can’t trust anyone, you quickly scramble to your feet, casting one last look at the hooded man before trying to run, ignoring the sharp pain in your ankle.
You don’t make it far before a warm hand grabs your arm, pulling you against a solid chest as his other arm wraps around you, holding you still. “Let me go!”
“Where?” he asks, his voice smooth, not letting you move a single inch despite your struggle against his strong hold. “I saved your life.”
“That means nothing in this world except you’re probably trying to capture me too!” you exclaim, but your foot catches on the ground, sending another shockwave of excruciating pain through your ankle. With a yelp, you lift your ankle off the ground, black dots swimming in your vision.
The man holding you gently releases you, guiding you to lean against a tree. “Easy…” he tells you soothingly.
“W-What do you want from me?” you ask, trying to fight the dizziness.
“Nothing at the moment,” he responds, crouching down to be eye level with you as he slowly removes his hood. You’re met with a head of dark, slightly unkempt hair and surprisingly soft brown eyes that look… worried? “I’ve been trying to stop those guys for a while. The ones that attacked you. They come after every traveler along the main road.”
“Main road?”
“I know,” he sighs, glancing at the mostly dirt path, only a few spots where asphalt peeks through. “Hardly a road anymore, but we still treat it as one.”
“Why’d you save me anyway?” you ask, confused.
“Why not?”
You’re taken aback by this, your eyebrows furrowing slightly as your eyes scan his face, searching for any signs of dishonesty. Finding none, you sigh. “Thank you.”
“Anytime,” he nods, looking down at your ankle. “How bad is it?”
“On a scale of one to ten…” you wince. “Eleven.”
“Can you walk at all?” he asks, standing up and extending a hand to you. You notice the callouses on his slender fingers, making a pang of sympathy shoot through you. Gently taking his hand, you shakily stand, hissing when your foot hits the ground. “Here. Lean against me. I have a… shelter about a mile down the road. You can rest there.”
Nodding, feeling like you don’t really have a choice, you follow him, hoping against hope he isn’t leading you to your death.
When you both make it to the small shack, which, surprisingly, is quite homely on the inside, you’re finally able to rest your ankle.
“What’s your name?” you ask him as he readies an ice pack for your ankle.
“Yunho,” he responds simply, helping you place the cold ice pack against your ankle. “And you?”
“Y/N,” you reply, your gaze drifting to the gun strapped to his hip. “Where’d you find that? I haven’t seen a gun laying around since… the beginning of this mess.”
“Had it since the war,” Yunho replies, making your eyebrows furrow.
“Since the war?” you question curiously, glancing around at his makeshift home. “The only ones who were allowed to have guns were soldiers. They were rationed out that way.”
Yunho’s lips form a small frown, bordering a scowl, at your statement. It’s then you see the label on his pistol. It clicks in your mind. “You were a soldier?”
He simply nods, swallowing thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing, as he continues to ice your ankle.
“Which side?”
His gaze snaps to yours, a hint of vulnerability and surprise flashing in his brown irises as he freezes.
You realize what kind of question you’d asked and you attempt to backtrack before your gaze lands on a uniform. A Dominion uniform. He’d been part of the Order. “You were with them, weren’t you? The Order.”
“I’d rather not talk about it.” Yunho’s tone is clipped and cold as he finishes with the ice pack, standing to put the extra ice back in his old, beaten up freezer.
“No wonder you have a gun,” you mumble, feeling anger rising inside you. “You fought for them. You killed for them, didn’t you?”
He doesn’t respond, his back to you as he leans his hands against the wooden counter, his shoulders tense.
“Had you been with them before they tried to brainwash us? When they were still the military? Or did you join them after they tried to destroy the world?” you ask, your tone growing more and more accusing.
“I don’t think you have the right to ask those things of me when you’re in my home and I saved your life!” Yunho snaps, turning back around to face you. You close your mouth, suddenly remembering the dynamics of your situation. With a curt nod, you let it go, but not without another wary glance in his direction. You’d find out what happened to make him so defensive later, if there is a later.
