before you continue:
! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
! nsfw blog
! kinks, filth, taboos, dark and morally wrong topics, lots of smut & angst - everything is allowed here, don't follow if sensitive
my works:
[masterlist]
empty for now, will update once I write something
[future plans]
planning on writing fics mainly about a female reader X san/yunho/mingi/jackson wang. I already have so many ideas, but since I am quite busy with school and currently suffering with life in general, I have no clue when I will get into it properly
[requests]
will open once I publish my first fic, my DMs are always open tho
[my favourite works from other authors]
linked, regularly updating the list
about me:
[age] 21
[pronouns] she/her
[nationality] czech
[language] english, czech
[name] call me whatever u want, I'm not comfortable with sharing my name/nicknames just yet (still new here, bare with me)
[status] full time uni student
[hobbies] dancing, gaming, collecting
[studying] computer science
me & k-pop:
[ult groups]
txt - soobin biased
ateez - san biased, yunho wrecking the shit out of me
got7 - jackson biased
[also stan]
enhypen - sunoo biased
xlov - rui & haru biased
nct 127 - jungwoo biased
bts - jhope biased
stray kids - no set bias, maybe bangchan
seventeen - no set bias, maybe hoshi
[listen to]
the whole industry :D both boy and girl groups
"NEED A HAND?" ── k.hongjoong┆fem best friend!reader
── ۶ৎ in which despite your friendship hanging by a thread, Hongjoong has a bad break up and asks you to go with him to get a new piercing. he doesn't tell you what kind nor why you have to take a 30 minute car trip to the next town to get it. soon after you get to the tattoo studio, things get out of hand
wc: 9k (how)
content: friends to lovers, angsty, fluff + 18 MINORS DON'T INTERACT; public sex, car sex, handjob, fingering, nasty nasty fingering, hongjoong is a pathetic whiny little bitch in heat, porn with a plot. hongjoong is implied to be self conscious about his size. praise kink? maybe? pathetic!hongjoong
warning: mentions of blood / pain (piercings)
a/n: I had to make this blog just to post this. idc if people see this or if this shows in tags I had to get it out of my system. can you tell I was full ovulating when this happened
Hongjoong had been surprisingly quiet on the car drive to the tattoo shop so far, which given the fact it was thirty minutes away instead of your usual spot was sort of concerning. It's not like he wasn’t a quiet person, most people would be surprised to find out he was, but this wasn’t the kind of silence you were used to. The car had looked exactly the same it had last time you had ridden on it a few months ago. Actually, you were pretty sure the empty bottles and snack wraps might have really been the same, some of them might even have been yours.
It still smelled of that strange air freshener that always made you a bit nauseous when mixed with Hongjoong’s signature cologne, and the seatbelt still felt sharp and uncomfortable on your neck. For some reason you had almost expected the car to have changed somehow, just like with Hongjoong. Sitting there with everything above the surface apparently as it was felt like playing pretend. You had expected for him to drive you into one of the usual shops around town you were already acquainted with, so when he had taken that turn into the highway you had started to get suspicious.
“Can’t get it done anywhere here” he had said “Has to be a real professional”
You had raised an eyebrow at him. He answered, or more like avoided most of your questions without taking his eyes out of the road for even a second. Hongjoong was surprisingly a good driver when he wanted to, but the way his eyes stayed glued straight ahead seemed to be more of an excuse to not look at you. However it might have just been the awkwardness between you two, a conversation to be had that you both were avoiding. Is not like you didn’t want to have it, in fact you had already had the conversation in your mind multiple times after he had texted you “wanna come get a piercing?” after two months of silence. In the end you had just sent “sure” and all the things you had planned to say you had left outside when you had closed the car door.
“Damn” you kicked an empty Monster can that pilled among other things at your feet on the passenger seat “What are you getting?”
“You’ll see. Well...” he trailed off, a soft chuckle as result of a joke you weren’t a part of yet “Not really, I guess”
“...okay?” You could tell without even asking. The eyebags under his eyes, his unkempt hair, the bitterness of the laugh that had just escaped his lips. He wasn’t over it. He wasn’t over her. After all, it had only been a week “You are not doing like, anything crazy, right?”
“Define crazy”
“I don’t know, like... I don’t want you to get something you’ll regret when you forget about her in a month”
“I don’t regret any of these" You had known Hongjoong ever since his skin had been bare, watching as ink left its mark in him one tattoo at a time. You could recollect every single one by memory, even those fans would never get to see. Her name fell from his lips after a brief silence, catching you off guard "That was her name”
“I know”
Of course you did. How could you not when she had been the last thing Hongjoong had talked about before it all went down. She had been a “miracle” as Hongjoong had called her, a meeting brought by fate at some event. You had seen her on his finsta stories, never in person. Embarrassingly, you had stalked her profile a few times like a complete masochist. You didn’t know much about her though, as Hongjoong seemed too busy to keep you updated on the relationship once she had agreed to go out with him. It had lasted about two months, which was within the usual window of time that it took Hongjoong’s relationships to end. It was always like this. Passionately fall for a girl, crash and burn, and then this: new addition to Hongjoong’s body. Well, this time there had been a slight change, but neither of you would bring it up.
“She was okay”
“I wouldn’t know” it pissed you off how you were supposed to be walking on eggshells around him, a little biting wouldn’t hurt him. You could tell it had though. Still, the car drive would be a nightmare if the mood got completely sour, so you decided to liven it up with a joke "Just don't get a full black sleeve or something like that just because your manager isn't here”
Hongjoong seemed to appreciate the breather.
“I know, don't worry. But it is... special”
There it was again, that lower register in his voice. You knew him all too well to understand that there was something that was troubling him. The idea of him doing something absurd for a girl he’d dated for two months pissed you off. That she could be that important while you were the backup friend he'd use when he needed someone to tag along. It made you feel worse that you had actually come to him.
“You sure you are not doing anything weird?”
“Can you stop worrying?”
“Well can you stop fucking around for a second?” Hongjoong looked out of his window, hands gripping the wheel a bit tighter, rings reflecting the sunlight. It didn’t feel good to snap at him, especially not when he was in a vulnerable state like that. But how long could you indulge him? How long could you silently forgive him? “Actually I have no idea why you asked me to come” Hongjoong didn’t look at you, his eyes glued to the asphalt and body stiff under your gaze. You sighed and looked out of the window, giving up “I guess time out is over”
The direct sunlight blinded you for a moment before you closed your eyes. You crossed your arms over your chest as it rose up and down with a heavy sigh. Hongjoong eyed you through the corner of his eye, his tongue slowly wetting his lips as if getting ready to say something. Whatever it was it felt heavy on his chest.
“I need someone with me” he murmured loud enough for you to hear, a slight shakiness in his voice “Someone I trust”
You opened your eyes and turned to him, catching his a second before he set them back ahead. There was worry but also determination.
“Okay, you are really freaking me out now”
“I am making it sound worse than it is, trust me”
“Then why don’t you just tell me?”
“It’s... complicated. Listen, I just--” he shrugged, hands leaving the wheel for a second “I can’t ask anyone else. It has to be you”
Far from easing your worries, the bare rawness of his voice worried you even more.
“Okay, stop the car. You are acting crazy”
“I keep making it sound weird but it’s true, okay?” he cackled somehow genuinely at your reaction “And if we get there and you don’t want to hold my hand you can wait outside but...” his shoulders shook with a brief shrug, then a short pause “It’ll hurt less knowing you are there”
You hated how much his words affected you.
“You really are not going to tell me”
“I sort of, maybe... want to see the face you make when you find out”
You saw the smile tug at the corner of his lips, the first one you’d seen since getting in the car. The first one you’d seen in months that didn’t come from a picture with him and his ex on his instagram story.
“Oh... so you are fucking with me. Thank god, I was starting to get worried. Turns out you are just your usual asshole self”
“If it ain’t broken, don’t fix it”
You shook your head with a scoff “Idiot”
You felt his eyes on you, the silence still tense but somewhat lighter.
“Thank you for coming, though”
You bit your lip and your eyes wandered to the landscape across your window again.
“Had nothing better to do”
-
The tattoo shop was by far the most professional looking you had ever seen Hongjoong step into. The receptionist even smiled at the both of you as he saw you come in. You sat on the red velvet couch propped against the black wall, perfectly decorated with framed designs and art pieces in clean, minimalistic frames. Hongjoong walked towards you with the paperwork to sign in hand and sat next to you, closer than you had expected him to. You were still walking on eggshells around him, but he didn’t seem to be doing the same. He should have. He should be the one worried about making the wrong move, say the wrong thing, sit too close to you. And yet there he was, elbows propped on his knees that bruised against yours like it was okay to just do so. Like the last two months hadn’t happened. You both got taken into the room almost immediately where a man in his mid-thirties welcomed you two with a warm, formal smile The smell of sterilizer hit your nose almost as strongly as the white light had hurt your eyes. There was a black tattoo bed in the middle of the room where you assumed Hongjoong would sit, with two small stools resting nearby.
“We already went over all the details during your consultation and I trust you read the paperwork as well. I know you are familiar with all this but I just want to make sure you are ready”
“Yes sir, I am”
Whether it was anticipation or fear you couldn’t tell, but you knew him well enough to hear the nervousness behind the casualness of his voice.
“Okay! Get comfortable on the bed and pull down your underwear. You need to get erect for me to work the piece so I’ll give you guys a few minutes”
What?
You hadn’t said that aloud, and yet Hongjoong turned towards you like he had heard you. All color drained from his face as he saw the artist leave the room, the soft click of the door as it closed the last noise that room heard for a few seconds as you both stayed still.
“I did not think about that” Hongjoong finally said, pointing towards the door “Fuck, I should have told you earlier. I’m sorry” he passed both his hands through his hair, messy strands of freshly dyed black hair standing in all directions “This is fucking weird. I’m sorry, I--”
“What exactly is going on?”
“So... remember that idea I mentioned a year ago?” he asked hesitantly, forcing a smile
It took you a bit of effort to remember, and then your mouth fell open.
“You are out of your mind” your eyes unconsciously traveled down to his black sweats before you shut them tightly, attempting to compose yourself and ignore the heat creeping up your face “You brought me for this?”
“No! I didn’t-- shit, the plan was for you to just hold my hand” he held your gaze, and you saw the confidence leave him as his eyes moved somewhere else in the room as the reality of the situation seemed to hit him “Or you can wait outside, as I said--”
“What the fuck” you said, attempting to make sense of the situation. Of course. Only Hongjoong could get you both in a situation like this “Is that why you said I was the only one you could ask?”
“No, fuck. I’m sorry, seriously. I didn’t think of this. Shit” he laughed nervously “You can just leave and come back with him, close your eyes and all that” Hongjoong pondered for a moment, just how selfish he could get “Or you can just not come back. I just wanted you to hold my hand while it goes in but it’s okay, it’s stupid ”
No matter how amusing it had been seeing him panic in such a way, the sound of his voice, beaten and ashamed was not something you enjoyed. And yet.
“I should have known it was something crazy when you called me. I mean... after two months? You must have been desperate”
Hongjoong lowered his head, eyes fixed on his beaten black Converse. He blinked a few times and he pinched the bridge of his nose with a deep frown. He shifted his weight where he stood and you just waited.
“I’m sorry” he finally said, voice lower “I should have spoken to you”
You fell quiet, your soft smile and confidence disappearing.
“We already spoke about that”
“Not really. Not properly”
“It was nothing, Hongjoong”
“I shouldn’t have kissed you”
You sucked in your bottom lip, chest feeling tight.
“I said it was nothing”
You had said that. You both had.
Back in the same car you both had driven to the tattoo shop in. He had driven you home after one of your regular late night hang outs. Car drive, radio on and a “goodnight” that had stretched until early in the morning. You could still see him as he had been, head turned to you on the driver seat, smile wide as he laughed at something you couldn’t quite recall. The engine had been turned off a while ago when you both had realized the conversation would last longer than expected once again. That had been the night he had told you about the “miracle girl”, every detail he gave you about her making a bit more nauseous. There were years of practice to the way you could smile at Hongjoong as he spoke to you about other girls, but there was nothing you could do about the suffocating pressure of your chest whenever he did so. Your body had been turned to him, seatbelt unlocked, simply watching him under the dim light of a distant street lamp. It hurt every time you realized how much you loved him, and as you always did when the truth hit you, you became small and felt inadequate no matter what you said or did. You always tried to run away from him when that happened.
“I didn’t even have to ask for her number, she just gave it to me!”
“That’s bold” you matched his tone, hoping that would make lying easier. It usually did.
“Right? I don’t know. It was kind of hot”
“I bet. It’s your lucky day”
You wish you could have said the same thing. Your shift at work had been an absolute nightmare, the kind that made you want to lock yourself in the bathroom and angry cry for a few minutes. Your whole week had been like that, really. The only thing that had made it bearable was the plans you had made with Hongjoong on a rare spot where he was schedule-free, and now there you were: listening to him talk about how he had met the woman of his dreams that also happened to be really interested in him. You wished you could be an adult and be happy for him, but you were just a person, and the fact you couldn’t bring yourself to do so made you feel like a terrible one.
“You good?”
Hongjoong sounded worried, and when you finally rose your head to look at him he looked like it too. You hadn’t realized you had zoned out, lips wrapped around the straw of your empty drink and eyes fixed somewhere far away.
“Yeah, sorry. I’m just tired”
Hongjoong shifted on his seat and fully turned to you.
“You wanna talk about it?”
Of course you couldn’t fool Hongjoong. He knew you too well. That’s why it scared you so much whenever your act slipped even if just a bit. He would know.
You forced a smile, your acting not as sharp under the scrutiny “I’m fine, sorry. I’m excited for you, really” you had said, with the type of casualness that took effort. He had stilled at that, as if you had said something wrong. You had noticed the look he’d give you sometimes when you did things like these, like he somehow knew something was wrong. His eyes would scan your face for something, and it worried you that one day he might find it. Maybe he had already. You felt the familiar overwhelming feeling creep up on you, and you knew you couldn’t bear it much longer “Is late and all we are doing is talking so...”
You were looking for a way to finish the sentence and excuse yourself when he interrupted. His voice was low and the words stuck together with a mix of heat and confidence.
“Got any other suggestions?”
The heat crept from your chest to your face so quickly you almost felt feverish. You let out a nervous giggle and Hongjoong’s lips stretched into a smile, his heavy lided eyes dragging from your avoiding eyes to your lips that were still toying with the straw. Hongjoong took the empty cup from your hands and dropped it somewhere at his feet. The sudden silence in the car had made your heart start racing, and you would have said another stupid thing to break the tension if he hadn’t leaned over and kissed you. His lips pressed against yours, shut tight and a bit dry, nothing like you had imagined a hundred times before. His fingers buried themselves on your hair, stiff at first, then loosened when you hummed in satisfaction. He pulled away just enough to let you say something, and when you didn’t he kissed you again, tongue briefly draging along your lips. The sound of your mixed jaded breathing felt loud and obscene in the dead quiet of the car, and the idea that someone could pass by and see you through the windows worried you and excited you all the same. The idea that someone could see you kissing Hongjoong is one you had fantasized about for so long it felt ridiculous by then, and yet there he was, moaning against your lips and hand gently dragging up and down your knee before making its way upwards to your tigh. His thumb brushed along your jeans before he pulled away enough to whisper:
“This okay?”
His voice made you giddy, so close and low and hot against your mouth. You got to nod only once before a bright light blinded you, making you both wince and turn to it. It’s was his phone that vibrated against the holder with an incoming call. Her name was displayed in bold black letters against the white background. There was a few seconds in which you had to make a choice, and as usual the one you took was the easy one that would cause you the most pain. You just laughed.
“Calling at two in the morning? You better pick that up”
The muscles pulling at your smile ached, and the strain to keep your voice steady hurt your throat. You pulled away from Hongjoong, in more ways than one. He could feel it immediately. The coldness, the distance.
“I mean... it’s just--”
“It’s okay Hongjoong” you had already opened the door, body turned away from him and your leg already on the ground “I'm cool on you”
That had been the last time you both had seen each other. There had been some awkward texting trying to emulate a casual conversation for a few days before he told you he was dating that girl, and then the conversation had died until he had asked you to come get the piercing with him.
“I’m sorry” he repeated, a bit louder, shakier. He looked at you from barely a few feet away, but the distance between you two felt bigger and way colder “You can wait in the car if you want. I’ll take you home later. Or I can call you an uber and you can leave now”
You didn’t want to leave, and despite everything, you didn’t want things to be like this.
“Hongjoong, I’d do this for you any time, but...” you hestitated, and you understood why he couldn’t look at you as you found yourself avoiding his eyes too. It was shame, fear “Getting a new girlfriend and shutting me off for months only to ask me to come here and do this? Like you knew I’d come back to you like a lap dog?” you felt your jaw quiver, cutting your speech short “It doesn’t feel great”
“That wasn’t my intention. I just wanted to see you” Hongjoong scoffed “That’s kind of w...” Hongjoong trailed off and silence settled once again “I kept talking about you” he finally said “That’s why we broke up”
You stared at him, and to your surpise he was looking at you. You saw his pupils shake, but he didn’t look away, no matter how much he wanted to.
“What a stupid reason” you whispered.
“Yeah”
Your arms unfolded and fell to your sides.
“Do you want me wait outside?”
A shrug.
“Do you want to leave?”
“I asked first”
“I asked second”
You both laughed softly, and for a moment it all felt like it’d all be alright. You pondered for a few seconds before you walked to the door and disappeared behind it. Hongjoong nodded, more to himself than to you.
“Fucking stupid” he muttered to himself as he pulled down his sweats, just as the door opened and you entered the room again “Shit! What--”
Hongjoong hurried to pull his pants up again, hitting the stools and making a crashing noise reverberate through the room as he fell forward on the bed. You would have laughed if you hand’t been fighting the dizziness that came with your eyes quickly snapping to the other side of the room. You had seen nothing, and you needed to keep telling yourself that so the heat wouldn’t turn your cheeks bright red.
“Sorry! I should have knocked. I asked him if he could give us a few more minutes”
“Wh--”
He looked completely lost and embarrassed as he straightened up. His hands were still tightly gripping the waistband of his pants as he saw you walk inside the room and towards him.
“You are all depressed now, there’s no way you are going to get hard so--”
“Wow, can you not say that?” he asked with almost a wince, his eyes closed tightly as if you were the one suddenly undressing in front of him with no warning.
You gave him a confused look.
“What? Get hard?” a crooked smile spread across your face as you saw the slight pink at the tip of his ears “I’m pretty sure you’ve heard worse things”
“Yeah, not from you. It feels... wrong”
“What happened to ‘it has to be you’” you mocked.
“I meant for you to hold my hand”
You pursed your lips, furrowing your brows in confusion.
“So you don’t need any help?”
“What? What do you mean?”
“I sort of... thought that’s what you actually meant when you asked me if I wanted to stay”
You could see the gears turning in his head, painfully slowly.
“No! No, I’d never--” Hongjoong closed his mouth, then opened it again “I mean, not... never”
“Whatever, Hongjoong. I’m a woman. I’m your friend. It’s cool with me” you said, feigning aloofness “You can just... touch me or something, imagine I’m her or whoever. I don’t know”
Hongjoong stared at you for what felt like minutes before he spoke again.
“You are crazy”
“Actually, I am ‘the only one you could ask’”
“Stop it, I’m going to kill you” the threat was loud and genuine, but you could also see the way his eyes scanned your body in one swift look before falling silent again.
His eyes wandered around the room. You bit your lip, worried that this was it. Everything could break apart in an instant, the fate of your friendship at the tip of Hongjoong’s tongue.
“He’s going to charge you over time” you joked, trying to backtrack.
“Shut up”
Silence again.
“Hongjoong” you called for him in a soft voice, and he finally looked at you “I can leave, it’s okay. I’ll be on the other side when--”
“No” he instinctively took a step forward, as if you were going to walk away “It’s fine is just...”
You didn’t notice when Hongjoong had walked backwards towards the bed, bringing you with him as his hand still held your arm. He had sat down on the bed and as he rested his back against the back of it you knew he wouldn’t say anything else. There was no need for it. He let go of you and sat with his hands resting over his lap as if he didn’t know what to do with himself. He was looking at you, waiting for you to approach him. Under any circumstances you would have laughed, but you just crossed the distance and stood closer to him.
“Where did that big talk go?” he joked, the excitement and nervousness evident in his voice.
You panicked for a moment, the situation becoming real all too suddenly.
“Do you want to make out or...?”
“I don’t know what we are doing” he said and you laughed together “But it feels good”
“I haven’t even touched you yet”
“You are gonna touch me?” he said, halfway between a question and a plea.
You absentdmindedly reached for his hair, burying your fingers in the soft black locks while trying to ease your own heartbeat. The moment your fingertips had ran through the base of his scalp he stilled, a shiver running down his back. Hongjoong inhaled softly and deeply, eyes fluttering before fixating on your lips.
“Is that alright?”
Your voice was low, the question spoken like a secret. Hongjoong nodded lazily, face dangerously close to yours.
“Feels good”
His voice dived an octave lower, which you took as an invitation to drag your nails a bit further through his scalp. Hongjoong shifted on his seat and he closed his eyes. You took in his features, still the same as you had remembered these last few months, and yet something had changed. Maybe it had been you.
“I missed you” you confessed with a shaky breath.
“Me too”
“Don’t do that again”
Your fingers grabbed onto his hair, softly pulling at the locks and earning a sharp inhale from him. Hongjoong opened his eyes, brown eyes piercing through yours, eyelids heavy.
“I won’t”
He brought his hand to your waist, taking a moment to gauge your reaction. You expected him to have reached higher, towards the thin lace of your bra. He could have felt the drumming of your heart against your chest, almost begging to be felt. Instead he drew his fingers across your waist, his hand hesitantly sneaking underneath your top and caressing your lower back. Goosebumps covered every inch of your skin, you were sure Hongjoong would be able to see it. His eyes darted around your body, seeing it stiffen as his fingers caressed further up your back with lazy moves. His head fell forward, almost resting against your shoulder, nested against your neck. You felt the hot fanning of a breathing against your neck, and Hongjoong saw your swallow before his eyes fluttered shut as he stirred on his seat. The motion made his nose bump against your neck, and your hand instinctively held his shoulder as if you thought he would fall, fingernails digging slightly into his skin when you felt the softeness of his lips brush against your ear for just a second. Then again, a bit bolder but hesitant chaste kiss to your neck with a soft noise.
You felt his shoulder muscles under his skin as he moved his arm, followed by the rustling of clothes. He struggled awkwardly for a few seconds in which his grip on your waist tightened. The side of his face felt burning hot against your neck, and you wondered if he was embarrassed.
“Do you need help?”
“No” he was “I’ve got it”
The hand on his shoulder ventured downwards, anticipation jolted through your body before you had time to feel ashamed of it. You felt the hard bits of the old band t-shirt Hongjoong wore, the name faded away and rough under your fingertips. You felt his chest rise up and still as your hand stayed there for a second, feeling the faint drumming of his fast heartbeat, before continuing your way down. The fanning of his breath against your neck stopped and his body froze when he felt you push his hand that was resting on his crotch to the side. His other hand that had been low on your back, pinky finger toying with the hem of your jeans stopped altogether. Saying he was half hard would have been an understatement. It felt hot as you palmed it softly over his sweats. A soft whine escaped his lips, so pathetic you felt it directly between your legs. You stilled for a moment, savoring and processing the sound of it. It must have been too long because with a hot sigh Hongjoong's hand rested on top of yours, squeezing himself with your hand in a silent, desperate and pathetic plea. You palmed him, a bit drunk on how desperate he felt, head limp on the crook of your neck, his body so hot you could feel it. His fingernails digged slightly on your lower back as he whined against your ear, holding onto you as if steadying himself. You could feel yourself getting wet. If this was the state you were both in by simply touching each other over clothes, just how much--
Hongjoong moaned against your neck when you passed your fingers under the waistband of his sweats. Of course he wasn't wearing underwear, it would be too uncomfortable after the piercing was done. His skin felt hot, sweat making it a bit sticky too. When you finally grabbed his cock his mouth opened in a silent moan. He was hard by now, heavy under your touch, gratefully twitching when you had started dragging your hand painfully slowly. He was dragging his tongue through your neck in open mouth kisses, lost in the way you pumped him slowly.
"Can I put it out?" you asked, sounding way hornier than you wanted him to know. He shook his head, but the way his hand gripped at the flesh of your waist told you the idea was somewhat to his liking "I want to see it"
He thrust himself into your hand, giving himself away almost like it had been an accident. He moaned weakly into your neck, and soon he found himself doing it again, and again, and again. The chair rocked slightly, the frantic screeching of its swaying filling the room and giving away the pathetic way Hongjoong was fucking himself into your hand, holding onto you for dear life. His hands gripped at your shoulders and waist, putting you at a very uncomfortable position, but the sound of his panting on your ears and the feeling of his now slick cock desperately thrusting onto your hand was too exhilarating for you to care. Then you heard his airy voice against the shell of your ear, loud and hot. It sent the most pleasant chills down your spine.
“You can tell him to come in”
You both could tell neither of you wanted to stop, but he knew he'd cum if he thrust into you even once more. You put your hand away, resting it against his chest to stabilize yourself. His clothes felt strangely warm, and the feeling of his fast heartbeat strangely flattering. You expected him to look away when you pulled away from him but he didn’t, his clouded eyes stuck to you like a madman. He fixated on the way your chest rose up and down, your exposed waist where he had lifted your top, the small wet patch on your neck where he had drooled. Your chest, where he seemed to regret not touching you. Your flushed face and hazy eyes staring down at him, mirroring his.
“Hurry, or I’ll finish” he moaned against your mouth.
You turned around and exited the room under Hongjoong’s burning gaze. It felt embarrassing to call for the artist in such a state, wondering if he'd know. When you entered the room your eyes stayed glued to the floor until you had been next to Hongjoong, his hand warm holding tightly onto yours. It felt so strange doing this after what had just happened. The metallic clanking behind you made you shiver and you tried not to think about what would be going down soon. Next to you, Hongjoong’s eyes were glued to the ceiling, the strong white light reflecting on his glassy blue eyes.
“It’ll be just a moment” his eyes fell onto you and despite the nervousness still evident in them, they softened “You are going to look so cool”
His grip on your hand tightened. It really was just a moment, but to Hongjoong it probably felt way longer than it had been. Your hand would hurt for a while after the way he had held onto it, but you wouldn’t tell him that. His jaw tensed as he held in a pained cry, and despite not being able to see what was going on, the implication made you wince. A single tear streamed down his cheek, softly wiped them away by you. His breathing seemed to steady as you heard the familiar sound of gloves being pulled out.
“All done. Bleeding for a few days will be normal, it’s nothing to worry about. Clean the wound twice a day, dry it gently, don’t touch the piece, the usual. No swimming. No oral or penetrative sex for a month" none of you said anything, but you both were obviously disappointed "Erections are okay but there might be some bleeding too... I think that’s it. I’ll let you fix yourself and I’ll be waiting outside, okay? See you in a minute, guys”
“Thanks” Hongjoong’s voice was raspy but he felt alright “Wait outside, I’ll be right there”
“Okay”
-
You had expected for Hongjoong to walk with a bit more difficulty than he did, but despite the slight hint of discomfort on his face there weren’t many tells. He might be able to hide it from the members after all. After Hongjoong had arranged for his follow up visit you both exited the place, the clear mid-day sky welcoming you despite the chill air. You expected things to get awkward, but it surprised you how much you both just seemed horny and frustrated.
“You hungry?” Hongjoong asked as he fished inside of his jacket for his car keys.
“I could go for a bite, yeah”
His hand grabbed onto the handle of the driver’s seat and you both sat down inside.
“Thank you. Really” he said.
“No need. And I am sorry”
Hongjoong frowned.
“Sorry for what?”
“For your girlfriend breaking up with you because of me”
His lips shaped into a crooked smile.
“Who said she’s the one who broke up?” You looked at each other for a moment before he leaned forward and he kissed you. It was soft, and slow. So slow that it was obvious it was far from innocent. His eyes trailed down your body with a sigh "What about we go back to your place, actually?"
You bit your lip and shook your head. Your thighs pressed together.
"Didn't you hear what he just said"
"He said no oral and no sex, on me" his eyes bored into yours, hungry "There are so many things I can do for you" his hand rested on your knee, lazily moving upwards "Please?" Your legs parted and his hand eagerly touched your through your jeans. Hongjoon let of a soft groan, even through the thick fabric he could feel the heat "How wet did you get?"
"It's your fault" you complained, aware of the way Hongjoong would soften up at your pouty demeanor from time to time.
"Is it?" he feigned innocently, his fingers uselessly pressing harder over your entrance through the jeans, as if your cunt was desperately calling out to him. It was nothing short of disgusting how horny you both were in plain daylight, parked on the street with people passing by "Should I fix it?"
-
You both tried to make the ride back to your apartment, but thirty minutes proved to be too much. Heat was blinding Hongjoong, eyes darting around like a crazy man, so impatient he'd hit the claxon at any car that took more than one second to floor it after the light turned green. He was trying hard not to touch you with his free hand, and you were busy ignoring how uncomfortably your panties stuck to your pussy. He had driven inside the parking lot of a mall, half empty, as you questioned him.
"I'm sorry" he had said, before finding the emptiest, most secluded part of it and parking against the wall "get in the back" he demanded, but there was desperation underneath it.
He winced like something hurt, and it was then you could see he was fully hard underneath his sweats. You wanted so badly to see the piercing. Touch it, suck around it, feel it deep inside. A moan escaped your mouth just thinking about it as you let yourself fall on the back seat, Hongjoong coming through the door and slamming it behind him. His hands went for your zipper right away, pulling at the waist of off your jeans with impatient hands. You stopped him.
"All the way?" you asked, your panic as strong as how feverishly horny you felt.
"No one will see" he said before he kissed you, mouth open and tongue dragging across it.
Hongjoon moaned at the difficulty he had when he tried to pull your pants down. He had become painfully aware of your plush thighs and pretty ass for a long time now. He had thought about humping you like a dog whenever he took notice of how well fitted your pants were, or when you'd sit down next to him in a playful minskirt. He didn't even think about fucking you, the simple idea of humping your ass, fully clothed and cumming in his boxers was enough for him. The jeans pilled in an awkward way at your ankles, but it was enough for Hongjoong to maneuver. He didn't waste time and pulled your panties to the side. Breath hitched on his throat when his fingers touched your pussy. You could see the blissful surprise in his eyes, locked on yours, before he had to look down to make sure he wasn't going crazy. He trailed his fingers across it, so wet they easily slid across it.
"Fuck" he said in a pained whine, like he couldn't believe his eyes. He closed them for a moment, trying to concentrate on the nasty, slick sounds that embarrassingly filled in the quiet of the car as his fingers spread your lips. It made his dick twitch painfully.
His eyes went back to yours again, as if asking you if this was real. You looked away, embarrassed. It drove him insane, your flushed face, shiny shy eyes and brows furrowed in shame. All while he felt his fingers wet and sticky against your cunt that seemed to be pleading for him to fuck you.
He didn't even try, his fingers seemed to slip inside your pussy with ease, getting sucked in in a way that had you both moaning into each other's mouths. He pulled them out, taking off the rings on his fingers and unceremoniously tossing them somewhere in the car. He put his fingers right back in as deep as he could, his other hand trying to push your knee as far away as the jeans at your feet allowed it. He groaned almost childishly, taking his fingers away again.
"Take the pants off"
He leaned forward to take your shoes off, but you stopped him again.
"What if someone sees"
"The windows are tinted"
It shouldn't have been enough to convince you, but it did the job. You let him take your shoes and jeans off, horny by just seeing how desperate he was to just finger you. He turned you slightly, your back now pressed against the car door, him sitting on the back seat with your pretty pussy in full display for him. Your back hurt, uncomfortable, but the way he was looking at you was worth it. You could see his fully hard dick pressing against his sweats and you knew it must hurt against the restrain. He pushed your knees apart, but you closed them. It almost made you feel bad, the way he looked at you like he had done something wrong. Before he had time to wonder if he had messed up, you said:
"Pull your pants down, friction is going to hurt you"
Hongjoong bit his lips, it did hurt.
"It's okay..." he started saying, until he saw how you pressed your legs together, hiding you from him. The simple act of losing sight of your leaking pussy for even a second seemed to do the trick, his hands quickly pulling the waistband of his sweats down and freeing his hard, red cock. You could faintly see the piercing, glistening faintly under the fluorescents of the parking lot. You pussy clenched around nothing, around the mere thought of fucking his pierced cock deep inside you.
"Do you like it?" he asked, a hint of shyness laced on his heated breath.
"When it gets better, can I fuck it?"
Hongjoong nodded slowly, as if taking in your request. He parted your legs, slightly pressing them against your chest, making you whimper at the nasty way he was eyeing you. With a whimper he went back to trace his fingers across your pussy, tantalizingly slow for someone who was so desperate to be knuckles deep inside you seconds ago.
"I want to spit on it but you don't need it"
You understood then why he had fallen so quiet, why he was toying with your entrance. He was savoring the sound of it. The slick, faint and nasty sound your pussy made whenever he graced his fingers across it. You pushed your hips, almost begging him, and he obeyed. His fingers slid right inside again, this time perfectly going all the way in until his knuckes pressed against the entrance. How he wished he could put more in, fuck you like a pathetic bitch in heat in the back of his car. The way you moaned brought him back to reality. You clenched around him, and he worried he might cum. Slowly he pulled his fingers out, savoring the slick coat of arousal around your fingers before pushing them back in. They filled you up again, your hips moving on their own again. He pumped them inside you slowly, lost in the small pants that left your mouth, your eyes glued to the way his hand got sucked inside your cunt over and over again. His thumb started to press at your clit whenever his fingers went all the way in, and the loud moans you were trying to suppress turned into pathetic cries whenever it did. The cries, the exposure, your hot pussy, the filthy sounds. He was going to cum. He needed to compose himself.
He pulled his fingers out, and you let out a whimper that sounded like a question. He dragged your legs towards him, until he had your back arching across the back seat. His hands grabbed at the neck of your tank top, pulling it down unceremoniously to expose your tits to him. The way he seemed so desperate to do so got you clenching around nothing. His hands moved to them, palming them with a satisfied groan, brows furrowed as he took the whole sight in. You, sprawled in the back seat of his car, chest exposed and your legs open just for him to see and touch, thighs wet with your own arousal. His hands dragged down, nails scratching at your stomach and thighs on their way back to hold the back of your knees against your chest.
"I want to fuck you" he said, as if it were a confession "I've always wanted to fuck you"
Maybe it had been a confession, an apology he felt he'd owe you soon. He winced, and you thought the piercing might hurt, but you understood once you saw and felt him cum on you and the leather seat. A thin string connected his cock to the cum that now covered your gaping pussy. It felt hot, but not as hot as the sight in front of you: Hongjoong hunched forward, head down in shame and panting slightly.
"I'm sorry" he breathed out, an you could tell he was embarrassed.
He heard you groan lowly, and for a second he worried he really had ruined everything, until you said:
"You are so hot"
His head shot up when he felt you grabbing his wrist, coating his fingers on his own cum before moving your hips to fuck yourself onto his hand. Hongjoong moaned loudly in surprise, which startled him so much that he turned around to make sure no one had heard. He brought his attention back to you quickly, not wanting to miss a single second of what was going on inside his car. Neither did you. The sight of his shiny eyes, fucked-out expression and parted lips making you squeeze his pretty fingers, dragging another whine from him.
"You are fucking me so well" you said, speaking for the first time. You voice was strained, dry "Can't you feel how much I love it?"
You clenched around him on purpose, and the way his face twisted anyone might think he was severely hurt.
"Does it feel good?" he breathed "Do my fingers feel good? Tell me they feel good"
His desperation made you clench again "It feels so fucking good, can't you hear it?"
He could hear it, that filthy sound now exacerbated by his cum getting pushed in and out of your cunt. He was getting hard again, watching you hold onto his hand and thrust into it, using it to abuse your own pussy with such a pleased, eager expression.
"You are so pretty. You have such a pretty pussy" the words left his mouth like a lost thought. He wasn't really thinking anymore.
"I want you to fuck it"
"Shut up" he groaned.
Hongjoon leaned in and kissed you, the drool that had formed at the sight of you now falling down your chin in a clash of teeth and tongue. He pressed his tongue against yours, forcing it deep inside your mouth just as he buried his fingers deep, deep inside you. The moan that rose from your throat choked on his tongue. He pulled it out of your mouth it with a nasty sound, a thread of saliva connecting your lips. Just by the way he looked, you knew he was hard again.
"I'm going to fuck you so good. I promise you"
He pulled his fingers back again, and proceeded to finger you at a speed that made it clear he was trying to get you to cum before he did again, and he was close.
"You sound so fucking good"
He patted at his sweats with his free hands, hand looking for something like a desperate puppy. He finally found it: his phone. When you realized what he was doing, both embarrassment and heat spread through your lower belly, making you whine in a way that made Hongjoong's hand shake, but his pace never faltered. He had opened the recording app and placed it close to your pussy, making sure every filthy little sound was saved for later.
You came with a loud cry, and Hongjoong savored every small clench, every small wet sound that came from your orgasm as he moaned himself, painfully hard and wishing he could use you like a fleshlight. He rode out your orgasm by recording every sound, fingers going inside and out, stretching you out and dragging them across your cunt to record as much as possible. When he was done, he pulled them out, and sat with a deep sigh, placing his hard cock insde his sweats with a wince. He took a look at you, then leaned forward and kissed you softly on the lips. It was soft, careful, like the first one you had shared in that same car. You were both riding the high, and you felt blissful enough to do him the favour of cleaning his fingers by bringing them to your mouth, tongue dragging across them in small licks.
"You are awful" Hongjoong said, voice strained and eyes going dark again.
It made you chuckle, and baring your teeth you bit them playfully before placing a chaste kiss on them.
He pulled your top back up, and helped you sit comfortably after lying in such a straining position for so long. The truth was, if he let you stay in that position for longer, he might be tempted to bury his fingers deep inside you again. God, he already missed the feeling of your pussy around them. He looked around to make sure there was no one around.
"You good?" he asked, lips pressed against your cheek in a soft kiss.
You humed in response.
"I'm sorry about your car" you said, guiding Hongjoong eyes to the part of the back seat between you two that was covered in cum. Hongjoong's chest rose and fell with a deep sigh.
"It's my fault. I was too impatient"
"How are you going to survive a whole month?"
Something flashed in Hongjoong's eyes. Something soft and unguarded.
"I think I'll manage, if you help me out"
You bit your lip. It was obvious he was still incredibly horny. So were you.
"Do you think you'll last until we reach my apartment?" you didn't miss the way Hongjoong's eyebrows rose, eyes shining, then it disappeared after he took a quick glance at the time on his phone.
"I have to go back to the dorm..."
You playfully shrugged.
"You could be very quiet" you whispered into his lips before kissing them so softly it made his dick twitch.
"I can't be, you just saw" he retorted, but you could tell he only needed a little push.
"It's easy if your mouth is busy" you kissed his neck, tongue dragging swiftly through te spot "Buried under my pretty pussy"
"Okay" that's all he said before he got out and got on the driver's seat "Stay there, I can't drive if you sit next to me, please"
pairing﹢jeong yunho x fem!reader
genre﹢smut. heavy dialogue, dilf!yunho, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, yunho in his early 40s), original characters for narrative purposes (jeong minho, kim minsoo). manipulative, obsessive + possessive dynamics, cat-and-mouse tension; pet names (sweetheart, darling, baby, princess, etc.). making out + (f) cunnilingus + faked orgasm [with minho]. reader dresses feminine/revealing, jealousy themes, mention of jerking off. brat-taming, finger-sucking + fingering. a lot of praising with a hint of degradation, big dick yunho + implied size kink, missionary position, unprotected sex (don't do that), plan b usage, multiple orgasms + orgasm denial, creampie. aftercare + confession + secret relationship.
synopsis﹢your friend minho is everything a girl is supposed to want — handsome, gentle, the kind of boy who is a keeper, a prince straight from a fairy tale. however, stories like that crumble the moment you meet the man who raised him. one smile, and suddenly you’re standing at a crossroads no one prepared you for: one path will drag you to paradise… the other straight into hell. and you already know which one you’re going to take, because some temptations were never meant to be resisted.
word count﹢20k
𝜗⊹ PLAY THE VINYL RECORD .ᐟ
you first meet JEONG YUNHO in the way most dangerous crushes begin, and that is accidentally.
you’re in his living room, together with his son, sitting on the couch surrounded by snacks, bickering over some stupid video game… when the front door opens and he walks in. not just minho’s dad or some middle-aged guy. a man so attractive and stupidly handsome, it absolutely shouldn't be legal to be that hot. and he's not even that ripped or muscular, but you could tell he had a nice body under his somehow tight clothes.
tall enough to make the doorframe look small, shirt sleeves pushed up over forearms, and you could see his hands, how his veins popped out, and why are you looking at his hands? god, stop staring at your friend’s dad. he gives you one polite nod before opening his mouth. that calm, deep voice that hits so low it makes you forget about the alphabet and how to speak.
“didn’t know minho brought his girlfriend home.” you nearly choke on your drink, as you and minho looked at each other, even blushing slightly from the comment before sputtering out, “w-we’re not– ! i mean– no!”
minho groans, pausing the game to fully focus on his parent and his teasing, “dad, she’s just a friend.”
but yunho’s eyes stay on you. curiously observing you, slowly taking in your features, and he must admit that you are more beautiful than in the photos. of course, he knows about you, and you know about him, but you've never officially met. you're just part of his son's friend group, the girl who has more pictures with him than his own family.
he’s reassessing everything he just assumed: that you are minho’s girlfriend. he wouldn't have minded if you were. he knows his son deserves the best; he'll be happy if there's something between you, and there certainly is. he's not the type of guy who'll bring a girl home unless he has feelings for her.
because why would he want to take a girl to study or play games at their place when that can be done outside? yeah, he knows these games and tricks too well.
“you are (name), right? pleased to meet you, young lady. you can call me yunho, drop the honorifics if you want to.”
and the thing is… he notices the way you suddenly straighten your pose. he sees the way your legs shift under his gaze, pressing together as your voice gets just a little smaller around him, nervous and slightly high. it's not about looking more feminine, it's just about making a good impression. catching every tiny nervous habit, starting from the lip-biting, the fidgeting, the way you can’t look directly at him for too long. does he enjoy it? he absolutely does.
one tiny problem though… yunho is twenty years older. a divorced dad, currently single, but so responsible and mature. knows better than to think such things about someone younger, but he can't help it, can he?
the other problem is also that he’s one fine-looking man, and you’ve grown into a gorgeous woman, someone who looks at him like he’s something you shouldn’t touch but desperately want to.
the way you relax around minho and stiffen when he enters the room tells him everything he needs to know. but before you could completely cease to exist, minho stood up and nodded towards the hallway, hinting that it would be better for you to go to his room for some privacy and to... study.
“(name), do you want to start the project now?” and all you did was nod, getting up way too fast and already following your friend from behind. you didn't want to turn around to see his father, because you knew if you did, there would be no turning back.
“have fun, kiddos,” he said, laughing slightly as he saw you enter the room and close the door. then yunho muttered under his breath, very quietly only for himself to hear, “yeah, studying… nice one, son.”
you are in minho’s room now. for the past hour, you've really been sitting down to study, but weren't motivated at all; your mind was somewhere else.
minho is familiar in a way that doesn’t make your pulse spike or your thoughts scramble. he makes stupid jokes, nudges your shoulder, laughs at your expressions and teases you a lot, because you are so cute when you are flustered, he said so. the laughter fades a little as he looks at you for a moment too long, taking you whole with those loving eyes… next thing you know, you are kissing him.
he kisses like someone who’s studying you carefully and respectfully. keeping a hand on your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth as if he’s afraid to push too far. he’s sweet, so incredibly gentle because he knows better not to rush or demand too much: a good boy. raised well, caring and devoted with a good heart, even when his lips move hungrily against yours.
you like him, you really do.
but you don’t feel that drop in your gut, that full-body shiver, and the quiet ruin me instinct you feel whenever his father walks into a room, or appears like a genie ready to grant your every wish. the butterflies in your stomach are calm with minho, however, once you are in the presence of mr. jeong, they don't know what to do or where to go.
his mouth is warm against yours, as he murmurs your name, pulling you closer by the waist. kissing you like you’re fragile, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to want more, even though he is very much allowed to. you kiss him back because… why wouldn’t you? he’s kind, handsome, easy to be around, someone you can definitely call more than a friend. anyone would feel lucky to be in his lap, to have his fingers tracing patterns on their hips.
just in the middle of it when his hand slides up your back, breath catching softly, you tug on his shirt… a thought flashes through like lightning, taking a root deep inside your mind, and you wonder…how will his father's lips feel on yours? your stomach twists with guilt, heart thumps against your ribs, ready to burst out, and you’re too aware of how wrong this whole thing is. both morally and emotionally, viscerally even.
minho pulls away for air, smiling breathlessly at you, because you are the first girl who makes him feel like this. there are no words to describe it, you are just incredible. of course, he has kissed before, but never like this, with such real emotion that even he feels the butterflies flutter. “(name)...” he pants softly, cheeks flushed. “why did we never do this before?”
because you weren’t sure if you wanted to cross that line. and now every time you look at him…you see yunho. you didn't want to think about how he looked more like his father,, because usually the sons take after their mothers. they were literally like twins, only minho was a little taller, but had absolutely the same features as his father, including his mother's smile, of course, her features could be seen too.
you try to answer, only for your brain to betray you. spinning images of a deeper voice, a steadier grip, a man who looks at you like you’re trouble he wants to handle alone without anyone else interfering. minho misreads your silence as shyness and chuckles, brushing your hair behind your ear. “are you okay? if you want to slow down… i’m sorry if that made you uncomfort–” a soft knock on the door cuts him off, making both of your heads turn at the sound.
“minho?” your entire body freezes the moment you hear him. that deep voice that made your eyes widen, and it wasn't because you were worried he would see you like that; he just had such a beautiful voice. a naturally medium-low tone, there’s a little bit of rasp when he speaks more casually, just enough to make him more charming.
and your friend’s eyes widen just like yours as he whispers, “shit– don’t move, okay? he’s gonna think, just– hold on.” he scrambles off the bed, not before gently making you hop off his lap. hair messed up, shirt slightly rumpled, trying to compose himself quickly. while you’re still breathless with swollen lips, and heart racing for all the wrong reasons.
minho opens the door just a crack, so he can take a peek with part of his head and not let his father see what is going on. mr. jeong is standing there in his coat, broad shoulders taking the spotlight, and so is his slightly longer black hair. gosh, wouldn't it be so nice to run your fingers through his soft locks while he goes down on you?
one hand in his pocket, probably checking for his wallet and keys, his eyes flicking to minho, then past him, landing on you. sitting pretty on the edge of the bed, with a flushed face and uneven breathing like you just walked straight into a hurricane, trying so hard not to look like someone who was just pinned under his son.
yunho’s pushes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, very subtle, almost in secret, hiding the annoyance of catching you like that. he wasn't ashamed that he caught you on the spot: he knew very well what you were doing or were going to do. he just couldn't help but interrupt the fun. excuse him, he had to go out, and warn minho that he might stay late with his friends, or as they are known, his uncles.
“everything alright?” he asks calmly, perfectly masking the emotion he really feels. during his marriage to the first and only woman in his life, minho's mother — kim minsoo, even up until the divorce and after, he learned to control his emotions and the facial expressions he showed. sometimes it was a big plus, especially in situations like these, where he had to take on the role of the cool and super chill dad.
“yeah! yeah, we were just… talking.” minho laughs awkwardly, not letting the door open anymore because, well, it's embarrassing to suddenly have your dad knock on your door while you're doing things with your girl friend... or future girlfriend. the young man still wants to wait and test the waters because he doesn't want to force you to do anything you don’t want to.
the older man just hums, a sound low enough to curl inside your stomach, a vibration so sensational that you need no ultrasound or x-ray to know that something is really wrong with you. he looks at minho again, who tries his absolute best to make his dad go away as fast as possible, but he paid his son no mind, instead he gazed past him right at you again.
“excuse me, min,” apologising, as if he was really sincere about something he didn't want to happen and witness in his house...now that he thought about it, did you do anything else in the moments when he was not here? mmm, small chance, if something had happened, minho would immediately be fluttering with joy that, in fact, he has a girlfriend. these are thoughts for later, although it didn't take long to put two and two together. “didn’t want to interrupt your little study session.”
he talked with his mouth to his son, but for you, he used his eyes, which told you: i saw everything, and i know exactly what you’d prefer. yunho lingers in the doorway longer than he should, enough for you to feel his gaze slide over you like a lion ready to strike at the confused and innocent antelope, that sadly can run too fast. albeit you can never outrun and outsmart a predator, someone with too much experience and tricks up his sleeves isn’t going to back down until he has his prey between his claws and teeth.
then he finally says, sensing how it was going to be too quiet to save his or son’s ass from further embarrassment, “i’m heading out for a bit. there’s food in the fridge. if you need anything else, minho’s got money.” he emphasised the word you, considering you in the equation because after all you were a guest, and shouldn’t be left unsatisfied if you have any cravings.
“dad, it’s alright. don’t worry about it,” minho reassures him, voice getting a little annoyed by how his parent isn’t planning to leave anytime soon. that's why he doesn't like to take anyone to his dad’s place. of course, he has his own apartment, but some of the rooms are currently being renovated, and he can’t stay there.
still yunho isn’t looking at him, not even a little, as his eyes focus on you for what he can count as five seconds, before minho closes the door, saying bye. hearing the lock clicking on the front door, you and he can breathe at peace now. “sorry…” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “he’s like that sometimes, really means no harm.”
he is like what? possessive over someone he just met.
“it’s okay… it happens to everyone that a parent interrupts something at a not-so-right moment,” you mumble some vague agreement, but your thoughts are nowhere near minho’s dad’s intensity. they’re stuck on the way he looked at you just now, eyes that held love or lust, maybe both. you are too scared to analyse his motives and demeanour, like he already knew what you both were about to do.
minho doesn’t give you much time to think about it. his hand cups your face, and he kisses you again. deeper this time, a little desperate, relieved to have the house to himself. making you lie flat on your back on his soft mattress, lips never leaving yours, the soft tug of his fingers guiding you to relax and just enjoy the moment. you’re already breathless by the time his mouth trails along your throat, warm and wet, big hands sliding under your clothes to squeeze your skin. he knows you, knows what you like, especially when the little sounds you make when he touches you just right.
tilting your head back, eyes fluttering shut, letting him take you in a way he’s learned to. but even in the heat of it, when minho pulls you closer underneath him, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers your name…there’s a ghost of another touch in your mind.
a man twenty years older, who had looked at you with something dangerously close to claiming you with only a few words, letting his eyes do most of the talking.
you shouldn’t think about him, not while minho is all over you, pulling soft moans and gasps from you, making you feel so damn good with his slender hands and slim fingers, a mouth and a mind that worships you — but in the end, you do what you shouldn’t.
wondering, if minho can make you fall apart like this… what would yunho feel like? how strong would his hands be on your hips? how different would his mouth sound when he says your name? how will he feel?
shivering and arching your back slightly, from thinking about yunho when his son goes down on you. guilt instead of pleasure, and he groans softly, spreading your legs and positioning himself between them. “you’re just… perfect,” he whispers against your skin, completely unaware that your heartbeat is racing for an entirely different reason, or that you are imagining someone else instead.
your chest is still rising and falling, even if you are excellent at acting, masking discomfort or lack of arousal, you do try to come with mimicking sounds, breathing patterns, and find physical cues. you are faking your orgasm. it’s not manipulation; not everyone has strong physical contractions before orgasming.
it’s to avoid pressure, to end a session that isn’t working, or because you feel self-conscious about how long it’s taking for him to make you cum with his tongue. yes, he is skilled, incredible even. if it were any other girl, she would probably want more and more, but... why are you like this? it's disgusting how in such a short time your brain, no, you yourself, decided to switch from minho to yunho. your world was spinning, and it wasn't because of the man between your legs, but because of the man who was consuming your every thought.
and what it would be like if he were the one to make you see stars instead.
dinner at the jeong household is usually lively, no matter what time they eat. in fact sometimes, when the dad is out with his friends and doesn't stay up that late, he always stops by his son's favorite dining place to buy food. both men have a lot to talk about, whether it was for work or university, there was always something to say or discuss. but tonight, there’s a tension under the surface that only one of them recognises. that feeling of wanting to brag about something you've done, especially with such a beautiful girl…
minho is eating happily, humming under his breath, still flushed from earlier and too lost in his thoughts to realise he looks like someone freshly and blissfully wrecked. and he didn't blush because the food was warm or slightly spicy, merely because he was still thinking about you. seeing and imagining you in a different light now, in a different pose, like a muse. beautiful inspiration, putting some kind of spell because he's simply fascinated by you.
yunho notices everything, from the way his son’s lips tug upwards out of nowhere when eating his noodles, to not responding immediately when asked a question, since there was a delayed reaction of several seconds. lowering his chopsticks down slowly, asking casually:
“why didn’t she stay for dinner?”
minho shakes his head, snapping out of his daze. “she had other plans tonight with her friends. i drove her there to make sure she arrived safely.”
the older man just let out a hum, a soft and thoughtful sound, too neutral to be neutral. because he raised his son well when it came to manners and being a gentleman, he doesn’t look up right away at the youngster as he takes another bite. instead, he chews and swallows, ready to ask yet another question like the good parent he is.
“so,” he says lightly, wondering if he should eat the kimchi or the tteokbokki, “you and her… spending more time together lately?”
the question itself is subtle, perfectly phrased to sound like normal fatherly interest, when it isn’t. it’s calculated and measured, designed to coax exactly what he wants out of minho. and minho, bless his sweet heart, falls right into it. he blushes as his face turns strawberry red; even his ears turn red, rubbing the back of his neck, and he smiles like an idiot in love.
“uh… yeah,” he admits sheepishly. “we are a lot more, actually.”
yunho lifts his gaze to take a good look at his son. his expression is perfect, soft and supportive, that of a proud father who just wants to know if his kid is doing alright; it's completely normal to be concerned, especially if a woman appears in his life. his eyes are sharp, watching minho’s every micro-expression, analysing and assessing.
“happy to hear that, min,” he remarks with a warm smile, and minho brightens immediately at his father’s approval, “she seems like a wonderful girl.”
“i know, right? she is just amazing… honestly, i wish i had met her sooner.”
the older nods, leaning back in his chair as he crosses his arms. “so tell me more,” he urges, not demanding his son to spill everything, “what is it you like most about her?” he phrases it like curiosity, but it sounds like a coiled interest he’s trying very hard to restrain.
“oh man– where do i even start? she’s funny, dad. like… stupidly funny. i don't want to mention that she is extremely beautiful because that is a thing on its own. and she gets me, y’know? not a lot of people do.”
“i see,” he murmurs. “she must mean a lot to you, then.”
“yeah,” minho says softly, still with that lovesick expression on his face, “she does.”
“and she’s… comfortable here, i assume?” too casual and carefully disguised as fatherly caring.
“oh, totally,” minho states without thinking twice. “not the first time she has been over, actually. if we don’t count the time when we, changmin, hyunwoo and sarang used the place to get our mid-term project done. remember when you and uncle san went on that business trip so you could take photos in namhae? it was then that she said that your apartment feels like a second home.”
yunho’s fingers tighten around his arm, just enough to betray a crack in his composure. so that's how it was, using the place while he was gone. but you were certainly in the presence of other people to do other things, it seems. yunho why are you getting irked.. as if you didn't do the same two decades ago?
“did she now?”
minho doesn’t notice the way his father’s eyes let go of that sparkle and wonder, as he keeps rambling so eagerly and proudly.
“she keeps telling me you’re ‘intimidating but in a good way.’ like… in a comforting way, i guess? i dunno, i think she respects you a lot, just like everybody else.”
respect, huh? yunho’s lips curl, almost mockingly. if only minho knew the look you gave him earlier…respect wasn’t the word.
“hmm,” the father hums once again, lowering his gaze to look at the food and hiding the fact that, as much as he loved his son, he wanted to laugh at how naive he was sometimes. don’t get him wrong, okay? it's just that if he’s going to do something with someone, and that something includes the word romance, then try not to include the word delusion in the mix. “that’s good. glad to hear you have good people around you.”
minho beams, finally taking another bite of his rice, because he didn’t want to talk anymore. yunho watches him and thinks about you, flushed and breathless on the edge of minho’s bed. how your eyes were darting toward him earlier when you first saw each other. about how you avoided his gaze…and how your body reacted anyway. he doesn’t let any of that touch his expression, and just simply says, with that same certainty of someone who has already decided their goal and how to achieve it.
“you should invite her more often then.”
“really?”
yunho nods slowly to totally convince his son that it's okay with him to that the two of you see each other, and that he approves of you. it's okay that his son is currently considered a competition, but you know what they say — keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
“yes, i’d like to get to know her better,” and he means to know you inside and out.
a week later, you are outside the jeongs’ apartment again, and a tiny part of you wishes you hadn’t come at all. you can already feel his presence even if you don’t know if he is home because minho hasn’t told you, and you hope he doesn’t jumpscare you like some ghost or a monster ready to feast upon yet another scared soul.
you knock politely, the door swings open, and there he is. the seven deadly sins reincarnated in a human body with a mind of its own. relaxed and all casual, wearing a simple black t-shirt, grey sweatpants, hair slightly mussed like he just woke from a nap. unfair to look that good, seriously, what is wrong with him…no, what is wrong with you? stop looking at him like he's a piece of meat, and even worse, because your eyes didn't know where to focus. on his face, his hands, or the fact that, damn it, he's wearing grey sweatpants.
stop staring at his face, stop staring at his throat, at the outline of his d— okay, stop staring entirely.
“ah,” he says with that low, warm voice, covering his mouth with his hand when a yawn escaped. so you woke him up from his nap, great, just great. “you’re back.”
bowing your head slightly to show respect, hiding every thought he shouldn’t know you’re having. it's only two in the afternoon, there's no need to start the torture so early, but alas, you walked alone and fell into the trap.
“good afternoon, mister jeong.” he lifts a brow. did you sound rude? stiff? awkward? you have zero idea what tone came out of your mouth ten seconds ago, and now it’s too late to crawl into the ground. why the hell are you so stressed? it's just minho's father, you shouldn't be scared, or worried so much about what he thinks of you. because you actually don't know what he thinks, maybe you don’t want to know…or do you? so many questions are running in your head that you don’t hear him speaking.
“i told you, sweetheart,” he says quietly, stepping aside to let you in, almost not wanting to make a remark to you or sound threatening; that's not his goal. he just wants you to feel comfortable, after all, you said this is like your second home, “you can call me yunho.”
you swallow after hearing the nickname. it’s not that no one calls you by pet names or cute little nicknames, like the old lady in the supermarket, but it sounds so different coming from his mouth. “right… yunho.” his name sounds forced on your tongue, or maybe foreign, not used to calling your friends’ parents by their name, and he notices the way you were a little hesitant to do so.
minho appears behind him, cheerful and oblivious, grabbing your bag and dragging you toward the living room, rambling about the project you came for. but yunho’s eyes stay glued to you until you turn the corner in the hallway, watching you walk away like he’s memorising every step you take in his home, or should he say luring trap. there's a lot of work to do, and it's not just the chores.
now you’re sitting on the couch with your laptop open, waiting for minho to return from his room to get the books with the needed information. after you have been working for a few hours, you start to feel that subtle awareness crawling up your spine. you felt like spiderman with your spidey senses being activated the moment you sensed some kind of a warning threat.
yunho walks into the living room, a mug of coffee in hand. he doesn’t announce himself, doesn’t need to; it’s his home, he can go whenever he wants. but you still needed a place to study, so he didn’t come into the room so as not to disturb you. he would mostly sit in the kitchen or his room, reading something or dealing with his photography work.
he sits in the armchair across from you, angled just enough that his knees point toward you, not the tv. completely resting, enjoying the peace and quiet that you brought when you visited. “working hard?” he asks, sipping from his drink.
“trying to.” you nod, too focused on looking at your screen to find the perfect images for the presentation. his gaze drifts from your laptop to your fingers resting on the keyboard, and to your exposed collarbone. a nice outfit, he thinks, a skirt with tights and a crop top, it's not something scandalous or revealing, but it leaves a little to his imagination.
“minho tends to slack when he’s comfortable,” he murmurs before pausing because that made you take a look at him. “and you make him very comfortable.”
“is that your way of saying i’m a bad influence?”
“no, if anything… you’re very good for him.” he chuckles, shaking his head at your question, maybe even an accusation, it seems it is. even so, he’s staring at you in a way that doesn't match his words.
“then why do you look like you don’t want me here?”
heat starting to sweep across his features before he masks it again. “don’t mistake restraint for dislike. you’re plenty welcome here, anytime and any day.”
your pulse speeds up because you don't know what to say in return. do you say thank you, next or just pretend that you are not clicking random apps on your laptop so you seem occupied. there’s a long silence before he adds again:
“though i do wonder… why you seem nervous around me?”
"i'm not nervous.” you try to sound indifferent, bored even, but he smirks at the way you play hard to get. a ghost of a smile that makes your stomach twist.
“no?” he leans back in the chair, like settling in for a show. stretching out, spreading his long legs casually in a way that’s anything but that. “then why won’t you look me in the eyes?”
you force your gaze up to meet his, and immediately regret it. his eyes pin you in place, like he’s reading you, memorising every twitch and breath you couldn’t take, undoing you without even touching you. he studies you openly, like he has every right, and even if you didn’t want to let him do that, you still did.
“what do you think about,” he murmurs, a tone and intonation so teasing that the red lamp in your brain can't stop malfunctioning. “when i walk into a room?”
your mind goes blank. you blink at him, stunned that he’d actually say something like that out loud. you can’t answer that; he knows you can’t. he leans forward, setting his mug on the small glass table with a quiet clink, elbows rest against his knees, pulling him closer even if he is not directly next to you. voice dropping so low it feels like a warm breath dragging across your skin, edging and torturing you to finally crack.
“because i know,” he says, eyes fixed on your mouth before lifting to your eyes again, “it isn’t the same thing you think about when minho walks in.”
your heart is going to burst at any given second from panic and shock. you open your mouth to say something, defend yourself in some sort, but footsteps echo down the hall. yunho stands immediately, mask sliding into place so seamlessly it makes you dizzy. minho walks back in, smiling while holding a bunch of text and notebooks in his hands.
“sorry, it took a long time to find it! i— oh, hey dad.”
yunho smiles, the perfect father again. the transformation makes him look like a completely different man. “i was just keeping her company,” he says jokingly alas, you know it’s no joke. “don’t keep her waiting, or someone might steal her away.”
you choke on absolutely nothing when minho plops onto the couch beside you, totally oblivious. but as yunho walks past, he pauses behind you, waiting for minho to get up again, even if it's just for a few seconds to be distracted, enough for you to hear the quiet, subtle whisper he hides behind a sip of coffee:
“when my son isn’t home…” you froze, you couldn't move from the tension. “…you’ll ask me what you really want.” then he walks out of the room like nothing had happened, and you’re trying your very best not to pack your things and leave, not caring if you get a bad grade on this stupid project.
god, it’s starting to feel dangerous, like you started a game where you don't know how to play or what the rules are. and worse, you don’t know if you want to save yourself anymore, or just wait until you reach the next level. there must be better rewards there, right? no matter how tough the challenges along the way will be, and regardless of the fact that the mastermind behind the game you started was yunho himself.
you worked all day, and by the time the project is wrapped up, it turned night. you’re packing your things when lightning cracks across the sky, and raindrops drop down the glass so hard it looks like the house is underwater. the storm rolls in like it was waiting for the exact moment you shouldn’t leave. minho looks out, frowns, then turns to you with that worried look on his pretty face, like a cute little puppy ready to protect his owner. “no way i’m letting you go out in that weather,” he urges, already getting up to make his position clear. “stay for the night, dad won’t mind.”
you hesitate, because you didn't want to stay, and it's not that he couldn't drive you to your place, but taking the risk and driving in weather like this was a suicide mission. trying to open your mouth to protest, you’re suddenly standing in the bathroom with an oversized shirt and some pants in your hands.
minho’s shirt still smells freshly laundered, maybe not even worn for a long time, but you pull it on anyway, because you have no other choice since you didn’t expect to have a sleepover at the predator’s den.
a few minutes later, when you were ready and changed into your “pajamas”, you find yourself walking toward the guest room minho set up for you. fingers tugging the hem of the shirt, considering it’s too big, falling mid-thigh, sleeves swallowing your hands, when you nearly run into him. standing by the door of the living room, turning off lights, but he freezes the second he sees you.
completely still, like the storm outside has nothing on the one in his heart. his gaze drops slowly, taking in your bare legs, the oversized shirt, the way it hangs off your shoulder just a little. he couldn't understand how someone could look so good in such ordinary clothes. did you know that this t-shirt was his? probably not, since he had given it to his son a long time ago as a gift. it wasn't even that special; the design that minho thought was cool was almost worn out, but it’s still sentimental to this day.
“you look…” yunho starts, then stops, brown eyes never leaving the sight of your figure, and how domestic this all feels. “…comfortable.” shrugging your shoulders, giving him that smile, the one he’s already learned to read too well. you step closer, until you’re close enough to feel the warmth of his body, the scent of the strong perfume on his skin.
“do you mind that i’m staying here?” you tilt your head, letting your voice dip just a little, making you sound so innocent, and nice, almost sorry for trashing his home and privacy. his inhale isn’t loud, but you hear it, and for a split second, you're the one who leaves him speechless. he looks at you like he could devour the question right out of your mouth, or devour you if you keep that little act going on.
“mind?” his voice is a rough whisper now. if anything, he should be thankful that it's raining dogs and cats outside because you don’t get such a view and entertainment for free. “of course not, my dear.” he takes one slow step toward you, and your back is against the wall, his long arms caging you in, crowding your space without touching you, his eyes skimming your lips before snapping back to your eyes.
“but you should be careful with that smile.” you blink up at him, pretending not to know exactly what he means, still with that defiant smile on your beautiful face. so far, so fake, he thinks. you're a good actress around minho, but not with him. he's already read the script, knowing what's going to happen, but it's up to you whether or not there's a culmination point, or the end is what you truly want.
“why?”
“because,” he’s murmuring, his breath brushing your cheek as he leans in just enough that the gap between you becomes something intimate. his gaze is lingering on your mouth, those sweet lips that will probably taste like honey, then going back to stare into your eyes with that determination of someone you shouldn't mess with, “you don’t look innocent in my clothes.”
the way he said it gave you literal chills, because it's his t-shirt? and he only smirked when a flash of lightning illuminated the hallway, and he stepped back at the last second, enjoying your reaction, your willingness to resist your needs.
as minho calls your name, yunho’s eyes flick to the cotton tee one more time as his expression resets instantly, to that calm and fatherly energy. as if he wasn't ready to kiss you here and now, while his son wasn't in his room or wherever. this is going to sound cruel, even insensitive, but in this play, minho is just a pawn, a secondary character who contributed to nothing but his own doom.
“you should get some rest, big day of studying tomorrow,” just before he turns away to go to his room, he adds so quietly you almost think you imagined it. “…sweet dreams, sweetheart.”
you don’t know if it’s a promise disguised as politeness, or a boundary disguised as permission. maybe it’s a line that he has now placed directly at your feet, waiting to see if you’ll step over it… but what you didn't know was that you were almost at the finish line.
you can't sleep, can't even relax with all the tossing and turning, trying to doze off for a little while, but you really can’t. you just opened your eyes and stared at the ceiling, breathing a little heavy because you were angry about something, irritated, perhaps a little disappointed. running a hand over your face, which smoothly flowed down your body, over the t-shirt until it reached your shorts, and you pressed your legs together, rubbing them.
what a sinner you are, and what a temptation he is.
it wasn't that you couldn't satisfy yourself, even though you weren't really in the mood for it, but the hormones inside you wouldn't stop raging. and it would be a bit impudent to do something like that in someone else's home, because how will you explain why the sheets are stained? yeah, you won't take any chances. maybe you'll just get up to drink some water, or even splash a bit on your face to wash those filthy thoughts away.
thunder rolls somewhere in the distance, softer now, which means the storm is starting to pass. you expect the kitchen to be dark, for you to be alone, maybe steal something sweet from the fridge, except someone had already occupied the place before you.
the air in the kitchen smells like rain and…smoke? it’s definitely cigarette smoke, even though the window is still cracked open, the scent lingers filling your nostrils.
you tell yourself that you didn’t just catch a glimpse of yunho’s silhouette framed by moonlight, shoulders broad, one hand resting against the window frame as the other flicked something subtle and glowing out into the dark. a thin ribbon of smoke curls up in front of him, watching him exhale slow and steady into the night like a man hiding a habit he’s not willing to explain. it's kinda hot.
you pretend to be blind and deaf, but the second his voice strikes you, all that pretending snaps like a cheap wire put to mask the real trap ahead. he doesn’t turn around; already knows you’re there the second your foot meets the tile.
“did i wake you up, sweetheart?”
the pet name hits first, then the tone. it’s so soft, polite, you can catch the raspiness of the sleep, which he paused for this. you didn't know he smoked; you’ve been here so much, and you've never seen lighters or cigarette packs before. minho never mentioned it, because he doesn’t smoke. you’ve never smelled it in his car, his clothes, anywhere, until now.
you freeze halfway to the sink, about to quietly back away and mind your business, pretend you saw nothing. he stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray that sat on the balcony ledge, hidden from no one and appearing out of nowhere, closing the window in the process.
“i’m sorry if the squeaking door woke you,” he adds, footsteps approaching at a lazy, unhurried pace, but you heard him sit down on one of the chairs at the table because the wood scratched the floor slightly. “it drives minho crazy, but he’s used to it by now.”
no door squeaked; you heard absolutely nothing.
instead you took a cup, ready to fill it, but you swallow your spit so painfully hard, gripping the glass a little tighter. “ah, no… i just got thirsty, mr. jeong.” he doesn’t answer immediately, and you can feel him right behind you now, even if he is sitting two meters away. you lift the glass to the faucet, letting the water run to cover the sound of your breathing.
a quiet hum coming from him, “mr. jeong,” he repeats, slower this time, tasting the words as they amuse him. “you don’t need to be that formal with me. didn’t i tell you to call me yunho?”
your fingers tense around the glass, still, you don’t turn. you know yourself too well. if you look at him like this in the middle of the night, voice dropping low, smoke still ghosting his breath, you won’t be able to hide anything.
“yes, right i um–,” you mumble. “sorry, still getting used to it.”
“don’t be,” chuckling at your behaviour, and you can imagine the smirk on his face even if you don’t see it. “it’s cute.”
the faucet shuts off; you realise you turned it off without thinking. hand trembled slightly, you were trying to breathe normally, not as if you were about to be given a death sentence. bringing the glass to your lips, you still don’t turn around. you wanted to say something, to break this silence that wasn't awkward at all, but quite heated.
“do you always smoke?” you ask, deflecting, merely testing while poking the beast with a stick. he notices, and he loves it. you are so sweet and gorgeous, he would really eat you for breakfast, lunch and dinner if he could, or if there was no one else in the apartment. and you are even cuter when you pretend that you don't want it either.
“to be fair, no,” noting smoothly, playing with his fingers, but his eyes were digging holes in your back. “just on nights when i’m… restless.” you can’t tell if that was meant to sound suggestive or if you’re just hearing everything through a filter of tension.
“so, you and minho are getting along well?”
you blink at your water, throat suddenly dry even if you took a big sip, “of course… we care about each other.”
yunho leans forward, elbows on the table, and the faint kitchen light makes him look every bit the man minho might grow into one day, but never quite match.
“you’re close with my son, and i’m glad for that. he looks happy around you, and that tells me a lot about you.”
it sounds genuine, and surprisingly, it is. of course, aside from the dirty thoughts about you, and the fact that you're the same age as the young man who sleeps peacefully and deeply in his room. one thing yunho is grateful for is that when his son falls asleep, he becomes like a bear in hibernation.
“like what?”
the older man just smiles at your rhetorical question, because truthfully, what does he know about you? oh well, maybe the fact that minho hasn't stopped talking about you in the last two months since he's been here until the renovations are finished. the important question here is, what does he not know? and you'll be surprised how little he doesn't know about you.
“that you give your attention very generously…” his gaze flicks down your body and back up, subtly biting his lower lip. the way he looked at you… shame on you, not knowing what you're missing in your attempts to swallow your ego and the fact that you're such a good girl. “…but only to the ones who’ve earned it.”
“and you think you’ve earned it?” you fire back, a little provocative and teasing, but be careful what you say, and how you say it, because yunho is a person who remembers. he can always use your words against you, and you don't want to see that side of him so early.
“no, darling...perhaps not yet.” he chuckles, truly smitten by you, and you're nothing like his ex-wife. even though in some ways, minsoo was like that when she was young, but she didn't pull any tricks — showed him right away that she wanted him. but back then, it was different; there weren't such taboo things like the age difference, or the fact that the father liked his son's girl friend. and you and minho aren't together yet, so to some degree, even secretly, he can afford to do such things. “but i know how to, so don’t you worry your pretty little head about a thing.”
the glass nearly slips from your fingers, and you are still with your back to him, and you know it’s rude for you to stay like that, but you are not ready to give in yet. because if he knows how to gain your attention, let him work for it. the fact that you have some kind of attraction to him doesn't mean anything right now, because nothing but secret conversations and glances have happened so far.
and your problem is that you like to see how much redder the flag can get. even if he's going to sleep right now, leaving you to ponder alone about how you got into such a mess in the first place.
for the past three months, your attitude has changed. yunho notices how you dress a little nicer when you know he might be home. a short skirt or a dress, depending on the weather outside. sometimes it’s something soft and feminine, sometimes tight enough that it hugs every line of your body like you’re offering it to someone. minho thinks it’s for him, and of course, he does, with all the smiles and red cheeks while complimenting you shyly.
but yunho knows better; he knows who you’re actually dressing up for.
you avoid calling him by his name, because it sounds too domestic to just leave your lips, even if he tells you there's nothing to worry about, he won't eat you... or at least the plan is not to, as of now.
“there’s nothing to be afraid of,” he tells you. “i don’t bite.” it’s a lie, because he absolutely would, and you both know it.
you still remember the incident when you caught him smoking, and it left a core memory in your mind. hair messy, shirt slipping off his shoulder, cigarette hanging lazily between his fingers, you thought you’d forgotten how to breathe. the moment you went home the next morning and used every toy you owned, pathetic and angry, crying into your pillow because it wasn’t him. trying to chase something that didn't felt even half as good as the fantasy you kept in your head. your body already chose him before your mind could catch up. you felt sorry for yourself, thinking that sleeping with someone's father was going to be so hard, but at the same time so easy.
you get turned on just by hearing his voice. when yunho cooks dinner in front of you and minho, it’s torture. the way he dices vegetables with those big hands… hands that could do much, much worse things. the low hum in his chest when he tastes something he’s made. the soft grin he gives you whenever minho isn’t looking. god, even the way he explains photography to you is sinful. he stands behind you, chest brushing your back, hand covering yours as he adjusts the lens. teaching you how to properly hold it so your photos come out better and more professional.
“not like that, sweetheart. watch my fingers,” and you do watch too closely, because you wonder how his fingers will feel somewhere else.
and speaking of the camera — the photoshoot minho begged him to lend his camera for, the photos you immediately posted on instagram? your friend forgot to delete the ones that were a little too suggestive, the ones where your shirt slipped, where your lips looked parted and kiss-bitten.
good thing he didn't, otherwise how else would yunho have spent half the night jerking off quietly in his room, hand over his mouth, replaying those photos of you on the big computer screen? fuck, you look so hot at this specific angle and the pose you did… shit, shit, shit, he was about to come, imagining it was your hand not his, or maybe your mouth sucking him off, better one, milking him dry with your pretty cunt. he came with your name in his mouth.
and in between all that, there were moments, secret and filthy things that minho never noticed.
like when you are in a cramped spot, and yunho’s hands find your waist. gentle and guiding, fingers tightening just slightly as he moves you aside, squeezing your hip, his thumb dragging lower than necessary. and he always leans in just enough for you to feel the bulge in his pants, to whisper filth against your ear.
“keep wearing skirts like that, and i won’t be able to behave.”
you pretend to be annoyed, rolling your eyes, scoffing, pretending he means nothing. but you never move away, or push him off. he’s the golden-retriever type — loyal, friendly, a mood-maker. just like the dog, he is not suited to be left alone for long periods after getting attached. they follow and wait by the door when they’ve chosen someone.
sometimes you walk past each other in the hallway, and he presses a palm against the small of your back, fingers lingering with a warm touch. “move, darling,” he murmurs behind you, thinking that one day you’re going to beg him to keep his hand right here.
not ready to give in yet? why not drop the act and admit you’re practically offering yourself at him?
like you don’t lean back into his touch, as if you don’t crave more. if he is a dog, then you’re the cat pretending not to care. brushing past him, all attitude and sharp claws, acting indifferent while your tail curls around his leg.
the push-and-pull between you lasts weeks, months even. he is playing the long game, and so are you. even with minho getting closer, subtly asking you out, you never give him a real answer. you never give him a chance to become your boyfriend.
yunho praises you for that, applauds you for how convincingly you act around minho, and how you dodge every attempt the boy makes to define what you two are.
“smart girl,” he whispers one night at your nth visit, cigarette again between his lips as you sit prettily on that chair and observe him, while enjoying his company more than you should, “don’t let him have what isn’t his.”
minho isn’t pressuring you; he’s taking it slow, seeing you in a soft romantic light. he blushes when you touch him, gets shy when you praise him. he dreams of you in the way boys your age do, even if you don't believe that someone could be such a romantic. you feel stupid because he deserves someone else and not you.
yunho dreams of you in every way a man shouldn’t dream of someone his son brings home.
and then there was that night. you and minho got drunk with friends and called yunho to pick you up. you were so wasted, clinging to his arm, as you slid into the passenger seat.
“thank you, minho’s daddy…” you sang softly, hiccuping and just being overly nice and clingy. minho didn’t react because he was too drunk and lost in his own world to process your behavior. poor boy was on cloud 9, had to lie down in the backseat, and try not to spill everything he chugged and ate.
the older, however, nearly crashed the car. because when he carried you inside his apartment, you were all giggles and sleepy smiles. top sliding down, your breasts nearly spilling out, as your skirt rode up to reveal delicate lingerie, no, not panties. lingerie, as in sheer lace and pretty little bows. is that victoria’s secret? you came prepared, didn't you?
you slept on the couch that night, and yunho didn’t sleep at all when he helped minho get into his own bed. he stayed awake, watching your chest rise and fall, fighting every urge in his body, gripping the couch so hard he left crescent-shaped marks on the leather.
tucking a blanket over you, he tried not to look, but failed. you were just so... beautiful, calm in his presence for once, even with your eyes closed and your body relaxed. he steps back first, because he is good and disciplined, a man who sees straight through you. it’s enough to make your knees weak and pussy throb.
the way he looks at you…like he wants to bend you over right here and then, like it’s taking effort not to, as if the only thing holding him back is the thin thread of responsibility. you’ve spent months teasing him, tempting him, brushing your foot against the fire, but never stepping into the flame, and honestly, he had enough.
because one weekend of you sleeping over again, you get too bold when minho leaves with a cheerful, “i’ll be back in fifteen minutes!” as he goes to the store to grab snacks and your favorite drink for tonight’s movie night. you wave sweetly, watch the door shut, and listen to the lock click.
you shouldn’t be alone with yunho dressed like this, but that’s the entire point. sitting on the arm of the couch instead of the cushion, and he sits in the armchair at the other end. maybe you like knowing he’s trying so hard to keep himself in check, that he’s practically can’t hold it for longer when you wear shorts so tiny they barely qualify as fabric, that it’s basically an invitation. you don’t look at him at first, that would be too obvious. instead, you adjust your tank top, tugging the strap just to let it snap back against your skin.
he knows you want attention, that’s what brats do — they poke, push boundaries just to see the other party react in any way, harmless or not. except the way you poke him is by sliding your tongue over your teeth, slowly, then smiling sensually, challenging him.
that’s when he looks up. his tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek, that signature move that always means one thing: he is not annoyed or flustered…he’s mad. a muscle in his jaw twitches as he stands there, pretending he’s unaffected. you can tell he’s not with the way his gaze drags over your bare legs, the soft inhale he takes, the way his fingers tighten on his phone. he’s holding onto the last thread of self-control he has.
you did it. you made him look, feeling so proud and reckless as you stand there like you’re the one in control… but you aren’t, never were.
“you’re awfully confident today.” you can hear it in his voice that he's fed up, but you shrug one shoulder, pretending you haven’t been waiting all week for a moment alone with him. you can't be here every day, even if you wanted to, but there was one problem, and it would be back in fifteen minutes. oh, what a villain you are. you play the role of the little mermaid, charming the prince minho is, but in reality, you are a siren, luring a pirate like yunho deep into the sea of unholiness.
“maybe i just feel comfortable enough.” another lie spills past your lips, and you know he knows. no one in their right mind will dress like that when in the presence of someone's parents, or would talk and act as if they’ve never seen a man in their lives.
“funny,” he points out, watching you, and you like it, “because you only dress like that when he’s gone.”
“coincidence, no?” you raise your eyebrows, an innocent expression that hides every dirty little thought you've had so far. you shouldn’t be smug, but you are. angling your legs a little more, showing off what he could give you, a bigger reaction, you are not satisfied yet. then your stupid mouth moves before your brain can catch up. “or maybe…” you lean forward, smirking, “you’re imagining it.”
that’s the moment you push too far. the subtle change in his face, the way his eyebrows furrow, giving you that mocking i dare you look, or how his chest rises with a slow inhale when he sets his phone down.
“say that again,” and there’s nothing sweet about the way he says it. oh. you didn’t expect him to actually call out your bluff. blinking up at him, lashes fluttering like you’re clueless, pretending you don’t feel the heat between your legs.
“hm? i didn’t say anything.”
he doesn’t smile or play along. that’s the stupid thing about you: keep tugging on the monster’s tail because you like hearing it growl. because the little game you thought you were playing? he never participated.
“sweetheart,” voice dropping, turning into something that hits your spine like a shiver. he isn’t asking. he’s demanding. “don’t make me ask twice.”
rolling your eyes because you’re a brat before anything else. your smirk almost slips, but you’re too stubborn to back down, wrapped up in your own fantasy of control. you never had the upper hand. that the little game you thought you were playing wasn’t a game to him at all. the joker you thought you could play with was never in your hand, it was in his.
and now you’ve cornered yourself with your own arrogance, alone with a man who looks at you like he’s two seconds away from teaching you exactly what happens to brats who forget their place, because you’re his to deal with. unfortunately fifteen minutes would not be enough for that.
you just need one more final push before you finally end up in his bed.
you barely finish saying hi before you realise you shouldn’t have come alone, or when minho isn’t here. yunho stands in the doorway, as if he were specifically waiting for the second you’d show up, and it was giving you the chills. you're back to square one again, because that security you had, even the advantage that he couldn't do anything to you in the presence of another person, was instantly gone.
“come on in,” he says, voice already so kind, but at the same time so secretive, as if he had more to say but bit his tongue in the process. you step inside as he shuts the door. and when the lock clicks, your breath stops right in your lungs, so hard it almost hurts, making the anxiety rush through every vein and blood cell. his eyes haven’t left you since you walked in, “minho said you forgot something.”
“yeah, just my headphones and textbooks… i’ll be quick–”
“slow down, darling, no need to hurry…” his tone slices through your excuse like a thunderbolt that has already struck more than once, “hey, (name)...you’re shaking, is everything alright?”
you weren’t shaking until now. the man steps closer, the kind of pace that tells you he’s been imagining this far longer than he should. and it was very stupid of him to ask such a question, to call you by such a name, but of course that's jeong yunho. he, whose patience has run thin, he whose emotions and needs are not met and satisfied, but only tested until the glass overflows to the point that it falls to the ground and breaks, with no way back. you will either pick up the pieces or walk on them; it’s completely your choice.
“you keep coming back here,” murmuring, reaching past you for nothing in particular, just to force you to feel the warmth of him at your back. “and every time you do… you look like you want something from me.”
“i don’t–”
“don’t lie to me.”
goosebumps appear on your skin so fast you forget what you came to pick up. for the first time in your life, you were scared and under so much stress, because it happened... you were finally cornered, the troublemaker was finally going to get her punishment. remember, you did it to yourself. you wanted him more than anything, so why do you want to run away now? suddenly you won't be such a brat and provocateur, hmm? you didn't know whether to turn around or wait for him to do something, because you have no visibility; unfortunately, no pair of eyes at the back of your head.
he turns you around, though not fully. you gaze at his big, veiny hand that makes contact with your jaw, his finger under your chin, rotating your head, and the second you look up, meeting his face, you know you’re done for.
“do you know how hard you make it to be a good man?”
he steps in, and the space between your bodies disappears. your lips part, but nothing comes out, not a single sound, as he tightened his grip slightly, holding you tightly, staring into your soul with those chocolate, but so dark eyes of his. they were swallowing you whole, drinking you in slowly, and his index finger touched your lower lip, so soft and tender and slightly moistened.
“you walk in here in that little coat,” he whispers, like confessing sins directly onto your being, finally saying his confessions at the altar, “smelling like my son’s cologne, allowing yourself to do whatever you want, smiling like you don’t know what those little stunts did to me all this time…”
you react exactly the way he expects you to, recklessly, by the way you scoff. you actually dare to scoff at him, mouth curling into that smug bratty grin that always spells trouble. “maybe it’s all in your head,” too confident for your own good. “maybe i’m not doing anything to you at all.”
“careful.” the way his voice is barely contained makes your smile go wider. shrugging like you’re invincible but your free trial has already expired.
“why? you gonna do something about it?”
you shouldn’t have said that. his tongue presses into the inside of his cheek again. simmering expression you’ve seen enough times to know you’re in danger and too turned on to care. it's more fun to watch him struggle than to see him act immediately, and there's no hiding it; you liked seeing him act like that.
“you little brat,” he’s not even angry anymore, just done. “you really don’t know when to stop, do you?”
you open your mouth to bark again, but his fingers tighten around your waist, pulling you flush against him. your words die on your tongue, swallowed by the sudden heat spiralling in your lower stomach.
“yunho…” congratulations on saying his name for the first time without worrying about how it will sound, because it sounds exactly as he imagined it — pathetic and needy. it’s practically an invitation written in blood, sealed with a piece of your soul, smelling of your sweet perfume, and signed only with a print of dark red lipstick.
grabbing your waist with his other hand, fingers digging in, to remind you exactly how much stronger he is. how easily he could lift you, bend you, pin you. despite you being dressed up, not that it will matter what you wear, with the way your knees weaken, clothes are the most irrelevant thing at the moment. and then it hits you, he’s not holding back anymore.