“Where are you headed?” Yunho asks, sighing, as he sits down on the end of the cot you’re lying on.
“Why do you care?”
“Oh for the love of—“ Yunho takes a deep breath, as if steadying himself. “Just tell me where you’re going.”
“Haven,” you respond, sighing.
“Haven?” Yunho scoffs. “That’s a myth. Made up by dreamers who still had hope.”
“It’s not a myth,” you respond defensively. “It’s real!”
“And where’s your proof?” Yunho asks, crossing his arms, the scoff still playing on his lips.
“I don’t need proof,” you respond, your tone clipped. “I know it exists and I’m going to find them.”
“Suit yourself,” Yunho shrugs, shaking his head. “But the world is cruel to dreamers with hope like you. I learned the hard way not to trust anyone or anything.”
“Then why are you trusting me?” you ask, confused.
“You’re the one at my mercy at the moment,” he responds pointedly, and you slump against the nearly flat pillow, knowing he’s right. “So I’d suggest you start acting like it rather than talking back to me constantly.”
“Whatever,” you grumble, wincing when you move your foot.
“I’m being serious,” Yunho sighs, looking down at you, his gaze softening slightly. “I’ve seen too many people head down the road you’re searching for. Haven, or anything like it, doesn’t exist.”
“You’re a killjoy,” you grumble, frowning.
“Guilty as charged,” Yunho smirks slightly, before sighing. “I’m just trying to save you a worthless trip or a life of searching for something that doesn’t exist and never will.”
“Or…” you trail off slowly, glancing up at him and then the inside of the shack again. “You could help?”
“Help what? Search for Haven?” Yunho shakes his head. “Not a chance. I’m not wasting my time doing something like that.”
“What have you got to lose? This rickety shack?” you gesture to the small room. “Wouldn’t you rather be a part of something bigger?”
“I tried that once,” Yunho scowls. “Didn’t exactly end well.”
“This time will be different. I promise.”
“How can you promise something like that?” Yunho asks, raising an eyebrow skeptically.
“It’s like you said,” you shrug, your eyes meeting his dark ones. “I have hope.”
content:: Oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, and one very focused man who’s all too eager to please. Heated, intimate, and unapologetically indulgent.
His tongue is inside you.
There’s no gentle build-up, no teasing drag of lips or featherlight licks meant to ease you into it. No. Younghoon is in it, buried between your thighs like it’s the only place he ever wants to be. His mouth is hot and wet and relentless, tongue pushing into you with a hunger so intense, it knocks the breath straight out of your lungs.
And fuck—he’s good at this.
His hands grip your thighs, spreading you open wider, holding you there like he knows you’re already shaking, already trying not to fall apart too fast. But he’s not having it. He wants everything. Wants to feel your legs tremble against his shoulders, wants to hear the sounds he’s pulling from your mouth get louder, messier, wanton.
You whimper, hips twitching, trying to press yourself harder against his face, and he fucking growls. The vibration sends a jolt through your entire body, your back arching off the bed as his tongue thrusts deeper, then drags up through your folds with a slow, obscene slurp that leaves you gasping.
“God—Younghoon,” you pant, voice already ruined, fingers tangling in his hair because you don’t know what else to do. You need something to hold onto, need to ground yourself in something before you completely lose it.
But he’s not letting up.
He pulls back just enough to lick a flat, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, and then he sucks, hard enough to make your thighs clamp instinctively around his head. And he moans when you do it—like he likes being trapped there, like he wants you to suffocate him with it.
His fingers dig into your skin, keeping you open for him, right where he wants you, and the way he uses his mouth—God. It’s not even fair. The way he flicks his tongue over your clit in quick, rhythmic strokes, then switches it up without warning—soft, then hard, slow, then fast—keeps your head spinning, keeps you chasing every wave of pleasure like you’re being dragged under.
You can’t even think straight.
Your hands are shaking where they grip his hair, and your body’s already so close to unraveling, it scares you a little. No one’s ever made you feel like this—not this fast, not this deep. It’s not just how good he is. It’s how badly he wants it. How desperate he is, the way he groans into you like your pussy is the best thing he’s ever tasted.