“you shouldn’t have come alone… and if you think i’m letting you walk out untouched after everything you’ve been doing to me. you are so wrong, darling.”
now that he has the chance, he is going to take advantage of being blessed by lady luck with a brat like you. he should teach you some manners, to be careful who you are talking to again. because you keep making the same mistake over and over again: you underestimate him.
he tilts your chin up, and his lips meet yours. it’s the kind of kiss that wipes every thought out of your head except that you need more. it’s not gentle or sweet. it holds the restraint, detonating all at once, so hungry and frustrated. he is such a good kisser, goodness, you gasp in his mouth, and he takes advantage immediately.
tongue pushing deep past your parted lips, swallowing the sound right from your throat. his other hand holds tight to your waist, then slides down, fingers curling around your hip, keeping you pinned in place. you can’t even think of pulling away; he isn’t letting you.
the kiss drags the air from your lungs, because yunho kisses like a man starved, like he’s been holding himself back for months, and the fireworks finally bursts. his tongue sweeps against yours again, forcing you to follow his pace. the dominance is clear as he angles your head just how he wants it.
you melt back against his chest, breath shaking, body softening under the pressure. anxiety fizzles out into something molten and helpless, something that makes your fingers take hold of his shirt just to stay upright. he smiles into the kiss because he feels you are finally giving in. his grip on your hip and chin tightens, as he deepens the kiss even more. lips hot, insistent, consuming you until there’s no space left in your mind for anything but him.
“look at you, desperate for me already,” he growls against your lips, that deep voice sending a full wave of vibrations through your system. “let me ruin you properly…so you stop wondering how i’d feel.”
the kiss doesn’t end so much as it breaks with a thin, trembling line of breath left between your mouths when yunho finally pulls back. just enough that you can see the way his pupils dilate, the way he watches your lips like he’s deciding to bite them now or later.
leaning forward without thinking, chasing him, needing him. he catches your chin with two fingers, stopping you with an infuriating amount of control. “don’t pout,” he says softly, thumb brushing your lower lip. “i’m not going anywhere, just trying not to take you right here.”
your coat slips off your shoulder, and before you can adjust it, his hands are already there, sliding the fabric down your arms. he folds it so neatly and patiently, the exact opposite of how he just kissed you, putting it on the hangers, and then he takes your wrist.
“come here.”
you don’t walk, you follow like a cat, ready for the treat she doesn’t deserve. he leads you down the hallway. slender fingers warm and firm around yours, his steps slow enough that you can feel the anticipation pool between your legs. every time you glance up at him, he meets your eyes like he knows exactly what you’re imagining, exactly how badly you want it.
you barely register entering his bedroom, you only do realise when the backs of your knees touch the mattress, and you fall into a seated position, breath hitching at the sudden shift. yunho stands in front of you. tall figure, broad shoulders, a silhouette of long legs and a wide chest that makes the room feel smaller, even dangerous in a way you’ve been craving for months. your eyes drift down without permission—
those damned grey pants again.
the ones that leave nothing to the imagination, and you know for a fact that you are already wet and oh so turned on. you stare, you shouldn’t, you know you shouldn’t, but you do. so far, nothing has stopped you from taking the apple from the garden of eden, and now you will finally taste it.
his low chuckle breaks your trance. “eyes up here, sweetheart.” you snap your gaze upward, too fast, he’s already smirking as if he caught you with your hand in the cookie jar. “you really can’t help yourself, can you?” his knees brush the edge of the bed until he’s towering above you, shadowing your whole body. he tilts your chin up again with a single finger, slow and coaxing, expecting you to look at him and only him.
“i’ll give you what you need,” he promises, as his thumb strokes your cheek, and the gentleness only makes the heat worse. “and i’ll take my time doing it.”
your thighs press together instinctively, and yunho knows how wound up you are after everything between you: months of flirting that escalated into this, months of you pushing and pulling, acting like you didn’t know what your touches did to him. he knows your tells by now: the way your breath gets shallow, the way your thighs tense when he gets too close, the way your eyes flicker to his hands, or somewhere else on his body.
he cups your jaw gently, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “you’re too tense, sweetheart. breathe for me, yeah?”
you try, but he can see how your body reacts and feel your pulse quickening. his hand slides higher, fingertips pressing just enough to make your lips part. and then he pushes two fingers past your lips. you inhale sharply, as his fingers reach your throat, making you gag and choke, your eyes getting watery, but you still suck and lick because yоu don’t want to disappoint the only man who doesn't treat you like just some girl, someone still immature, or someone just to hook up with. he treats you seriously like a woman. doesn't fool around or gives you time to think, he immediately shows that he wants you, proves it, insists.
“i know you like this… don’t pretend you don’t.” his voice drops down, a little rougher and teasing, “open wide.”
you do, as his fingers rest heavily on your tongue, tasting faintly of the skin just above his wrist. you hollow your cheeks around them instinctively, making him break his composure.
“there you go,” he praises the way you take his fingers so well, and he doesn’t want to even imagine how good you will take his cock in your mouth if the time demands so, but there will be plenty of meetings in the future to test that theory. “just like that, see? nothing to worry about, when you are with me.”
he pulls his fingers from your mouth with a soft, wet drag that sends heat down your spine. those same fingers trail down your throat, over your clavicle, lower, until they find the hem of your tight shirt. he lifts it slowly, giving you time to stop him, knowing you won’t. the man peels the fabric from your body, lingerie underneath again, and then his hands slide down your sides, gripping your hips; and did you mention that you are wearing a skirt? the one he goes crazy about because it's so short, and so easy for him to do anything as he pleases. thumbs brushing the band of your underwear… a demi-cup bra and string bikini, like a full set? you never seem to stop surprising him, even if you try to cover yourself with your arms.
“still tense, huh? let me help, then.” you don’t have time to answer when he bends a little, his hand slips between your legs, still over your laced panties, and he presses two fingers directly against your clit through the fabric.
“yun–” you jolt, ready to press your legs together by instinct, when a soft sound escapes your lips that makes him smirk.
“i barely touched you…and you are already this wet for me.” his tone is soft, but his eyes are not, especially the way he pushes the lace aside, and you feel even more exposed. his fingers start moving in small circles, slow and steady, and you are trembling from the arousal he brings. already pressing into his touch, trying to muffle your sounds because he’s watching you too closely.
“don't hide from me,” gently leaning in to kiss your inner thigh. “i want to see and hear everything you have been suppressing.”
by the time he pushes your skirt and underwear down, you’re dripping. he slides one finger with no teasing intentions, just giving you what he knows you need. moaning and gripping his shoulders, he adds a second finger, curling them deep, and you physically break from how good it feels. from how gentle yet rough he moves, making you squeeze your eyes shut and bite your lip. your hips rock with his hand, the wet sounds are obscene, and you are already falling apart, and he hasn’t even started yet.
“fuck… yunho its to—”
“relax for me, i’ve got you… such a good girl. bet you dreamed of my hands, imagining my fingers when you tried to satisfy yourself with yours, no?” his thumb finds your clit again, stroking slow, maddening circles, and you’re clenching around his fingers, when a wicked smile appears on his face after seeing how the praise hit you harder than his touch. you’re so lost in it that you don’t notice that you are close, not until he withdraws his fingers entirely, leaving you empty and whining. you blink up at him, dazed, and the look in his eyes is different now. no more soft coaxing or patience, just pure obsession and lust.
he brings his fingers coated in your essence to his mouth and licks them with his tongue, getting a taste of you and, lord, does he wish he could get a proper sample because he has never tasted anything this sweet before. its simply fascinating that the flavor alone is making him hard. then he wipes himself across your inner thigh, spreading your slick deliberately on your flesh. “do you have any idea, how long i’ve waited for this?”
yunho pushes you back before you can even take a breath. your spine sinking into the mattress, as your body still trembles from the way he dragged you right up to the edge and left you hanging there, a denial that feels like punishment and reward all at once. your chest rises and falls too quickly; your hands grip the sheets because you don’t know what else to do with them. you want more, and the pressure of being so close yet so far stings behind your eyes.
he sees that too, and has been careful enough to give you the same push-n-pull treatment you used on him; it's only fair, he thinks. “darling…” voice amused, and almost scolding. he doesn’t move toward you, just watches. so patiently but so cruel, like a predator waiting to see if the prey bolts or freezes. “you’re really about to cry, aren’t you?”
your lip wobbles – you hate that he points it out, and what you hate even more is how much you want him to fix it. he straightens, fingers drifting to the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head and the muscles in his stomach flex, the v-line, holy shit, his biceps, the veins on them... not to mention he's tall, physically bigger than you. fuck, fuck, fuck you are screwed, you couldn’t possibly make it fit inside you at all, simply horrified at the thought, or because he never once breaks eye contact, not even when his hands move to his waistband.
you’re a mess on the bed, eyes wide, needing something you can’t voice. his fingers tug the band of his grey sweatpants down his hips, and then he stops midway, when you actually giggle. not mocking, but disbelieving, like he is the funniest, most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen. maybe someone will think you're crazy, you prove it yourself because who the hell would allow this? the young chick in the bed of the attractive dilf.
“what’s so funny, sweetheart?” he lifts a brow, head tilting, pushing your legs apart, settling between them. “always teasing, acting like a damn brat.”
your brain is too busy crashing against the reality of what you’ve done to give him an answer. what you’ve wanted, and been chasing for months with your stupid acts, flirtatious smiles, the accidental brushes of your hand against his arm.
this is the moment you were stupid enough to think about when you touched yourself at night, whispering his name into your pillow like a prayer. a wish to come true, now kneeling between your thighs when adrenaline spikes so hard your fingers tremble against the sheets. that makes you feel alive in a way nothing in your short twenty-something years has ever made you feel.
this shouldn’t be happening. i can’t believe he’s actually looking at me like that, you think. i’m insane for wanting him this much, but… he wants me too.
“yeah, that’s what i thought. dumb little thing… you don’t even understand what you’ve started, do you?”
before you know it, he is naked, stroking himself nice and slow, letting the weight of his leaking cock rest against your soaked entrance. the position you are in, is this missionary? you don’t even know anymore, too hazy to care about that. he supports himself on knees and thrusts into you with the help of his hands. driving you absolutely crazy by giving you just the tip. to warm you up and get you really wet, to prepare you for what’s about to happen, so say goodbye to your lingerie and self-respect because you are never getting it back.
your nails dig into his arms, manicured with his favorite color, and would you look at that? how thoughtful of you to do this after he mentioned it once. snapping his hips forward just enough that the head slips in, stretching you around him. you choke on a moan, eyes half rolling to the back of your head because it fucking hurts, and it’s only the tip. he groans, head dropping to your shoulder, breath hot against your skin, kissing and leaving love bites, worshipping you to the fullest.
and then he pushes in, slow at first, letting you feel him. you’re trembling, clinging, gasping his name, and he’s whispering praise and filth against your throat because you just feel incredible, better than anyone else he has slept with. even his ex-wife, with whom he created a family.
“shi– ahh, you feel so fucking good, tight little thing… knew you’d be perfect for me.” he bottoms out with a low groan, wrapping one hand around your throat, squeezing, just holding and enjoying the control he has on and over you. how long has it been since he had sex? maybe a few months, or maybe since the day he first saw you, and he didn't want to admit it, but he fell in love, became obsessed with his son’s pretty girl friend. “you should see yourself…trying so hard to take it.”
his thumb strokes your jaw, his hips pull back, making you react strangely, unexpectedly, to some extent, with your moans and panting stopping for a millisecond, before he slams into you. the sudden brutality of it makes you cry out, back arching off the sheets, when the pace is unrestrained, months of frustration and want exploding into each thrust. the bed creaks, your breath stutters, and yunho watches your expression change every so often. truly smitten by how expressive someone can get. he doesn’t mind; it just shows him that you are loving it just as much.
“yeah, cry for me, angel…” hungry kisses again, low whispers and his deep voice making you dig your nails even harder into his arm so that it will definitely leave a mark. “you made me wait this long, you can take a little more, can’t you? so fucking good for me… haa~ should’ve had you like this months ago.”
you nod helplessly, babbling his name, clenching around him so hard he almost loses the rhythm. he is not even all in, but shit does it feel good to actually have you in his bed, underneath, looking so pretty and ethereal, like a doll made of glass that only he knows how to take care of.
and despite being drunk-dazed, all you can think about is how — yunho is nothing like minho.
doesn’t kiss lightly, or tease you just for fun. definitely doesn’t make you feel like it’s a game, or that what’s going to happen depends on you. because you can run in circles all you want with him, and you should admit that he has been careful not to cross any boundary or make you uncomfortable, although you were so tired of it. there was no point in lying to yourself; you're just not the right girl for him.
but minho’s dad, on the other hand, moves every inch of your body like it belongs to him, more precisely, the moment he decides it does. every touch, kiss and bite, the murmurs in your ear are loaded with intent and control. a real man who knew where to touch, press and push your buttons until you give out.
your stomach twists at the comparison, considering minho had been fun, teasing, and experimental — and yes, he’d made you feel good. even if not going past the ‘let me eat you out’ or ‘you like my hands?’ prompts that were all the same every time. problem is, he’d never demanded you, or been assertive, take complete control. maybe if he did, you wouldn't be that miserable and out of your mind to want his dad.
“you didn’t let him,” he whispered, kissing your neck and collarbone, one hand undoing your bra, more so tearing it down, cupping your breasts. and don't worry, he'll buy you a new one. actually, he doesn't spend money on anyone, unless it's to help minho with the car or the apartment, but that's it. he thinks you deserve to be spoiled a lot more. “and i know he hasn’t… because if he did, you wouldn’t have been here with me.”
it’s the raw and unfiltered possessiveness that makes you weak, and you did right by not letting minho sleep with you, because now yunho will get all of you. all you can do is gasp at the pleasure he offers you, as he hums, thumb brushing along your jaw, tilting your head to meet his gaze.
your body melts under the combination of his voice, piercing eyes and the knowledge that this isn’t casual for him. and as he lowers his lips to yours again, stealing your breath away… you know you’ve crossed a line with no regrets. you don’t realise you’re trembling until yunho holds your hips still, wrapping your legs around his waist for him to proceed deeper, with the confidence of a man who has done this before.
“breathe. you’re tightening up.”
great heavens, you try, but your breath stutters the second he presses forward, not even all the way, just enough to make your hands claw at his shoulders. it’s too much, more so, he’s too much. your eyes burn, throat catches, heat and pressure flooding through you so sharply it feels like your heart is trying to crawl up your ribs.
“y-yunho—” his name collapses into a choked sob as the stretch hits, overwhelming and unfamiliar, a sensation you’ve never felt with anyone. no matter how nice it is, and to really show him that you enjoy it and want it even when it hurts. he freezes instantly. not pulling away, or pushing in. just stopped moving, holding you right there, his breath unsteady against your cheek.
“baby? hey, you still with me?” thumb brushing the tears you didn’t even realise spilt. “we go slow now, okay? don’t want to hurt you.” you nod, but another sound slips out. a broken and soft moan, embarrassing to the point when it happens:
you start to cry.
it's not something dramatic or loud like a child's whining. it's enough to make his eyes widen because he expected you to cry, it's a normal part of the process; however, not to make you tremble like a kitten that just opened its eyes to see what the world is like. just those quiet, involuntary tears, reacting to something new, and huge, that hurts in a way that’s almost… beautiful. your forehead drops to his shoulder, muffling a whimper against his skin, when your fingers go to his hair and play with it so you can calm down somehow.
“darling, it’s okay… i’m here, okay?” your fingers curl tighter in his hair, already tired when you haven’t even climaxed yet, you don’t know if you can do it, too scared to proceed any further.
“it’s… it’s too—”
“no.” his voice comes low and stern, warm breath brushing your ear, immediately denying what you were going to say, because you're not a woman who gives up so easily, he wouldn't allow it when you're so close to the finish line. “it’s not too much.”
he waits until you take a breath again. once, twice, until the shaky third time. then he nudges you down a little bit more to his length, slowly and carefully, when you let out a silent scream and just hug him for support, bringing him closer.
“easy, baby,” he coaxes, talking to you in that soft-spoken and kind tone, reassuring you that everything is okay. most importantly, that you are okay, and you can do it. “you’re doing so well for me.” every inch he guides you down feels like another truth reveals itself, and that's it: you take it so damn deep, not even realising how perfect you are for him. your tears won’t stop from feeling overwhelmed, stretched, completely claimed by him, and the way your body is learning the shape of him.
“you’re mine,” voice wrecked, so raspy too, making you rock against him as if wanting to take him by yourself. “you know that now, don’t you?”
your excuse to make a bad decision, bodies getting close under the lights. you’ve got this familiar feeling, like you’ve known him your wholе life. your voice breaks into another plea instead, so needy and desperate, as he clutches your hips.
that’s what he wanted, not to make you be in pain or to struggle, but somehow loosen up. his mouth finds yours, going in for a soft kiss. while you melt against him, helpless, letting him guide you through the overwhelming stretch inch by inch. that little gasp you just let that isn’t anguish anymore but something your body can’t hide, no matter how much you deny it.
he feels the change before you do. his back and arms are probably red from all the digging and scratching, and when your hips push into him, even as tears cling to your lashes. your cries stop sounding scared and start sounding pleasant. pulling back just enough to see your face and how flushed you are with wet cheeks and lips…something in him snaps, whereas he is the one who gets you to see you like this, completely at his mercy, and so so ruined.
“my pretty girl… finally giving in.”
your lips part, a sound cracking out of you, a plea and a moan, and that’s when he moves. slow sweetness turns into a rhythm that steals your breath, and your hands don’t know what to do or where to hold. your sobbed, “please… yunho, i–” turns into something needy, breathy, and immediately addicting.
“oh, you can’t say my name like that,” groaning, head dropping to your shoulder. “darling, you have no idea what that does to me.” his pace picks up, tho not brutally, because he doesn’t want to kill you. it’s gentle, but quick, like he’s been waiting to finally have permission. with one hand, he pins your hands above while the other holds your waist. your voice climbs without you meaning to, every sound spilling out high and helpless, and he bites back a curse.
“baby…” his tone wrecks you. “you’re shaking so much. you want it bad, hmm?” you swallow hard, nodding underneath him because your mouth won’t work properly.
“no.” he lets go of your pinned wrists; his hand coming under your chin, guiding your eyes up to his. heaven is in your stare, not gonna take you there, you should read between the lines, he’s a devil in disguise, he knows how this works. “no nodding… want to hear you say it.”
“y–yes… please…”
“my sweet, needy little doll,” your tears spill again, but now they’re from the pleasure hitting too fast, and deep. you’re overwhelmed but craving, every sound you make begging for more, even when you don’t form the words. he murmurs, kissing the corner of your wet lips. “crying like you’re ruined already… but your body’s begging me for more.”
you want it rough, he can feel it. he thinks you're doing more than well with this new endeavour, taking on something big. you're a good girl, you'll handle it, gasping loudly, as he growls softly in your ear.
“say it.”
“yunho– p-please… don’t stop—”
“yeah, i know what you into… baby, got a type.” he sets a new pace, so harsh that it makes your legs tremble, you’re practically clinging to him for dear life, every breath a moan of his name. a drama awakens as you are drawn to each other, like deja vu, it becomes clear, reality and ideal.
“take it, yeah? take all of it, let me hear you beg for it.” you can’t stop taking him, his head pushing so deep into your velvety walls. it seems to be working its way into all your organs, probably even imprinting itself on your stomach, a belly bludge. fuck, you don’t know anymore, he can do anything to you… all you care about is getting to feel him, no matter how. every sob turns into a plea, every broken moan turns into a scream of his name, that just makes him go rougher, hunger bleeding through each slam.
yunho kisses the tear tracks on your cheek, voice breaking with how badly he wants you. “my sweet angel, you’re so beautiful like this…so messy and loud for me, yeah, ahh— “
your head drops back, a helpless sound ripping out of you, and he swallows it with a kiss that feels like a dream come true. he’s going to ruin you, and you’re going to thank him for it. he whispers against your lips. the pleasure surges, swallowing the last of the pain, and your voice spills out shameless and desperate.
“yunho… aah~ please, m-more.. i-i want yo– ”
his smile is pure sin when he hears you preach like that. you don’t know if he is a fallen angel or the devil himself. he feels it the second your body tightens around him, that involuntary, shaking pull that makes his breath hitch against your throat. his hands clamp harder on your waist like he’s trying to steady himself, but his voice gives him away.
“damn, princess…you’re squeezing me so tight i can barely—” he cuts himself off with a groan that vibrates against your skin. you scream, but he shushes it with a hungry kiss, saliva mixing, wet and sloppy sounds as he pounds into your cunt. you were so wet and aroused that you made everything easier for him.
“doing so good for me… yeah? that’s it, princess, keep going…” trying to answer something like yes, or i can’t, but only his name spills out. you've never fucked like this in your life, or rather, no one has fucked you like this. so much passion, and so many strong emotions, some still hidden, but they will show up in time. it still felt like he was literally touching your soul; you can't anymore, you'd go crazy if you have to do this all day long.
“that’s all you can say now? my name?” he teases you as your fingers tremble against his chest, and you choke out another, “mm, yunho…”
you do not even mean to say his name again, and again. the sound of it knocks something loose in him; the restraint he held onto snaps in the most blissful way. his breath turns harsh, his hold strengthens, and he starts to curse at the sensation.
“fuck, sweetheart… goddamnit, you’re gonna make me lose it for real,” he buries his face in your neck for a second, pulling you closer until it’s hard to breathe. but then he moves again, with hard thrusts that make your eyes roll to the back of your head. your voice jumps, too loud, and slightly higher, and then his face is millimetres from yours, guiding your mouth to his. “shhh, angel… let me hear you, but let me taste you too.”
your moan melts into his mouth, and he swallows it, kissing you harder like he wants to savour how ruined you sound. then he pulls back just enough to see your face, and how the little mascara you had put on stained your cheeks with a light shade of black.
you can barely breathe, let alone speak, but he strokes your cheek with his thumb, tenderly cleaning the faint stains even as his pace pushes you closer to the limit you swore you couldn’t reach again.
“remember a few minutes ago?” he whispers, lips brushing yours again, “when you said you couldn’t take it?” a tiny, helpless whimper comes from you, and he presses a kiss that builds up anticipation rather than stimulation. because look at you, taking all of him, feeling so good, more than amazing, and you are so beautiful, magnificent, with such a pretty face and body. a personality that he can easily read like an open book, doesn't need the resume, he just looks at you and knows what it's going to be about.
another sob of pleasure, as he groans if the sound physically hits him. your thighs tremble, your hands clutch at him helplessly, and he leans in, kissing along your jaw, your cheek, your neck, everywhere your skin burns for him. he knows exactly what he’s doing. needy moans tear out of you, and he kisses your lips again to quiet the sound.
you can’t form words anymore. every attempt just collapses into: yunho or please, in a voice that barely holds together. he loves it so much, the way you just give in, the effect and control he has over you just feeds his ego so cruelly. brushing his nose against your skin, flawless and thin, but your apologies are only selfish with vain intent.
“hold on for me a little longer, yeah? i’m not done with you yet.” he can’t stop kissing you, it's like a drug, so addicting and intoxicating. knowing that he is the one to have you like this, to scream like you saw the phantom of opera, and when you shake your head instantly, or maybe your body just moves on instinct, but it’s enough to make him shudder. he pushes you just a little further on purpose, knowing exactly how far you can go and how much more of his cock you can take. arching into him like you’re breaking and begging at the same time.
“nngh, that’s–that’s it, sweetheart,” praises left and right, because he shouldn’t be mean to you, despite you deserving it. no, no, yunho is not that evil. maybe he wanted to call you a slut, maybe you knew deep down that you were one. even though you didn't go from man to man, but the way you treated him, the provocation you created was enough for that word to be defined by your name. “you’re doing so damn well.”
a kiss to your cheek, another to your jaw. a final one to your lips, that were so red and swollen. you don’t even realise what’s happening until your whole body locks up. not from fear, or pain, but from something so sudden it steals the breath right out of your lungs, crashes into you like a wave you didn’t see coming. acrylic nails dig helplessly into him, a choked sound tearing from your throat as everything inside you tightens too fast for you to react.
“oh— sweetheart…” yunho feels the way you are going to climax soon. “that’s it… come for me, yeah?” your vision blurs. you’re close, so close, and he knows by the way his hand slides to your clit, rubbing circles that match the brutal pace of his hips. your entire body shivers, thighs shaking, stomach cinching tight as if something deep inside you is twisting and pulling you under.
“yun– i’m.. please, i–”
he is guiding you through the storm, “breathe, princess… i’ve got you.”
it happened so suddenly, your juices spilling as he fucks you right into it, but more slowly. you’ve never experienced something like this before…never so real, intense, so impossible to hold onto. those intense feelings of pleasure hitting you so hard that the only thing you can do is say his name like it could stop you from creaming around his cock.
a deep pressure that makes you whine, you press a shaking hand to your lower belly on instinct, trying to make sense of the sensation, and is that him? is it so deep that you can feel it all the way there, that you can see it all the way there, stretching and pushing... your eyes widened in shock, as yunho catches your wrist gently, his breath hitching when he sees where your hand went. body is still fluttering with aftershocks, muscles tightening and releasing, like your nerves don’t know how to stop. he cups your cheek, forcing your dazed eyes to meet his.
“sweet girl…was that your first real one?”
you can’t even answer, and tell him that yes, this was your first time cumming, not even faking a thing. you simply can’t fake anything when the guy who fucks you just knows how to do it properly. your lips part, but nothing comes out except a shaky, overwhelmed sigh.
“of course it was~ no wonder you’re shaking and being so responsive.” the look that flashes across yunho’s face is something simply catastrophic. pride, and awe, all tangled together. he was speechless, like falling into some kind of ecstasy. while your stomach is tightening at that foreign pressure, and he feels it too. your fingers clutch at him again, helpless, overstimulated and still riding the remnants of something too intense to name.
“princess… if i’d known you’d fall apart for me like that…” he stops himself, breathing raggedly against your skin. he should have pleased you sooner if he knew you were going to react like this. his praise only makes your body flutter harder, and he quietly whimpers, brushing his lips down your throat. you have no idea what you just did to him.
his tone changes when you are still trying your very best to calm down and regain composure to continue, as if something in him snaps into place the moment he feels the way you cling to him, so tight, and needy.
“tell me something, sweetheart.” he slows down just enough that you feel every inch, every deliberate shift of his hips that drags another helpless sound from your throat. “did he ever make you feel like that?”
you don’t answer, not because you’re hiding anything, but because you physically can’t. your vocal cords are nonexistent because the maximum words you can say are about five, and one of them is his name. that beautiful name belongs to the man who ruins you in the most beautiful way possible.
“did he?” yunho hisses, so possessive and demanding, like he wants to hear the truth from you even if he knows better than anyone else that his son couldn’t step up his game and please such a pretty and smart girl, who is a freak in the sheets. you probably will be, even though you're so submissive right now. you’re in a situation where he won't let you take the dominant position until you learn to take him all at once, or until you convince him enough to change his mind. you'd look so good on top of him, and he'd watch you struggle when you line up his tip to your soaked entrance, how those beautiful breasts will bounce once you start to jump like crazy.
he speeds up just enough that you can hear the skin slapping, making you arch your back like the cat you are. “did minho ever have you shaking like this?”
no. minho never touched you like this; couldn't even make you orgasm. you had to pretend the whole time that you liked it, faking everything he made you feel. just so you could keep him close, so you could get your hands on his father.
a grown man who knows exactly what he’s doing and exactly how to take you apart.
satisfied growl vibrates against your neck as he speeds up again, his grip tightens at your waist. you are unbearably sensitive, and he groans when he feels how your body reacts, like you’re trying to pull him closer without even meaning to. too intense to hold back, a second orgasm is building too fast for you to even process it.
“oh? you’re close again?” his cock is practically abusing you, but not in a way that hurts, just making sure you get to feel everything he has to offer. “pretty little thing, can you do it for me? hmm, i know you can.”
and you do. again and again, until he imprints himself in you, so hard and deep that he can simply rearrange your dna. he praises you, every time you coat him with your juices — soft when you’re shaking, rough when you’re clinging to him, filthy when you beg.
by the time the seventh wave of pleasure hits you, you’re barely able to function. your thighs are trembling uncontrollably, vision is hazy, brain system is foggy. he slows down because he feels himself coming soon. tho, he is not stopping, just holding you in place, breathing hard against your throat as he fights for control.
“doll, you tell me…where do you want it?”
your voice is muffled, broken from overstimulation, but your body answers for you. you tighten around him, hard, your whole body squeezing instinctively every time he thrusts in deeper. yunho groans, too honest for him to hide that he just can’t contain what he feels for you.
“inside, huh?” his forehead drops to your shoulder, biting it in the process. he knew you were a freak, but not that much of a freak. “you want me there?”
“yeah… please…” you whimper, clinging to him. you didn't want him to pull out; you didn't want to let him go even for a moment. all your thoughts were filled with only 'yunho, yunho, yunho, yunho'. he took over your every sense, all the thoughts you never thought possible, feelings you never felt. “please…yunho, fill me up.”
you are going to kill him. he tries to breathe, tries to hold on just a second more, but he’s too close, powerless when you want him to finish inside, the way you say his name, because it’s the only thing you remember. slender fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you even closer, deeper, and then he’s gone. coming hard, gasping heavily in your ear as he fills you completely to the brim. the way you squeeze around him like you’re trying to keep him there forever. you make him want things that are against all laws, not to mention morals.
the moment he releases inside you, a strangled sob escapes you before you can stop it, your arms winding around his shoulders as if you’re trying to hold onto him, trembling, desperate, and clinging. your face presses into the crook of his neck, warm and wet against his skin as more tears slip free. yunho is suddenly taken aback, having his ‘breaking the 4th wall moment’. it’s been years since he felt this kind of connection. he seems almost surprised, keeping moving gently, riding out the last waves until he feels you tighten again, pulling him deeper, milking every drop from him without meaning to.
“not knocking you up,” he murmurs, still breathless, still pressed against your skin. “no matter how good you’d look full of me.”
causing that kind of family drama, knocking up someone much younger than him? not happening.
“sweetheart, you’re….you’re still holding onto me.” his voice is hoarse, deep tone, with even deeper feelings gushing in his chest. your thighs quivering around him, overstimulated and helpless. he slides a hand up your spine, soothing you, trying to ground you as he coos against your hair. “okay. okay, baby, let it all out then.”
you try to breathe, but everything inside you is too full — your head, your heart, your cunt. the feeling of being so filled you can’t separate where you end and he begins. the rush of it makes you dizzy, stuck on a feeling, and it's a crime how he is talking to you. and underneath the haze… guilt curls in your stomach as it has just been waiting to strike at the right moment.
yunho is still inside you when he realises something’s wrong.
“i don’t– i shouldn’t have– yunho?” regardless his name is the first thing you can say. his hand then comes up to cradle the back of your neck, thumb stroking the sensitive skin there as he pulls you back just enough to see your face.
your eyes are wet and glassy. it was as if you had stars in your eyes, but he couldn't tell if they had fallen or if they were about to rise and shine brighter than the sun. he hates the guilt in them.
he’d been smug just moments ago, drunk on the feel of you, on how tight you were, on how you kept pulling him deeper as if your body were made to take him. the heat between you was enough to burn, his ears were red, chest heaving, pupils blown wide. you looked ruined, and he was proud of it, but his smirk faded instantly. he hates that anything about this moment is hurting you.
“baby, no,” he murmurs, kissing a tear before it falls. his whole body softens, feeling you clench, not from lust, but from the aftermath of everything he pushed you through. “don’t do that…hey–”
you try to inhale, but your lungs feel tight, and your heartbeat won’t calm.
“there’s no going back now. what’s done is done.” the way he says it isn’t cruel. it’s almost sympathetic, the tone someone uses when they close a door for you so you don’t have to look at it again. “you’re not a horrible person, not even a bit. you are just confused and exhausted.”
you want to believe him, despite feeling the exact opposite. he kisses you before you can argue. the kind of kiss that is supposed to make you calm down and stop thinking. to stop fighting, and let yourself fall where he’s waiting for you with open arms.
your body still holds him inside, pulsing around him like it doesn’t know how to release him yet. and he doesn’t push, just stays there, his palms splayed over your waist, heat radiating from his skin into your bones.
when he finally pulls out slowly from you, and the loss of him burns. pain curling low as his cock slides free, followed by the warm spill of him dripping down your thighs. the sudden emptiness makes your legs tremble, makes your fingers curl weakly into his shoulders.
yunho watches your face the whole time. not your body, not the mess he made, but you.
“sweets,” his hands run down your shaking thighs, slow and soothing, thumbs tracing the tremor he caused. he’s too gentle, like he knows exactly how to make you feel at peace again. “that’s enough for today. you don’t need to worry about anything except resting now.”
he presses a kiss to your cheek, another to your temple, then a quick peck to your lips. each touch is convincing in a way that frightens you.
“i’m going to take care of you, because you did so well for me.” strong arms sliding beneath you, lifting you like you weigh nothing. your head falls against his shoulder, your body limp from everything he dragged out of you. “come on, sweetheart. let’s get you cleaned up.”
steam still clings to your skin by the time yunho wraps a towel around your shoulders. your legs are jelly, maybe they don’t even exist. wobbling every time you try to put weight on them, and he watches it happen with a smile that could kill anyone within a 10-meter radius. it was smug, but not egotistical. he just can’t believe he gets to touch you at all.
“(name), just lean on me,” he murmurs, steadying your hips when your knees give up again. he helped you into the bath earlier, washing you with hands so gentle you almost cried again. then in the shower, his chest warm against your back, while he made sure every bit of you felt taken care of. not used or for you to feel dirty, but cherished and loved.
then, quietly, without judgment, he handed you a small packet with a pill inside. why he has them is another mystery to be left behind. “just in case, sweetheart. i don’t want you worrying.” because he should have been careful and put a condom, but he won’t tell you that he forgot to buy some, because well, he didn’t expect that today of all days he was going to wreck you.
the tenderness in his eyes when you took it nearly knocked you out all over again. now, in the soft light of his room, he dresses you carefully, just like a doll. one of his old oversized shirts, worn and soft, then a pair of boxers he sheepishly admitted no longer fit him.
when you stand in front of him, swallowed by his clothes, eyes tired and swollen from crying, yunho just stares. like he’s falling in love in real time. he steps closer, hands cupping your cheeks. “you look… beautiful,” it’s not the rough and demanding tone from earlier; it’s something sweet that makes the butterflies in your stomach spread their wings even wider and flutter everywhere, even reaching your heart and mind. “my fuckin’ god, angel… don’t do that to me.”
you don’t know what to say, because it hits you all over again — you just slept with your friend’s father. someone you weren’t supposed to want, and absolutely shouldn’t have touched, or thought about this way.
“yunho… i— i don’t know how to feel.”
he steps behind you before the panic can rise, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against his chest. slowly, he begins to sway you side to side in a gentle, soothing rhythm you didn’t expect from a man who ruined you an hour ago. his chin rests on your head when he opens his mouth.
“baby, you feel overwhelmed. that’s normal…” he murmurs as his hands slide up and down your arms, calming the shake you didn’t realise had returned. “you think you did something unforgivable,” adding a soft kiss to your hair. “but you didn’t.”
you swallow hard, guilt and desire twisting inside you, because you are so torn, can't make an adequate decision, nor are you currently capable of thinking about anything more than the fact that the moment you fell for him, like an angel cast out of heaven, you knew there was no way you could get back up again.
“this is… wrong,” you whisper. “it has to be.”
“maybe it is, but…” his arms tighten slowly, possessively. “…we both know it’s not going to stop.” you panic again, breathing heavy, when his lips brush your shoulder, a soft, devastating kiss.
“and what happened today,” he continues, swaying you gently, still trying his best to convince you that you did nothing wrong. you are a human being, with a mind of its own, with needs that need to be satisfied every once in a while. that you are free to do anything you want, as long as it makes you happy. “that wasn’t just for us to relieve the pent-up tension, but you know that already.”
your throat tightens, since he is right. closing your eyes, leaning back against him despite the guilt curling in your stomach.
“doll,” his hands slide to your hips, holding you delicately. he really wanted you to listen more to his words, because even though they were meant to reassure you, the truth was hidden in them. “…you’re going to be my little secret.”
“this won’t be the last time, will it?” you ask, feeling him kiss your face, entirely too intimate.
“no,” whispering into your skin, the softness of his voice at complete odds with the way he’s cornering your heart, “tho, you have a choice,” he says… and you can feel the lie in the way he holds you. but he’s swaying you gently, hugging you like he’s trying to soothe nerves he’s also responsible for sparking.
it isn’t a choice; you have no say in that. he’s taking advantage of how off-balance and vulnerable you are currently… and you let him, since you haven’t exactly been innocent either. your body melts back into him like you’ve already decided.
warm lips brush the shell of your ear, smiling against your skin, “you can walk away from this, and by doing so you walk away from me.” his hands slide over your stomach, “or… you can stay. let me take care of you, love you the way you deserve to be loved.”
your stop breathing for what seems like a minute, because the way he says it, so gentle, not forceful, almost sad and yet it hits you exactly where he wants it to.
three months ago, before you even realized what you were doing, you’d let minho get closer, let him open up to you, let him trust you, and you’d smiled sweetly every time he invited you over. every time he unknowingly walked you straight into temptation.
if he knew that you liked his father instead… maybe you should finally friendzone him, so whatever you had going on will stop. it’s pointless when it's one-sided, and besides, you don't want to date him, and you don't even want to say it… you don't want to cheat on him with his own father. that's why you never set the green light with him, friends with benefits, was it?, but nothing more.
yunho senses your spiral and cages you tighter against his chest, whispering, as you tilt your head just enough to meet his eyes, “we’ll be careful, we have been so far, no? minho doesn’t have to know anything, my son is not that great at taking hints or reading the room, so don’t worry, alright?”
and that’s how it begins.
the secret rendezvous — nights in his apartment when minho stays with his mom. afternoons where yunho pretends he’s just “working from home” while you’re spread out on his couch and he devours your pussy with his mouth like it’s his last meal and day on planet earth. cockwarming him on his gaming chair as he edits some photos from work, and sometimes when you decide to be naughty and let your brat energy shine, he simply bends you over his desk to teach you some manners and not to interrupt him when he's working. trips he arranges through connections, quiet little escapes to seaside hotels and mountain cabins. the excuse you feed minho and your friends when you mention you can’t hang out because you are going on a family vacation.
a game of hide-and-seek where the seeker is so heartbreakingly blind.
and you were so good at convincing your family to go there that it wouldn't be so suspicious. just you suggesting a new destination to enjoy the season, or if there is an occasion like your mom’s birthday. she really enjoyed okinawa, and she was infinitely grateful to you for the surprise. plus, they know you have a job that pays well, but what you wouldn't tell them is that another person was giving you money and spoiling you rotten.
or that time when he was balls deep into you, and his ex-wife called him, and he had to pick up because she kept spamming his phone. maybe it was her 5th call, and for that, he apologised to you by telling you to be quiet, putting his hand over your mouth, as he continued to fuck you in slow thrusts. "yeah, minsoo? i'm a little busy right now, talking to a client… you know, booking photoshoots, gotta schedule a date.” then she said something that made his gaze flick toward you. “no,” he replied softly. “no one’s with me.”
he was so mad after the conversation and the fact that she wouldn't stop talking, and he didn't really care about how minho needs a new laundry machine... and he just took it out on you, but you loved it when he was rough.
back in the present, it’s been a few months already and nothing has changed. yunho presses a kiss under your ear, down to your neck. “you staying with me tonight?” his voice is hopeful, and a little too pleased. he knew there was no way you could refuse him, especially the way he made you melt, arms sliding around your waist fully, pulling you against him.
“yeah… i think so.”
even though everything is wrong, like you just committed a sin that cannot be unforgiven. you could be torn between two roads that you just can't decide, which one is leading you to hell or paradise? you still lean into him as you’ve already chosen the path you’re going to walk on.
he is someone you could get addicted to in more ways than one. you didn’t leave him, didn’t run, fight, or try to fix what you’d helped unravel. you just let him hold you tighter until there was no room left to breathe without him.
yunho didn’t apologise, or hesitate to make you his, even if your relationship is considered a riddle with no clear answer, a mystery with no evidence to follow. he just looked at you the same way he did the day it all began. with clear motives that he won’t back down, and chose you with a certainty that felt like fate, destined to be with you, and like a promise that felt like a threat.
in the end, you took it all away from me, you think, as he bites your lower lip. big hands already exploring your body that he knows like his own, making you want more. more than he has already given you. perfect, he is perfect at anything he does, and what he does best is love you, because he can make the impossible possible.
he took everything, and he made sure you didn’t want it back.
thank you so much macie (@strhwa), for taking the time to do a beta read and be an editor. i love you so much, and i hope jongho is going to eat you out tonight ! xoxo
.ᐟ contains smut minors dni | yh is very mean, masochist reader and sadist yh, extreme d/s dynamics, a lot of slapping, throat-fucking, puppy play, owner kink, daddy kink (like twice), threats, dumbification, fear play, bondage, unprotected sex, choking, breath play, edging, overstimulation
“Stop fucking whining,” Yunho scoffs, winding his hand back to land a harsh slap on your cheek again, your face snapping to the side as you try to obey and bite back your whimper, “And I thought I told you to keep still. What happened to my good puppy, huh?”
“S-Sir, I just—“
Another crack of his hand across your cheek interrupts you, a whimper bubbling up from your throat, “Shut the fuck up. I’m not done talking. Does it look like I’m done talking?”
You don’t answer this time, but it appears that wasn’t the correct answer because he hits you again and scoffs, “I expect an answer when I ask you something.” You try to ignore the small part of your brain that hasn’t been reduced to a version trying to be a good girl for him when it says that he’s contradicting himself, that he’s not being fair.
Yunho’s never fair, you reconcile with yourself, and that’s the way he knows you both like it.
“N-No, ‘m sorry, you weren’t d-done,” you shudder out, looking up at him with teary eyes and the pout that usually makes him coo softly and praise you for being such a cute puppy for him.
This time it doesn’t, and if you hadn’t already realized he was in a meaner mood tonight, that would have done it.
“You’re not gonna get anything from me by pouting. In fact, why are you even trying?” He looks down at you where you sit on your knees, some kind of a judgy sneer on his face that is way hotter than it should be, “Shouldn’t a good puppy just take what she’s given with a smile?”
You nod immediately, trying to fix your face and wipe the pout off of it, “Yes, sir.”
You watch as his sneer softens and he tilts his head slightly before he crouches in front of you, taking a small strain off your neck from having to look up as he towered over you. You think he might be nicer to you, might give you a little grace, so you’re waiting for whispered saccharine words and you’re only left with that familiar sting of disappointment when he speaks, his voice firm and unforgiving.
“Then do it.”
His words are so different than what you were expecting that you guess your brain lags a little, and Yunho takes no nonsense, not even a little hesitation when he gives an order, so he’s quick to backhand you and roughly grab your cheeks again, his face so close to yours that you feel his breath fan across your face when he speaks next, “I said smile. You agreed that a good puppy smiles when its owner gives them attention, right? So when I tell you to smile, I better see all fucking thirty-two. Do you understand me?”
You nod rapidly as best you can with him still holding your jaw, and he removes it to lean back slightly to appraise your smile that follows, big and toothy and not at all meeting your teary eyes.
He thinks he likes that the most, though, the evidence of your submission so plain in the way you try to stretch your lips around a smile even when you’re close to tears from his abuse.
“That’s a good puppy,” he finally gives you the praise you were craving, but it’s immediately followed by another harsh slap to your opposite cheek. You gasp before forcing your head to look back at him as he rises to his full stature again, “That’s for making me tell you twice. I’d tell you to listen better next time if you don’t want to be hit, but we both know you do.”
You can’t really dispute that. You remember the first time he’d hit you, you were already so far gone that it didn’t even embarrass you when you moaned and begged him for more.
Yunho had this surefire certain way to dumb you down with only a few words or a look or a slap. At first, you felt a little sheepish at how pathetic he could make you, but that was gone quickly when he told you if you ever tried to shy away or be anything less than a crying mess for him, he’d take you over his knee and spank you until you remembered just who it is you’re daring to hide in front of.
Yunho’s hand smooths over your hairline, slowly forcing your head to look back up at him, neck craned all the way, “Just like that, there you go,” you revel in the soft, praising tone he says it in, a more sincere, dazed smile spreading across your lips before you realize it, and you almost gasp when a small smile of his own mirrors yours.
“How’d I get such a sweet girl, huh?” He praises softly, and it seems like it’s not as much for you as it is for him, as if he’s realizing just how lucky he is despite the fact that he’s always telling you how fortunate he knows he is outside of your scenes. His hand comes down from your hairline, instead coming to pinch at your raw, red cheek the same way people do when they just find someone too cute to resist, enjoying the way you try to suppress your wince at the contact. Yunho grins as he speaks again, gentle and sweet in a way that you know you have to savor, “Always listening to me, giving me such pretty smiles all the time. You’re such a good puppy, baby.”
“Thank you, sir,” you’re quick to respond, not having forgotten your rules, but he seems especially pleased, like he hadn’t expected this, like you exceeded his expectations.
He was almost looking forward to getting to smack that cute, dazed smile off of your face if you forgot, ready to see the way his fast changes in demeanor fog your mind like it always does.
“Look at you, baby,” he commends in a whisper, his fingers dancing gently across the angry skin of your cheek, and the stinging soothes you in a way you hadn’t expected, the pain serving to pull you back into reality. You’re grateful for it, knowing you have a tendency to get lost in your own head, and that always gets you in trouble, “Who knew you actually had a brain in there?”
You look up at him from your knees, admiring the way his black satin button-down pulls around his chest, tie resting in the middle of his chest. You’re distracted when his hand falls from your cheek and starts to work at his belt instead. You’re not sure if it’s his training or pure instinct that makes you sit up a little straighter, excitement pooling in your gut right alongside your arousal.
He never usually gives you his cock until much later. You must really be impressing him today, and that makes your heart flutter. You think at this point in your life, nothing makes you happier than pleasing your owner like this.
“You know what good puppies like you get, hm?” The tone of his voice told you he wasn’t expecting an answer but you knew it anyway: a reward. You try to calm the raging butterflies in your stomach, beyond pleased with yourself for winning his favor so early in the night. “You want your owner’s cock, baby?”
You nod so fast he thinks you might get whiplash and he laughs at you. You really can be such a puppy sometimes, perking up and panting when offered a treat.
Yunho slips his cock out of his slacks and you swear drool starts to pool shallowly in your mouth. Your eyes trace the veins along his shaft, following them from the base to his leaking, red tip. Without your permission, your mouth falls open automatically, tongue lolling out.
You hear his laugh and you look back up to his face as he smooths his hand over your hair again, this time gathering a handful at the crown of your head. “So perfect, aren’t you?” He shifts his hips a bit closer to your lips, only letting you wrap your lips around the tip before he’s pulling away again, using his hand in your hair to keep you from chasing it.
He does this a few more times before a dry, frustrated sob slips from your mouth and you look up at him pleadingly. Yunho only laughs in your face, finding some kind of cruel pleasure in denying you what you so badly want.
Then, suddenly, his grip on your hair tightens and he slides home, tip pressing insistently at your throat in a way that makes you splutter and gag around his cock. You seem to forget everything you’ve learned at the suddenness of it all, trying to drag in a breath through your mouth and it only makes you cough around him.
“Suck it right,” he huffs, like he’s more upset you’re putting all the time he spent teaching you to waste. “You wanted it so bad and now you’re gonna pretend you don’t know how to suck dick? After all that time I spent training you?”
The flames of embarrassment lick at your cheeks that are now home to two burning sensations instead of one, and you feel like you have to work twice as hard to prove yourself. You try your hardest to relax your throat and hollow your cheeks, reveling in the soft, praising hum he gives you when you do.
That’s all the confirmation he needs that you’re ready before he’s drawing his hips back, thrusting roughly down your throat as he sets his pace. “Fuck, there you go, baby. Knew I didn’t waste my time training your throat.”
He continues his self-indulgent pace and you are sure not to look away from his face as he does, breathing through your nose. The last time you looked away from him when he fucked your face, he spanked your ass raw as he claimed you must have been imagining it was someone else fucking your face even though you both knew that wasn’t true. He acted as if it was the only reasonable explanation anyway, ignoring all of your pleading and insisting that you just forgot, content to beat you until you admitted to what wasn’t true.
You really don’t know what possesses you, but all you knew was that his praise had built your arousal impossibly high and your neglected core was practically screaming at you to give it something, anything. Your hand shifts from where it lays on your thigh, fingers only briefly getting to press at your clit through your panties before a boot comes down on your hand and he’s shoved himself impossibly deep down your throat, your nose pressed against his pubic bone.
Pain shoots white hot up your arm and you let out a pathetic scream around him, which only causes you to gag and cough again. His boot presses down harder at your wrist, twisted at such an awkward angle between the bottom of his shoe and the floor. “I know you know better than that, are you trying to piss me off?”
After a long, excruciating moment, he eases his boot off of your wrist and you almost want to cradle it to your chest, but you know better. Instead, you bring it stiffly to rest in your lap like you know he wants.
Yunho pulls your mouth off by your hair rather roughly, and you know that means he expects an answer, so you take two insufficient gulps of air before the words are rushing out of you, broken and pathetic, “N-No, ‘m sorry, s-so sorry, I don’t know why—“
“Of course you don’t know why. Do you know anything?” Yunho sneers at you again, flicking your forehead as if to emphasize just how empty it must be. “What am I even supposed to do with a slutty puppy who can’t follow directions? Especially when she likes to be hit?” It didn’t even seem like he was talking to you anymore, sighing more to himself than anything, but the words still make your knees press harder together despite yourself as he speaks, “Maybe I should just leave, tie you up and let you sit here and suffer— hey.”
Clearly you weren’t as sneaky as you thought you were being, if you thought at all before doing something stupid like that, because he kicks at your inner thigh roughly, shoving his boot between your knees and forcing them harshly apart. A slap follows, rougher than any of the others so far, and you whimper as your head snaps to the side, tears spilling freely over your waterline now. “If you keep testing me, I will fuck you up. No more little slaps or spanks, I will beat you fucking bloody. Say you understand.”
“I un-understand, I understand, ‘m sorry,” you cry, fingers curling into your palms where you force your hands to stay on top of your thighs. You want to wipe your tears, but you know he would consider that as ‘testing him’. He’s been over that with you, insisting that you have no right to try to fix the mess he’s made of you.
“Not good enough. Say, ‘I understand Daddy will beat me if I test him again’.”
You try your best to repeat it to him coherently, and you think you manage even though you stuttered and gasped and sobbed your way through the sentence. Yunho seems to think you managed, too, because he sighs as if this was just exhausting for him, “Good to see at least some of your training has stuck.”
As you take a long moment to attempt to slow your breathing and stop the flow of your tears, he takes a step back and sighs, his fingers coming up to hook into his tie, loosening it as he speaks, “What do you think you deserve tonight, after the way you tested me?”
You weren’t stupid, even if your recent choices might say otherwise, so you let out a trembling breath before you say, as much as it pains you to, “N-Nothing, sir.”
“Nothing?”
You shake your head in response, words stuck in your throat.
“Mm, you’re probably right. ‘S a shame, too,” he lets out an annoyed breath, fingers pulling his tie completely free now, pulling it up and over his head, “I mean, really, what’s the point of having a pathetic little slut at my disposal if she’s not even getting my dick wet?” The words are degrading, even to your ears, and you bite the inside of your cheek as you listen to him continue with an exasperated breath, “Y’know, if I can’t get the puppy I have to listen, maybe I should get another—“
As if his words weren’t enough to scare you, he even takes a half-step toward the door.
“No!” You’re yelling out before you can stop yourself, panic clawing at your heart at the idea of being left behind. You shoot forward, tugging at his pant leg pathetically, shuffling forward on your knees only slightly. “No, please, Daddy, you can still use me!”
Yunho appraises you, and inwardly, he almost considers himself a saint for letting your insolence slide, because you know better than to speak out of turn or move from where he put you. He only gives you grace because he knows how the fear and desperation tear at you. Hell, that was the whole reason he said it in the first place; you’re so pretty when you’re scared, and he’s told you as much.
“Hm?” He finally offers after a long moment, enough time for you to second guess yourself and brace for the hit that never comes, “Isn’t that more of a reward for you? Are you saying you do deserve to be rewarded for your behavior?”
“N-No, sir! You— you don’t have to let me cum, I just w-wanna make my owner feel good!”
Yunho literally can’t stop the coo that falls from his lips. He didn’t expect that from you, didn’t expect for you to surrender your own pleasure so plainly just to be allowed to be able to please him. Just like he can’t let bad behavior go unpunished, he can’t let exemplary behavior go unrewarded, so he reaches forward to caress your cheek again, watching as you melt into the touch and nuzzle into his palm.
“Sometimes you make it so hard to remember you’re a good pup at heart, but you really are, aren’t you?” You nod at his words the best you can without straying from the warmth of his palm against your cheek. He smiles softly and swipes his thumb against your cheekbone, bending down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. You keen, obviously, and it almost causes you to miss his whispered order, “Go bend over the bed for me, baby.”
You rise from your spot on shaky legs, knees aching slightly from how long you stayed on them, even against the padded carpet. Bending your upper half over the mattress, you settle your weight on your elbows and wait. You stay there for a while, trying to listen for movement behind you, and you even consider turning your head to see for yourself, but you know that would probably sour his mood again.
You don’t have to wait much longer, though, thankfully, because you feel his hands sliding up your ass, tracing the hem of your panties before he hooks his fingers under it, sliding them down to your knees.
“There’s my pretty girl,” he praises as he spreads you open and admires you, the way you’re so soaked for him. You hope he gives you his cock then, but instead he pulls his hands away and shuffles slightly behind you before he demands, “Hands.”
A whine gets caught in your throat at the realization, but you pull your elbows out from underneath you either way, now face-first in the mattress as you fold your hands behind your back, surrendering them to him.
He hums his approval, and he starts tying your wrists together with what you think is the tie he’d taken off earlier. Once he finishes, he tugs roughly at the bindings, huffing out an amused breath when you let out a pitched whimper at the way the pressure forced your shoulders in an awkward position.
The next thing you feel is the head of his member sliding up and down your slit, catching on your clit in a delicious but fleeting way and then dipping slightly into your entrance. You can’t help the way you squirm, trying to rock your hips to get the friction you crave.
His hands come to clamp down on your hips and hold them still, and he thinks you should be grateful that that’s all you got. When he speaks next, his tone makes as much clear, a low timbre that holds a note of challenge in it. “It’s not for you, is it? This is for me, for you to make me feel good, remember?”
“Mhm, y-yes, sir.”
“Yeah? You do?” He waits for you to nod the best you can with the side of your face pressed into the mattress before he continues, “Then stop squirming and wait.”
It’s all you can do to offer a small ‘mhm’, and usually he’d tell you to use your words, but he didn’t seem to concerned with anything other than your pussy right now. He slides in with one sharp thrust, fully sheathing himself inside of you so suddenly that it makes you scream into the sheets, fingers wringing together behind your back.
“Fuck, s’perfect. Your cunt was made for me, wasn’t it?”
You nod dumbly into the mattress, mouth open and offering a feeble ‘uh-huh’, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth and wetting the sheets.
Of course he expects an answer when you’re most clearly dumb and floaty, the sadist he is, “Answer me. Say, ‘my cunt’s made for Master to fuck’. Go on.”
“My— My cunt’s f’r Master to fuh-fuuuck,” You last word drags when he rewards your attempt with a thrust that somehow had his tip nudging right at your g-spot right away. You start to think you really were made for him.
“There you go,” he praises under his breath, leaning over to splay his hand across the exposed side of your face, pressing it harder into the mattress as he sets his punishing pace. He spanks you, a lot lighter than you know he could have, and urges you more gently than he could have, too, “Arch some more f’me, pup. I know a slut like you knows how.”
You follow the instructions the best you can once they manage to make it through the haze of subspace. Yunho watches where you connect as he thrusts into you, then to your fucked-out face where he’s shoving it roughly into the sheets, and he can’t decide which sight he prefers.
Time kind of blends together as he fucks you, your brain feeling overwhelmingly empty apart from the intrinsic need to please him. Eventually, he snaps you out of the haze when he reaches forward again, wrapping one hand around your throat and hauling you up.
Yunho ignores your squeal as he yanks you into him, your bare back meeting the satin of his shirt, which only serves to remind you just how clothed he is and how naked you are. It’s humiliating in that familiar way you’ve come to enjoy.
His other hand comes to press right above your pelvis, holding you still to meet his pace that he never lets falter. The new angle has you squealing again, squirming against his hold because it’s suddenly too much. Your climax is building too quickly and you think if he continues you won’t be able to stop it.
“Sir, sir—“ you gasp out, trying to warn him that you’re close as if he didn’t already know, as if he doesn’t know your body better than you do. He flexes his fingers around your throat, not quite choking you yet even though you know he would.
“Cum, baby,” he whispers in your ear and it’s so soft and so far removed from what you’d expect him to say that you almost think you’re hallucinating.
He wouldn’t really say that, would he? Not when the whole reason he’s even fucking you is because you surrendered your orgasm? But if he really did say it, it had to be a test. He’s testing me, you think, don’t do it, don’t be stupid, don’t be gullible.
Yunho forces himself into you once more before he stills, especially rough this time in the way his tip collides with your cervix.
“Stupid bitch,” he spits, and there’s a genuine venom in his voice that you rarely hear unless you really mess up. He reaches around you to slap your face, and even if the angle of it is a little awkward and it doesn’t allow him to actually put any real force behind it, you can tell just by his voice that he really is pissed, “Here I am, being a nice fucking owner, letting my slut cum even when she doesn’t deserve it, and you fucking ignore me? You think that’s smart?”
“N-no, ‘m sorry, I thought you were tricking me! Y-You—“
“Shut up before you say some stupid shit that makes me fuck you up.” He’s almost nice with his warning, considering he knew you were about to blame him for your actions and that was a line you couldn’t uncross.
Your orgasm has long since fizzled away, but it’s not far away when he starts thrusting again, rougher than before, if possible. You try your best to listen as he speaks, not wanting to make a similar mistake to the one he’s still scolding you about, “If I tell you to cum, you do it, right then, not a second later. I don’t care what you think, I don’t care even if you’re right and I was tricking you. You cum anyway, and you deal with the consequences of failing your owner’s test, because you do what I fucking say above all else. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, yes, sir, I understand!” You sob into the air, your head resting back against his shoulder as he continues his brutal rhythm, his fingers tightening around your throat to press at either side, cutting off your air supply.
“Then you’ll cum right now, if you don’t want to find out what I’m like when you really piss me off.” Yunho says it low and dangerous with his lips against your ear.
The combination of his words, the black spots spreading at the corners of your vision, and the way the head of his cock collides with your g-spot every time he sinks home is enough to make it impossible to disobey his command even if you were stupid enough to try.
Your eyes roll back as your orgasm washes over you, and as soon as it does, he releases his hold around your neck and lets you fall back to mattress. The headrush that comes with having access to oxygen again so suddenly, along with the way he doesn’t pause his thrusts, makes your orgasm genuinely unreal, leaving you shuddering and crying into the sheets.
The pleasure eventually bleeds into pain, overstimulation making your cries escalate into wails when his pace doesn’t falter, still chasing his own release.
“S’too mu—“
You try to plead, try to earn his pity, but he’s quick to interrupt you, his voice breathy and pinched as he gets close, “Shut up. You got yours, baby, lemme get mine.”
Sobs fall freely from your lips, but you don’t try to speak again, ignoring your overstimulation in favor of pleasing your owner.
Yunho bends over you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he lets out a drawn-out moan when he finishes, thrusting into you a few more times to ride it out as he spills his cum in you.
The rest kind of bleeds together as you try to catch your breath, eyes closed and mouth open in a way that you’d probably think looks dumb if you were able to see it yourself, but you still feel the ways he cares for you. You feel the way he slowly pulls out, the way he unties your wrists and leaves tender kisses along the reddened skin, the way he runs a damp rag along your core, cleaning you up. You feel the way he gingerly moves you to lay properly in the bed, head resting safely on the pillow.
You blink slowly back into full consciousness when Yunho is pulling the comforter over you. When he sees you’re back in the land of the living, he pauses, setting the comforter in your lap instead of pulling it to your chest like he’d planned, “You want a bath, baby?”
You shake your head. That sounds like a lot of work right now and the bed is so comfy. “Not right now,” you mumble, throat slightly raspy. You wade through your thoughts in search for the words that convey what you want, and you finally find them, “Jus’ want you.”
Yunho hums, scooting closer to you where he was already sitting in the bed next to you. He lands a few sweet, chaste kisses on your cheeks, your nose, your lips, before he speaks, “You’ve already got me, angel.”
The haze still lingers slightly, but not enough to stop you from letting a dopey smile spread across your face, nodding slightly.
His hand comes to tuck your hair behind your ear, seeming to examine your expression more closely, “Was that too much, baby? The slapping, the things I said? You know if it was, you can tell me.”
No matter how many times you assure him this is what you like and you enjoy it everytime he does it, it seems that his worries of really hurting you or your feelings are ever present. It’s not like they’re only your kinks, either, the reason you both even do this is because he came to you about it first, but his love for you far outweighs any fucked-up fantasy of his. He thinks he’ll always worry.
You shake your head, expending what feels like all of your energy to lean up and press an equally chaste kiss to his lips, “Loved it, Yuyu.”
Yunho chuckles softly, closing the distance to continue peppering kisses all over your face, “‘Course you did,” he says between pecks, “S’cause you’re perfect.”
pairing﹢jeong yunho x fem!reader
genre﹢smut. ex-bf!yunho, age gap (reader is 24, yunho is 36), themes of obsessive tendencies and stalking, jealousy, emotional manipulation, slight yandere (if you squint), corruption kink, toxic relationship, dubcon undertones but it turns consensual, cunnilingus, choking, mean dom!yunho, implied size kink/difference [the big dick yunho agenda is real], hate + unprotected sex, missionary + mating press, praising + degradation, overstimulation, orgasm control, tummy bulge, creampie, pet names (doll, babydoll, dollface, angel, pretty girl, etc), minimal aftercare.
synopsis﹢he was the only older guy you had ever dated, and you swore you would never do this to yourself again. two years of love, obsession, and control are gone, or at least, that’s what you thought. some people don’t let go or move on — he never did. so why does he walk back into your life like nothing ever happened... this time, as your professor?
word count﹢17,9k
✦ WATCH THE FIC TEASER ✦ PLAY THE VINYL RECORD
these are the best eleven months of your life after ending the relationship with your now ex-boyfriend. next month you're even thinking of celebrating, because it will mark a whole year. your best friends will definitely treat it like a huge occasion, just like on that fateful day when you handed them the news on a silver platter… they had never been so happy, throwing a small party just for the three of you.
YUNHO was the only older guy you had ever dated, and you swore you would never do this to yourself again. to sum it all up, the relationship turned toxic rather quickly. you almost lost all of your friends, even your two best friends, karina and yeji, who tried their very best to shove some sense into you, but you never listened, delusional enough to believe that you could change him. oh, how naive you were, that’s why you were so easy to manipulate…
apologies came in the form of very expensive gifts, things you had always wanted, or in gentle kisses and touches that slowly wandered and eventually led to the bedroom, where you ended up naked beneath his covers. you thought it was normal, since every relationship had arguments, but that’s not what this was about. it was about toxicity, extreme jealousy, possessiveness, maybe even obsession. the man was a literal freak.
karina practically did a full analysis of him, confirming what she had said the very first time you told her about the problems that occurred between you and him: "he's a psychopath." she had been direct, telling you it wasn’t okay and that you needed to break up with him. yeji agreed with her, always wanting the best for you, adding that "older men always want to date someone younger and it's not just because of looks… please be careful."
you suffered once and learned your lesson. enjoying your vacation, cocktail in hand, while the sea breeze drifts past you, the sun hot against your skin as you lounge on the deckchair, slowly tanning. of course, sometimes you still think about the past; you can’t really stop that after spending two whole years with him. yet even though everything had been bad and suffocating, there had been a good side to him too: tall, handsome, funny and somehow rich. what more could you want?
the other thing you wanted was for your parents and close friends not to find out that you had been dating someone not two or three years older, or even a year younger, but a whole twelve years older. yes, you were twenty-one when you met him, a couple of months before your birthday, through mutual friends. one gathering led to another, and before you knew it, you were dating him, convinced you had finally found the one you were going to marry, the only man who truly knew how to be a man. alas, it turned out he was just another shark in the ocean, ready to strike at its defenseless prey.
it doesn’t matter anymore, since you’re single, genuinely happy, enjoying your summer, shining brighter than the sun itself, and everyone sees you like some kind of eternal sunshine. you finally returned to yourself, only smarter this time, no longer falling for tricks or manipulative tactics. life is good when you don’t have a man bitching in your ear about the outfit you’re about to wear or asking why you were talking to some guy for too long. the waiter, if you must specify, who was simply announcing the lunch menu.
“ah, can’t believe we have to be back at university that soon…” you said, sipping from your drink while idly chewing on the straw. karina was on your left, glued to her phone, while yeji sat on your right, carefully lining up small seashells along her thighs.
“and we’re graduating this year too… but someone decided to study at a different university, breaking our teenage dreams,” karina said as she turned off her phone, glancing at you with a playful look while you rolled your eyes.
“not my fault the one you’re in didn’t have what i wanted.” you took another sip, and yeji giggled softly. “none of us dropped out though, which is an achievement on its own.”
yes, you didn’t study at the same place as them, but that didn’t stop you from hanging out, if anything, there was even more gossip to share. and so the conversations continued, all the way until you started getting ready for dinner, and then for a few more days after that, until eventually you had to go back to seoul and wish each other “good luck for the new last year.”
you really did need some luck, because you had just found out that your favorite professor had retired. you were going to miss the woman; you had been her favorite student, but all good things eventually come to an end. everyone was already sitting in the lecture room. you had heard that the new professor was someone young, but there hadn’t been time to check who exactly he was since they were still fixing schedules and systems. the only thing you knew was that tuesday at nine in the morning was your first lecture with the new professor in question.
“i think he probably used to play basketball or football, i saw him earlier and he’s really tall,” one of the boys said, and the others quickly agreed, while you remained focused on your phone, scrolling through reel after reel, meme after meme. then you overheard the girls whispering nearby, their voices a little more excited. “did you see his hands? and him in general… he’s so fine…”
the problem with having a young professor is exactly that — he was young, and from what everyone was saying, quite attractive too. the other problem appeared the moment everyone finally sat down when the door opened. a tall figure stepped into the room, his style was effortless in a way that made it impossible not to glance twice. a soft gray cardigan hung loosely over his shoulders, the thin knit falling open enough to reveal the clean white t-shirt beneath.
the muted colors helped him blend in, making him look more like a student than a teacher. slim black pants traced the long lines of his frame, the strap of a black crossbody bag thrown diagonally across his chest, and he wore simple sneakers. his black hair fell in soft layers that framed his face, the strands straight and smooth, cut just long enough to brush the tops of his eyebrows and skim the sides of his cheekbones.
you were sitting a little further back, your phone still in your hands. the room buzzed with chatter as people continued talking among themselves until the professor cleared his throat, the sound cutting clean through the noise as he prepared to introduce himself.
“hello everyone, i’m jeong yunho and i’ll be your new photography professor this year.”
your eyes widened instantly, your head snapping up so fast it almost hurt. oh no… houston, we have a problem. you blinked several times, half expecting your vision to clear and reveal someone else entirely. maybe it was just someone with the exact same name, appearance, and voice. unfortunately for you, it wasn’t. why is your ex-boyfriend the new professor? out of all the people in the capital, it had to be him who got the position.
you sat there frozen in complete shock, your mouth slightly open until your deskmate and close university friend, jeongin, gently pressed a finger under your chin to close it as he leaned to whisper, “i guess everyone, including you, just found their new crush, huh?”
what, why, and how? was this some kind of twisted karma? because if it was, you definitely weren’t the one who deserved it. your heart started beating faster, anxiety and something close to fear crawling up. could you run away? maybe copy someone else’s notes, no… you couldn’t. suddenly you wished you were studying metaphysics with karina, because that sounded far more pleasant than this.
“i’d love to get to know all of you,” he continued, smiling as he set his bag on the desk before leaning back against it, arms loosely crossed, while his gaze moved around the room. “so i’ll share a few things about myself. and don’t worry, i won’t make you do anything today. i’ll just introduce the course and explain what i expect from you.”
surprisingly hands immediately began rising with questions. meanwhile, you were still struggling to believe what you were seeing and hearing. he hadn’t changed at all, you had to admit it. he had only gotten more attractive. always taking care of himself and being unfairly pretty, making you remember how two years ago you thought about what your future children would look like... now you want to throw up. forcing yourself to keep your composure, glancing at jeongin and making a slightly grimaced face. yeah, a crush for sure, except you wanted to crush him into pieces.
“how old are you, professor?” someone from the middle rows asked, earning a few curious murmurs from the class, making yunho chuckle, “straight to the personal questions already? alright then. i’m thirty-six.”
everyone was surprised by the answer, and all kinds of reactions rippled through.
“don’t look so shocked,” he added with a small grin. “i promise i’m not that ancient.”
“are you a full-time professor?” another student asked.
“not exactly,” yunho replied, pushing his sleeves up slightly as he spoke, revealing his forearms, “i’m a professional photographer first. i mainly work in editorial and commercial photography such as fashion shoots, campaigns, exhibitions, that sort of thing. teaching is something i enjoy doing on the side, especially with students who are serious about the craft.”
“does that mean you’re going to give us easy grades?” someone joked, making him raise an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting. “absolutely not.”
the class laughed again, a little nervous this time.
“i can be friendly,” he added, shrugging lightly, “but don’t mistake that for me being tolerant. photography is about discipline and perspective. if you’re here just to press a button and hope for the best, you’re going to struggle.”
another hand went up. “so… we won’t pass easily?”
“correct,” nodding his head once. “i expect effort, creativity, and consistency. if you work hard, you’ll do amazing. if you don’t…” he paused briefly before smiling again, “you won’t pass this course by simply showing up and smiling at me. well, at least you’ll get some nice pictures out of the experience.”
more chuckles followed, but the message had landed. the atmosphere quickly became relaxed and comfortable as he answered questions with small jokes. the students were already warming up to him, clearly charmed by how easygoing he was. as you listened to him speak, watched the way he carried himself so seriously and correctly in front of everyone, you couldn’t help but wonder where exactly all that cheerful composure had been when he was with you?
“attendance is mandatory.” and then his gaze settled directly on yours, a faint smirk pulling at his lips as he stared straight into your soul, the one he had almost taken from you a year ago. “of course, if you have to be absent, it’s not a problem, as long as it doesn’t happen often. i know some of you will be at the mall with friends. also i don’t grade by email; everything you do will be shown and discussed in class.”
the entire time he spoke, his eyes kept drifting back to you. when he paced slowly across the front of the room, even when he turned to answer someone else’s question, somehow his attention always circled back. for some reason, you held his gaze instead of looking away, and the longer you stared at him, the more that fear slowly faded until all that remained was pure hatred.
jeongin leaned slightly closer to you, lowering his voice into a teasing whisper. “well there goes our plan of skipping class to eat kfc… or getting more sleep,” he murmured, nudging your arm lightly.
thank god your best friends studied at different universities, otherwise they would have dragged you straight to the administration office and forced you to drop out for real. and honestly… you were starting to think about it yourself. the worst part was that you couldn’t switch the class for anything else. great, truly amazing. you were trapped for an entire semester.
“that’s everything for today,” yunho said after a while, clapping his hands together once as he was done answering questions and talking about cameras, “i won’t keep you any longer. enjoy the rest of your morning.”
chairs scraped across the floor as everyone began packing their things, the room filling with chatter again. you grabbed your purse quickly, already standing up before most people had even processed that the lecture was over. as you walked out with jeongin, you noticed a small crowd forming around the professor’s desk. a couple of boys and girls had already gathered there, asking questions, laughing at something he said, clearly eager to stay a little longer.
you didn’t even glance his way. no goodbye, or a polite “have a nice day”, because he didn’t deserve to have one. you just kept walking toward the door, hoping that you would manage to graduate before the sudden temptation to drop out started looking a little too appealing.
“your analysis lacks depth,” yunho says, placing your paper on his desk, making you scoff, since this is the third time now that he’s returned it for edits. lacks depth, he says… well, you did as well, asshole. if you had to edit one more thing, it honestly wouldn’t be that bad to buy a gun, and no, it definitely wouldn’t be pointed at your head.
every single tuesday he calls on you far too often in class. your assignments always come back covered in detailed comments, red ink everywhere like a declared war on your academics. you swear he’s grading you harder than everyone else, which honestly seems unfair to the people who are actually doing nothing. apparently, you’re the only one being treated like a social experiment.
“and what exactly do i need to change again, professor?” you ask, grinning through your teeth, burying every thought that would probably send you straight to jail under a perfectly fake smile. you’re this close from going insane, feeling that familiar anger rise again, the irritation that always appears when you’re forced to deal with someone you can’t stand.
for the last four weeks, your life has been hell, to say the least. during lectures he’ll ask a question, several hands go up while yours remain fiddling with a ballpoint pen, and yet he always picks you. and the first time you didn’t know the answer, what followed was a casual, “it would be nice to learn things before the test, hm?” which felt like complete humiliation, because beneath that joking tone there had been something that definitely wasn’t a joke.
once you and jeongin arrived ten minutes late, which honestly wasn’t even your fault. what were you supposed to do when your friend insisted on waiting for his coffee while there was already a long line that early in the morning? of course, a comment followed: “please be on time next time.” but when someone else walked in thirty minutes late during the same lecture, there were absolutely no remarks.
that’s exactly why you always come prepared with answers and make sure you’re always on time. you know his tricks far too well. no matter how charming his smile is, how sweetly he talks, how funny and relaxed he seems… it’s just one of his many masks. karina really was right about him being some kind of psychopath.
everyone else, unfortunately, loves the new professor. they talk about his fun classes, how nice he is, and how cool it is that he’s such a professional teaching them new techniques. some of your peers even linger after lectures just to chat with him. meanwhile, you sit there thinking that your older ex should seriously consider enrolling in acting instead of photography, because the performance he’s putting on deserves ample shiny awards proudly displayed on a goddamn mantlepiece.
the whole thing has turned into some twisted cat-and-mouse game. he teases, pushes, and provokes. you glare, don't bite back, and refuse to give him the reaction he clearly wants. despite all of that, he always finds his sneaky ways to make your life a little more miserable.
here and there, he calls you to his desk after class for absolutely no reason. “you should consider approaching a different lens for your next project,” like this couldn’t have easily been written in a single email. or he’ll start explaining camera settings you already know perfectly well, dragging the conversation out while the rest of the class disappears into the hallway.
and god forbid you see him outside the classroom. the moment you notice him walking down the hallway, you immediately pull a perfect one-eighty and walk in the opposite direction because you hate this man so fucking much, you refuse to breathe the same air as him.
what’s more upsetting is that you can’t even tell anyone. because if karina and yeji ever found out that your toxic ex-boyfriend was now your professor, they wouldn’t hesitate for a second before throwing a chair at him.
what you don’t know, however, is that he requested this university job partly because of you. actually, not partly at all, he knew exactly what he was doing. even when you were still together, he knew where you studied and what major you were in, just like you knew about his photography work. of course, teaching also gave him the chance to try something different in his career. and what better opportunity than this? his unbelievably beautiful ex-girlfriend just so happened to be one of his students, completely unplanned.
and it doesn’t stop there, oh no, everything is just starting.
jeongin begins to notice a pattern, which honestly isn’t hard to miss when during class yunho asks another question. probably ten hands rise into the air, but he still chooses you. your friend leans closer to your ear and whispers, “you must be his favorite~”
you stare at the board like you want to burn it down, alongside mister pretty devil himself, who of course, happens to wear clothes that fit his figure perfectly, fuck him honestly. “if i was his favorite, do you think i’d be studying camera obscura in this much detail?”
not to mention the way he addresses you with that smooth voice, softly calling you, “miss (name).” the moment you hear it, it’s game over. you have to respond with “yes, professor,” or “yes, sir,” like some twisted academic roleplay you never signed up for. it makes you want to vomit, bleach both your eyes and your trachea. you hate his guts so much. he has always liked being in control, and now he has it again, at least within the walls of this campus. outside of it, however, he has absolutely none.
when it comes to homework and assignments, everyone else receives short feedback, brief but explanatory enough to understand their mistakes, things like: “good composition” or, “nice lighting” and even, “if you try a black and white effect, it might work better.”
your feedback, on the other hand, is practically a full essay. it could probably qualify as a documentary script because he covers everything, even the tiniest details. he has a ridiculously keen eye for things, which apparently also makes him a professional at being a complete jerk who picks on you for absolutely no reason.
“your framing… well, it’s technically correct,” he muses, tapping the printed photo with his finger exactly where he seems most dissatisfied, “but technically correct isn’t the same as emotionally effective.”
you want to throw your camera at him and shove the lens straight down his throat, as the class sits there admiring him. “wow, professor jeong gives such thoughtful feedback.”
it also happens that he’s constantly spammed with emails from students asking if their work is passable or what more they can do to improve their visuals, so eventually he announces loudly, “if anyone needs extra help, my office hours are wednesday and thursday afternoon.”
later that same day, only you receive an email: “your project concept has potential. come to discuss it.”
you go, of course, because you care about the grade. knocking on the door to his office, and he lets you in, acting like the two of you are complete strangers. the entire conversation stays professional, purely academic, every word measured, but the tension makes your heartbeat faster. after ten painfully long minutes, you finally stand to leave, and just as your hand reaches the door, he says, that same smile on his face, “don’t sabotage your own work out of stubbornness.”
almost slamming the door behind you, but you need to have self-control and not let him know that you are slowly losing your cool.
it goes without saying that the girls in the course absolutely adore him. some of them simp for him, always giggling and gossiping. “the way he looked at me today… he said he is single, so do you think i have a chance?” or “he’s literally the most handsome professor here, why isn’t my boyfriend like him?”
you almost choke hearing that, because you know the other version of him. the one who used to kiss apologies into your neck after fights. the one whose hands knew every point of your body andwho knew you better than you knew yourself. fingers that always seemed to know exactly where to press, where to… why are you even thinking about that?
during one of his lectures, yunho suddenly says something that makes your stomach twist.
“photography is about obsession. you need to want the subject more than anything else. you have to focus on it completely if you want to capture the perfect shot.”
you freeze, eyes widening slightly at his words, because you know exactly how obsessive he can be. yunho glances at you, that smug little smile appears again, and he continues the lecture as if nothing happened.
it’s almost nightfall when the young professor arrived home. he dropped onto the couch, leaving his bag on the floor beside it, his head falling back against the cushions as he stretched his legs over the small wooden table and stretched his arms up above his head.
he exhaled once, then again, tapping his thigh with his fingers in the quiet that filled the apartment. the silence didn’t last long before a small laugh slipped past his lips. he closed his eyes, and of course, you appeared in his mind again. you were constantly there, living somewhere between his thoughts and his heart, occupying space you had no right to anymore.
weren’t you just adorable? each and every time you walked into class, you were dressed better than everyone else, always prepared and looking at him with that sneer that no one else seemed to notice. not even your deskmate, the one he sometimes caught himself glaring at out of pure irritation and jealousy, though he knew jeongin wasn’t any real threat.
you were his muse, his fallen angel, the pliable doll he had once controlled so carefully until two other puppets, your dear best friends, stepped in and cut the marionette strings, ruining the entire show. you had been so kind-hearted and obedient, so sweet and perfectly made for him… but everything had ended so quickly.
yunho knew exactly how to push your buttons; it was too easy for him. he watched every little reaction, the glares you tried to hide behind forced politeness. he fed on it more than he probably should have. still obsessed with you and completely unable to let go, hiding it well enough behind the role of a professor.
you were his one weakness, the sensitive gap between two ribs guarding the heart he had, the one thing that made the control he prided himself on slip through his fingers. he had never stopped loving you, at least not in his own twisted way. goddamnit, you looked like an absolute doll today. the dress, the way your hair fell over your shoulders, the gloss on your lips. were you going on a date with someone? with who? when? where? normally he would have known already. the thought made his jaw tighten slightly, tongue pushing the inside of his cheek. if it wasn’t for the university schedule taking up so much of his time lately, he would have kept better track of things. he hoped you weren’t going on a date with anyone.
reaching for his phone, unlocking it as he opened one of the many accounts he used. your instagram appeared on the screen, and even though your profile was private, that had never really stopped him. the pretty much convincing fake account had been accepted months ago and you had never questioned it. he doesn’t just have one fake account, there are several, each with a different purpose: one follows you, the second follows your friends, the third follows men who comment on your photos.
his thumb scrolled slowly through the posts, stopping at one in particular.
you standing by the ocean with goldensunlight catching your skin, wearing that stupidly beautiful dress that he bought. the same vacation he had surprised you with, and the irony was that he had been the one holding the camera when those pictures were taken, and then his scrolling stopped when he saw you had a story posted.
you sitting across from someone in a restaurant, a glass in your hand, smiling. the caption tagged someone… jaemin? the quiet apartment suddenly didn’t feel so quiet anymore. yunho stared at the screen a little longer than necessary, his fingers tightening slightly around the phone. he decided to do his research, and within minutes, he knew jaemin’s major, his other social media, his schedule and which classes he attends.
“so you were going on dates now, huh?” his hand ran slowly across his face before he leaned back against the couch again, letting out a low breath that almost sounded like a mocking laugh. he shouldn’t care, and what’s left of his sanity knew that, but something in his chest twisted like a scalding hot knife. the truth was simple, and it irritated him more than anything else.
his home still has traces of you. your favorite mug still in the kitchen, a sweater you forgot draped over a chair, the perfume bottle you left behind on the bathroom counter. he hasn’t moved them at all, so when passing them he’ll sometimes pause, observing your belongings like they’re priceless artifacts he forever wants to keep.
a drawer in his desk contains a perfectly organized stack of polaroids. shots he took of you while you were dating, containing multiple domestic situations of you laughing on the beach, asleep on his shoulder and drooling, you looking annoyed while he teased you endlessly, you wearing his hoodie… there’s a lot, some even nudes taken during private moments when you trusted him. nothing is displayed openly, but preserved with a date written on the back, sometimes a short note, things like mine or xoxo.
as a photographer, he justifies it to himself as art. in his mind those photos were the purest versions of you, deleting them would feel like destroying masterpieces. the man doesn’t see anything wrong with it. they were taken with consent back then, and the memories belong to him, so he never questions keeping them.
though, admittedly, yunho still adds to the collection with printed screenshots from your instagram stories. blurry shots of you crossing campus, a candid photo of you mid-laughter taken from far away during a university event. he keeps a hidden folder on his computer, where inside are hundreds of photos and videos, not just from when you dated, but also recent ones.
sometimes he records his lectures for teaching review, as the university demands, and in private, he’ll rewind parts where you speak. listening again, and again, and again, so he can get off with his dick in hand, trying to chase his high from being turned on by watching you argue with him in class. she still looks at me the same way… anger is better than indifference. your hatred is still attention, and attention for men like him is oxygen.
he studies those images and compares them to how you look in class now. noticing the differences in the way you dress, how you glare at him and refuse to look at him too long… she pretends she doesn’t belong to me anymore.
also your old professor who retired? yunho knew her; she was a well-known photographer in seoul, a colleague of his whose exhibitions he had attended more than once over the years. during a gallery event, the two of them talked for a while, as she casually mentioned that she would be retiring soon and that the university needed someone to take her place. then she also mentioned that one of her best students would be graduating soon. the way she spoke about that student caught yunho’s attention immediately. the woman even pulled out her phone, scrolling through photos from one of the class exhibitions before zooming in on a familiar face — yours.
the elder woman happily explained how talented you were, the potential you had and how you were easily one of her favorites.
that was when he applied to the university, under her recommendation.
yunho finally stood from the couch and walked toward his bedroom. he opened the drawer of his bedside table, reaching inside until his fingers brushed against a familiar photograph: a polaroid from two years ago.
you were laughing in it, leaning slightly toward a cake with him beside you on your 22nd birthday. the faint lipstick mark you had playfully pressed onto the corner of the photo was still there, and he ran his thumb slowly over it. he just stared at it, placing the polaroid carefully on the nightstand beside his phone and the nightlamp. when he finally lay down under the covers, the photograph remained within reach, the faint outline of your smile visible in the dim light.
he closed his eyes, hoping, as he drifted toward sleep, that maybe tonight you would appear in his dreams.
fridays are always a godsend, especially after sitting through a lecture with the devil the day before. anything feels better after that, especially when you’re out for lunch with jaemin. sunlight spilling through the windows, soft chatter around you, and for the first time in a while you feel at ease. he insisted on paying, of course, saying something about how you “deserve to be spoiled properly,” and honestly… you didn’t argue.
he knows what you like. not in a suffocating way that feels like he’s memorized you without permission. but in a very gentle and attentive way.
“are you free tomorrow?” he asks, stealing a bite of your cake like it’s his.
“i wish,” you sigh. “i have to attend a birthday party with my parents.”
“mm,” he hums, pretending to think, though the smile on his lips gives him away. “guess i’ll have to reschedule my very important plan of kidnapping you for the evening.”
you chuckle softly, taking another bite of the sweet treat. “you’re not funny.”
“i’m hilarious,” he corrects you, lifting his index finger. “you’re just in denial.”
rolling your eyes, but you can’t hide the smile that appears on your face. the thing you really liked about jaemin was how sweet-talking and funny he was, knowing what to say at any given moment. he has this mischievous side, but he was also very loving and attractive.
“i was going to ask you to come over,” he adds more quietly, almost shy beneath the teasing. “but… another time.”
that makes you pause, because he doesn’t push or corner you. more so, never demands you to be with him and cancel any plans you have already made with someone else. it’s like an option, not an expectation. there’s no hidden trap set ahead of time for you to fall into.
“maybe next weekend?” you echo, that playful tone came as you asked him, looking at him for a moment, and then down at the already finished cake. and that’s enough for him. his bright and boyish grin returns instantly, like he didn’t just make your heart skip.
“see? progress. next thing you know, you’ll admit you like me.”
“don’t get ahead of yourself,” you warn, pointing your fork at him.
“too late, i already did.”
“jaemin–”
“what?” he leans in slightly, eyes sparkling with that same mischievousness. “you gonna hit me?”
you narrow your eyes. “if you keep talking, maybe.”
he gasps dramatically, pretending to be scared for his life, “not the man-hater queen threatening violence again.”
“i am not a man-hater!”
“you are when it comes to me.”
“you’re annoying.”