And the filth of it? The sheer filth of the way he devours you?
It wrecks you.
The way his mouth works like he’s starving. The way he doesn’t give you time to adjust, to come down, to breathe. Just his tongue fucking into you, over and over, and his lips wrapping around your clit like he’s trying to drink you down.
You cry out, thighs trembling, one hand flying to your mouth as if you can catch the moan before it slips out—but it’s useless. You’re gone. You’re gone, and he knows it.
“Don’t hold back,” he rasps between licks, voice wrecked and raw, lips slick with you. “Wanna hear you. Wanna feel you come on my tongue.”
The words hit you like a punch to the chest.
Your whole body stutters—hips jerking up, back arching, toes curling against the sheets. You’re right there. You can feel it coiling tight, deep in your belly, burning hotter and hotter with every pass of his tongue.
And Younghoon knows.
Of course he does.
He slides one hand down, two fingers slipping inside you with that same confidence, that same control—and the moment he curls them just right, your vision blacks out.
“Fuck—fuck—I’m—”
You don’t even get the sentence out before you’re falling apart.
Your orgasm hits like a wave—violent, fast, unstoppable. Your body locks up, then shudders all at once, a strangled cry tearing from your throat as you come, hard, against his mouth. He groans, deep and low, and you feel it everywhere—his tongue, his lips, his fingers fucking you through it like he’s addicted to the way you break for him.
You’re shaking, panting, clinging to him like he’s the only solid thing in the room.
And even then—he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t pull away. Just keeps licking you, softer now, slower, like he’s easing you back down from the high. Worshipping. Like he likes the mess he made, the taste of your release still on his tongue.
When he finally looks up, his mouth is wet, his cheeks flushed, his eyes glassy and wrecked. He looks like a man undone—and all he’s done so far is put his mouth on you.
“You good?” he asks, voice rough, dark eyes scanning your face as he rises up between your legs. His hands stay on your thighs, stroking gently now, soothing.
You try to speak.
Fail.
Try again.
“Y-yeah,” you whisper, still breathless, your body barely coming down from it. “Holy shit.”
He grins. Not smug—just satisfied.
And when he leans in to kiss you—slow, deep, unapologetic—you taste yourself on his lips.
tldr:: Hyunjae and y/n have a super intense and passionate hookup.
content:: Lots of explicit sex, deep penetration, fingering, grinding, messy sweat, heavy breathing, biting, and a whole lot of desperate, heated intimacy. Basically porn without plot.
The room is filled with it.
The sound of him—the low, guttural grunts vibrating in his throat. The sound of her—whiny, breathless moans spilling past parted lips. The sound of skin against skin, rhythmic, relentless, an echo bouncing off the high walls of the dimly lit room.
Hyunjae has her on her back, stretched out beneath him, her body pliant, open, taking everything he gives her. One hand grips her left thigh, fingers pressing into the soft skin, keeping it hooked high above his hip as he rocks into her with slow, deliberate thrusts. The heat between them is unbearable, thick with sweat and something heavier—something neither of them have quite put words to yet.
He exhales sharply, forehead pressing against hers, breath mixing, warmth upon warmth. Between thrusts, he steals kisses—soft, fleeting pecks, barely there but devastating all the same. His lips brush the corner of her mouth, her jaw, her cheek, like he can’t stop, like he needs to feel every inch of her, even in the smallest ways.
A bead of sweat drips from his temple, trailing down the curve of her cheek, mixing with the warmth already pooling at her skin. Y/N barely registers it, too lost in the way his body moves over hers, the way he breathes her in like he’s starving, the way he holds her like he might never get enough.
She knows he’s close.
It’s in the way his pace stutters, the way his hips lose their steady rhythm, every thrust now driven by pure need rather than control. He’s not being careful anymore—not about the way their foreheads knock together with every desperate snap of his hips, not about the way his grip on her thigh tightens like he’s holding on for dear life.