“and who is paying the bill?”
that shuts you up completely. instead of teasing you more, he just smiles, playfully winking at you, letting you have that moment.
after lunch, he insists on walking you to the mall so you can meet up with karina and yeji. it’s not far, twenty minutes at most, but he acts like it’s a whole event, a met gala of sorts, and you should be escorted like the princess you are. you walk side by side, hands brushing at first, then naturally finding each other, fingers lacing together. the weather is warm for the autumn season. leaves crunch when people pass by, cars hum in the distance, and for a while, you forget about yunho and about everything.
jaemin talks about random things like how he and jeno tried to summon ghosts as kids, jokes about what he saw online, and somehow, you’re laughing again without having to worry or trying to come up with excuses or reasons of how you can be so happy when something else gives you joy? he looks at you with adoration in his eyes and that’s what makes you feel safe.
when you reach the mall, he slows down, not letting go of your hand immediately. he lingers for a second, like he wants to say something else, then just smiles.
“have fun, man-hater queen.”
“thank you, cake thief.”
he laughs, finally letting go but not before leaving a quick, soft kiss on your cheek. “text me when you get home,” he says, and you nod, a little stunned by this bold yet sweet gesture. he walks off with a smile, and your best friends are already waiting for you inside at the usual meeting spot.
the moment karina spots you, she’s already sprinting, grabbing yeji by the wrist and dragging her along like she’s on a mission. it’s been weeks since you last saw each other, university has been kicking all of your asses, and you didn’t realize how much you needed this until now.
“(name), babe, how are you? you don’t know how much we missed you,” karina squeals, letting go of yeji just to throw her arms around you in a near-death hug. you laugh, breath knocked out of you for a second before hugging her back.
“i missed you, too,” you manage, and then yeji is right there, pulling you into her own hug, softer but just as tight. “and you don’t know what i have to tell you.”
“jaemin?” they ask in unison, already cocking their brows up.
“how did you know?”
yeji nodded her head towards the glass storefront behind you. “we can literally see you from outside.”
“he walked you here, didn’t he?” karina snorts and you don’t even deny it. that’s enough to send both of them into giggles as they hook their arms through yours, dragging you further into the mall.
the next hour follows it’s rhythm. gossip, teasing, overlapping conversations, with you telling them about jaemin and the date earlier, how attentive he is without being overbearing. sometimes you catch yourself thinking you don’t deserve someone like that. someone so patient and sweet, but karina shuts that down immediately, while yeji nods along, reminding you that the bare minimum just feels extraordinary after what you’ve been through.
what you don’t tell them… is everything else. you don’t mention yunho, not a single word leaves your mouth. it sits somewhere in the back of your mind, tucked away like it doesn’t even exist. they deserve to know, you know they do, but you don’t even know where to start, or how they’d react. and… you’re not ready for that, to lose them, so you stay quiet. maybe sometimes silence is the solution.
you move from store to store, bags slowly piling up in your hands. makeup is a priority, you’re running low, and soon enough, you’re standing in front of rows of lipsticks, testing shades against your skin. just for a second in your peripheral vision, you catch a tall figure, standing a few meters away. you turn your head, and nothing. you blink, frowning slightly. that’s… weird. you could’ve sworn someone was there.
“(name), come here, we found the new face masks,” yeji pops up out of nowhere, grabbing your arm and pulling you along before you can think about it too much. “they’re not even that expensive like everyone says.”
letting yourself be dragged away as the rest of the day passes in a blur of chatter and shopping bags. trying on clothes and spending money like you were the granddaughter of a very wealthy ceo. maybe in a past life you were rich, because right now, money seems to disappear the second it touches your hands.
by the time you finally sit down for coffee, you take a slow sip of your ice-cold drink, letting the sweetness settle on your tongue as you listen to karina and yeji talk. your social battery was starting to fade, and you were also running out of things to gossip about, content on just listening instead of talking.
for a moment, everything is fine as it should be, until you get that feeling again, like someone’s watching. you glance up, eyes scanning the space around you, but everything looks normal. people talking, walking, laughing, nothing out of place…. you shift slightly in your seat, fingers tightening around your cup. probably your brain is messing up with you after the tiring day you had.
the day started on like that — him following, and you being completely unaware.
he saw you earlier and was there during the whole date. he doesn’t hate jaemin even if jealousy spikes, but he quickly calms himself down. the younger man is just a temporary placeholder, a distraction you picked up because you didn’t know what else to do with the space yunho left behind. his tongue presses briefly against the inside of his cheek, a habit surfacing whenever irritation starts to settle in. he already knows what to order; he’s been here before… with you. at this restaurant, same table across the room, known for its delicate pasta and overly sweet desserts you always claimed you wouldn’t finish.
it’s wrong, not because you’re laughing and enjoying yourself, but because it’s not with him.
he watches the way jaemin leans in when he talks, how quickly he smiles, casually reaching for your plate, how comfortable he acts like he’s already earned a place he doesn’t deserve. jaemin doesn’t notice the smaller things like the shift in your posture, the way your fingers tighten around your fork when you’re thinking too much, the way your eyes drift when your mind starts wandering. he sees what’s in front of him, nothing more.
yunho sees everything.
he doesn’t need to chase you. he never will. you come back on your own. anger, frustration, curiosity, it doesn’t matter what drives you, it always leads back to him. because no one else will ever know how to handle you the way he does. he doesn’t want a version of you that’s easy. he wants the one who pushes and bites back to keep the spark alive.
you think you hate him, he can see it in your eyes. hatred means you still care; you react because you are affected. indifference would be a problem. but you’re not indifferent, just confused, pretending not to see what’s already there. he missed you. not just your voice, your presence, or your body. he missed this, the way you draw him in without even trying, like a moth to a flame.
he could have walked up to you right now. say your name to strike up a conversation as your professor. what a coincidence, right? you and he in the same place, at the same time, ordering the same food. your expression would drastically change; he knows exactly what it would look like. he’s imagined it enough times, but he doesn’t move.
he doesn’t rush things anymore, learning that the hard way. you need to feel like you have space and the freedom to choose. so he waits, and that’s fine, yunho understands. after all, you’re already his… you just haven’t admitted it to yourself yet.
it was getting late, and when you finally said goodbye to your friends, he’s already on the move. you don’t seem to notice how he chooses the same subway train, standing where the reflection in the window does the work for him, watching you through the blur of the passing lights and shadows.
you’re on your phone for a while, and by the movement of your fingers, you are scrolling through instagram or tiktok. then you are staring ahead, you always get like this when your energy runs out. he knows the exact moment your thoughts start drifting and when exhaustion takes over.
someone dares to look at you for too long. yunho burns holes with bloodshot eyes as the stranger looks away. the train slows at your stop, and you step out. he follows by matching your speed, always out of sight. footsteps always a few seconds behind, stops when you stop. he’s walked this path more times than you’d ever guess. yunho’s gaze moves over everything on the street: the corners, people walking and the cars passing by, the distance between you and anything that could get too close.
you reach your building and pause for a second, opening your purse for your keys. he’s already stopped, waiting for you to step inside. the door closes behind you, as he stays where he is. his eyes lift, scanning the building, counting without thinking how long it would take to reach your floor… it should be one minute and twenty-three seconds.
he waits a little longer, enough to see the second light flicker in your bedroom. it’s the same every night with him walking you back home. what if you hadn’t come back alone? what if some creep had followed you? that wouldn’t have ended well, not for them.
his shoulders finally relax as he turns away. to anyone else, that would be the end of it. just a random man on the street… even if his home is in the opposite direction, thirty-five minutes away. hands sliding into his pockets, the quiet jingle of metal breaks the silence with each step. a small cluster of keys, shifting against each other, and one tucked among them does not belong to him. his thumb brushes over it absentmindedly; it has always been there.
yunho still has a key to your place. sometimes he visits when you’re not there, and he always knows when that is. why does he do it? even the divine beings don’t seem interested in answering that, and they don’t want to interfere either. what is he doing in your apartment? nothing, he goes there when he wants to rest. he doesn’t move things around or leave signs. he just sits on your couch and enjoys the atmosphere you created.
your bedroom door stays open, so he doesn’t need to enter to know if anything has changed. he’s like a ghost, maybe a poltergeist, one that doesn't haunt by moving objects but stealing them instead.
he opens drawers sometimes. the most familiar one is always the same — the drawer with your underwear. never takes anything new or expensive, always the ones at the bottom. old pairs, the pieces you don’t think about anymore, and you wouldn’t even notice are missing.
it’s proximity, a way for him to be close to you, or for you to be close to him.
in the living room, there’s a plush toy you never threw away. he gave it to you when you celebrated your six-month anniversary. it still sits in its place, untouched and harmless-looking. except it isn’t. inside it, carefully hidden where no one would think to look, is a small camera. he watches from time to time, when he needs to. nothing invasive, just enough for him to see you when you’re home.
someone has to make sure you get home safe, even if you don’t know it, and if it has to be him, then so be it.
your father had a lot of friends, and it just so happened that your family was invited to mr. kim’s 50th birthday, an anniversary celebrated in a rather grand and luxurious way. honestly, it felt more like a wedding than a birthday… but either way, it was still an occasion for drinking. people of notoriety greeted each other left and right, laughter and chatter filling the air, until the man of the hour finally made his entrance, the one who had every right to celebrate until the very last drop and bite were gone.
“if this isn’t my one and only goddaughter?” it should probably be mentioned that this kind and ridiculously rich man was your godfather. no blood relation, but he had always been like an uncle to you. the affluent one who spoiled you endlessly as a child, giving you everything you wanted, because clearly your parents failed to treat you like the princess you deserved to be.
“happy birthday, uncle minseok!” you said, stepping forward to hug him, genuinely happy to see him. the gifts were still left by the entrance, but you always had your own little privileges. “this is for you, i hope you like it… even if you are getting old.”
inside the small wrapped bag was a simple package of marshmallows, as your mother immediately noticed, lightly tapping your shoulder. “(name), this is inappropriate.”
“calm down,” minseok laughed warmly, taking the bag from your hands without a second thought. “she knows exactly what to give someone.” he glanced at you with a grin, because this candy has become very significant during the years, something small but from the heart. “thank you, my dear. you’ll get the second piece of cake.”
the evening continued with drinks being passed around, conversations flowing about business, and whatever gossip caught your ear. at some point, your godfather rested a hand on your shoulder, “come, there’s someone i want you to meet,” he said casually, guiding you through the crowd. “a very dear friend of mine, and an excellent photographer. you might learn a thing or two.”
you didn’t think much of it at first, nodding as you followed along, heels clicking softly against the polished floor, your drink still in hand. this would be just another introduction for you to smile at a stranger. this would hopefully be someone you could form a connection with to help you in the future when you do decide to pursue a career, but just like that, everything in your body turned upside down. your entire world tilted and your pulse quickened, because of course it had to be him.
dressed like absolute sin in a suit that made it painfully obvious he knew exactly what he was doing. professional and put together… but unlike on campus, where he toned it down by being casual and relatable to young people your age, here amongst people closer to his age and high calibre, he wasn’t holding back. the clothes fit him perfectly, outlining his frame in a way that makes you force yourself not to react — masking your expression into something neutral that doesn't scream what the hell are you doing here.
“yunho,” minseok called out, catching his attention. “ah, perfect timing, indeed. i want you to meet someone.”
yunho turned, and for a split second, his eyes met yours. there it was, that familiar recognition, gone just as quickly as it appeared. his own expression of shock smoothed out instantly, slipping into that same composed mask you had grown to despise.
“this is my goddaughter, (name),” minseok continued proudly, squeezing your shoulders by the exposed skin your dress created. “she’s studying photography as well.”
you swallowed and played along, like you were meeting him for the very first time. as if you didn’t know the way his hands felt, or how his voice sounded when it wasn’t calm and controlled, the way he used to look at you when no one else was around… as if you hadn’t let him take your virginity.
“it’s a pleasure to meet you,” you said, offering your hand with a polite smile that stung like acid to hold. his gaze lingered for just a moment too long before he took it. warm and bigger than yours, soft too, just like it always has been, perfectly made to fit.
“the pleasure is all mine, miss (name),” yunho replied, smiling at you, and god, you hate how natural he makes it sound, like you’re nothing more than a stranger he’s just been introduced to. but of course, he doesn’t stop there. the pad of his thumb brushes lightly against your knuckles before he lets go.
it wasn’t awkward, more like… unsettling in a way that made your skin itch. it wasn’t just that you saw him every week at the university, no, now he was here too, at an event where you were supposed to have fun, not stand there thinking of at least five different ways to get away with his murder. your godfather, completely unaware of the tension, patted your shoulder before turning to yunho. “i’ll leave her in your care, and (name), you might want to take some photos now that it’s still not too crowded. have fun, kiddos.”
and just like that, minseok walked away, leaving you alone with the man you hated the most.
your blood started boiling like molten lava almost instantly. the fake smile dropped the second his back disappeared into the crowd, your nails digging into your palms as you inhaled slowly through your nose and you stared at yunho with pure and undisguised hatred.
"you know it's not very polite to stare." he was fixing something on the camera, or looking at photos, you didn't know, but you knew one thing, and that was that you hated him. “so, how is your project going? did you fix what i told you to?”
you stiffen for a split second, your smile tightening as you look at him, because of course he would say that here, of all places, since he just couldn’t resist torturing outside campus.
“i wasn’t aware this was a consultation,” you reply sweetly, but your tone carries that hostile warning of a bark that tells him you are about to bite like an angry dog.
“old habits,” he hummed softly, deleting a few blurred pictures.
“yeah?” you shot back, one eyebrow rising, “then maybe you should work on dropping a few of them.”
“that explains a lot.” the way he calmly answers makes you want to punch him.
“explains what exactly? you enjoying your little performance? you’re very convincing, i’ll give you that.”
“i don’t know what you mean,” he says lightly, though the way he looks at you says the exact opposite. liar. something about the way you’re talking back instead of ignoring him, clearly tells him one thing — you haven’t moved on completely.
“you still get worked up so easily,” murmuring almost to himself, but loud enough for you to hear.
“you still talk too much,” you snapped, and he took a step closer, enough to close some of the distance, his presence more noticeable and intimidating, and you sometimes forget how tall he actually is.
a small smile tugged at his lips because, truth be told, he was enjoying this far too much. his eyes were scanning your face, studying every reaction of the grimace you tried so hard to hide. you scoffed, crossing your arms, tapping your freshly done nails against your skin, irritation written all over, and for a moment neither of you spoke. the noise of the party faded into the background as the tension stretched like silk almost pulled to the point of tearing between you.
then yunho exhaled softly, removing the camera strap from his head, he closed the lens cap and put it back in the small bag, leaving it on the desk he evidently used for work here.
“what about we take a walk?” yunho suddenly suggests, tone light, sounding harmless and innocent. “talk a few things out. it seems like you have a lot to say.”
you should have said no. you should’ve walked straight back to your parents while ignoring him like you’ve been fighting tooth and nail to do, but somehow… you didn’t. maybe it was the tone of his voice, coaxing you with the way he said it like a suggestion, not a command, even though it somehow felt like one. or maybe it was just him, knowing exactly what to say, with just the right intonation for invitation.
“fine,” you muttered, big mistake.
he guided you through the venue, away from the main crowd and toward a quieter part of the hotel where the noise began to dull and the lights softened because fewer people meant fewer distractions. now it’s just you and him, the way he’s been craving and aching for.
then he stopped.
reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. you frowned slightly as he pulled out a cigarette, placing it between his lips before lighting it and exhaling slowly, white smoke curling between the two of you before dissipating into the air.
“you’re smoking again?”
“you’re staring again.”
“i’m judging,” you correct. “i thought you quit.”
“i did,” he agrees, “for you.”
then he takes another drag, eyes never leaving yours, but you know you were the main reason, if not the only one, for him to quit. you hated the smell and the taste that transferred once you shared a kiss. or two. or dozen… neither of you ever bothered to count.
“stress does things, work, life… you find ways to relieve the tension,” he continues after a moment, carefully choosing every word to get a reaction out of you. he shares just enough, mentioning that the workload and the pressure made him go back to this bad habit, skimming over the real reason without ever actually saying it — the break up. of course, he wouldn’t admit that to you. he never gives you the full truth, only carefully selected pieces.
and as he speaks, you find yourself checking him out. you feel steel heavy shame that you are, but you can’t help it. he looks… good. no, that’s an understatement. dressed like he stepped out of some magazine, a black coat draped over his broad shoulders, a clean white button-up tucked neatly under a fitted black vest, finished off with a loosely worn black satin tie. as much as you want to deny it, to lie to yourself, roll your eyes… you can’t. when it comes to jeong yunho, all bets are off, because he’s so fucking hot.
yunho stubs out the cigarette, pressing it into the ashtray beside him. you’re both sitting on the edge of a small staircase, tucked away from most of the guests, the noise of the party distant like background static.
then, without much thought, he shrugs off his coat and throws it over his shoulder. the movement is simple, but it draws your attention to his rolled sleeves, exposing his slim but defined forearms, his veins faintly visible under the skin. his cords of muscle hold subtle tension that make it really goddamn difficult not to look. it gives him this quiet intensity, composed on the surface but never fully restrained underneath. a wildfire raging beneath a perfectly composed surface.
you really try to look away, only to realize something else, that you didn’t bring a jacket. you’re wearing a short black dress, feminine shoulders bare, the evening air cooler than you expected. it hadn’t mattered before since you won’t stay outside the venue all night, and yet before you can even think about it properly, warmth settles around you.
snapping out of your thoughts, your gaze shifts downward to see his coat now draped around your shoulders. when you look up, yunho is already adjusting his sleeves again, completely unfazed, like the gesture means nothing at all.
“so,” he says casually, sitting down beside you on the staircase, spreading his legs slightly as he leans back on one hand, the other idly flipping his metal lighter open and closed, “graduating soon, right? any plans career-wise?”
it catches you off guard. you almost scoff, because wasn’t he the one who suggested this, the one who said you had a lot to say. the truth is, you don’t, at least not to him. now he’s the one guiding the conversation somewhere… normal. like so normal that you’re not sitting next to your ex, who is actively messing with your head.
“i’m planning to try abroad.”
“where?”
“i’m not going to tell you,” you glance at him, narrowing your eyes slightly. “don’t want you suddenly becoming my coworker.”
that earns a chuckle from him. “you really think i’d follow you that far?”
you don’t answer, because you’re not entirely sure he wouldn’t. he makes it very clear that he is not talking about your career. the silence settles again, but it doesn’t feel empty. it feels intentional, as if he’s waiting for the exact right moment to put the puzzle piece into place.
you shift slightly on the step, exhaling through your nose, trying to ignore how aware you are of him sitting so close beside you. the party noise is distant now, blurred into nothing. now it’s just the two of you, tucked away in a space that suddenly feels too small… then he speaks again.
“are you seeing someone right now?”
your eyes flick to him immediately, but you don’t give him the satisfaction of a proper answer. “none of your business.”
no reaction at first, just the soft click of his lighter opening again. the small flame appears, disappears, and flickers back to life as he plays with it absentmindedly. it’s almost hypnotic, the rhythm of it: small flame, bigger flame, gone again. he’s buying time, or making you sit in discomfort a little longer than necessary. you stare at it longer than you should, trying to steady yourself. it’s stupid, but it gives your eyes somewhere else to go and your mind something else to focus on.
he exhales quietly, then the lighter closes with a soft snap, and he looks at you.
“jaemin, right?” he says like he’s commenting on the weather. “he seems like a nice guy, but doesn’t seem like your type.”
everything in you stops, freezes like you’ve just touched a block of ice. your entire body goes still for half a second too long andyour expression betrays you before you can even think to control it. it’s shock at first, then disbelief, because you never told him a name, or anything of the sort. never even showed signs of you being involved with someone else.
your mind starts racing immediately — how does he know that? how long has he known? what else does he know?
only a few people know you’ve been seeing jaemin, and yes, you do post stories with him just like you do with the other people you trust, people who wouldn’t… your fingers tighten unconsciously around the fabric of his coat still resting on your shoulders.
“how do you know that?” your voice comes out lower than you intended. yunho tilts his head slightly, observing a reaction he already predicted, since just confirmed something he was quietly testing. a faint smirk pulls at his lips, he shrugs, leaning back on one hand as his gaze stays fixed on you.
“you’re the campus's new hotshot couple,” lies, obvious lies. you know it, he knows it, but the confidence in his voice makes it sound real. rumors, gossip, students talking, maybe someone exaggerating something they saw, but nothing that should have him perfectly informed with a name.
you don’t even realize your grip has tightened until the fabric of his coat shifts slightly under your fingers.
“relax, i’m not interfering.” but his tone says otherwise, “you can date whoever you want.”
you can't because you are mine.
yunho doesn’t move away while talking; he closes the distance slowly instead, testing exactly how far you’ll let him go before you stop him. knee brushing yours, nudging you teasingly, he doesn’t break eye contact, and doesn’t give you space to believe or question anything. because the way he says it doesn’t sound like permission, it sounds like ownership he’s pretending not to enforce.
“you lost the right to care about who i see a long time ago.”
oh?
amused by how you’re trying so hard to stand your ground, trembling just beneath the surface. it’s beautiful like that, so unfiltered and honest. aren’t you the prettiest little angel when you’re angry? when you’re fighting him, resisting him, convincing yourself you’ve moved on. it’s almost impressive, and adorable. your will is always too big for your own good, too loud to stay buried, always insisting things should go your way, even when reality bends differently once he is in the picture.
he’s memorizing it all over again with the way your breath changes when he gets too close, the way you refuse to look away even when it would be easier. your eyes are the most dangerous part of you, he decides. they’re full of everything at once — malice, frustration, sadness you pretend isn’t there, excitement you refuse to acknowledge. a fire that burns brighter than the weak flicker of the lighter between his fingers earlier. a fire that could bring him to his knees if he let it.
but he won’t, he knows how to protect himself.
he knows you better than anyone else ever has. better than those two annoying best friends of yours, than jeongin, better than jaemin, even your parents. better than the version of yourself you try to present to the world.
yunho doesn’t need to chase because he knows your anger will bring you to him. he doesn’t need to beg, either. not when pulling the right strings of your nervous system is far more satisfying, watching you unravel and logic slipping away piece by piece until all that’s left is emotion, exactly how he wants you. he doesn’t need you rational, he needs you emotional. to destabilize you until you’re reacting instead of analyzing, feeling instead of understanding, until you’re his again in everything but name.
your thoughts slow, your focus breaks, you start reacting instead of thinking… just like he planned.
it’s sudden when it happens, you grab his collar, and before he can even fully process it, you pull him in and kiss him. not what people would call romantic, it’s out of pure spite and the need to shut him up. it’s messy, all teeth and frustration and months of things left unsaid. it’s the words i hate you pressed into his mouth like a punishment.
yunho doesn’t take control immediately. he lets you bite his lip and put all that frustration finally into something tangible, lets you pretend this is just about physically shutting him up. yunho lets you have your moment of control, an illusion of victory, because he can feel you’re not over him… should the fact that he isn’t over you either be good or bad news?
only then does he finally respond, when your breath catches in that familiar way, something in him snaps as he kisses you back. the taste is noticeably bitter, ashy, and slightly stale. a trace of smoke still clings to him, dry against your tongue with that faint chemical edge, following the chemical romance between you that has no clear answer or reaction to this day, only that it is intense.
his lips part slightly against yours, the movement slow, testing. he deepens the kiss, blurring the line between hesitation and intent, one hand sliding up to your neck, fingers resting there, guiding rather than forcing. he pulls you closer, and the way your breath stutters in the gorgeous column of your throat, the way your body reacts to his body without thinking, tells him everything he needs to know.
then, just as suddenly, he stops. not pulling away completely, neither of you really wants to break it, but he’s the one who finally pulls back first. you’re left staring at each other, chests inviting air in and out in hurried paces to catch your breaths.
“you look at me like you hate me…” and doesn’t seem like you want to stop, though. “but you always looked at me like that.”
there’s something in his expression, satisfaction, like your reaction alone is enough. your breathing is uneven, lips slightly parted, and you hate how aware you are of him again: how close he is and how familiar it feels. your lipstick is slightly smudged, some of it transferred onto him, and the sight alone makes something twist in your stomach.
because you want more, but you don’t want to want him.
this is wrong on so many levels, kissing your ex out of nowhere, yet your body remembers him far too well, as it responds far too much. it’s frustrating, confusing, and addicting in a way you wish it wasn’t. what are you even supposed to do now?
“this isn’t a good place…” he says after a moment, glancing briefly toward the direction of the party before looking back at you. “…unless you want an audience.”
and suddenly it feels like the decision is yours, except it isn’t. because the way he looks at you says he already knows what you’ll choose.
by the time you are fully recovered his hand is already around yours, fingers lacing, as his grip doesn’t loosen, not once, he already knows you won’t pull away. he starts walking and you’re just following along without questioning it.
away from the crowd, into the quieter parts of the hotel, the lobby is nearly empty, the noise fading behind you as he moves straight for the elevators. he presses the button, and as if perfectly timed, the doors slide open to an empty cabin.
you step inside, and the moment the doors close behind you, the space feels smaller and tighter. mirrors line the walls, reflecting everything from every angle. no matter where you look, it’s him first and only then, you.
yunho and mirrors are a dangerous combination, because he doesn’t just want to feel you, he wants to watch you feel him and memorise the way you submit to his touch each and every time he manages to catch you. standing behind you, his taller frame hovering close, his chest warm against your back even if he doesn’t fully press himself in. still, if you lean back even slightly, he knows he has you.
his lips brush your shoulder, not quite a kiss, more like a promise of one. he makes you aware of everything — your breathing, the expression on your pretty face, how close you really are to him. one hand slides low, brushing your thigh right where the hem of your dress ends, while the other rises to your face. his soft fingers tilt your chin upward. he doesn’t need to do much to make you go insane; his voice does most of the work, not his body.
“all that attitude, and look at you now,” murmuring right next to your ear. the hand resting on your thigh doesn’t move further, and somehow you react more to what almost happens than to what actually does. as if hypnotized, trying to hold onto some sense of control, but it’s slipping fast, because your eyes betray you again. “is that really how someone looks when they want me gone?”
he doesn’t think of himself as a freak about it. he just likes watching, prefers you vulnerable like this. his eyes never leave your reflection, taking in the way your lips part, your lashes flutter, the way you try to close your eyes against how overwhelming it feels.
“don’t close your eyes, doll.” his voice is low, slightly rougher, his fingers tightening just a little on your jaw. you forgot how much you loved being called that, and how much it didn't help your attempts at resistance. “i want you to see what i’m doing to you.”
the hand on your leg slips beneath your dress until it finds the soft fabric of your panties, and you’re already so wet. his fingers press against you through the material, enough to make your breath hitch while moving in a slow and controlled rhythm as you squirm in result. your back arches finally pressing into him, and he exhales softly against your ear, completely obsessed with the sight of you falling apart in front of him.
“y-yun–” his name halfway leaves your lips in a soft whine, breaking into something breathier when he moves just right. he loves the way you say his name like it belongs in your mouth, and believe it or not, it’s already tattooed on your skin with invisible ink.
“keep looking.” his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, guiding your attention back to the mirror. your thighs tremble, and your hands clutch at his forearm. the way your body reacts instantly, the way he has literal heart eyes when you make that sound again, his dick pulsating at the sight as he leans down slightly, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “see how pretty you look like this?”
you move without thinking, pressing back against him, your legs drawing closer together as if it might help, when his name slips from your lips again, your eyes glossy, barely staying open like he told you to, he smiles faintly against your skin.
“good girl.” but being good doesn’t mean you get everything. if anything, it means the opposite, because he’s making you want it first. you feel it before you can think about it. he could push you further, make you admit things, but he knows you won’t, not yet.
a soft ding breaks through the moment. his gaze flicks up toward the numbers, 10th floor.
the doors are about to open, the risk of someone being there and catching you… and just like that, he stops. he withdraws, leaving you aching, breath uneven, your body still caught in the aftermath of something unfinished. the doors slide open, and thankfully, no one’s there. the hallway is empty; most guests are still downstairs celebrating, others are already asleep. not that he would care much… or maybe he would. yunho has never liked sharing or the idea of anyone else seeing what he considers his.
he reaches toward you again, and for a second you think… but no. his hand slips into the coat you’re still wearing, pulling out the key card from the inner pocket.
“come on, angel… we don’t have all night.” all night. you don’t even know what time it is. your purse is still downstairs, abandoned at the table with your parents, your phone out of reach, “need help walking?”
he asks, and that more than anything, pulls you back to reality. because when you glance at the mirror again, you finally see yourself properly. flushed and out of breath. your dress is slightly ridden up, your lips parted, your entire body still buzzing with heat that hasn’t gone anywhere. fuck. you’re left standing there, completely worked up, and he’s the only one who can do anything about it.
you know this is wrong, but your body isn’t listening. the empty hallway was your chance to leave, yet your feet never moved. you should have walked away, right then and there… so why didn’t you? zoning out and staring into the void of nothingness, thinking how no one can even compare and you hate that it’s still him who makes you lose your sanity. with yunho, it was never just attraction and maybe that’s the problem. you hate him. you hate this. you hate that you don’t hate it enough.
telling yourself you still have a choice, only that you don’t. because somehow, without realizing it, you’re already following him to his room. the door closes behind you with a quiet click that feels louder than it should, and suddenly you don’t move.
you don’t sit. you just stand there, near the edge of the bed, fingers fidgeting with the ends of the sleeves, pulling the fabric over your hands as if it might calm you somehow. your breathing still hasn’t settled, your body is still carrying everything from moments ago.
he moves further into the room as if you being here is expected and inevitable. his hand reaches up to his collar, his eyes don’t leave you, though, not once. fingers hooking under the knot of his tie, loosening it slowly, sliding it from around his neck, the fabric slipping through his fingers before he lets it hang loosely in his hand. he stands there too, looking at your posture, and the way you haven’t dared to sit or do anything at all.
his lips twitch slightly when your fingers pause for half a second, then continue. you don’t dare to talk, you don’t trust your voice right now. he takes a step closer, then another, slowly closing the space between you until it feels suffocating again, and you’re aware of him in the same way you were in the elevator.
“take a seat,” he says softly, “you don’t have to stand there like that,” and you obey.
you sit right at the edge of the bed, back straight, still clutching the sleeves, as yunho watches you for a moment longer. then, without breaking eye contact, he lowers himself not onto the bed, but down, kneeling in front of you.
it shouldn’t feel the way it does, as if he were praying to his goddess for a blessing of a lifetime. it should be unsettling, he chose this position for a reason; he wants to be right here, close enough to see every reaction you try to hide. his hands rest lightly against your legs at first, thumbs caressing the flesh as you tense, but don’t pull away.
“do you know…” fingers sliding slightly higher, tracing and craving, then there’s a pause. “how hard it was not to think about you?” not crossing any line too fast, he continued, eyes fixed on your face, “to see you every week, and pretend we are just strangers?”
his razor sharp gaze softens for what you can barely count a millisecond, before it shifts back to its sinister depths, something that looks a little too close to obsession.
“should i? or are you going to pretend you don’t want this?”
beneath the dress, fingers slipping under the fabric as he hooks into your waistband and starts to pull it down. you are leaning in just slightly, giving him the access he’s already taken. that’s all the permission he needs. the delicate lace follows, sliding down until it pools at your feet, as you gently kick them fully aside with the help of your heels.
"last chance to leave, angel... say or do something if you want me to stop.”
holding himself back, and it’s taking more effort than he wants to admit. his gaze drags over you, taking in every detail like he’s been starved of it.
you look the same. no, you like you never left him at all.
his jaw tightens faintly because god, he missed you. no matter how much time passed or how many distractions he surrounded himself with, nothing and no one helped. they didn’t look right or feel right, they simply weren’t you.
you changed, of course you did. your hair, your style, the perfume, even the way you carry yourself now, like you’ve grown into something that bites back.
but he sees through it: you are just a little sheep wearing the wolf’s head.
and he is the wolf wearing a sheep’s clothing.
something restless stirring beneath his skin, the way it creeps in, settles deep, refuses to leave. he’s been stuck on a feeling, just can't stop, once ain't enough.
his thumb presses just a little firmer, grounding himself, because he might actually lose that thin thread of control he’s still pretending to have.
“i hate you.” you say but your legs part for him. his head tilts at that, tongue pressing into his cheek, amused, your defiance only entertains him more. don’t mind him then, as he eases you back, gaze heavy on you, his hands slide firmly to your thighs, guiding you then lifting your legs to settle over his shoulders.
he looks at you like he’s about to show you what heaven feels like when its most precious and divine being finally falls from grace.
yunho loves teasing you with his words almost as much as he loves tasting you. his tongue dives in, relentless at first, exploring every twitching nerve that seems to remember him all to well, then deeper, faster and harder. he pushes in and out like he’s trying to swallow you whole, sliding in and out with perfect rhythm.
“babydoll, you’re so sweet,” he groans, licking and sucking, eyes rolling back when he finally tastes you. you're addicting. he laps up your juices, swirling his tongue on your clit. “did you save all this for me?”
his hands grip your thighs, holding you open, pressing you closer as he devours you like a meal he can’t get enough of. every moan, quiet or loud, drives him further to the sinful gates of temptation. he buries his face in you, lips and tongue hungry, mouth wet, making sure every inch of you is tasted.
“look at you, trembling for me…” he whispers, nibbling at your inner thigh between laps of your cunt. he’s relentless with the words, praising every tiny quiver, “that’s it, you’re such a good girl, letting me do this.”
god, your pussy’s perfect. can’t believe this is all his to play with after a whole year of craving you. the way he grins while teasing you, making you feel like you’re both the most desirable and most obedient thing in the world.
“you like it when i talk to you like this, hm? gonna make you scream my name before i even touch you properly,” he teases, tongue pushing deeper, fingers brushing where you couldn't even reach. every compliment and filthy line makes your body shake more, your pussy grip tighter around nothing, dripping just from his mouth and words.
he mixes praise and filth, so you’re caught between feeling worshiped and utterly used. the combination makes you desperate and completely under his control. by the time he lifts his head, cheeks wet, lips shiny with your slick, because he knows exactly what he’s done to you — and he isn’t done yet.
“mmh… yunho–” your back arches, hips rising to meet him despite yourself. you’re dripping, trembling, completely lost to the sloppy sounds of his tongue. he groans, deep in his throat, enjoying the taste of you. he doesn’t rush when he devours and dominates your senses. “fuck, you are so… hahh–”
your legs are clamping around his head as your hands tug his hair, gosh it’s still so soft to the touch. your chest heaving, voice hoarse from moaning, and yunho finally lifts his head, grinning at the mess he made glistening on his lips. wiping his mouth slowly, chuckling, because he’s left you begging without even doing too much.
“mmhm,” diving back in as his fingers brushing against your clit while his tongue plunges deeper. he just keeps going — tongue flicking, fingers circling, whispering filthy praises with every movement. “that’s it, that’s my good girl… come on, let it all out for me.”
your walls clench and your pussy gushes over his tongue, spurting uncontrollably as your legs tremble and your back arches off the surface. yunho groans, licking up every drop, smiling like the maniac he is, “god, you’re insane… look at you squirting for me.”
he doesn’t stop, still moving, coaxing out every last drop, praising you with every breath he takes. his thoughts are full of you, and soon enough, you will be full of him. “mine, you are only mine… keep coming for me, angel.”
you’ve never felt so ruined and so completely at his mercy.
“i should leave you like this,” he adds, quieter, more to himself than to you. the idea actually tempts him, letting you feel exactly how easy it is for him to get you like this. “send you back downstairs all pretty, like nothing happened…” a soft exhale followed, “...but you wouldn’t make it far.”
pulling back, but his fingers keep toying with your clit, and you’re already so sensitive from that alone. he talks dirty in that manic and possessive way of his, murmuring about how he’ll keep you in the dress and the heels, since you can’t spend the night with him… no matter how much he wants you to.
he eases your legs off his shoulders, standing up with a slow stretch, but before he can even undress, he steps back in between your shaky legs, looking down at you with that same secretive, almost warm smile. maybe it’s love, maybe it’s lust, if not both. his index finger and thumb catch your chin, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to look at him, especially when you were trying so hard not to. how cute.
“drop the act, dollface,” he growled, his fingers slide down, big palm spreading around your throat, squeezing to cut off that long-awaited breath you wanted to take, watching you closely, eyes fixed on your lips as they start to quiver with every subtle tightening of his grip. “or do i need to remind you who you belong to?”
one moment he’s choking you, the next, he’s already stripped from the waist down, preparing you to take him.
lying on your back on the bed, with him hovering above you, one long finger slides inside you, immediately feeling how tight and slick you are as he starts to move. he watches closely, eyes fixed on the way your face twists with undeniable pleasure, all while his own cock pulses hot against your leg. a second finger slips in beside the first, and you feel the stretch right away. your walls clenching around him, creaming over his knuckles as small, broken sounds leave your throat, half cough, half whine, still trying to catch the breath he stole from you.
“there it is… i was waiting for that.” and by that, he means you being ready to take him. his thumb drags over the tip of his throbbing cock, stroking himself a few slow times, and your gaze drops — was he always this big? you’re not even sure how you’re supposed to take it… how you managed before. he’s thick, lining up at your soaked entrance, pushing your walls to their limit before he’s even halfway in, your cunt already molding around his size.
missionary is always a gamble with him, because you never know which version you’re going to get: the gentle one, the mean one, the jealous one… there are options, but you’re never the one choosing. this time, he is a meanie. a creature of extreme sadism.
all you can do beneath him is squirm and cry, clinging helplessly to every inch of him he gives you, heavy as he presses in, hitting places your own fingers could never reach. he grunts softly, hips pulling back again because you’re still not full of him, not yet. he has to carve the shape of himself into your insides, and claim you properly, like he always will.
maybe you’re already close, just from the way he moves. shallow at first, his pelvis dragging sinfully against you, making your writhing body jolt upwards on the bed. he switches between soft and controlled thrusts to slow and grinding circles, anything to ease you and help your body relax, make you greedy enough to take him deeper.
“is that all you do, cry?” yunho hisses under his breath, lips brushing wet against your ear as your nails dig into his shoulders. his cock presses right against your most sensitive spot, pulling a loud moan from you, and you think it’s too deep already, when he is not even that deep. “babydoll, be a good girl for me and take every inch, yeah? no, don’t cry now… you can handle it, because you’re mine… my pretty girl.”
your eyes sting, tears slipping free, smudging your makeup a bit. it’s been so long since you had any sexual intercourse, a whole year. you didn’t even do anything more than a few careless kisses and make out sessions with jaemin, nothing that even comes close to tonight’s carnal ravaging.
you need yunho. not just inside you, you need him under your skin, running through your dna. you hate his guts, you do, but god, he fucks you so well you can feel him in your guts.
the tears fall, catching the light like silver, as if tiny diamonds slip down your cheeks as he stretches you open again.
his fingers lace with yours, pinning your hands against the mattress as he hisses filthy praises into your ear. your sensitive cunt takes every devastating thrust, each one pulling out those wet and sloppy sounds, the kind that make you want to scream again and again until your vocal cords tear apart and you lose your voice for days as a reminder of what yunho is doing to do you. what he will always do to you. the way his cock drives fully into you sends that overwhelming urge through your quivering body, threatening to make you come undone, you’re not even sure if you want to. it’s a sensation so intense, such painfully good pressure building with nowhere to go.
you’re so cockdrunk it’s insane. you always thought you were in control, always told yourself he wasn’t a good person, but the dick was too good to let go. he fits too perfectly, like he was made just for you.
“scream for me, doll,” he groans, that husky tone rolling off his tongue and straight through you, pulling a helpless whimper from your lips. his brown eyes flick over your face, taking in every desperate expression like he’s committing it to memory, because watching you fall apart is his favorite part. his pre-cum leaves a messy ring at the base of his cock, trailing down the inside of your thighs, and maybe if he weren’t so consumed by you, he’d comment on just how desperate you look.
“yu-yunho–!” his name tears from your throat as it echoes through the room. his hips snap into yours without mercy, hard enough to leave bruises. your back lifts off the bed, arching into the overwhelming rush flooding your body. you praise and beg for him, pushing him further into ecstasy as he presses you back down every time you move too much.
“you think anyone else could handle you like this?” yunho coos, his pace picking up, thrusts growing faster and faster, until your thighs start to numb. “think anyone could love you the way i do?”
“yunho, please… ahh–” you hear yourself, like you’re outside your own body and have lost control of even your own voice. all you can feel is your nails digging into his back, your body tightening around him as you suddenly break, soaking him, your release spilling over his cock. and still his eyes stay on you, he adores your face more than anything else. it’s almost as if your reactions to the pleasure only he can give you appeal more to him than the sex itself.
“you say you hate me, but i bet you were just mad at me, yeah?”
but you’re too stubborn to admit that, refusing to give him even that much satisfaction. you close your eyes, trying to reclaim some dominance over him, but he only chuckles, bringing his hips to a stop at the fading edge of his own release.
that’s what makes your eyes snap open, staring up at him. “why’d you–?”
“i asked you a question, angel,” he sneers. one hand drifts down to your clit, rubbing slow, agonizing circles that pull a helpless whine from your throat, your head tosses back.
“p-please, yu– i can’t, i–” but your legs stay wrapped tight around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, your heels pressing cold against the heat of his body.
his other hand moves, this time settling around your throat. at first, it’s loose, enough pressure to make you notice. then it tightens as he watches everything: from the way your lips part, to how your chest struggles to rise. completely focused on how dependent you become on him for air. forcing eye contact, watching you go from stubborn to needy, leaning in close to whisper instead of raising his voice.
“tell me if it’s too much… go on.” with every small twitch or squirm, it only makes his grip tighten more, restricting your breathing while muttering praise after praise. what a fucking sadistic psychopath. “so pretty like this…can barely breathe and still taking me so well.”
pushing your limits on purpose, to remind you exactly who’s in control. he feels the way you start to struggle, your body begins to give, and only then does his grip loosen.
air rushes back into your lungs all at once, burning on the way in. your chest stutters, breaths coming out broken and uneven instead of steady. your vision blurs, tears slipping freely now, and you don’t even realize you’re shaking until he notices it first. his hand doesn’t leave your throat. it stays there, fingers still curved around it, no longer squeezing, just resting.
“there you go, babydoll,” his voice drops, softer now, but no less heavy. “breathe.”
but he’s watching you too closely for it to feel like kindness. his thumb drags slowly over the spot he pressed into, feeling the rapid flutter of your pulse beneath his touch. your lips part, pulling in air that still doesn’t feel like enough, as another broken sound slips out of you.
it does something to him. you like this, glassy-eyed and trembling, wants him to hold onto this exact version of you for as long as he can. then, without warning, he leans in. his lips press against yours. it’s not an apology, far from it. a kiss that lingers just long enough to steal the breath you just fought to get back, a quiet reminder of how easily he can take it and when he pulls away, there’s the faintest hint of a smile, because he’d do it again.
“shh, don’t cry… you know i take care of what’s mine.” still too dizzy to think about anything but breathing and kissing, your legs are thrown over his broad shoulders, his hands pushing them closer to your head to get the angle just right. he watches himself slide between your folds, then looks down at you like he’s never seen anything more beautiful.
you glance down to where your bodies meet, even if every instinct tells you to pull away, but there’s nowhere to go. every movement hits heavier, deeper; your body can’t tell the difference between pleasure and pressure anymore. he drags himself all the way out at a torturously slow pace, only to push back in just as cruelly.
"s-shit… don’t move,” he groans, thrusting into you, when he finally decides to snap his hips, his pelvis pressed against yours. his fingers find your sensitive clit again, rubbing it fast to get you to cum again, throwing his head back as he thrusts one last time, before shooting his load into your aching cunt. spurts of warm cum fill your insides while you wither beneath him, all hot and sweaty, not even processing the mess both of you made under the clean bedsheets.
his cock was pulsing so hard you could feel it bulging through your tummy, filling you to the brim as you milk him dry. his palm presses flat against your lower stomach, and he actually smirks when he feels and sees the faint movement beneath, occasionally shifting his hand lower or higher just to make you lose focus mid-thought.
“you fell that, doll?”
do you feel how deep my love runs for you?
yunho looks at you like he’s completely gone, someone who operates on obsession, trying to imprint himself into every part of you, leave something behind that no one else could ever do. he’s smug about it too, of course he is. he just won in life, like out of everything in the world, he got you. fuck, wishing he had his camera right now, just to capture this exact moment. you look unreal beneath him, divine even dressed in black, an angel dragged down just for him.
his voice softens, murmuring sweet nothings under his breath as he leans in, pressing slow kisses to your cheeks, your temple, the bridge of your nose. gentler now, calming you down after everything he just put you through. a quick peck lands on your lips, lingering just a little longer than it needs to.
finally, yunho pulls out, watching closely as a small trace of him drips from you. his fingers follow immediately, sinking to keep it all in. then he pulls you up, arms wrapping around you, holding you tight against his chest, lips pressing into your hair, breathing you in like he doesn’t get enough of you, even now.
the aftercare is minimal, because it has to be. he lets you rest for a few minutes, helps you steady yourself, maybe guides you to the bathroom, helps you fix your clothes and makeup, and put your panties back on, while he dresses himself again as if nothing happened. and only now, that you’re about to leave, does he decide to act sweet.
“you good, need anything else?”
“i’ll manage, thank you very much, asshole.”
you smile through your teeth, already turning, only to wobble slightly in your heels. gee, wonder why, like you just didn't have some mindblowing sex. making your way out, you’re glowing, there’s no other word for it. a little wrecked, sure, a little unsteady, but shining brighter than the stars in the sky.
he doesn’t close the door right away, waits until you step into the elevator, as the doors slide shut and you’re out of sight. only then does he finally close it, the click echoing a little too loud in the empty room. he leans back for a second, alone with himself, because yeah, he’s an asshole, he knows that.
but you’ll always come back to him, and he’ll always come back to you.
having big gaps between classes was something you enjoyed, but sometimes hated. just like you hate everything about him. from the smug smirk that pulls at the corner of his mouth to how his fingers are inside your mouth, making you gag and be disgusted by the way he does such things like he owns you — he doesn’t.
he’s your ex, the one you’ve tried so hard to forget: the sound of his voice, the way he felt under your skin. now his lips are back on your neck, sucking, kissing, leaving marks you’ll have to cover the second you walk out of his office once he’s done fucking you on his desk. you feel his thumb press against your throat, taking his time, teasing you in ways you swore you would never let him do that again, claiming you like he never left.
trying to tell him, no but your body keeps telling him yes.
you should be disappointed in yourself, letting him pull you off track like this, letting him take control when you know better. yet, with every touch and mark sends heat racing through you, clouding your mind until you can barely remember why you hate him so much. is it because he wasn’t who you thought he was… or because you still feel something for him? hating him is easier than admitting you never stopped wanting him.
you don’t want to care; you want to despise him for what he did and for who he is. but that’s slipping away when your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, eyes roll back when he slides inside of you, filling you completely, making you forget everything else. you want to resist, hold onto the anger, but you can’t. not when he’s deep inside, hitting all the spots that make you arch and gasp, his name falls from your lips even when you swore you’d never let it happen again.
“y-yunho... faster!” you choke out, hands clawing at his back, desperate and needy, but of course, he doesn’t give in that easily. yunho only slows down, teasing you, lips curling into that infuriating grin against your skin.
“angel, i told you to be quiet, didn’t i?” he murmurs, voice low and slightly mocking, “so impatient, as always. good things come when you obey… and wait.”
you are tired of waiting and being toyed with, and if he’s going to take his sweet time, then you’ll make sure he regrets it. your nails dig into his shoulders, even through his shirt, hard enough to strain the fabric and leave marks far more lasting than the lipstick stain on that secret polaroid sitting on his nightstand.
"stop being such a dick and fuck me already!" you hate him, you repeat it to yourself over and over, until his breath is hot against your neck and his hands are gripping your hips as if he’ll never let go.
and just like that, he snaps, relentless now, giving you exactly what you begged for.
his pace quickens, the plastic creaks underneath, each thrust pushing you closer to that edge, all you can think about is him, all you can feel is him. the hate melts away, replaced by a pleasure so overwhelming it almost hurts. you are so full, burning hot by how he uses your body as a canvas to paint you all white with no drops going to waste. purity and innocence, those words don’t exist for you anymore, as they are replaced with sin and punishment.
“that’s it, pretty. feels good, yeah?” he knows exactly how the two of you collide, like you’re at war with each other. it’s rough, as it drags your pride and self-respect straight through the dirt. the relationship is so damn dysfunctional, but yunho knows you better than anyone else. you don’t even realize how much he thrives on this, how easily you let him take control. he loves you like this: soft and bratty, vulnerable and entirely his.
you hope, no, you pray, that the good thing he promised finally comes, because you can’t take much more of this. when it hits, it crashes through you at the same time as him, your cries muffled against his shoulder, your chest rising and falling as all that tension finally spills out. he will take care of you, he will always look out for you because you are his most adored and precious doll, his favorite thing to hold and ruin.
a few minutes later, after he’s helped clean you up with a towel from one of the cabinets he keeps just for these getaways. you zip your pants back up, still feeling the lingering warmth between your thighs. you just hope your panties are enough to keep things from showing through. shit… you should’ve worn the black jeans.
“i only came here to give you mine and jeongin’s project, not to get creampied.”
“baby, you know you don’t have to do anything,” he says, spinning lazily in his chair. one hand clicks the mouse as he scrolls through whatever just came into his email. “you’re my favorite student, you pass without lifting a finger. your friend, on the other hand… needs to learn how to use photoshop.”
“yeah, but…”
“but what?” he glances up at you from the computer, that same knowing look settling back in. “you missed me?”
ah, your eyes betray you again. you missed him, no matter how much your ego tries to argue otherwise. after what happened at the hotel two months ago… yeah, that was all it took for both of you to realize you can’t stay away from each other. and maybe you’ll regret it one day, but not now. you’ve already decided to keep it hidden from karina and yeji. as for jaemin… yeah, he’s nice. he’s always been, but that’s all he is now, nice. you made sure you stayed friends, nothing more, and nothing less.
so you leave yunho’s office, of course not before kissing him goodbye, not that it matters much when he’ll be at your place later anyway. “don’t forget we’re watching spiderman~” like you could forget, you know the entire plot by heart at this point.
you’re wearing a sweater that’s way too big for you, one you casually told your friends you found at a thrift store. sure, if that store was called yunho’s apartment. thankfully, no one suspects a thing, not even your two best friends, because if they did… it would be over, and you’re not ready to lose them, but the heart wants what it wants.
later, you meet jeongin at the campus café, sitting across from him like you didn’t just leave your professor’s office in a completely different state than you entered it.
“innie, thank you for ordering for me too.” you smile, taking a sip of your drink, looking… brighter than usual, too happy for someone with a four-hour gap between classes.
“yeah, no problem,” he says, watching you for a second longer than usual. “also, are you… okay? i don’t know, you just seem different lately after things ended with jaemin.”
you blink, caught off guard. “huh, am i?” a small shrug follows. “i don’t know… i guess i just decided to focus on myself for a while, not on men.”
“well… whatever it is, it suits you,” he mutters, still a little unsure. “oh– by the way, what did professor jeong say about the project?”
“he said we’ve got max points secured,” you shrug lightly. “and that you’ve improved your photoshop skills.”
“really?” jeongin perks up, grinning. “well, don’t mind me if i skip next week then.”
the first part is true, the second isn’t. you can lie to everyone else, but not to yunho. it’s harmless. not everyone needs to know everything about you, not even the people closest to you. so here you are back with your toxic ex, because being stuck on a feeling means being stuck on him. if anyone found out, they’d probably kill him first… and then you.
he knows exactly what you risk every time you come back to him. this was never a temporary game, something that could end just because you decided it should. to him, it’s an inevitable cycle. he doesn’t see himself as someone you return to; in his mind, you never truly left in the first place.
he would give you everything without hesitation. tear the world apart for you, piece by piece, if that’s what it takes to keep you where he wants. but he would ruin you just as easily, because to him, being broken by his hands is still better than letting anyone else touch what he was already his.
yunho is a monster creeping in your heart. a wolf in sheep’s clothing, the kind of character no one expects to be the villain. he isn’t some bad habit; he is an addiction with no cure, letting him consume you, until there’s barely a line left between where you end and he begins. you chose to stay, considering no one plays the role better than you do. this version of yourself that looks put together, untouchable, and guarded… while slowly giving everything away to the one person who knows exactly how to take it.
you didn’t fall for a good man — you fell for the one who learned how to look like one. you keep calling it love, even when it’s nowhere close, because you can’t tell the difference anymore. and if this is what love is supposed to feel like… you don’t want to be saved from it.
thank you phoebe ( @tinyfixon ) for doing a beta read and being an amazing editor! i love you so much and i hope mingi is going to propose to you soon <3
Thirty minutes since he touched you last, since he meticulously undressed you and laid you down on the pool table next to his DJ’ing equipment. He had just finished his set, turned the camera off and checked that the recording came out alright before he packed it away in its travel case. Then, he had turned to you, waiting for him on the couch just off-screen.
Most of the day had been spent shopping in the city, both high-end and thrift stores alike. Doesn’t matter that your boyfriend is worth millions, he still is a firm believer that thrifts can hold valuable gems of clothing that luxury ones don’t. He throws so much money at you on a regular basis, but especially in Los Angeles. The air of celebrities gets to your boyfriend like no other place in the world. It’s like his own celebrity alter ego takes over as soon as the plane lands at LAX. Suddenly you’re in a 1960’s Cadillac convertible, top down and driving through Malibu. You walk out of multiple designer stores with a member of staff carrying your bags to the car. Every five-star restaurant has a reserved, private table waiting for you.
Honestly though, you’re just happy to be able to spend some time with your boyfriend. Chronically busy and a workaholic, it’s nice to come here and see him relax for once. You love that he invites you to the recording studios, getting the chance to watch your boyfriend work with artists he has loved for years, learning more and teaching them in return. He lets his guard down as much as he’s able to – there’s still fans he has to be careful of – and he has the chance to be authentically himself in every way.
Including tonight.
Everything nice and doting about him changes once the sun goes down. The celebrity ego has its own dark side, too.
The single, overhead light makes you feel like a bug under a microscope. A spotlight that highlights everything he’s not doing to you. Something about the Los Angeles air brings out his inner rich socialite, as well as the hidden sadist within him. Every time you’re here with him, you always leave with marked skin and a renewed submission to your boyfriend.
By the looks of it, this trip won’t be any different.
Hongjoong’s left you alone and untouched, splayed open on this fucking pool table for thirty minutes. You glare at his hoodie, that he still hasn’t taken off. An offending extra layer that keeps him away from you. Meanwhile, there’s not a stitch of clothing, or fabric of any kind for that matter, anywhere near you. You have a sneaking suspicion he’ll float the idea of you not wearing anything tomorrow as well.
Perv.
He massages the back of his neck, torturing you with quiet groans. He knows what he’s doing. And yet you can’t say or do anything about it. You could, but then there’s a really good chance of not being touched or fucked at all for the rest of the trip. That threat is enough to keep you right where you are. No matter how much you want to reach for him and complain that you’ve been waiting long enough, he’ll only make you wait longer.
One time, he fully left you for two hours, even closing the door behind him. He can and will make you wait.
He stretches his neck and sighs, finally looking down at you again. You can’t help but whimper, a quiet plea to do something to you already. But he just smirks, electing to ghost his fingertips just above your skin. So close you can almost taste it, but not feel anything at all. It’s maddening.
The smirk widens just a little. Enough to drive you crazier than before.
“Shhh… stay still, love. Don’t move.” He whispers, just barely tracing your cheek with his lips and letting the warmth of his breath linger. So you’re sure to feel him even when he steps away. Bastard.
You watch him through teary eyes, walk around the pool table and towards the kitchen. You hear a wine bottle open with a quiet pop! and he slowly pours himself a glass. Taking all the time in the world to do so. You want to cry for him to come back, to whine that you need him. But even more than that, you want to be good. So, you try to relax, your back pressing into the hard woolen felted surface of the pool table, and your tailbone digging uncomfortably into the raised side of it.
You are so hyperfocused and yet delirious at the same time. It’s like your body can’t function properly without him. Every sound coming from the kitchen is heightened, the soft sound of a cabinet closing behind you may as well have been a gunshot. Your eyes burn and start to turn dry from being directly under the light.
He walks back over to the pool table at a leisurely pace. Wine glass in one hand, phone in the other. He doesn’t even pay attention to you as he comes back into your line of sight. A sharp pang hits you in the chest, makes your eyebrows turn up, tears ready to fall again.
God. When he wants to be, he can really be mean.
He scrolls through Instagram and his messages until half of his wine is gone. He makes you watch the whole thing.
Not soon enough, he eventually pockets his phone and takes another sip. Casual, and calm. Your breaths are short as you wait. Your whole nervous system is shot to hell by now with the amount of anticipation with no reward. But this is how it is. This is what you love.
And he loves to see you like this, completely exposed in every conceivable way possible. Open and raw, emotionally and physically. He can watch the whole process play out right in front of him; how you gradually and inevitably fall apart. Because of him. Only for him. All of this is for his eyes only, and that might just be the best part. His darling girl, reduced to a teary, begging mess without even being touched.
Not yet.
Outside of these types of scenarios, he hates seeing you cry. He’s so protective of you, always making sure you’re safe and happy, and always knowing full well how much he loves you. He spoils you in everyday life. He can afford to humble you during times like these.
Embarrassment creeps up the back of your neck as you look up at him, trying to ignore how you’re on full display. Not only in front of him, but also in front of the entire city. The sprawling, lit-up landscape of Los Angeles stretches across the view of the floor-to-ceiling windows, your audience for the night. Although, this may be the closest you’ll ever get to Hongjoong showing you off like this to people. No, this is just his. No one will ever get to see you like this. The visual of you in such a state is for his eyes only.
But sometimes, even he likes to flirt with the idea of a whole city being an unknowing audience to your unraveling. Courtesy of one Kim Hongjoong.
It’s starting to drive you crazy that you can’t see him. But this is part of it. The power play. A clear statement of dominance over you that you can do nothing about, apart from waiting for him to join you ‘on your level’. He’s got you so bad like this that now every time he so much as takes off his watch, you look at him expectantly, ready to do whatever he wants. Wherever, whenever.
You take a couple deep breaths and close your eyes to calm down. Luckily, he lets you. Sometimes he doesn’t let you look away from him at all, but he allows you this small mercy for now. A small solace you find is that you can just focus on the familiar scent of his cologne. You designate that scent with safety and home. It’s one of the only things that can keep you sane throughout this ordeal. At least he’s here, in close proximity. You’d rather him be in the room with you, just barely touching you, than outside and not at all.
A small ‘please’ tumbles from your lips, barely audible. But he hears it. He draws absentminded shapes into the felt of the table right next to your ribs. Tantalizingly close. Centimeters away from the bare minimum.
“Hm?” He tilts his head, taunting you further.
You squeeze your eyes shut even tighter, humiliation burning your cheeks, but he snaps his fingers twice, right by your ear, making you open them again.
“You want something, darling?” He asks.
You nearly explode. He knows damn well that you’re about ready to drool and pant for him like a dog. Hell, you’ll even start barking for him if that’s what will get him to touch you. Do something. You have to remember the payoff, although it’s nearly impossible while stuck in the middle of this torture.
But if you want something, you have to ask. Nicely.
“I want you, Joong. Please?”
He doesn’t respond right away. He just continues drawing his little circular patterns next to you, letting his eyes travel up and down your body. Nothing is hidden from him.
If you move your leg slightly to the left, you’ll touch him. The thought is so tempting. Just for one second of contact with him. He knows, too. He inches himself closer, silently daring you to do it. You can almost feel the fabric of his hoodie. A mix of swears and curses directed at him stays stuck in your head. You wouldn’t dare say any of them out loud.
“‘Want me’, huh?” He echoes you with a small smile, “You don’t need me?”
Dammit. Fuck! You want to slap a hand over your mouth, as if that will erase what you said. Now you’ve done it.
“I do need you, I misspoke, I’m sorry. Please, I need you so badly, please touch me.” You scramble to try and do some damage control. But your stupid word choice has already dictated his next actions.
When he moves farther away from you again, you almost reach for him, desperate to pull him back, but he shoots you a deadly glare when he sees your arm twitch to do so. You go rigid again, keeping your arms glued to the table, by your side, just like he told you. Thankfully, he lets it slide. A strike one.
There will not be a strike two.
He walks around the table, out of your sight again, but you hear and feel him right behind you. If you crane your neck and risk a pulled muscle there, you’d be able to see him. When you feel him brush his fingers through the ends of your hair, you stop breathing. One wrong breath, too loud or too sharp could ruin it all. You refuse to even chance that happening.
It’s unclear how long he stays there. You count the minutes by how many airplanes pass by the windows – seven – and the amount of distant police sirens somewhere down in the maze of streets – two. Your eyes threaten to flutter closed. Getting your hair played with is a well-known way to make you sleepy. Maybe that’s what he wants, for you to be caught in the middle of consciousness. It sounds like a nice place to be. You’re already halfway there.
You’re almost drifting when his voice snaps you out of it, low and velvety right by your ear.
“So beautiful,” he says, watching you blush. “I wanna hear my pretty girl beg for me again.”
A small noise escapes you, half whine, half hum of agreement. You repeat your previous plea, with the correct wording this time, and pray that that’s enough to persuade him to touch you more than he is right now. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t give you any hints that you’re on the right track, getting close to what you want – or, need.
“Please,” you try to look up as far as you can, trying to find him. “Joongie…please?”
His hands leave your hair entirely, and you panic.
“W-wait–!” Now you really try to crane your neck to see him, see what he’s doing. If he’s about to leave you. “Please, I’ll be good! I wanna be your good girl, Joongie, please stay.”
You can just barely see the hood of his sweatshirt, and an ounce of relief is granted to you. He’s not going anywhere. Not yet, anyway. You wait for him to say something, to tell you what you did wrong. Nothing comes.
Instead, in the prolonged silence, that’s when his hands return. Brushing through your hair like he never left. This time, he even touches your scalp, and you freeze again.
“Beg.” He directs again.
But you… you are. He just asked you to. Are you not doing it the way he wants you to? You double down, being more specific. Again, you do as you’re told. You beg him in all the ways you know how. But he’s determined to push you further, deeper into near hysteria. The threat of a potential second strike looms over you, it stays right next to that damn overhead light. Tears well up, a couple of them escape past your waterline and disappear into your hairline by your ears.
Hongjoong takes his hands away once more.
“Beg.”
Now you’re borderline sobbing.
“I-I’m– hm– try-trying,” you whimper pathetically, “I don’t know what else you w-wanna hear.”
Your hand moves to wipe your tears, but you remember his first order, given to you thirty minutes ago when this all started: don’t touch. Not you, not him. Don’t try to fix yourself. He wants to see what he does to you, how everything affects you.
“Just beg, darling. Keep begging me.”
And you do. For a good chunk of time that feels like eighty years, you beg him. Over and over. A warbling, incoherent, repeated ramble of pleas and promises that fall on seemingly deaf ears. He just lets his eyes wander over your body, listens to your desperation, touches you where you don’t need him. It’s humiliating. He watches greedily as a new wave of sobs wrack through you, hopeless and discouraged. And still trying. You’re almost afraid to stop.
“Please, please, please touch me, I’ll do anything. Please, Joong, I just need you. I need you so bad, please do something.” You punctuate your begging with fresh, hot tears rolling down your cheeks.
Hongjoong moves back around the table again, getting just a little too close to you, and the slight breeze of his movement against your core is almost too much. His gaze is fixated on how you clench seemingly around nothing, and the glistening of your lower lips under this lone overhead light. Like a spotlight. You’re the star.
You’re his star.
He leans over you, caging you between his arms on the pool table. He’s careful to not touch you at all though. Still. A sick part of him wants to see just how long it’ll take for you to snap. Or, if you will at all. You’re a tough little fighter.
Your begging becomes quieter, more spaced out. Tiny hiccups of pleas flow from your lips, trying to figure out new ways to phrase what you want, new tactics to convince him. It’s just repetitive rambling, nearly incoherent and watery. You’re beginning to become completely hopeless. You doubt that he even had plans to touch you like that at all tonight. You’re just kidding yourself. It’s humiliating.
You want to close your legs and preserve some of your dignity, but you know it belongs to him. Everything does. Body and mind, heart and soul. Any honor or dignity has already been handed over to Hongjoong a long time ago, and he ultimately decides what to do with them. Plus, if you’re wrong and he does plan on giving you what you want, and you do something to make him change his mind, that’s worse. That’s always worse. Last time you were in West Hollywood with him, that happened, and he didn’t touch you until you got back to South Korea.
That was the worst seventy-two hours of your life.
So, defeated, your legs stay right where they are, heels digging uncomfortably into the raised wooden edge of the pool table. Another plane goes by – eight – and you can hear a car blasting music as it crawls up the road, passing by the rented house and disappearing up into the hills.
You look up at Hongjoong, face flushed and puffy from crying. The way he gazes down at you makes your heart flutter. There’s such a deep love for you, pure adoration in his eyes that makes the wait worth it. You know that by now, you probably look crazy, but none of that matters to him. On the contrary. To him, you look beautiful. So beautiful when you’re this desperate for him. God, he feels so lucky.
He supposes he can be a bit nicer to you.
A large part of his confident attitude tonight is because of where he caught your eyes straying during his set. Rarely did you look away from his hands, manipulating sound and tempo, switching the vibe seamlessly, each song flowing into the other. Ending on a remix of ‘In Your Fantasy’ was particularly diabolical, and that’s what cued you in, in terms of what awaited you tonight. A hint meant for you, shown to the entire world.
He takes a moment to think about how nice he wants to be right now. Specifically in terms of whether or not he’ll take his hoodie off. You know all too well that he’s wearing a T-shirt underneath it, and he knows just how much you like seeing his tattoo while he touches you. Who knows what it is about it, but whatever it is, the sight of it flexing with his bicep as he fingers you makes you absolutely feral. You tend to finish quicker when his tattoo is out – which is something you think he doesn’t know.
Oh, he absolutely does.
You’re lucky, he decides. Since he has been particularly mean, and you only have one strike against you, he’ll finally give you what you’ve been begging for all night. He sets his glass down on the edge of the table and takes the hoodie off, unzipping it and tossing it onto the floor somewhere.
Immediately, your eyes go right to his right arm to see the tattoo peeking out from underneath the sleeve. No matter how much you try to conceal how it affects you, your body gives you away. The way your lips part slightly, eyes fixed onto it, how you clench around nothing. If he wants to really be nice, he’ll let you bite it one day.
You’re too focused on that visual, that want, to notice that his hand is moving right towards you.
The first touch feels like an electric shock.
After almost an hour of nothing, feeling his touch all at once nearly sends you spiralling again. Hongjoong cups your cheek, and you can feel the cold metal of his rings cooling your skin. He shushes you quietly when you gasp, not expecting it.
“It’s alright, my love,” he murmurs, placing a lingering kiss on your temple. “I’ve got you.”
Your eyes threaten to flutter shut again. All you can think is: finally. Impatience is something that Hongjoong never rewards. You know that for a fact, but it’s helpful to get a refresher every so often. Even if it drives you up the wall. It’s a hard-learned lesson, one you will remember forever.
Hongjoong ghosts his lips just above yours, hovering there for a few seconds before connecting them. Your hands ball up into fists, wishing for something better to hold onto. Like him. Your back aches for a more comfortable surface to rest on. However, you’ll stay put until he moves you.
With the last of your focus, you kiss him back, trying your best to not come across as needy as you obviously are. There’s no hiding anything with him.
It’s when you start to relax into the kiss that he throws another curveball.
You gasp into his mouth at the sudden pressure against your clit. The pads of his fingers move deliberately slowly in a circular motion, quite similar to how he touched the turntable during his set. His touch is maddeningly gentle. Controlled, calm, and patient.
He doesn’t react. He just continues kissing you, as carefree and relaxed as ever. As if he’s not working you up. Like he has no idea what he’s doing to you.
You’ve been wet without any proper attention for so long today. His fingers find no resistance whatsoever gliding through your folds, teasing you once again by pausing right where your entrance is and then retreating back up to circle your clit.
Whatever happened to being nice?
Hongjoong can’t stop the smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth, but he tries to hide it by deepening the kiss. He should start playing fair, but teasing you is just too much fun.
Once your lips part, and his tongue slips into your mouth, that’s when he pushes his fingers into you, sliding in as far as he can reach. He’s timing everything perfectly. Again, you gasp into his mouth. Your tongue puts up no fight for dominance whatsoever, you’re too focused on finally being filled. His free hand presses down on your hip. A silent reminder to keep still, to not chase.
It doesn’t take long at all for you to get close. A low, burning heat in your stomach threatens to overpower you as two of his fingers stoke that fire over and over again. You can feel how much you’re dripping for him. It’s definitely running down his wrist at this very moment. Your cheeks burn again. The once quiet, wet sounds from your core slowly amplify, becoming an audible clue as to how affected you are, and how close you are to coming.
“J-Joongie…” you stutter, struggling to keep your voice steady.
He hums, already knowing.
“Gonna cum, darling?”
You nod, frantically. A loud moan escapes your throat as his mouth latches onto one of your nipples, sucking on it lightly. A shudder runs through you, your body on high alert to all sensations. Your nails threaten to break the skin of your palm. You can only hope he lets you hold onto him at some point tonight.
It seems he has other plans, though.
“Beg,” He says. The dreaded word is accompanied by a wicked grin, and a challenge in his eyes.
You want to pull your hair out, honestly. It would hurt a lot less than this.
Just a single word is enough to make you mentally crack, and he knows that. He can’t help himself, even when he’s being his own version of nice to you. Unbeknownst to you, he has no intention of making you wait that long again, but he loves to see the fear on your face at the possibility of that happening. He just wants to see if you’ll disobey him, try to touch him, make him stop. This is all a sick trust exercise for his own sadistic pleasure.
He curls his fingers deep as he listens to your cries, the repeated pleas, the promises that you’ll do anything, and his favorite: how much you need him.
“Cum for me, darling.” He purrs next to your ear, tilting his head down to watch your body shiver and fall apart around his fingers. His eyes flick back up to your face as your breathing stops, a clear sign that your orgasm is hitting you now. He drinks in every possible detail.
You clench around him hard, calf muscles seizing from how hard you’re tensing. Still, he continues to coax his fingers in and out at a slower pace, unwilling to draw them out just yet. Despite everything, you make sure to thank him once your body starts to come down from the high. You’re truly so grateful he decided that he’ll play with you tonight, and not leave you hanging. You remind yourself to thank Los Angeles in some way as well. Whatever this city does for him, definitely works for you.
Through the small aftershocks, he gently pulls you to sit upright, keeping your head resting on his shoulder to combat any dizziness. The two of you stay like that for a minute or two, just breathing together.
The house is silent again. Your body instantly feels better now that it’s not up against the hard wood of the pool table, if not a little sore. Hongjoong helps you sit up on the edge, your legs dangling off the side. He steps back to look at you properly. But before he can say anything, you beat him to it.
“Can I…?” You gesture towards the growing tent in his pants. Without finishing your sentence, he knows what you want. You may or may not have an oral fixation. Again, it’s something you’ve never fully admitted, but Hongjoong has picked up on the cues and evidence that prove its existence.
He pauses like he’s thinking about it. As if he doesn’t already have a set plan for what he wants to do with you.
“Maybe later,” he hints, helping you off the table.
Once grounded on the floor again, you stand up on your toes to kiss him, but you see that his eyes are locked onto the windows to his right. You look over too, into the skyline. In the stillness of the house, and the lack of any external noise from the city, it really does feel like you’re the only two people in the world right now.
He’ll definitely make you scream like you’re the only two people in the world.
Without wasting any more time, Hongjoong takes your hand and pulls you right up to the window, pressing you against the double-paned glass. Your breath fogs up as you gasp, blurring your view of the city. His hand is firm and flat against your spine, keeping you pinned. With the other, he wraps it around your throat, making you tilt your head back so he can lick and bite your neck. You push back against him, feel any kind of friction possible, and he lets you, enjoying how much you clearly want him to fuck you already.
With your back to him, you can’t see how much he clearly wants to fuck you.
His hips dig into your ass, letting you feel how hard he is. You nearly sing, whining for him and continuing to beg without being asked again.
“Please, Joong, please fuck me. I need it so bad.” You pout and arch your back for good measure.
He hums, the vibration against your throat driving you crazy. “Yeah?” His hand leaves your back, reaching around to rub your clit again. “Need me to fuck you like this, darling? For the world to see?”
A broken gasp leaves your throat, and your nails dig into the glass. “Yes–! Yes, please.”
“Greedy,” he chuckles, kissing your neck. “You just want me to give you everything, don’t you?”
You nod, unashamedly. Why lie?
If he’s willing to give you everything, why not ask for it? Sure, it may sound selfish, but you’re willing to give him everything as well, and you would not even hesitate if he asked.
He hums again, already knowing how you would answer his question. He pulls back from your neck just enough to admire the dark bruises that have blossomed across your skin. They’re beautiful. Unique. Possessive. Clear indications that you are spoken for, taken care of properly. That you submit to him, and him only.
Hongjoong glances out the window, towards the skyline. You shudder against the glass as his fingers pick up speed and press just a bit harder onto your clit. Your knees already threaten to buckle. Then, it’s gone.
You feel his breath, hot on your shoulder as he shoves his pants and boxers down just enough to free his cock. You can hear him spit on his fingers. The anticipation is actually killing you, even though he’s trying to make this more comfortable for you. You’d take him with zero prep if he ever decided to. Not that he ever would.
The press of the blunt head of his cock is already enough to make your eyes roll back. You’re gone by the time he pushes in. Your shuddering breaths mix together as he leans back over you. He bites your shoulder when he sinks deeper, groaning as he stretches you out to accommodate him.
“Fuck… oh god– fuck, Joong, yes.”
He may not fuck you without prep, but he rarely gives you a chance to get used to him once inside. As soon as his length is fully enveloped, he’s drawing his hips away just to slam back in. A set pace is made, and so it begins.
“Eyes open,” he orders, gripping your hips to keep you still. “Let every fucking person in this city know who you belong to.”
Realistically, you know with one-hundred-percent certainty that no one can actually see you from below the hills. Still, the thought and visuals are enough to make you clench around your boyfriend. Tight. You hear him snicker behind you.
You two are so similar.
Made for each other.
You struggle to keep your eyes open, like he wants you to. Especially when his cock is hitting you just right, the angle making your eyes water and your voice rise in pitch. Your moans are practically pornographic, fogging up the mirror even more. The lights from the distant city begin to blur, the buildings turning into shadows against the starless night sky. The fantasy remains.
3.8 million unsuspecting people, all being shown who you belong to. It thrills you to no end.
The excitement of the thought is most likely borne from a confined reality of secrecy. If he could, you know Hongjoong would shout from the rooftops who his heart belongs to. Even with the lack of a dating ban, he refuses to let you be potentially targeted. He’s so protective over you, it would be his worst nightmare if you were subjected to the level of hate and torment that he has seen other idols deal with. Here, you can both pretend. Safe from view, and yet fully exposed at the same time. A shared thrill for exhibitionism created from strict privacy.
You play into it.
You scream his name.
It’s something you can’t ever do back in Korea, part of why because of the aforementioned reason, and partly due to the fact that it would be rude to Wooyoung and Jongho to be so noisy in the shared dorm. Hotels and his studio are only so private.
Here in the hills, you’re both anonymous. Another young couple with new money.
So, whenever you’re allowed to be vocally reckless, you take the opportunity every damn time. Especially when he’s making you feel this good.
“Feel so fucking good–” he moans, biting your shoulder. “My girl… all mine.”
You groan into the window, trying to catch your breath to no avail. With each thrust deep inside your pussy, he damn near knocks the wind out of you. If it wasn’t for him holding you up, you’re confident that you’d be in a crumpled mess on the floor by now.
“Say it, darling. Tell the whole fucking world who you belong to.” Hongjoong punctuates this by spitting onto his fingers, bringing them down to your clit once again, rubbing it in the same gentle, circular motion. A stark contrast to what else he’s doing to you.
The added stimulation makes you sob. Despite the overwhelming, building pleasure, you pull yourself together as much as you can. He gave you an order.
“H-Hongjoong, I belong to you, only you. You’re th– the only one who c-can fuck me like this,” you cry out, struggling to keep your voice from pitching up every time the head of his cock hits your g-spot.
He straightens you up against the window, wanting you to be as upright as you can. So LA can see you fully. Your chest presses against the glass and it feels so nice on your heated skin you can’t help but sigh in relief.
“Mhmm,” Hongjoong purrs, his breaths starting to become erratic. Less controlled. “Good girl. My good girl. Taking me so well. Fucking made just for me.”
You nod, your cheek rubbing up and down the glass. “I-I– I'm yours…” your voice trails off as you become dumber. “‘M close…”
At the mention of being close to coming, he presses his free hand over your lower stomach with enough pressure to be able to feel his cock pistoning in and out of you. Again, your knees weaken. The window only helps keep you upright so much, but Hongjoong doesn’t let you fall.
“Give it to me, darling. I’ve got you.” He encourages you right to the edge.
Your second orgasm slams into you. Your nails claw the glass and your screams echo through the house. He fucks you through it, only slowing his pace slightly while his fingers on your clit continue. He holds you close as your body shudders violently and places kisses up your back, up to your neck, until he gets to your mouth. You whimper against his lips, and he gladly swallows every noise you make as you come down.
Less than a minute later, the pace resumes.
You sob, so sensitive after just coming down from a second climax only to be thrown towards another so soon.
“One more,” he says, straightening up to stand behind you. His hands reposition themselves back on your hips, pulling you back towards him to meet every thrust. “Gonna show everyone how needy you are. So fuckin’ desperate for me. Always gonna let me take you however I want.”
His words make you whine and moan. It’s all true. Every word.
A choked sound rises from your throat as you feel your third orgasm already brewing. There’s no escaping this, not when he knows your body as well as his own. Not when his cock is perfectly made for you to take. You can feel everything. Every inch and vein deliciously dragging against your inner walls. Not once does he miss your g-spot, hitting it every time you two have sex. And you know which buttons to press for him as well. Feeding right into his ego, being loud for him, looking up at him with doe eyes when you want something.
The two of you are made for each other in every way.
You cry out his name as the pleasure spikes, throwing you further into the deep end yet again. “H-Hongjoong, please–”
“I know, darling,” he coos, his steady, calm voice the complete opposite of how brutal his thrusts into you are.
One of his hands sneaks back around, this time going up to your mouth. Two fingers slide in, and he watches as you physically relax. You fight back a smile, and wrap your lips tight around them, afraid he’ll take them away before you have a chance to enjoy the weight of his touch on your tongue. Hopefully, he’ll let you go down on him later. The real thing is always better, and he deserves to be taken care of too.
Right now though, your brain is actively short-circuiting.
Hongjoong presses his fingers down, just how you like it, and you gently suck on them as he gets you closer and closer to your third orgasm. He groans, imagining your mouth somewhere else. The visual of you doing that is always enough to get him close to the edge as well. And though his fingers are stuffed in your mouth, you don’t get any quieter. You continue to moan around them, his name coming from your mouth all garbled and muffled.
He has to squeeze his eyes shut, fully concentrating on not coming yet. Not before you do. One more time.
Your legs shake, and your hands twitch against the window, a silent signal to him that you’re not going to last long.
“Such a good girl… taking everything I give you,” he groans.
He twists his other hand into your hair, pulling you back from the window, arching for him even more. The sounds of his hips colliding into your ass seem to amplify. You can feel yourself dripping down your inner thighs and you whine as the heat in your lower stomach begins to take hold of your whole body.
“Gonna give me one more? Hm?”
You nod frantically, noises pouring out of your mouth continually.
“Wan– wanna cum with you,” you plead with him. You so desperately crave the combined feeling of him spilling his warm seed into you as you milk him dry, clenching around his length.
“Yeah?” He grins, wanting the same. “Fuck, okay, darling. Cum with me.”
All it takes is him saying that, and you’re gone. Both of you are.
“H-Hongjoong–!” You shriek, nearly rattling the glass. If the neighbors haven’t heard you this whole time, it’ll be a damn miracle. You don’t care. You’re being given one of the best orgasms of your life by the man you love most.
He’s not far behind at all. Once he feels your pussy spasm around him, clenching and sucking him in harder than before, it’s easy to let go. His forehead rests on your shoulder, trying to catch his breath as he releases into you. It’s just as you wanted: the feeling of his warmth pouring in. Claiming you as his. Completely his.
He lets go of your hair in lieu of wrapping his arms around you to keep you upright, close to his chest. He still has his damn clothes on, you forgot.
Blearily, once you know you can stand on your own, you turn around, which causes him to slip out, and you press your back against the window. He watches you carefully, ready to catch you if you lose your balance. Your hands dip under the hem of his shirt, needing to feel his skin on yours, pressing your palms into his back. He kisses you deeply and slowly. There’s no rush.
You don’t black out or lose consciousness per se, but you don’t exactly remember getting into bed either.
Somehow, Hongjoong was able to lead you to the bedroom without your legs giving out. Maybe he carried you. You don’t remember your feet ever touching the floor. The first thing you take note of, once in bed, is that he’s coming back in from the bathroom, equipped with a warm towel. You almost fall asleep as he gently cleans your thighs, the feeling more than soothing enough to do the trick. But you’re stubborn. You want to be present with him for as long as you can. You dread the day of the flight, upcoming and looming over your vacation. This Tuesday. Only two days away now. There are worse things, you suppose. But not being able to go through security, nor sit anywhere near him at the gate, and pretend you don’t know who he is for the duration of the twelve hour flight is as close to actual torture as you’re willing to get. He hates it just as much as you. It makes both of you antsy and irritable while on high alert. Not a great mix. So, quiet moments like these, all alone together, are cherished as much as possible.
Tossing the towel into the hamper, he finally gets into bed next to you. Like a magnet, you instantly attach yourself to his side. He sighs contently, letting you nuzzle into him. Soon enough, you’re both tangled together in the sheets, a mess of limbs and combined heartbeats. Neither of you say anything for a long time. Cricket song drowns out any distant sounds of the city that manage to seep through the walls and windows. Everything is warm. Your worlds are at peace.
You hear him inhale through his mouth and hold the breath captive for a moment, like he’s trying to decide how to use it. Does he break the silence by speaking, or does he simply let the moment speak for itself? An answer comes quickly to him.
“One day, everyone will know…” Hongjoong says, almost to himself. You look up at him without saying anything, letting him continue.
His eyes flicker down to meet yours. “Everyone will know that you belong to me, and that I belong to you.”
If you had any energy left, it’d be spent attacking him with kisses. Everywhere and anywhere you could reach. You make up for it by throwing your arms around him properly, hugging him tight, and kissing his cheek.
“I love you,” you whisper against his warm skin, meaning every word. Every syllable, every letter.
⭑ bf!mingi x gf!reader x bestie!yunho
⭑ four days away at the beach, hiding your feelings from all of your friends while you’re all under the same roof, a week after yunho broke up with you and mingi. easy enough, right?
⭑ lots and lots of pinv, mxm, oral(m&f), edging, public play, bdsm dynamics (feel free to correct me on anything!! i tried to be accurate) praise, degradation, yunho being 3comp yunho. yes that's a warning in itself
⭑ part three of three / wc 36.5k
⭑ — holy shit i can't believe it's over. thank you to everyone who stuck with me through this, this series is my actual fucking baby. it brought so many eyes to my blog and led me to meeting so many wonderful amazing people, thank you so much if you're reading this, if you have read anything about my 3comp babies. no other series has taught me so much. nothing will ever mean as much as this.
⭑ — if you don't recognize my rortor or if haos confused you, pay my good friends a visit here <3 thank u @svgaplvm for letting my people hangout with yours <3
“You can’t seriously think this would ever work.”
You and Mingi haven’t moved an inch since he left for the bedroom. Now stood in front of you in cargo pants and the same dirty tee that was crumpled on your bed, it seems his anger hasn’t dissipated in the three minutes it took for him to get his things together. A bag thrown over his shoulder, jaw locked, eyes wide and wild like you’d just sentenced him to death, it seems very clear that Jeong Yunho wasn’t coming back here.
“I was honest with you guys from the start,” his voice keeps its edge, “I told you what I look for in a relationship, what I want. There’s none of that here.”
Your teeth grit together, eyebrows slanted, fingers squeezing beneath your arms folded over your chest. “You’re overreacting,” you manage, heart running a marathon in your chest, ignoring the fact that his words hurt as you mask your feelings with a show of anger.
“You two are together,” he points between you and your boyfriend with a finger. “I shouldn’t even be part of the equation. I let this go on too long, let it become too serious.”
“You think you’re the only one to blame?” Mingi surprises you with his words, the sharpness behind them, the glossiness in his eyes the only signal of sadness. “We thought we were already in a relationship, it’s all of our fault for not communicating.”
Yunho looks like he’s seen a ghost. “You– Are you serious?”
You nod, you thought it was obvious, “Yunho, we haven't been apart for more than twelve hours in weeks.”
He turns on his heel, “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.”
Mingi stands, following Yunho as he crosses your living room, “You’re just going to leave? You aren’t gonna talk this out?”
You watch from the couch, breathing deep into your lungs, ignoring how your eyes watered. Yunho turns around sharply, “What is there to talk about? We were fucking, and now we’re not. That’s it.”
You gasp from the couch, Mingi shrinks where he stands. Taking a step back, shaking his head, his voice is shaky as he says, “You don’t mean that.”
“I told you,” Yunho slips his feet into his shoes. “I’ve been honest from the start. If you took it more seriously, that’s on you. I’m sorry.”
Mingi’s arms fall to his sides as Yunho leaves through your front door, the heavy oak slamming shut behind him. Your heart breaks as Mingi’s head hangs low, his shoulders shaking, and it’s the sniff you hear from the couch that gets you on your feet, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend.
“He’s just scared,” you whisper, tears lining your own eyes as Mingi racks a sob into your chest. “He’s just scared, Min. He’ll come around.”
His voice is wrecked, ragged and layered with grief, “I can’t believe he said all of that.”
“Me either,” you shake your head, tears slipping down your cheeks as you run your fingers through his hair, your other hand rubbing circles into his back. “It’s Yunho, we know how he is, especially with relationships.”
“I thought we were different,” Mingi picks his head up, pulling away from you to wipe his eyes. “I thought he was getting over his dramatic relationship block because of us.” He sniffs, then speaks through another sob, his voice cracking, “I thought he loved us, too.”
“You love him?” Your eyes widen, hands landing on his shoulders, and he nods without hesitation. “Shit,” you mutter under your breath, eyes screwing shut in an attempt to get your mind to bypass the shock so you can think.
“Don’t you?” Mingi asks, his voice small, like if you said no he might crack entirely.