Y/N feels it unraveling inside him, the same way it always does when he’s right there—when the need outweighs everything else, when he stops thinking entirely.
So she whispers his name.
It’s barely a sound, breathy and wrecked, but he hears it. Of course he does. They’ve done this enough times for him to know exactly what she needs, exactly what she’s asking for without saying it outright.
His free hand slips between them, his fingers finding her clit with practiced ease, rubbing slow, teasing circles at first before pressing harder, faster, working in tandem with his thrusts. The sensation sends a sharp jolt through her, her nails digging into his back as she arches into him, into his touch, into him.
Hyunjae groans—low, deep, ruined. The sound vibrates against her lips, and before she can even catch her breath, his mouth is on hers, desperate, consuming. He takes her lips like he owns them, biting down on her lower lip just as he pulls away, savoring the way she gasps at the sting, at the way he leaves her wanting even as he gives her everything.
Hyunjae always lets her come first.
It’s not even something they discuss—it just is. A silent rule written in the way he moves, in the way he learns her body better with each time, in the way he never lets himself go before she does.
And right now, she’s close. So close.
His fingers don’t falter, circling her clit with perfect pressure, perfect pace—matched only by the way his hips roll into her, deep and relentless. It’s overwhelming, the way he pushes her right to the edge, how he makes it impossible to do anything but feel him, take him.
“Jae—”
It’s a broken gasp, a plea, and it shatters what little composure he has left. His grip on her thigh tightens almost painfully, his jaw clenching, sweat dripping from his temple onto her collarbone. He watches her unravel beneath him, watches the way her body seizes, the way her walls clamp down around him as the orgasm takes her completely.
And fuck, she’s beautiful like this.
The way her lips part, the way her body shudders, the way his name falls from her lips like it’s the only word she knows—it’s enough to ruin him.
He keeps moving, fucking her through it, dragging out every last aftershock, letting her ride the high until she’s trembling beneath him.
And then—he lets go.
His thrusts turn erratic, rough, his breathing breaking into ragged, uneven gasps. His body tenses, muscles straining as the pleasure overtakes him, as he finally, finally lets himself reach his own peak.
With a sharp groan, he buries himself to the hilt, spilling into the condom, his fingers still gripping at her skin like he needs to ground himself, like he needs her even now.
And when it’s over, when the waves of pleasure finally begin to subside, he doesn’t move.
Doesn’t pull away, doesn’t let go.
Just stays there—forehead pressed against hers, breaths mingling, hands still wrapped around her like he’s afraid she’ll disappear.
tldr::Torn between restraint and want, Hyunjae lets the fight slip into something neither of you can take back.
content:: Arguing, Grinding, Dirty Talk, Car Sex, Pent-Up Tension, Emotional Turmoil, Denial, Longing. (I may have missed some—apologies in advance!)
The car is filled with the kind of tense, suffocating silence that follows a fight left unresolved.
Outside, the city hums with late-night energy, neon lights casting sharp slashes of color across the dashboard, shadows flickering over their faces. The streetlights glow like fire in the dark, reflecting off the rain-streaked windshield. The air inside is thick and heavy with words left unsaid, with emotions neither of them want to acknowledge but can’t seem to escape.
Your fingers curl into your lap, nails digging into the fabric of your skirt, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. You can still feel the heat of his words, the sharp edge of frustration in his voice when he had asked,
“What are we doing?”
You hadn’t answered him then.
And you don’t have an answer now.
Because if you give him one, if you put a name to this—to him—it becomes real. Something neither of you can walk away from.
Hyunjae exhales sharply from the driver’s seat, his grip tight on the steering wheel, knuckles white. His jaw is tense, his chest rising with each frustrated breath, lips parting like he’s about to speak...but then he doesn’t.
He just sits there.
Breathless.
Seething.
The tension between you is unbearable. And then, you move. Not by much. Just a shift, a turn, just enough to look at him fully but it’s enough.
Because the moment you do, he looks at you too and that’s all it takes.
You don’t know who moves first, who crosses the line that’s been blurring between you for months now, but the space between you disappears.