His laugh crossed your mind first. Eyes squeezed to crescents, grin spread wide, head tipping back as the most beautiful sound left his lips, you always got lost in him when he laughed. A hearty chuckle or a small giggle, when Yunho was emitting nothing but pure joy… Yeah, you loved him.
You loved how he walked closest to the street, how he already had your order memorized at the cafe around the corner. You loved how he touched you, soft and delicate, how he complimented you every time he saw you. You loved that he wasn’t afraid to say the hard things, like telling you that you snore, or that this time your boss was in the right. You loved that he kept small pieces of you close in the years of knowing you, how he revealed his knowledge of you in the past month, how he wasn’t afraid to show his passion.
You loved him, and you fucking knew he loved you back.
“Yeah,” your nod isn’t immediate. “I think I do.”
Mingi’s lip quivers, “We’re just gonna let him leave?”
“We’re adults,” your voice is shakier than you need it to be, forever the rock holding Mingi’s hurricane. “He’s an adult. If he wants us, this, he’ll come back.”
Mingi shakes his head profusely, taking a step back from you, “If we love him then we fight for him, I’m not waiting around while he thinks this is over.”
Your lips curve upward, the most Mingi thing he’s ever said, “We’ll be with him for four days at the beach. Let him sit in the hole he’s dug himself in, let him miss us for a few days.”
Mingi looks at you like you’re speaking another language, “He probably won’t even look at us while we’re at the beach if we wait until then.”
“If we love him,” you step closer to him. “Then chances are he loves us, too. Let him take the time he needs to realize it.”
Mingi takes a heavy breath, thinking about who Yunho is, how he handles situations. With poise, consideration, vigilance. He thinks of all outcomes, all strategies, Yunho thinks of everything with his mind, and not always his heart. Mingi nods, because he hopes that just this once, he’ll think with his heart, and figure out the rest later.
Yunho hasn’t called.
Not a text, not a word, not a breath.
But you were on your way to Haos– and from Wooyoung’s call this morning, asking what time to pick you up, you found out that he’d talked to Yunho just before he called you, and he was still coming to the beach. A shred of relief washed over you as the words left his mouth, it couldn’t be that bad if he was still coming to the beach, four days spent in proximity with you and your boyfriend. And your ten other friends. Right?
“Do you want to stop at the convenience store for anything? Water, coffee, a snack?” Wooyoung asks from the driver’s seat, black hair shagged over his ears, his forehead, curling at the nape of his neck.
Sana groans from the seat beside you, “Can we just go straight there? I’m itching to be on the beach with a drink in my hand.” Dressed in jeans and a strappy tank, heels on her feet, curled dark locks framing her cheekbones, she looked like she was going to the club rather than traveling for a vacation. Being eight in the morning, you looked like you just rolled out of bed.
Mainly because you did.
“I wasn’t just asking you, San,” Wooyoung cuts from the front of the black rental he drove. “We’ve been driving for an hour already.”
“Which means we should only have ten more minutes in the car if you just drive,” she bites back, rolling her eyes. She gives you a look, shaking her head as if Woo was asking the stupidest question in the world. She whispers to you, “He should have asked an hour ago.”
You smile at her instead of giving her an answer, redirecting your gaze to the top of Mingi’s head that peeks over the headrest of the passenger seat. After spending some time away from her, you thought you’d at least be a little excited to see her, but alas, she still drives you up a fucking wall. You could have gone longer.
You lean your head against the window for the last ten minutes, listening to soft rock music with your eyes glued to the intricate, tall houses along the coast, the small shops, the ice cream parlors, everything about this place screaming beach. Summer. Rich summer. You were still excited to come here, drama aside, spending time with your friends, cozying up in one of San’s queen-sized beds in one of his several bedrooms. You loved his house, the feeling it gave you, how badly you’d like to own something like it one day.
You didn’t mind four days of pretending it was yours, nor did you mind laying on the beach, a drink in your hand. Maybe you’d shove your feelings aside and stay glued to Sana all weekend.
Finally pulling up on a rocky driveway, you pull your eyes away from the beach just beside it, taking in the cream-colored fucking mansion before you. Ridiculous architecture, a two-car garage, a double main staircase, several balconies and a fenced rooftop, what always took your breath away was the windows. So much light poured into the house, salt scented air rushing through the space when the countless pairs of double doors opened, this house screamed happiness. It screamed carefree.
You let the feeling fill you, let it take a weight off your chest as you stretch your body upon leaving the backseat. Whatever happened this weekend, you’d accept. However you and Mingi returned home, with or without another boyfriend, you’d be okay. Both of you.
You took a look around the driveway as Wooyoung and Mingi went into the trunk to grab all of your luggage. You and Mingi shared one, but Sana… She had two for herself, she bragged about it as soon as you opened the car door.
Three other cars sat in the driveway. You recognized Yeosang’s, Jongho’s, Seonghwa’s, you assumed San and Jongin’s cars were in the garage. No sign of Yunho’s car.
Mingi carried your luggage in behind you, you didn’t knock as you walked through San’s front door, nor did you have time to appreciate the creams, whites and blues stretching across the inside, because the only other person in the living room when you walked inside was Yunho.
Your jaw clenched as your eyes slid over the back of him, faced away from you as he scrolled on his phone.
“Honey, I’m home!” Wooyoung yelled from behind you, and his voice echoed through the archways of the main floor, bouncing off each perfectly staged wall, the balcony above you.
Yunho snapped around, meeting your eye, and he immediately stiffened. With one of his infamous linen sets on, barefoot and his hair swept back, you had to stop yourself from muttering damn under your breath. You loved when he looked like summer, but you also loved when he looked like winter, when he needed the comfort of fleece to keep him warm. Maybe you loved Yunho in anything.
You looked away fast, turning to face Mingi who was already staring over your head, at his best friend who had undoubtedly become something more. Mingi stared at him with hope, with an unanswered question, with so much fucking love in his eyes you felt the cracking of your heart in your chest.
“Finally!” You heard San before you saw him, shirtless and in swim trunks, body tanned and golden and sculpted by God himself. He wore a wide grin, Jongin following behind him, his boyfriend just as gorgeous as he is, taller and handsome and damn, just as sculpted.
San pulls Wooyoung into a tight hug, “I missed you, man. It’s been too long.”
“It’s barely been a month,” Wooyoung chuckles. “But yeah, too long.”
Sana’s heels click against the pale hardwood as Jongin pulls her into a hug, the two men exchanging with the couple as you and Mingi attempt to ignore the elephant in the room only visible to the two of you.
Wooyoung pulls Yunho into a hug as you and Mingi share exchanges with San and Jongin, just as the others start piling into the living room.
“We’ve been waiting for you guys!” Tzuyu squeals as she enters your view, and you’re immediately pulled into all the women of the house, sharing hugs and kisses on the cheek.
“I can’t believe we’re the last ones here,” you’re smiling, warmth filling your chest as you bathe in everyone’s excitement.
Jihyo smirks, “Late because you were getting frisky?”
You roll your eyes, heat warming your cheeks, “You need to let go of that. Like, now.”
“Frisky?” Tzuyu pops a brow. “Fill me in.”
“I went over her and Mingi’s place and saw a vib—”
“Okay!” You speak over her, hands ready to clamp over her mouth, and she winks at Tzuyu in a silent promise to fill her in later. You prayed it didn’t include Yunho’s name.
“Who has which room?” Sana asks loudly, speaking over everyone in the midst of conversation.
“We were waiting for you to decide, princess,” Seonghwa replies, voice smooth, a snarky remark hidden behind a beautiful smile. Your lips curl upward when you see him, stood tall next to his boyfriend, Seonghwa’s open shirt matched Hongjoong’s shorts.
“Jongin and I have the master,” San says. “There’s five other bedrooms, one has a pull-out futon.”
“Assuming I’m on the futon,” Yunho immediately adds, his voice flat. “Since I’m the only single one here.”
Your eyes flicker between the two, heart thumping against your chest, stomach feeling sick at hearing him say he’s single.
“You would have been fucked if you brought a date,” San's smile is anything but sheepish. “But I’m sure no one will mind if you crash their room, maybe one of the girlies are out of commission for sexual activity and it won’t matter.”
Jongin smacks his chest with a disgusted look, but San giggles to himself. You look around the room and all the girls fall quiet, all the guys stay quiet, too used to San and his remarks to feed him a reaction.
“He can room with you and Mingi,” Jihyo nudges your shoulder from beside you,.“Duh. You guys are super close, anyways, just kick him out when you wanna fuck.”
“We aren’t twenty years old, Ji,” you muster. “We can go a few days without fucking.”
You look up at Mingi and you can tell he’s teetering on the edge of losing his shit. You turn to Yunho and he looks like that’s the last thing he wants. Seeing his face, the clear dislike of the idea, imagining the thoughts racing through his mind, all of it combined makes you slap a smile on your face, “Yeah, that’s fine. We’ll take him.”
“Hope you left the hitachi at home,” Jihyo whispers in your ear, winking. You nudge her back, forcing the smile to stay on your face— no one has any idea of what you’ve gone through the last few days. What happened. What started it in the first place.
“Perfect!” San claps his hands together. “That was easy. Go unpack your shit and then we can go to the beach.”
Mingi is at your side as soon as everyone takes a step toward the staircase, voice a low growl in your ear, “Why did you do that?”
You whisper back, “It’ll be fine.”
You didn’t know if it would be fine.
“Three bedrooms on the second floor, two on the top, master is on the main floor. You guys can figure out which rooms yourselves,” San says from the base of the steps as you all make your way up, your shoes hitting the hardwood in chorus, everyone dragging their belongings behind them.
Yunho stays close behind you and Mingi as you check each room in search of yours, taking in the detail of the hallways, where the bathrooms were. The paintings on the walls, tables with vases, starfish, framed pictures of small sayings of wordplays with the word beach, you made sure to take in everything, let it fill you with ease, you were on vacation.
You wouldn’t let Yunho ruin it.
On the third floor, Jihyo and Jongho peeled off into a room at the beginning of the hallway, a bathroom and two closets between you as yours lived at the end. A queen-sized bed, a couch along the wall that pulled out to a bed, the room was decently sized. Cozy, with its balcony attached, white covering the walls, the bedspread and couch a pale blue.
Mingi threw your suitcase onto the bed as Yunho threw his duffle bag onto the couch. The air was tense, heavy, you could hear conversation downstairs, Jihyo and Jongho unpacking just down the hall. There was no sound coming from your room other than zippers sliding and clothes being shuffled.
You stood opposite Mingi on either side of the bed as he sorted through the suitcase, zeroed in on his hands as he separated the clothes you were hanging from the ones going into drawers. With your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you stood focused, yet thinking of nothing as your ears rang, buzzing beneath the heaviness of silence.
What was he thinking right now?
Your eyes flickered to him as he pulled clothes out of his duffel bag, folding them along the couch, laying out the clothes he was hanging up, keeping his toiletries separate. Your gaze fell on his shoulders, broad and muscular beneath the linen he wore, the length of his legs stretching to the floor beneath him, bare feet pressed against hardwood, stepping to the side to fold another tee along the cushion.
You turn your attention back to Mingi, shaking off the discomfort as you grab the clothes to hang up, heading for the closet next to the couch. You lay the clothes over the armrest, hanging up tops, Mingi’s favorite pair of nice pants, the dress you brought to wear to the bar on Saturday. You think that’s the only time you were going out all weekend other than to small shops around the town.
The last shirt you had to hang, one of Mingi’s, you knew you grabbed it from the stack of clothes on the bed, but it wasn’t splayed out on the couch beside you. Brows furrowed, you turned on your heel to check the bed, just for Yunho to be stood at your side, holding the shirt out for you while he had his own stack of clothes folded over his forearm.
You swallowed, avoiding his eye, “Thanks.”
Grabbing the shirt from his hand, your fingers brushed against each other, the feeling of his skin on yours no matter how small immediately sent a jolt of electricity up your forearm, into your shoulder. You were quick to hang up the last shirt, moving out of his way, back to where Mingi was before the dresser.
While he laid folded clothes, pajamas, boxers and panties into separate drawers, you grabbed your bikinis, his swim shorts, cover-ups and the singular bra you brought to help him. The room still silent, suffocating with everything left unsaid, you began laying out your toiletries along the top of the dresser.
You could feel his eyes. Lifting your gaze, meeting his stare through the mirror, you shuffled to the side as he sauntered up next to you, throwing his own clothes into the rest of the empty drawers.
God, is this what the rest of the week was gonna be like? If so, fuck that, he can sleep on the couch. Downstairs. Far away from you and Mingi so you can enjoy this room and its balcony all to yourself.
“Hey!” Tzuyu gleamed, knocking on the doorframe at the same time as she spoke. You jumped a foot in the air, hand clasping your chest, a gasp escaping your chest. She giggles, long brown hair in a braid over one shoulder, bikini already on her body. “Yeosang and I are going to the liquor store before we head down to the beach, want anything?”
“Uh,” you glance up at Mingi, trying to find words. “Tequila, beer, some kind of seltzer to sip on. The usual shit.”
She nods, “Same beer as always, right?”
“Please,” Mingi nods back, giving her a smile that she would never know wasn’t real.
Your stomach fucking aches. You could push your pain aside, but when it comes to Mingi, seeing him hurt in real time, you could feel it as if he shared it with you. Your jaw locks, you could not go the whole week like this.
Tzuyu peeks her head back in, “You should get ready, we’ll be back in ten.”
“Got it,” you smile, and when she bounces out of your room again, it drops. You needed to do something. You rack your brain as you zip the suitcase closed, shoving it beneath the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress.
Yunho was pretending. He was forcing a mindset on himself, ignoring his feelings for you and Mingi, he was putting on a show that he didn’t mean. In his head, he was protecting himself, or maybe he was protecting you two from getting hurt, of what could go wrong in the future.
You glance up at Mingi who stood leaned up against the dresser, on his phone. You glance over at Yunho who sits on the couch, on his phone. Just because he was acting like he doesn’t love you, doesn’t mean that he believes it.
Your eyes land on Mingi again, holding them there. He looks up from his phone, meeting your stare.
Your lips curve upward. I’m gonna do something crazy.
He pops an eyebrow, lips crinkling. Oh no.
Your smile grows, eyes flashing something dangerous. You gotta trust me on this one.
Mingi nods, face still wary. I always trust you.
You push yourself up off the bed to the dresser, opening one of the drawers, pulling out one of your bikinis from the bottom. You should really thank Jihyo for even putting it in your mind that you should wear one of your college bikinis— so small and skimpy it could barely be considered anything other than string, you funneled confidence into your veins. You wouldn’t care about how you looked after a drink or two, anyways.
Your eyes meet Mingi’s through the mirror, bikini in your hands. Are you picking up what I’m putting down?
Mingi shoots you a silent laugh. You’re fucking nuts.
You stick your tongue out. You love it.
Mingi licks his lips. I love you, and that bikini.
You hold his eyes through the mirror. Remember what I said, trust me.
Letting your eyes dance over Yunho once more, you lay the bikini out over the dresser, and then pull your shirt over your head in one quick motion.
“Shiiit,” Mingi mutters under his breath, long and dragged out from the bed, purposely loud enough for Yunho to hear. His eyes pick up, seeing you through the mirror, eyes catching on you shimmying your shorts down your legs, then your panties.
You don’t let your gaze linger, pulling the bottoms up your legs, then tying the top around your back. “Min, can you tie me?”
He’s at your back in an instant, letting his hands dance along your waist before settling at the back of your neck, bikini strings between his fingers. You’re smiling at each other through the mirror and it’s then that you know he understands what’s going through your mind, the plan you cooked up just a minute ago.
His hands settle on your hips after he finishes tying your top, and both of your eyes slide to Yunho, catching him just as he looks back down at his phone, fingers pressed to his forehead. You smirk at Mingi through the mirror, wondering if maybe you pushed Yunho just a little harder, could you crack the shell of his facade?
Yunho’s never been a huge fan of the beach. He burns easily, sand gets between his toes, in places he simply can’t reach, he hates how his hair looks after being in the breezy, salty air for too long. He’s been excited to come to Haos despite it, to spend time with you and Mingi away from home, but he didn’t give it enough thought to really consider the logistics of it all.
To himself, he thought it easy: Around everyone else, you and Mingi would be your usual selves, madly in love for the world to see. At the end of the night, behind closed doors, where no one could hear you or see you, that’s when he’d have his way with you both. He’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t excited for that most of all.
Forcing you into submission, into silence in the dead of night, so the whole house couldn’t hear the whiney moans that leave Mingi’s mouth when Yunho takes him, or the shrill screams that Yunho pulls from your chest when he pushes you just a little too far. It’d be fun— that was fun to him, keeping the two of you hidden away, his two nasty little secrets. No one had to know.
Because if they did, if anyone knew anything, it’d break your perfect bubble. He’d be forced to admit that he hated the idea of not being able to touch you in public, not being able to kiss you, or even flirt with you. Either of you. Which opens another question, one Yunho wasn’t willing to answer, or give any more of his attention.
Luckily, it blew up in his face before he had the chance to worry about it too much, like it has a hundred times before with plenty of different partners. This was the routine— fuck for awhile, become a little more on accident, realize that this isn’t what he wants, leave. Leave, leave, leave. Yunho was good at leaving, at hiding, at not taking what he wants when it’s staring at him in the face.
It was too fucking vulnerable. He ached for love, for true routine, to wake up next to someone and go grocery shopping on Sunday mornings. He yearned for someone to know him down to his core, to love him for the silly things, not just how he fucked or how he guided. For how much he needed to take care of his partners, he never realized how much he needed to be taken care of, too.
This morning, how you stared at him with a locked jaw, a storm in your eyes, he knew he deserved it. He deserved your anger, your pain, he wishes he could take it from you and keep it for himself. How Mingi looked at him, with pain and love and hope, seeing Mingi’s feelings raw in his eyes terrified Yunho. Knowing Mingi hurt, that he was the cause of his ache but also knowing he’d take him back in a second, it sent a shiver down his spine, leaving a hole too deep, too cold in his gut.
He really fucked up this time. He really, seriously, absolutely fucked up. He's fallen asleep cuddled up to your side, he’s woken up beside you for weeks. He’s gone grocery shopping with you, he keeps a mental list of everything you have in your house. You made space for him in your home, for his body and his clothes, he has a toothbrush beside your sink, products in your shower, socks in the top drawer of Mingi’s dresser. He’s felt the rush of affection when Mingi finishes his sentence, he’s felt the pain sitting in the crease of your brow without it having anything to do with him.
He walked into what he was most afraid of, but what he’s yearned for without even realizing. Everything happened so fucking fast. That night with Mingi was the true beginning, he thinks, the catalyst that made him fall headfirst without casting a net. That night changed all of your boundaries, leaving everything in open field for the taking. Yunho took it with greedy hands, but then he destroyed it all the same.
He knows what you’re thinking. In that pretty little head of yours there’s millions of beautiful, strategic thoughts, plans, ways to get him back in your bed. Even though he fucked up. Even though he was the one that destroyed it all.
The curve of your chest in the mirror, a peek of the goldmine between your legs as you bent over, if this was a week ago he would have pinned your chest to the glass and fucked you until you were crying just for teasing him. Mingi’s hands trailing down your skin, his breath on the back of your neck, jealousy infested Yunho like a disease. He could feel the ghost of Mingi’s hands on his body, on his chest, his abdomen, his torso, he forced himself to tear his eyes away so he didn’t break.
Yunho was the one who fucked it all up, and here you two were, trying to get him to fix it. Naive and optimistic, two traits that you two shared that made Yunho feel like he was your missing piece. He wouldn’t break so easily, you two have to know that, you know him.
He watches you run across the sand, wet chest bouncing beneath golden sunrays with a can grasped in your palm. Mingi follows you from the water, trunks slick to his thighs, the inseam of his shorts shorter than any other pair he owned. Yunho sits with his jaw locked, his fingers curled around the armrests of the beach chair beneath the umbrella, watching as Mingi picks you up from behind, a grin on his lips as he presses them to your cheek.
You two didn’t do PDA. You haven’t since you were in your early twenties, when your relationship just began. Everyone in the group knows it, but no one notices, no one pays any mind to the clear show you were putting on just for him. Mingi’s arm is hooked around your torso, black hair clinging to his cheeks, his neck, the two of you dripping in saltwater and love. He keeps you there, hanging off his arm as he walks back up to where you set up, your giggles becoming clearer, reminding him of his favorite song the closer you get.
He could just get up and go back inside. The beach was San’s backyard, after all.
“Can you hand me another seltzer, please?” You ask sweetly as soon as Mingi puts your feet back on the ground. Yunho blinks beneath his shades before the question registers in his mind, it’s the first that you’ve spoken to him other than thanks in the bedroom.
He reaches into the cooler, making sure to hand you your favorite flavor, feeling bile rise up in his throat when Mingi opens it for you and plants a kiss on your lips before you take a sip. Maybe he had it all wrong— maybe you didn’t fucking care that Yunho was no longer apart of your relationship. Maybe, in some sick, twisted way, what happened just a few days ago made your relationship stronger. Seems about right for the two of you.
“Let’s play volleyball!” Wooyoung shouts over the hum of soft rock music and waves in his ear. He forces his eyes away from you two to glance at Wooyoung, holding a volleyball to his chest while beads of sweat drip down his bronzed, tanned skin.
“Hell no,” Sana responds from her towel, laying on her stomach with a bucket filled with God knows what kind of liquor in the sand just above her head. “We’re relaxing.”
“I meant the guys,” Wooyoung replies, the smile on his cheeks never faltering, ignoring his girlfriends’ tone completely. He wiggles his eyebrows at Yunho, “You up for it? A little friendly game?”
“I’m out,” Hongjoong responds from his chair, can of beer in his hand, head laid back along the headrest beneath the shade of the umbrella, “I just ate a gummy.”
“I’m out, too,” Yeosang lifts his head from his towel, Tzuyu at his side, the two of them cuddled up so close under the burning sun he wondered how they weren’t suffocating.
“I’m going to swim,” Jongin waves a hand, already turning his heel to walk down to the shore.
“I’m down,” Yunho says, needing a break from staring, standing from his chair.
“I’m down, too,” Mingi adds as if on command, pressing another kiss to your lips before walking towards where Wooyoung stood behind Yunho.
San, Jongho and Seonghwa make their way towards them, too, and Yunho quickly regrets his decision when Mingi stops directly at his side. He stiffens, eyes glancing down to where Mingi’s hand lingers inches beside his.
“Three versus three then?” San smirks as the six of them make their way towards the net across the beach. “I call Woo and Mingi on my team.”
Jongho breaks into a laugh as he leans on the pole beside the net, fingers sinking into the webbing, “So it’s me, Hwa and Yunho?”
“I think that’s fair,” San shrugs. “We share the towers.”
Yunho rolls his eyes, and Mingi’s smile is wide. Seonghwa dips under the net to the other side of the sandy court, “They’re both competitive, too. Think it’s best we share.”
“We can hear you, y’know,” Yunho follows, sliding into position flanking Jongho’s side, a grin crawling over his cheeks that was nothing short of competitive. “No need to fight over us.”
“First team to twenty,” Wooyoung juts out his chin from the other side of the net, “Best out of three?”
Yunho pushes out an accidental sigh, “Three games?”
Mingi, like he’d been waiting for that comment, snaps. “Why not?” He cocks his head to the side, smile dangerous. “Three games too much of a commitment for you?”
The blood from Yunho’s face drains, the amusement in his eyes gone. After Yunho’s face falls, Mingi giggles, and the rest of the guys seem completely unaware of the jab that just left Mingi’s mouth. Yunho glares at him, knowing now that the two of you are serious about getting under his skin, but he chooses to ignore the shred of pride he feels with your efforts.
The first game went by quickly— Mingi, San and Wooyoung were good. Yunho, Seonghwa and Jongho were good, too, but fell just short of their opponents. The second game went by just as fast, but instead this time it seemed Yunho’s team had a chip on their shoulder, a little too much pride to let their friends win twice. The third game, everyone was drenched in sweat, covered in sand from diving for the ball, forearms burning from bumping it, everyone’s patience was running thin. Curses were shouted, insults thrown from one side of the net to the other, they had gotten serious real quick.
Mingi and Yunho stood at either side of the net, eyes on the ball above their heads, the two of them jumping at the same time to either spike, or block. The ball fell on Mingi’s side and his eyes dropped for a millisecond to see Yunho, both hands up, palms flat out to block his spike.
Yunho, ambition living in the slant of his brows, tongue peeking between his lips, didn’t give Mingi an opening to push the ball through. So Mingi hit it to the side, just past Yunho’s hands before he could even think of sliding his arms over.
Yunho cursed, and Mingi’s arms went over his head in a cheer for winning them one more point towards victory. Mingi leaned in close to the net, a smirk on his lips, “Pay attention, Yun. You don’t want me thinking I’m distracting you, do you?”
Yunho’s jaw locks. Mingi was pushing it, he usually wasn’t the bratty one, that was your area of expertise.
“Careful,” is all he says, venom on his tongue as his chin tips upward, just to stare down at Mingi through lowered brows.
Mingi’s smirk grows, almost a full smile, fingers hooking into the net to lean closer. “Or what?”
Yunho licks his bottom lip, shaking his head as he turns around, back to where he stood, waiting for the ball to be served. Maybe he was stupid for considering you two didn’t care about him, especially after the bedroom, and now he had Mingi taunting him ten feet away?
The ball hits the sand beside his foot before he can process that it was served. Mingi, San and Wooyoung high five, cheering because they were one point away from winning, and Yunho’s teammates turn to him with a scowl.
“What are you doing?” Seonghwa stands with his arms out beside him, face warped into annoyance and confusion.
Jongho barks from beside him, “Lock the fuck in, we’re winning this.”
Yunho nods, shaking off his thoughts, “My bad.”
Then Mingi calls your name. Yunho’s head turns, watching as you turn your head from where you stood with a group of girls that weren’t a part of your group, staring as you jogged towards them when Mingi ushered you over.
That fucking bikini, all string, barely covering anything. His fists clenched when the house hooted and hollered for you, as Jihyo whistled when she saw you. It wasn’t for you. It wasn’t for Mingi. It was revenge.
His neck snaps back to the court before him when he hears San’s hand smack the ball, body moving before his brain can think, diving into the sand to bump it up. Jongho is quick to get under it, two hands setting the ball high in the air, but as Seonghwa jumps to smack it over the net, Mingi is already there.
Broad, sculpted abdomen, hard chest he’s rested his head on too many times, hipbones peeking from just above his waistband. Yunho watches Mingi’s arms flex as he blocks the ball, how his torso folds to send the ball into the sand, Yunho nearly shoves his face in the sand too when his three best friends jump for joy across the net.
Seonghwa and Jongho stand defeated, faces set toward the sun, chests heaving. Yunho gets up slowly, just to see you perched on Mingi, arms and legs hooked around his body, lips pressed to his. Mingi’s hands hold you up by your thighs, fingers making indents where they pressed into your skin, and it’s war for Yunho to peel his eyes away from the sight.
“Sorry,” Yunho runs a hand through his hair, keeping his eyes on the sand as he walks toward Seonghwa and Jongho.
Jongho clasps a hand on his shoulder, heavy but reassuring, “It’s just volleyball. We’ll beat ‘em tomorrow.”
Seonghwa nods his agreement, and at least one weight is lifted off his chest. He watches his friends duck under the net, and Yunho follows, ready to get berated by his three other friends, good sportsmanship be damned.
“This is my boyfriend,” he hears, and his eyes land on where you stood with Mingi, just beside the court with the two girls you were standing with before. One a grinning dirty blonde, the other a miserable-looking brunette, Yunho tried to listen as his friends spoke beside him, but jealousy pierced his soul that Mingi was the only one standing beside you, getting introduced as yours.
His feet moved before he could think about it, coming up to your side, and the blonde caught his eye, looking him up and down as he made his way over. You beamed, not showing a flash of surprise or confusion as Yunho stood beside you, you immediately gushed, “This is Yunho, he’s single, super tall, clearly.” You giggled, leaning into Yunho’s side, you were drunk. You whispered not quietly to the blonde, “I think you’d like him.”
Yunho’s eyebrows furrowed, weight hitting his gut with force, and the blonde before him blushed as her hands gripped the cocktail between fingers, her eyes dragging over him again.
The brunette, eyebrows low, stares at Mingi before her, “You look really familiar.”
Your hand clings to his, wrapping your fingers into your boyfriends, shoulders pushed back, no one would know you were standing your ground unless they knew you. Mingi laughs along, “Really? You kind of do, too.”
“Do you have any relatives that go to Nasara?” She cocks her head to the side, “We’re in ITZ, a sorority at Nasara University in Delo.”
Mingi shakes his head, then turns it to look at Yunho, “Do you?”
Yunho shakes his head, shrugging his shoulders, she does look familiar. Yunho asks, “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Sitara Song?”
The brunette makes a tch noise, then grabs the blonde’s hand, voice dripping in irritation, “Come on, Ror, I’m sure Wooyoung is missing you.”
The blonde looks back at him twice as the brunette drags her away, and Yunho feels unsettled. Not only are you making a show with Mingi in front of his face, taunting him, but now you’re pimping him out to strangers?
Mingi’s eyebrows are knitted together as they walk away, “They have an Wooyoung, too?”
Yunho faces the two of you with his arms crossed, “What the fuck are you doing?”
You’re already smiling, mischief in your eyes, “What do you mean?”
If the three of you were at home…
“What was that?” He asks, a hand stretching in the direction of the two girls walking away.
You giggle, back pressing into Mingi’s abdomen, “Was I wrong? You are single, aren’t you?”
Yunho laughs a low, disbelieving chuckle. He turns on his heel, past the court, back to where you set up, sitting back in the chair he was sulking in before. He reaches into the cooler, pulling out a can of beer. If this was how the weekend was going to be, he might as well be drunk for it, too.
Clean and close to sober, your hair was still wet after your shower as you sat around the bonfire, sweats on your body, under a blanket on the sand. Even in Haos the beach was cold at night, a sharp breeze ruffling everyone’s hair, egging the fire to blaze higher.
Yunho barely looked at either of you during dinner. Lounged out on the back balcony after grilling, he laughed along with everyone, cracking jokes and engaging in banter, but he shut you and Mingi out. After his second beer it was as if he put a wall up, he was choosing to not let the two of you bother him, not that you had much to bother him with after the beach.
Fear lived in all your joints that you took everything too far as you sat cuddled up to Mingi, head on his shoulder. With Yunho on your other side, you tried not to let your eyes slide to him, despite his closeness. Even mad, even apart you still drifted together, you try to let the thought relieve you, but you’re too tightly wound to let anything but his hands steady your heart in your chest.
You missed the way Yunho doesn’t see your fear. Instead, all his tunnel vision allows is the way your arms lay over Mingi’s, the way you melt against your boyfriend, how comfortable Mingi looks with your body touching his. You don’t see his frustration, how his mind whirls a mile a minute in yearning to have any part of you two touching him, too.
“You guys must have needed a vacation,” Hongjoong declared from across the fire, the growing blaze making his orange hair burn brighter, white teeth still shining despite the warmth laying over all of you.
You smile, and Mingi agrees in a small noise from beside you. San perks up in a chuckle, “I haven’t seen you two act like that in years. There’s really never any trouble in paradise, huh?”
Mingi snorts, and you close your eyes with a smile on your lips. If only they knew what trouble was terrorizing your paradise right now.
Jihyo cracks a laugh, holding up a hand like she just remembered something hilarious, “No, can you guys remember the beginning? When they couldn’t keep their hands off each other?”
Your cheeks burn as the group laughs around the fire, a chorus of amusement and remembrance. Jihyo continues, laughter still erupting from her chest, breaking up her words, “I miss when we still had true house parties, I remember catching you guys in Yeosang’s garage.”
Mingi tips his head back with a groan at the memory, you remembered it like it was yesterday, he had you lifted on Yeosang’s father’s workbench, tools covering the space around you. Luckily, Jihyo didn’t see your legs spread for him, or his fingers hooked inside you. Your cheeks blaze hotter than the fire before you.
“That’s not the only time, either,” Jihyo’s leaning forward now, cocktail in her hands threatening to spill over the blanket on her lap.
San interjects, laughing himself, “I think we’ve all caught them once or twice throughout the years.”
Wooyoung frowns, “At least none of you have caught them in your own bedroom. That’s worse, trust me.”
Your hand covers your face, digging your forehead into Mingi’s shoulder as he laughs along, muttering Enough in a low voice. The reason you weren’t as open with your relationship anymore was being laughed about in a circle, filling your gut with embarrassment and shame, Mingi felt it.
You couldn’t see Yunho’s fists clenched at his sides, digging into the blanket above the sand. He tries to laugh along, he has a few stories he could tell himself, but he’s ruined them all with thoughts of what those memories would look like if he was included in them, too. He feels weird inside. Knowing it would always be you two, as it’s always been, but feeling so fucking frustrated that he isn’t included, as if two halves of him were fist fighting just beneath his skin.
“My bad, today just reminded me of back then,” San waves a hand, a warm smile on his lips, showing his dimples. “I’m happy to see it. I’ve missed when you were attached at the hip.”
“I was starting to get worried that you guys were chilling out too much,” Sana interrupts, her head tilted, a cheshire smile on her lips, “I assumed that’s why you didn’t have a ring on your finger yet, that your relationship wasn’t the same as it used to be.”
The circle quiets. A beat of silence lays over you, thick and heavy, her comment feels like a jab. Yunho doesn’t know why it fills his veins with ice cold rage. He bares his teeth, “Where’s the ring on your finger, Sana?”
Seonghwa gasps, Tzuyu’s eyes widen, Wooyoung cracks a smile. Everyone’s eyes dance between Yunho and Sana with fear at her awaiting rebuttal. She tips her cocktail back, takes a sip, then raises it up to Yunho with a sinister smile, “Hopefully we both see rings within the year.”
You blink in confusion and awe, sitting up straight, both of your heads turned toward the black hair sat beside you. He meets your gaze and his eyes feel warmer than they’ve been all day, since before the fight, even. The others redirect the conversation into something lighter, but the three of you stay locked in on each other, a bubble within the ash and smoke surrounding you.
You purse your lips. What was that for?
Yunho smiles. Couldn’t help myself, I guess.
Mingi lays a hand over your thigh. Sana will always be Sana, it’s not worth it.
Yunho leans into his hands stretched out behind him. I’m tired of her sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.
Your cheeks warm with a small smile. Thank you.
After all the cans had been thrown into the fire and San had smothered it with the lid, the whole group decided it was time for bed, your day tomorrow required a full night’s sleep. Beach, boardwalk, dinner, a repeat of today, but tomorrow you could really drink. You had half a mind to stay sober tomorrow, you think you had enough day-drinking already, your brain muddled and your limbs sluggish, you didn’t miss the feeling of a hangover.
The queen sized bed felt like a cloud beneath your thighs compared to the sand you were sitting on prior, the bottle of water Mingi handed you when he entered your bedroom healing you. In a hoodie and sweats, the house much too cold for a summer night, you sat up and chugged while Mingi got his toiletries ready for a shower.
Yunho didn’t enter the bedroom until Mingi had left, drying his hair with his towel, sweats hanging low on his hips, droplets of water still trickling down his abdomen. You kept your water in your lap, lips pursed, trying to think of something to say. Just earlier today you weren’t speaking at all, you teased him all day, and then he… Sticks up for you to Sana? It doesn’t make any sense. None of this makes sense.
Yunho pulls a tee shirt over his head, barely glancing at you sitting on the bed, then reaches into the closet to grab a blanket. Folded over his forearm, he tucks a pillow under his other arm, then without as much as a word he makes for the door.
“Hello?” You sit up a little taller, confusion in the knit of your brows. “Where are you going?”
He looks back at you over his shoulder, “I’m gonna sleep on the couch downstairs.”
“No,” you answer, shaking your head, staring at him like the idea is ridiculous, because it is.
He raises his brows, “No?”
“Stay,” you urge, heart picking up speed in your chest. “We need to talk at some point.”
He finally turns around, brows still raised as he shrugs, “Talk about what?”
Your lips part but nothing comes out. Jaw clenching, you sit dumbfounded and annoyed. Talk about the fight? Talk about today? Talk about how there’s still clearly something romantic between the three of you?
“How you toyed with me all day?” Yunho finishes your thoughts, taking a step towards your bed, “How the two of you drove me up a fucking wall? How I snapped at Sana to defend you because clearly I’ve lost the ability to control myself?”
You stare at him wide-eyed, speechless, excitement rippling beneath your skin because he took a step toward you.
“They were right, you know,” he tilts his head, taking another step forward, “You haven’t been all over each other like that in years. And I sat there, knowing it was all for me, and couldn’t do a damn thing.”
“Yes, you could have,” you finally counter, voice barely above a whisper.
“What would you have me do?” He says through a sharp chuckle, “Put you over my fucking knee in front of everyone? The whole beach? That's what started all of this, right?”
“I— What do you—?”
“This all started because of sex. You worked me up all day to have me at my wits’ end when we finally got back here at the end of the night. That was the plan, right?”
You blink at him, that was the plan. Partially. “I just wanted you back here so we could talk—”
He smiles as he cuts you off, “You don’t want to talk, not really. I know what you want.”
You sigh, frustration curling your fingers around the water bottle, ignoring the heat between your legs. He drops the blanket and the pillow on the floor as he takes another step forward, thighs just touching the mattress you sat on.
“I do want to talk,” you frown, heart pounding against your chest, scared those five words will stop him from doing everything he was about to do. Voice lowering, you whispered, “I want you.”
“It’s pointless,” he shakes his head, smile dropped,.“You can’t separate it.”
“Because it’s already blended together,” your voice is still low, teetering on the edge of shaky. “The lines were crossed a long time ago, Yun.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s right,” he meets your eye, and there’s nothing kind behind them. No emotion that makes you feel like there’s any possibility of salvaging what you had. You refuse to trust it, the mask he puts on, you cling to how he’s looked at you these past weeks, with love and trust in his eyes, the mask he wears now is to protect himself.
You give him a bitter chuckle, “Who are you to tell me what’s right? Do you not feel anything when you look at me?”
“When I look at you,” he keeps his face steady, emotionless. “I see Mingi’s girlfriend.”
“You’re a liar,” you spit, sitting up on your knees, crawling closer to him on the bed. He watches, unmoving, eyes not even flickering a change in feeling. “Why did you stick up for us to Sana then?”
“Because you’re my friends, and I’m tired of hearing her project her own insecurities onto you.”
“Why were you bothered when I told that Aurora girl you were single, then?” You stand on your knees atop the mattress, almost face to face with him. “You are single, aren’t you? You want to be single.”
“I don’t want to be single,” his voice cracks, exasperated, eyebrows shooting to his hairline, “but that doesn’t mean I can just join a relationship that’s been established for over five years!”
“Why are you making it sound like a decision that’s made on a whim? We just spent the last four weeks already in one, Yunho,” you raise your voice to match his, every ounce of emotion punctuating each syllable.
“We spent the past month fucking,” he lowers his voice, words sharp enough to cut. “That’s it.”
As if every single one of your emotions swim up to your waterline, your voice cracks as tears blur your vision, “You’re a bullshit fucking liar, Jeong Yunho.”
You keep your eyes on Yunho as Mingi enters the bedroom, catching the towel hanging from his waist out of your peripherals. Yunho breaks eye contact before you do, his eyes sliding to Mingi who stares dumbfounded in the doorway, then quickly closes the door behind him when his eyes land on you.
“What’s wrong?” His eyes are wide and concerned, one hand on his towel as he quickly makes his way across the room. The streak of sunshine in a hurricane, you can feel the hostility fizzle, his presence comfort enough to cool the fire in your veins.
“Nothing,” you shake your head, then wipe your eyes with one hand as you sit back down on the mattress, legs folded beneath you. Your sniff betrays you, as if Mingi didn’t already know you were crying, “I’m fine.”
Mingi stands beside Yunho, a knit in his brow as he turns to his best friend, “What did you say?”
“Nothing I haven’t said before,” Yunho bends down, picking up the blanket and pillow he was holding before. “I’m sleeping on the couch downstairs.”
“No you’re not,” Mingi chokes out a laugh in irritated disbelief, all of his features blown out as he faces him. “You’re not leaving again, you don’t get to walk out twice.”
Yunho’s chuckle mirrors Mingi’s, his voice louder and strained, “I don’t know what else you want me to say!”
“Say you don’t want us,” you answer from the bed, voice unsteady, terrified of his answer even if you’re certain you know it already. “Say you don’t want this, and we’ll let it go.”
Yunho’s eyes dance between the two of you, the cogs turning in his mind visible in his tight features. Mingi takes a step away, walking towards the dresser, pulling out a pair of briefs to sleep in as he mumbles, “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”
You stare at Yunho as his lips open and close, racking his brain for something to say that isn’t that. He shakes his head, “Even if I want this, it doesn’t mean it’s right. What will everyone say?”
The slap of Mingi’s briefs against his hips sounds through the room, “Who gives a fuck what anyone has to say?” He faces Yunho, “If we’re happy, that’s all that matters.”
“It’s not that easy,” Yunho drops the blanket and pillow again, his shoulders pushed back in defense, trying to hold onto what’s left of his control as his hands wave with each word. “As much as I want to believe everything will be sunshine and rainbows, it’s you two. Your relationship is concrete, everyone’s expecting a wedding within the next few years and you want to fuck all of that up?!”
Your stomach drops with the validity of his fear, cheeks warming, ears burning hot. You and Mingi have never decided on marriage, not fully, the two of you semi-estranged from your families, not completely in a place financially to make that kind of commitment. A ring, a big party to show off your relationship was nowhere in the near future. A house came first. Stability came first.
Yunho knows that. He knows all of that, but his fear is still valid– because what happens when you are stable? You and Mingi never got that far, the rest was hopes and dreams that would maybe come true one day. You swallow, sniffing again, raising a hand to wipe what’s left of your lingering tears as understanding turns into a bloom of warmth in your chest.
“I understand this isn’t normal,” Mingi takes a step toward Yunho, confidence clear in his voice, it seems you’ve switched places since the last time you talked. Mingi looks over Yunho’s shoulder to meet your eye for a second before looking at Yunho again, “But this won’t fuck anything up, Yunho, our relationship has always been… What it is. This.”
“Your relationship,” Yunho reiterates, his voice quiet, body leaning towards Mingi. “What if that doesn’t stay the same with me in the picture? What if down the line, you decide you want to get married? Do you want kids? Where does that leave me?”
A rush of something you can’t describe swallows you whole. It was overwhelming enough having this conversation with Mingi, and you haven’t had the conversation again with Yunho in the picture, what that would look like for the three of you. Tears crawl their way back up, a tightness in your throat, heat in your cheeks. You didn’t have an answer to his question, fear leaves your stomach hollow, your limbs tingly.
“We’re not asking you to make a decision now,” Mingi’s hands curl around his waist. “Even if it seems like we are. All we know is that we want to be with you, we’re willing to figure all of the details out together, with you. We want you, Yunho, isn’t that enough to at least try?”
Yunho’s head dips down, his face hidden, sucking in a deep, grounding breath. You need to touch him, feel close to him, you need your skin on his, you need to feel like he still wants you. It feels like losing him– a sentiment you can’t bear to accept, you haul yourself off the bed and press yourself into his back.
“This is a lot,” his voice is smaller than you’ve ever heard it, weak, frail, strained with uncertainty. “I don’t know what to do, I- I want you too, but this is,” his voice breaks. “Terrifying.”
“I know,” you feel Mingi’s hands swimming along his sides as you keep your cheek pressed to his back, your fists balled into the cotton of his tee. Mingi continues, “You can do it, the commitment, the titles. It’s scary and vulnerable, but it’s us, we won’t hurt you.”