Your breaths are sharp and uneven, lips hovering just over each other, close enough that you can taste the remnants of his words in the air, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his skin.
And then you break.
Your mouths crash together, desperate, urgent, messy in a way that feels more like a fight than a kiss. Your hands find the collar of his jacket, pulling him closer, fingers tightening in the fabric like you want to anchor yourself to him. Like you want to hold on even though you know you shouldn’t. And for a moment, he lets you.
For a moment, he kisses you back just as hard, just as breathless, just as lost.
But then he stops.
He pulls away so fast it feels like a slap, like the crash of cold air against overheated skin, like a door slamming shut.
Your breath is still ragged, your pulse still pounding in your ears, lips still tingling from the force of his kiss. And he just pushes away from you. You stare at him, confused, heart twisting in something ugly.
“Hyunjae?”
His head falls back against the seat, his chest rising and falling in heavy breaths. His fingers flex against his thigh, clenching and unclenching like he’s fighting something, like he’s warring with himself.
And you watch as his hand disappears between the door and his seat.
There’s a small shift, the faintest sound of mechanical movement before the seat reclines all the way back.
Your breath catches.
Because the sight in front of you is...god, it’s sinful.
Hyunjae sprawled out, chest heaving, hair disheveled, eyes dark and burning with something unspoken. His lips are chapped and parted just slightly, like he’s waiting, like he’s daring you. He smirks, and its slow, lazy, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.
And then, without a word...he pats his lap.
Your stomach plummets.
“Come here,” he murmurs, voice rough with restraint, with desire barely held together.
You should say no. You should stop this. You had just been fighting, goddamn it. But the way he’s looking at you, like he wants to ruin you, like he wants you to ruin him right back, it’s too much.
So you don’t hesitate and you move.
You straddle his hips, hands braced against his chest, knees pressing into the seat on either side of him. And he doesn’t move. Doesn’t touch you. Just looks at you like you’re something he wants to break apart piece by piece.
“Still mad at me?” he murmurs, voice breathy, teasing.
You let out a sharp exhale.
“You’re impossible,” you mutter, voice rough.
“Then why can’t you stop?” he whispers back, tilting his head.
You watch his eyes turn darker, his pupils blown out and then—he does touch you.
His hands slide up your thighs, slow and deliberate, fingertips barely grazing over the fabric of your skirt before settling at your hips. His grip is firm, possessive, grounding you against him.
You gasp. Because fuck, you can feel him. Hard and aching beneath you, through layers of fabric that suddenly feel like too much, too thick, too restricting.
“Still think this isn’t real?” he mutters, voice dipping lower.
Your breath shudders. “Hyunjae—”
“You keep pretending we’re nothing,” he continues, his fingers digging into your waist, guiding you just slightly over him, enough to make you gasp again. “But tell me, does this feel like nothing to you?”
You hate him.
Hate him for asking.
Hate him for making you feel this, admit this, want this.
Because no, it doesn’t feel like nothing.
It never has.
It never fucking will.
You exhale shakily, leaning down until your lips barely brush against his. “No,” you whisper.
And that’s all it takes. The last shred of restraint snaps. His hands tighten, his mouth crashes into yours, and suddenly you’re moving, kissing, losing yourselves in the inevitable ruin of each other. There’s no hesitation this time, no space between you.
Just heat. Just the slow, delicious friction of you rocking against him, his breath sharp, your pulse frantic, the car windows fogging up around you as your bodies move in tandem.
You’re burning. Completely and utterly burning.
And he...he’s wrecked.
His hands gripping tighter, his lips parting against your mouth, his voice a low, broken sound when you move just right.
“y/n” he gasps.
And that’s when you know...you’re completely gone for him.
Neither of you speak for a long moment after.
Your breathing is still uneven, labored, the air thick and heavy with everything you just did.
Your head rests against his shoulder, your fingers still curled into the fabric of his jacket. His hands remain at your waist, fingers loose but still holding on.
And you know.
Whatever you are, whatever this is. It’s far past the point of no return.