Another trembling breath leaves him as his forehead meets Mingi’s, his hands resting on your own, curled into his shirt. Your lip quivers, trying so hard to keep your own tears in to be the stability he needs, the rock you're used to being; seeing him hurting is like an arrow through your chest, it hurts the same way it does with Mingi.
“You don’t need to make a choice,” Mingi whispers. “But don’t shut us out. Don’t make us think we don’t mean anything to you.”
“I’m sorry,” Yunho whispers, sniffing, his body rigid between the two of you. “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean any of it, I was scared. I am scared.”
You press your lips to his clothed spine, “It’s okay, Yunho.”
He squeezes your hands, palms over knuckle, his touch is grounding. Mingi’s hands glide from his waist over his chest up to the curvature of his shoulders, landing there for a moment as Yunho’s head perks up. Mingi leans in, lips grazing Yunho’s as his hands move to his neck, sliding up to cup his cheeks.
“Can I kiss you?” Soft, honest. Yunho barely gives him a nod before Mingi attaches their lips, Yunho’s hands darting to his waist. You keep your hands on him, body pressed into him, feeling Yunho’s body relax, shoulders drooping, back arching into Mingi’s touch.
Their lips move slowly, unhurried, a practice of searching for something in one another, finding it, reveling in it. The air changes around you, expanding, room opening, tension slipping through the balcony door and into the saltwater air, dissipating into the humidity. Yunho’s hands find Mingi’s cheeks and they move together, bodies arching into one another, getting lost in emotion and feeling and longing, you could feel all of it, it bled from both of them and into you, watching from behind.
Hands on Yunho’s waist, you guide him backward until your back hits the bed. You crawl onto it, never breaking your eyes from the pair, watching as Yunho uses one hand to support himself while Mingi lays him down onto the mattress.
“I missed you.”
You’ve never heard him sound like that before. Emotional– soft and whiney, honest, like he’d pulled the words from the deepest part of his consciousness, a box he kept tucked away. It has you moving, crawling over to them, inserting yourself into their bubble. Yunho’s hand reaches for your cheek as soon as you come into view, your eyes meeting, and for the first time you see him consumed by lust without the harsh blade of control in his eyes. Raw, open, free, there’s nothing but delicacy swirling in chocolate brown as he pulls you down into him, attaching his lips to yours like he’d been waiting to do it all day.
Hungrier than those with Mingi, his lips move quickly, tongue slotting between your lips to search your mouth for something true, as if you haven’t given him all of you since the start. “I want you,” you whisper, sharing his breath, a soft smile curving your lips before he swallows down your words with his mouth. You swing one leg over his hips and he sits up on an elbow, his other hand moving to your hip for leverage as he pushes himself up until he’s sitting, shifting you properly on his lap.
Mingi moves behind him, hands on his waist under his shirt, lips finding his neck with soft presses of his lips as your fingers reach for the hem of his tee. “Need this off,” you whisper into his mouth. “Want to feel you.”
Mingi’s the one who pulls the cotton tee over his head, lips finding Yunho’s shoulder as you kiss his lips again, tongue dancing with his, hands splayed on his pecs, letting the warmth of him seep into you. Yunho reaches beneath your hoodie, fingers cold as they dance along your skin, palms curled around your waist while his thumbs brush against your abdomen, his touch is soft, like he’d break you if he pressed too hard.
You break the kiss only to pull the hoodie over your head and Mingi steals Yunho’s lips, using two fingers to his chin to turn his face. You watch them for a moment before leaning in, lips following the curve of his jaw down to his throat, flattening your tongue down to the base of his neck, sucking into his skin just above his collarbone. He tastes clean, like his bodywash, him, your hands find the waistband of his sweats, tugging them downward.
Yunho gasps as you slip them from under him, hips moving easily for you, “I– Are you sure?”
You’re nodding on command, “Of course, I’m sure.”
He’s talking as you tug his briefs down to his thighs. “I said a lot of things.”
“You didn’t mean them,” Mingi answers as you settle yourself between his thighs, coaxing Yunho backward until his back is pressed to his chest.
His cock stands tall against his pelvis, pink-kissed and leaking, it makes your mouth water. Yunho’s hips twitch as your nails graze his thighs, making you smile, eyeing him through your brows. He looks… scared. Like this was unknown territory, his eyes wide, red splotched chest rapidly rising and falling, fingers curled into the sheets beside him.
It makes you want to take care of him in the same way he’s always taken care of you.
“Is this okay?” You ask softly, making him nod. Your head tilts, needing the words to continue, “Do you want this?”
“Yes– fuck,” his hips twitch again, brows raising like he’s surprising himself. “I want it, I want you. Please.”
There’s a pit in your gut as the plea leaves his lips and you’re wrapping your fingers around his length, making a show of the glob of spit dropping from your tongue and onto his length, using your fingers to spread it. He groans, head tipping back into Mingi’s chest as you start working his length with your hand, watching him carefully. So pretty, hair mussed about, chest splotchy and body twitching, you wonder if this is how you look beneath him. You dip your head down, tongue lolling out of your mouth to lick at his tip, salty, raw, Yunho– you wrap your lips around him and suck.
“Fuck,” he draws out the word, low and heavy, a hand reaching down to tangle into your hair. You let him ease you down his length, tongue flat against the underside of him, lips suctioned tight. “Missed that fuckin’ mouth.”
There he is. You smile, barely, lips stretched around the width of him, bobbing your head as your fist works the base of him, pumping, twisting, gripping him just right– the moan he releases is nothing but nasty, Mingi swallows it, stealing his lips again, you can hear their mouths as much as you can hear your mouth around his length, everything wet, sloppy. Mingi’s hands reach beneath his arms to his chest, thumbs flicking over his nipples and his hips buck into you, making you gag, a hand clawing into his thigh, eyes squeezing tight.
“Sorry– fuck,” he curses again, voice desperate, “feels so good, don’t stop.”
You take him down your throat, gagging yourself purposefully as your nose meets the tuft of black hair at his base, the hand that was curled around him reaching below, cupping his balls softly, tightening your throat around him as you squeeze your palm ever so lightly. The sound that leaves him is obscene, abdomen clenching, his hands finding Mingi’s thighs, nails digging into his skin. You bob your head, breathing through your nose to keep him deeply rooted in your throat, constricting around him just to hear that noise over and over.
“Oh my god,” his voice is strained, harsh, “I’m gonna cum– I want to fuck you, please, wait–”
His hand finds your hair but you don’t budge, keeping your rhythm on his cock, nose buried in his hair as your saliva drips from your lips and onto his pelvis, sliding down to where your hand lays below.
“Baby, baby–”
His moan is strangled, caught in his throat as his limbs lock, legs straightening while his grip tightens in your hair, hips bucking into your mouth once, twice before his release shoots down your throat. You swallow him down, keeping your mouth suctioned to him as you ride out his high until he’s shaking, slipping off of him with your tongue still flat to ensure you’ve gotten every last drop.
You break off of him with a pop, eyes glassy as you find him winded. Chest heaving, head lazily thrown on Mingi’s chest, your brown-haired boyfriend just smiled proudly from behind him.
“Mouth just as dangerous as your pussy,” Mingi says, hands still splayed across Yunho’s abdomen, fingers softly petting his skin.
“Only for you,” your smile is coy, of all things. Crawling up to where they sat, you lean down and press a kiss to Mingi’s lips, then one to Yunho’s. He still looks winded when you pull away, making you giggle, “You okay?”
He nods, “I just… I haven’t come since the last time, with you. Need a second.”
You snort, “A whole week, is that a new record or something?”
Yunho smiles, laughter in the exhale through his nose, “Don’t get smart with me, I haven’t forgotten about today.”
You lean down to press another kiss to his lips, keeping yourself close as you say, “Been waiting for the chance to do something about it, like you said?”
His eyes flicker up to yours. In that one sentence it’s as if you reminded him who he was, what he’s capable of. These eyes you know, deep and controlled, harsh in a way that tickles your spine. Your core clenches around nothing, tongue poking out to lick over your lips, anticipation heating your blood.
“Take off your pants, sit at the top of the bed.”
He barely gets the sentence out before you’re shimmying yourself out of your sweatpants, crawling up to your pillows. You’re vibrating as Yunho turns to Mingi, standing up on his knees, grabbing the younger man with one palm below his jaw to pull him upward. Mingi scrambles to his knees, brows already furrowed, lips still touching in the center as they part.
Yunho smashes his lips into Mingi’s, there’s nothing graceful about the way his other hand digs into the nape of Mingi’s neck, making him arch into the older man with a whimper pouring straight into his mouth as his hands find Yunho’s biceps for leverage. It’s messy, rough, Yunho picking him apart with nothing but his lips– it makes your knees tie together, adding pressure between your thighs.
“You,” Yunho starts, the word accusatory, giving Mingi another unforgiving press of his lips before he continues. “Teased me all day. Taunting me during volleyball, in front of our friends, do you have anything you want to say to me?”
“I’m sorry,” Mingi squeaks, fingers curling into Yunho’s biceps, the sound makes a smile spread across your cheeks, eyes flaring.
“Louder.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Better,” Yunho mumbles, reaching down to pull his shirt up and over his head. One hand reaches down to palm Mingi over his briefs, palm flat and fingers splayed over his length, and Mingi folds upon contact. Head dipping low, abdomen clenching, a groan spills from his lips as his hips buck into Yunho’s touch.
“Don’t tease,” Mingi whispers, voice a strangled moan.
Yunho huffs a laugh, “Like you teased me earlier? You can dish it out but you can’t take it?”
Mingi lifts his head up to look at Yunho just as he starts grinding his palm against his length, bare chest leaning into Mingi’s, using his height to his advantage to look down at him. Mingi sputters, “T-That’s different, Yun. We were trying–”
“Trying to what?” Yunho squeezes his length and Mingi whimpers. Yunho smiles, “Bait me into fucking you in front of everyone?”
“No–”
“Then what?”
“Wanted to feel like you still wanted us,” Mingi says it all in one strained breath, his voice rising in pitch as Yunho’s hand slips beneath his briefs, fingers wrapping around his length.
“I wanted you,” Yunho’s voice slips into something quieter, other hand reaching up around Mingi’s neck, thumb brushing over his bottom lip as before brings his face to Mingi’s, lips almost touching. “The whole time.”
“You left,” Mingi’s voice is barely above a whisper, shaky, a hiss leaving his lips when Yunho twists his wrist, palm closing over the tip of his cock. Yunho pushes Mingi’s briefs down his thighs, lowering Mingi down until his knees are spread, arms splayed behind him, cock jumping against his pelvis, red, angry and leaking like a fucking faucet.
“Do you want my mouth?” Yunho, between Mingi’s knees, asks before his eyes slide to you at the top of the bed. “Or do you want to be filled?”
Mingi’s brows raise. “I get a choice?”
Yunho shrugs. “My way of saying sorry.”
Both of their eyes slide to you and your eyes widen under their attention, back straightening against the pillows. They drink in your posture, knees pressed together, hands scrunched in the sheets as if that’s the only thing keeping you from slipping your hand between your legs.
“Come.”
Yunho’s voice is unyielding, it has you crawling across the mattress on all fours, landing on your knees before them. Mingi’s head tilts, “Thought I had a choice?”
Yunho snorts his amusement, “Like you’d choose anything other than my cock filling you up.” He plants a hand against your cheek, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead, “You can kiss while I prep him, but don’t touch.”
You nod, eager as you settle yourself laid down in front of Mingi, your beautiful boyfriend who already looked so gone. Cheeks pink, chest heavy, his muscled biceps land on either side of your head against the mattress, your calves curling over his thighs with him above you. His cock lands against your lower tummy, heavy, sticky, the order not to touch has your heart picking up speed in your chest, a desire you can’t fulfill.
“Hi, baby,” Mingi’s smiling as he presses one, soft kiss to your lips. Your arms are bent up, hands on either side of your shoulders, palms faced up with your fingers loose and limp, hips fighting the urge to buck up into him.
You push out a sigh, “Need you,” your back arches instead, nipples pebbling beneath the breeze that drifts through the room. “Wanna feel full.”
He places another soft kiss on your lips, “Soon.” He deepens the kiss, tongue pushing into your mouth, you can taste him, taste Yunho, it makes you moan into him, fingers twitching because you want them on his face, in his hair, around his cock.
Yunho leaves the bed to cross the room, you hear him opening the closet, the zipper of the duffel he brought sliding open, but Mingi’s tongue is licking into your mouth, rendering you thoughtless, you don’t care to look over. “Wanna touch you,” you whisper, back arching more until your nipples press against his warm skin, whining at the contact.
“Patience, baby,” his lips find your jaw, elbows closing in around your head, tongue sliding down to your neck to lick a stripe back up to your jaw. You moan, legs tightening around his thighs, hips bucking against his length that tapped against your stomach with each movement. Torture, being naked beneath him, wanting so badly to touch, to feel.
You feel the dip of the bed when Yunho kneels behind him, you hear the cap snapping open on what you can only assume is a bottle of lube. It makes you smirk, knowing he brought it with him, that it was in his bag, waiting to be used. Yunho’s palms flatten over Mingi’s ass, and his head dips down into your shoulder at the contact, in anticipation of what comes next.
You watch over Mingi’s shoulder as Yunho squirts some into his hand, closing it before running two fingers down the space between, thumb circling his hole. Mingi’s whole body jerks, gasping into your neck, cock digging into your stomach.
“Open up for me,” Yunho says softly, “let me in.”
Mingi’s knees spread a little wider, lips meeting your shoulder, your neck, back arching lower, the position Yunho likes. Yunho keeps his eyes on you beneath him as he pushes a finger inside, his own brows furrowing together at the feeling of him, the tightness around his digit.
“Shit,” Mingi whimpers into your skin and one hand comes up to tangle in his hair, relaxing him into the stretch, all while keeping your eyes on Yunho.
“That’s it,” Yunho nods, voice just above a whisper, “there you go.”
Yunho bites his lip as he crooks his finger and Mingi fucks back, head lifting from your shoulder to push himself into the older man, moaning like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt. You quickly turn your head to catch a glimpse, his slacked jaw, eyes softly shut, brows knitted together in pleasure, so fucking beautiful. The sight of him when you’re wrapped around his cock versus Yunho pushing into him, the sight of his pleasure was so different, so raw seeing him this way, so open and desperate.
“Yes,” you find yourself whispering, back arching at his pleasure, almost feeling it as if it were your own.
Yunho adds another finger, making Mingi moan, lifting himself up onto his palms, head craning to see Yunho behind him. “More, gimme your cock, I can take it.”
Yunho nods, ripping open a condom packet from beside him and slipping it on in one quick motion. Tapping his cock between Mingi’s cheeks, he looks over Mingi’s shoulder to you, “Go ahead.”
At the speed of fucking light you’re reaching between you, making Mingi gasp as your fingers wrap around his length, Yunho lining himself up behind him as you line him up at your center. You didn’t need the prep, the head of his cock slipping around as soon as you brought it to your slit, sliding through your wetness until it caught against your entrance, making you gasp out a moan.
“Fuck,” Mingi’s voice sounds strangled, strained, preparing himself to fuck you full while he gets fucked full– you’ve done it plenty, but each and every time it’s overwhelming for him, for you to be fucked by Yunho’s thrusts.
“Breathe,” Yunho says, and it’s both a warning and an order as he pushes inside, making Mingi’s breath catch in his throat until he forces it down into the base of his lungs. Yunho groans, head tipping back as he slowly pushes inward until he seats himself inside.
One of your hands cups his face, pressing your lips against his unmoving ones, “That feels good?”
“Full,” Mingi grits out as Yunho bottoms out, hands squeezing his ass, face contorted in pleasure.
You smile, pressing your lips into the corner of his mouth, “Ready?”
He nods, eyes screwed shut, mouth stuck open like he’d unhinged his jaw. You tighten your legs over his thighs, an elbow planted under you, lifting your hips up to press his tip inside, and with Yunho’s next thrust he’s pushing inside, all the way, all at once. Your eyes blow wide as a shrill sound escapes you, and Yunho’s head picks up over Mingi’s back.
“If you’re loud, I stop,” Yunho grits out. “We don’t need the whole house hearing us.”
Your other arm is clawing at Mingi’s shoulder, so fucking full and stretched out it’s dizzying, you barely process Yunho’s words as Mingi catches your lips with his own. The three of you readjust closer together now that you’re positioned, and with every thrust of Yunho’s hips against Mingi, Mingi fucks into you the same.
“So tight, Min,” Yunho gasps. “Missed this ass, fuck, craved this tight fuckin’ thing.”
He’s beautiful, hair soft and messy, brows quirked in focus as he watches himself drill into Mingi, how his cock disappears, how Mingi sucks him in with each thrust. You’re clinging to Mingi, one arm over his shoulder as your hips fuck back into him, his cock curving into you just right, making you moan into his lips as his tongue steals every sound from your throat, pouring another one right back into yours.
“Faster,” you whimper, eyes lifting. “Please, Yun. More.”
“Never satisfied,” Yunho spits out through his clenched teeth, two hands gripping Mingi’s hips as he fucks into him harder, faster, ricocheting into you, body slamming into the mattress with each thrust. You’re a crying, whimpering mess, clawing into Mingi’s skin as he cries into your mouth, lost in a bubble of pleasure, Mingi’s body locking up with each thrust of Yunho’s hips.
“I’m close,” Mingi whispers, straining. “Fuck, too good, so full, you’re so tight–”
“Cum,” you whisper, hips rolling into each thrust. “Fill me up, baby. Come on.”
Yunho’s hands slide up to his waist, nails biting into his sides, “Hold it.”
Your hips buck into him faster, a pit forming in your stomach as the pleasure builds, catching Mingi’s lips again. Yunho slaps his palm against Mingi’s ass as he feels Mingi buck into you, “Hold it.”
“Can’t!” Mingi cries, “I can’t, I cant, I’m cumming–”
You moan as his cock twitches inside you, still rolling your hips against him as he fills you up, warmth spreading through your lower half. Yunho hisses from behind, “You never fuckin’ listen.”
You smile, dazed and lazy as you stare up at him over Mingi’s back, “Happens every time.”
“Fuck,” Yunho huffs, “wanted to cum inside you, Min.”
You slow your hips as Mingi’s arms waver, shaking on either side of you. “’m sorry,” Mingi says, breathless. “Felt so fucking good.”
You pull your hips off of him as you let go of his shoulder, falling flat against the bed as he crumbles on top of you, Yunho pulling out behind him. Sated, he hums into your shoulder, left hand digging beneath your back, holding you close.
Yunho slips off the condom and pulls you toward him by your ankles, Mingi’s startled enough by the action to roll off of you and onto his back, head turned with eyes half open to watch as Yunho tugs you upward by your hips. Yunho sinks down to sit on his calves, pulling your thighs over his, not wasting a second as he runs his cock through your folds, spreading Mingi’s release. You hiss at the contact, hips bucking into him, digging your elbows beneath you to hold you up. “Kiss me,” you beg, “kiss me while you fuck me, please. Need it.”
His brows furrow, lips parting like you’d just taken your cock down his throat, your words hitting like a pang to his gut. He lines himself up, cock prodding at your entrance as he leans forward, grabbing you by your waist to pull you on top of him, using your thighs on his as leverage to sit yourself over his cock.
Lowering yourself onto him, you lay your hands over his shoulders to attach your lips to his, nothing about it structured or neat as he pushes inch after inch into your heat. You moan into him, whining as you reach the base of him, feeling the full length of him in your fucking guts.
“Big,” you mumble, a whiney whisper. “Wanna cum on your cock, Yunho.”
His fingers tighten around your waist, lifting you up on his cock before slamming you back down, making you cry out into his mouth. “Quiet,” he grunts, then places a kiss to the corner of your lips. “I know it feels good, baby.”
Your fingers claw into his shoulders, “So good, missed your cock, fills me up so fuckin’ perfect, so full.”
He guides you with two hands on your waist, lifting you, lowering you, shifting you into a dirty grind, “Take me so well,” he says before he kisses you again. “Pussy so tight, missed her, missed you.”
You catch his lips, words staggered by each slap of your hips against his, “Don’t fucking leave again.”
His fingers sear your waist, squeezing so hard you’re sure they’ll leave marks behind, making you moan. You grind yourself into him, rolling your hips until his cock reaches the sweet spot inside you, a high pitched noise escaping your lungs before you can stop it.
“Shit,” you cry out, panicking at the pleasure, lowering your voice. “Shit, shit, shit– good, right there, so good.”
Yunho meets you where you roll into him and your eyes drop to watch, his sculpted abdomen flexing under the movement, how you swallow his cock with each grind, it’s too much. Mingi’s behind you before you can process it, feeling his heat before his bare skin, his lips at your neck, teeth grazing your steaming skin, fingers toying at your chest, you fall into him as your hips move on their own.
“Min,” you moan out. “Yunho, fuck– wanna cum, wanna cum,” you’re repeating the words like a mantra, Yunho’s cock kissing your walls, the tip of him running over that spot inside you like it has nowhere else to go.
“Cum,” Mingi says into your skin. “Cum around his cock, let him feel it.”
You grind your teeth, a strangled sound escaping you, so close you could fucking taste it.
“Need more, baby?” Yunho asks, breathless, jaw clenched like he was holding himself back. “My girl, never satisfied, always needs more.”
“Insatiable,” Mingi’s tongue drags along your neck and you nearly fold, the pleasure overwhelming. One of his hands dips down between you, two fingers rubbing at your clit and your eyes blow wide, entire body jerking forward at the touch.
“There she goes,” Yunho smiles and your breath completely catches in your throat, hips stuttering in their grind, he quickly uses two hands on your hips to keep you moving in rhythm. You feel it building impossibly further, your orgasm right below the surface, your skin vibrating, your breath coming out in shallow bursts.
Mingi reaches up, one hard pinch to one of your nipples and you’re falling forward, head on Yunho’s shoulder as your limbs lock, pressure blowing, euphoria consuming every inch of your being. You hear Yunho mumble something haphazardly to Mingi before he’s pushing you backward, holding onto your hipbones as he drills into you, chasing his own high. It’s more than overwhelming, your orgasm never ending, prolonged with each thrust of his cock inside you.
“Mouth,” Yunho bites, and Mingi’s palm clasps over your lips on command. You don’t even realize what sounds are leaving you, that your lungs are even working properly, so consumed by euphoria.
You’re seizing around him, body twitching, core clenching with each thrust of his cock until his hips stutter, emptying himself inside you with consistent, punched strokes so you feel every inch of him, every drop of him as he fills you up.
Mingi releases your mouth when Yunho finally pauses, his hand shaky, chest heaving, cock half-hard again against his thigh. The only sound in the room is your breathing, distant waves crashing ashore, the sound of the breeze blowing through the room, making the curtains dance around the balcony doors.
“I could watch you two forever,” Mingi mumbles, more to himself than to you.
Yunho pulls out slowly, keeping a hand steady cupped over your center, so if you do drip it’s not on San’s comforter. Always thinking ahead, even after sex, when one would think his brain would turn at least a little fuzzy.
You swallow down nothing but air in your dry throat, reaching for the man beside you and the other across from you, “Lay with me.”
“You need to shower,” Yunho counters, running his other hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. “Or pee, at least. Get this out of you so we can sleep.”
You mumble your discontent, groaning, body spent and tired but so fucking elated at what just transpired. Yunho smiles up at you, “We aren’t at home, little lady, you need to go pee.”
“Little lady?” You and Mingi ask at the same time, mocking him, brows furrowed, smiles amused. You snort, “Try a different nickname.”
“Shut up and go to the bathroom,” Yunho huffs, standing up off the bed, pulling you by your ankles to the edge. Mumbling under his breath, he’s looking at the sheets, “Always something to say.”
“You love it,” you smirk, standing on shaky, tired legs. You wobble, he slides a grounding arm around your waist, you look up at him with smiling eyes, “If I wasn’t such a brat you wouldn’t have anything to punish me for.”
“A well-behaved submissive is a well-trained one,” he’s quick to respond.
You scowl, eyes pointed as you look at him, throwing an arm over his shoulder, “I’m not your submissive.”
“What are you, then?” He asks and you steal your arm back from over his shoulder, ignoring the leakage between your thighs, just to look up at him and see him smirking, face fully amused.
“Not funny,” you grumble. “Mingi will shower with me, you can wait outside.”
“No,” he half-whines the word, still fully amused, leaning into you before he bends at his knees, scooping you from beneath your legs into his arms bridal-style. “We’re all showering together, end of story. Say a prayer that Jihyo and Jongho are asleep.”
You’re giggling at him butt-ass naked in the dark hallway, it seemed Jihyo and Jongho were asleep with how easily you snuck into the bathroom without being caught, Mingi on your heel. Your shower was innocent, soft touches and bubbly soap, exhaustion dancing in the steam, the humor had dissipated and exposed what was left over. The three of you, together again. Whole.
Back in bed, you in the middle, Mingi on your left, Yunho on your right, you didn’t even bother with clothes. The only light came from the still open balcony doors, moonlight acting as a beacon, calming in how it coated the room in a soft pale hue.
“I really did miss you,” Mingi cuts through what felt like an hour of silence, just waves and breeze. “We missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” Yunho’s response is soft, fingers playing in Mingi’s hair above you, you cocooned in the middle of the two.
For the first time, those three little words sat on your tongue, begging to be said. Instead, you ask, “You know what you said? The submissive thing?”
His hand cups your cheek, “I was just kidding, baby.”
“No,” you shake your head. “It’s not that. I was wondering… What it’d be like.”
“To be my sub?” His brows raise, tipping your head up to look at him. “Like, for real?”
You smile, “Yes, for real. I’ve wondered since Woo’s going away party, what you’re like when you’re serious about it.”
“You don’t think I’m serious with you?”
“You know you let shit slide,” you narrow your eyes. “A lot slide. I want to experience a day, in public and stuff when you’re being you. In your element.”
Yunho’s eyes slide up to Mingi, “You too, baby?”
Mingi smiles, bashful but honest, nodding. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious, too.”
“You’re both untrained–”
“You’ve taught us a lot,” you cut him off. Rearranging yourself, head pressed into Mingi’s chest so you can see Yunho easier, you urge, “We can do it. Let us try tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yunho.”
“Fine,” his smile is soft, eyes so dreamy it’s hard to comprehend that a man like him could ever be mean. If you hadn’t experienced it, you wouldn’t believe it. You love him mean. You love him nice. You love how he looks at you. You keep the words inside.
“We’ll talk about it more in the morning.”
You didn’t say another word, other than goodnight. You could still hear the waves crashing onto the shore just outside the house, you could smell Yunho’s body wash everywhere, the moon shining down on your bedroom, for the first time in days, everything felt… Peaceful. Normal.
Your heartbeat hasn’t been this even since the day Yunho walked out of your apartment.
Feet twitching, a tickle on your leg, your nose scrunches as consciousness pulls your eyelids apart. You suck in a short breath when you feel warmth on your thigh, the heaviness of a hand, Yunho’s hand, it snaps you awake like someone poured cold water over your head.
“What are you doing?”
His other hand moves your panties to the side, his head already between your legs, which was enough to answer your sleep-induced question. Your thighs parted for him further, arms limp against the bed, you could hear the soft snores from Mingi still fast asleep beside you.
A moan passes softly through your lips as his tongue makes contact with your center, slipping between your folds, lips swirling around your clit. The fingers curling into your thigh tells you to shut up, and you listen by slotting your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyes screwed shut.
Fuck, you’ve missed his hands on you, you’ve missed his mouth, you’ve missed the way he tells you what to do without saying a fucking word. You’ve missed everything about him.
He pulls away only to pull your panties down your thighs, throwing them somewhere on the floor before both hands push into the plush of your thighs, spreading them wider than before. The mewl that leaves your lips, the way your leg bumps into Mingi’s sleeping body has his eyes cracking open, confusion and sleepiness present in the way he blinks himself awake.
“Damn,” Mingi groans, stretching out his limbs as Yunho devours you all over again. “I’ve missed this.”
Mingi leans over, pressing his lips sleepily into your neck, tongue poking out to slide up onto your jaw, your mind clouded with a whirlwind of pleasure. Too long since you’ve had two bodies on you, focused on you, pleasuring you, days had felt like months.
Yunho’s hand left your thigh to grab onto Mingi’s ankle, pulling him downward, a cue to get off of you without him saying a word. Mingi shuffled himself down the bed until Yunho grabbed his already stiff length over his briefs, Mingi pushed them over his hips and down his thighs, eager to feel Yunho’s touch like it was the first time.
Yunho’s fingers slip through your folds to gather the wetness onto his hand just to use it in gliding his hand over Mingi’s length, which had both of you squirming in pleasure, light moans blending together. He spits on your center before sitting up on his knees, slipping two fingers inside you, the other hand still pumping Mingi’s length, he used the same rhythm on both of you, where you both stared up at him with parted lips, furrowed brows, glassy eyes, you think that maybe you were dreaming, or maybe you’d gone to heaven in your sleep.
“Missed me, huh?”
You and Mingi nod erratically, your hips jerking into his touch, he wore a cocky smirk and half-lidded eyes that told you he missed you just as much. Having the two of you splay out beneath him, victim to his hands, to his hold over you entirely, he had you exactly where he wanted you.
His fingers curled into you at the same time as his wrist twisted around Mingi’s length, movements he knew drove you close to the edge, you could feel the pit in your stomach forming just from how deep his fingers hit inside you. He knew you so well, too well, he could pull you to orgasm so fast, even at god knows what time in the morning. From the rising sun outside of your balcony, you knew it was early.
“You want to be with me for real?” Raised eyebrows, temptation in his voice, a depth to his eyes that only came out when he was in the mood to have you crying beneath him, the ghost of fear nipped at your spine. You nodded.
“You– fuck,” Mingi gasped, hips bucking into Yunho’s hand. “You know we do.”
“Then you’ll learn what it’s like to be with me,” staring down at you beneath his brows, his jawline sharp from where you looked up at him, you gulped at the sight of gravity in his eyes. Fingers hitting the spongy spot inside you repeatedly, it was hard to feel the fear through the pleasure, to understand the weight of his words as he pulled you so damn close to the finish line.
“Yes,” you whispered, back arching, eyes closing, your orgasm so close you could taste it.
Mingi wasn’t far behind, his fingers curling into the bedsheets, his legs trembling, small gasps and mewls falling from his lips one after another, it was ridiculous how easily he had the two of you rendered stupid before him.
Lifting yourself onto your elbows, your voice shaky, you cry, “I-I’m close.”
“Me too, don’t stop, Yunho,” Mingi moans from beside you, sounding weary, teetering on the edge.
Yunho smiles, a flicker of something in his eye that assured you the fear in your spine was right. His fingers scissor you open like he could make you cum with his eyes closed. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t give you permission, and you push a heavy breath through your lips like it’d help pause your impending orgasm while you wait for the green light.
“I’ve been too lenient with you,” he bites the inside of his cheek. “I did some thinking, too, and I think you two forgot who I am, why you asked me to share your bed in the first place.”
Your eyes blow wide, panic surging through you, “Yunho, I’m gonna cum–”
He slips his fingers out of you at the same time as he pulls his hand away from Mingi’s cock, your thighs snap together, a curse slipping from your lips. A too verbal cry leaves Mingi’s throat, his cock spurting ropes of white cum onto his hips, his stomach, his orgasm completely ruined.
“We’ll see if you still want me by the end of today,” Yunho is smiling while ignoring Mingi’s heaving chest and teary eyes, proud of himself, happy with what he had just done to the two of you. Your eyes are dancing between Yunho and your boyfriend that has tears slipping past his waterline, his jaw dropped in shock, in anguish of what had just been done to him. You wished you could have seen his raw reaction, the moment his orgasm was denied.
“I didn’t forget everything that happened yesterday, did you?” He asks, eyebrows raised, eyes flickering between you and Mingi. “Today will be different.”
Your body was on fucking fire– fear, arousal, the orgasm that was still on the brink beneath your hipbones, you didn’t know which emotion to pay attention to first. You tried to speak, some form of rebuttal, every string of words came out jumbled, completely incoherent. Yunho grinned. Mingi whimpered.
“Clean yourselves up and come to breakfast,” Yunho climbs off the bed, running a hand through his black locks as he makes for the door. “Don’t touch each other, don’t touch yourselves. I’ll know if you do.”
You swear the beach is hotter than it was yesterday.
All thirteen of you, after having breakfast out on the deck, packed up for another beach day that was thankfully right in San’s metaphorical backyard. No one was acting out of the ordinary, it seemed safe that no one heard the three of you getting edged by Yunho’s hands just a few hours ago, or getting split open by his cock last night, but you wondered if anyone could pick up how fucking frustrated you and your boyfriend were come this morning.
You obeyed Yunho, you didn’t touch each other after he left this morning, instead you kept your distance in your bedroom while you got ready for breakfast, as Mingi took a cold shower, letting ice fill his veins as he replayed his ruined orgasm in his mind.
Yunho was careful around you at breakfast, around your friends, only meeting your eye when he felt yours on him, while you were daydreaming, fantasizing, watching how his veiny hands picked up his utensils, how his pretty pink lips wrapped around the food he ate, how his body bent when he stood up from the kitchen table, the low rumble in his tired voice as he spoke to Hongjoong…
“This one.”
After escaping a calm breakfast, you were upstairs, getting ready for the impending beach day. Yunho had picked out a pair of swim shorts for Mingi, ones with a longer inseam, and had ruffled through all the bikinis you brought with you, choosing one less skimpy, but still as revealing as a bikini would be.
He handed you a black triangle bikini with small, white polka dots printed on the nylon, the bottoms were string-tied, the back ruched at the middle. Thrill danced in your blood at the thought of wearing something he chose for you, an invisible display of dominance to the people who would see you in it. He hasn’t done this yet. This was new.
“We’re playing today,” he sat back on the bed, you and Mingi standing before him, backs straight, heels touching, as per Yunho’s request. You were already buzzing with adrenaline, excitement, anticipation. “If it’s too much, you know what to say, but I’ll be expecting obedience, without question. Understood?”
You and Mingi nod furiously– he clicks his tongue.
“Yes, sir,” scrambles out of both of your mouths simultaneously. You’ve never spoken about or decided on a title formally, you’ve only said the word to Yunho playfully a few times, just for him to respond ‘be careful what you wish for.’
You were more than careful, it’s indescribable how the title makes you feel. Yunho has taken care of you both from the start, slipped into a role on his own when he started spending time with you, but today he’d officially take on the role fully, no shortcuts, no excuses.
There were times you’ve gone grocery shopping or went out to eat and he’s told you to not speak unless spoken to, to only walk on the right side of him, Mingi on his left. Something like this lit a fire in your belly, playing in front of your friends when you and Mingi knew Yunho didn’t want them to know anything about you three, you’d have to be discreet, yet still obey him completely, it made you nervous. Excited to comply, to appease him. Still excited, but nervous about what happens if you don't.
This was Yunho, unshielded, unapologetically himself, this was Yunho showing you who he is, what he wants. Your request had turned into a test, one you deeply wanted to pass; because in your mind, passing felt like the last obstacle. That if you passed, he’d have no reason to deny you any longer, no further reason to say no.
Because he didn’t answer you last night with a yes, in your mind, it was still a no.
Excitement flared in your eyes when he nodded, pleased, “Good.”
When he laid out the rules for today, they seemed simple.
You’re to sit with good posture on his left, Mingi on his right. Easy.
There shouldn’t ever be sand on his towel, if there is, you or Mingi clean it off when you see it. The thought of the two of you doting on him makes your heart skip a beat.
You’re both to make sure he is never without a drink, you get him another when he’s finished the one he has. He’s testing your ability to pay attention, to focus on him only. He should be at the forefront of your mind all day— as if he already doesn’t live there.
If you need anything, if you want anything, you ask permission first. Submission, structure.
No complaining about the sand, the heat, if you or Mingi are in distress, you tell him properly, without whining. He wants you polite, but neither you nor Mingi were one to complain about anything, anyhow.
You both are to stay within arm’s reach of him all day. You want to be by his side, anyways, but being expected to… you would pass his test with flying colors.
You didn’t ask what happens if you didn’t follow them, maybe you should’ve. It feels full circle from Wooyoung’s going away party all that time ago, when you were curious about the date he brought, why she acted the way she did. How a part of you craved it, when you didn’t even know what it was.
The sun scorched the sand, inescapable, a dry heat that was only eased by the salty breeze that snuck past your bodies every now and then, so sporadically you could barely call it relief. You had created a small village on the beach, multicolored towels laid out in a line, beach chairs, umbrellas, coolers with liquor, bags full of snacks, a large speaker that played nostalgic music over the sound of waves crashing on the shore. Looking at the scene made you laugh, you could remember coming to the beach with the same damn people with nothing but a towel and a handle of vodka.
A lifetime ago.
You sat with your knees bent in a pretzel, back straight, palms in your lap. A drink was buried in the sand next to you, something sour, Tzuyu mixed it, she claimed one was enough to keep you buzzed for a while. That was fine with you, sunglasses on your face, watching the waves fold onto the wet sand at the shoreline, head tilted, humming to a song you knew all too well while it danced with the breeze.
Yunho bent down beside you on the empty, clean baby blue towel, the corners still stiff and bent from how it was folded in San’s linen closet, the print on it still bright, likely new. Your chin perked up with his presence, sunglasses perched on his nose, black hair already damp with sweat and mussed on his forehead, sun-kissed and angelic. Your mouth watered before he uttered a word.
“You have sunscreen on?” Short, curt, filled with expectation. It wasn’t just the simple question forcing a rush of adrenaline to sweep through you, heart rate picking up, fingertips twitching against your skin, it was his tone; strong, composed, yet somehow condescending, as if you couldn’t remember to put your own sunscreen on.
You nodded, the need to appease him curling low in your gut, the desire to make him pleased. His tongue clicked, words. You sputtered, “Yes, I put some on before we left the house.”
“That was an hour and a half ago,” he sighed, running long, milky fingers through the damp black locks on his head. “I’ll get some.”
He used his palms braced on his thighs to stand again and your neck twisted to Mingi on the far towel, raising your brows.
Mingi gave you a small shrug, Here we go.
You glanced around the group, taking in everyone’s whereabouts. San and Jongin laid out on beach chairs beneath the sun, carved abdomens dipped in honey, shiny and slicked by sunscreen and sweat. Hongjoong and Seonghwa were down by the shore, mid-conversation, hats blanketing their hair, ankle-deep in the water. Tzuyu, Jihyo and Sana laid in a line to your left, gossiping, drinking, bodies a contrast to the towels beneath them.
Wooyoung had dragged Jongho and Yeosang into the sand off to your right, convincing the two men to bury him. You think Wooyoung started drinking when his eyes opened this morning.
You felt Yunho’s presence at your back like a shadow, a promise of unfinished business. He leaned in tight, next to your ear, “This drink is the only one you’ll have today.”
Your breath hitched in your throat, but you nodded. You didn’t ask permission before drinking it. His silence, his lack of movement, snapped you back into place, back straightening. “Yes.”
“Yes what?”
Fuck. You could genuinely moan at his tone, the way he’s biting his words, silvery in what he expects of you, the power he holds in two small words. Maybe he wants you all fuzzy and moldable, like jelly, testing your ability to control yourself and keep your focus on him.
“Yes, sir,” it’s a mere mumble under your breath, head tucked down, just low enough for him to hear. You can feel Mingi’s eyes on you, you wonder if he heard, too, or if your cowering body is lost on him.
Yunho hums in satisfaction, “Sit on your knees, I’ll get your back.”
You don’t hesitate to tuck your knees under your body, ass pressed against your calves, the breeze on your now exposed tummy making you feel bare. Exposed in front of your friends. You can’t believe how it sends a deep pang of arousal through your entire fucking body. You hear the bottle open, lotion squirting into his hands, rubbing it together in his palms before he touches you.
It’s like lightning hit you, how your entire body jerks at his touch, how his palm pressed to your skin makes your thighs clench on command, excitement thrumming beneath your skin. You can blame it on this morning, how he left you tightly wound and needy, the rules swimming in your mind, but the truth was that any time his skin touches yours it’s electrifying, it reminds you of all the times he’s fucked you brainless, it makes you ache for more.
He rubs the lotion onto your back slowly, massaging it in, you couldn’t tell if his movements were erotic or if your brain had dropped to the gutter. Over your hips, the sides of your waist, the tops of your shoulders, the backs of your arms, each movement was controlled, slow in a way that let you feel each point of pressure, how he was studying you as he worked the lotion onto your skin. Your neck inevitably bends, head drooping, shoulders slouching, despite the lotion being cold, his hands on you were so warm. Your thighs untensed, knees breaking apart, lungs emptying themselves into the summer air, it felt so fucking good to have his hands on you.
One palm smoothes up your spine, fingers curling around the back of your neck, the other hand squeezing your hip over the waistband of your bottoms. “Up,” he bites, the singular word a nasty whisper. “Pathetic for you to lose your composure over sunscreen.”
You were grateful for your sunglasses– no one could see your eyes fluttering at his words. Your back straightens, knees kissing once more, hands folded in your lap. “Good girl,” his voice is still too low for anyone else to hear, if anyone was paying attention. It probably seemed like Yunho was just being friendly, helpful, putting sunscreen on your hard to reach places.
It didn’t look like that at all to Jongho and Yeosang, sunglasses shading their eyes as they scooped sand onto Wooyoung’s body, hands going motionless with each curve of Yunho’s fingers on your skin.
“Are you seeing this too?” Jongho asked the older man, eyebrows furrowed, his voice laced with confusion.
Yeosang nods, “And Mingi’s just watching. I’d lose my shit if you touched Tzuyu like that.”
“I’d fucking kill you if you looked at Jihyo like that,” Jongho agrees. Their eyes linger, watching how Yunho leans in close to your ear, how your back straightens, body locking all over again.
Wooyoung’s head peeks up from the sand, “What am I missing?”
“Do you think she’s cheating on Mingi?” Yeosang asks, sitting back on his heels.
“What?” Wooyoung sits up straight, the layer of wet sand on top of him cracking and falling in chunks onto his lap. The two other men groaned, knowing they were going to have to put it back on him in a moment's time.
Jongho shakes his head, “Mingi’s watching, no way she’d cheat, and no way Yunho would do that to him. Plus, he's never been territorial.”
Wooyoung’s neck stretches forward like he was squinting to see beneath his sunglasses. “Mingi doesn’t care if you flirt, I think giving her a back massage in front of the entire group is different.” His head tilts to the side. “But yeah, he really is just watching. Huh.”
“Interesting,” Yeosang’s lips scrunch, but he brings his head of red hair back to Wooyoung. “Lay down and let us restart, dumbass.”
After getting a slew of pictures of Wooyoung’s bronzed body buried beneath the sand, a mermaid tail packed over his legs, fake abs drawn onto his abdomen, the still-giggling men came back over to the group, covered in sand head to toe.
Wooyoung ran a hand through his hair, shooting back a mouthful from his can, “Anyone wanna go swimming?”
Jongho and Yeosang were behind him, sweaty and beautiful, sand on their exposed bodies like a second layer of skin. You blinked at them, silent, because you didn’t wanna swim, part of you was scared that if you stood, someone would notice the patch of wetness on your bikini bottoms, despite them being black. Your fear held no bounds, no logic, but it was enough for you not to move a muscle.
Mingi leaned into Yunho, whispering something in his ear.
“Can I go?” Too low for your ears to catch, Mingi gave Yunho puppy eyes from below his shades, his voice sweet as candy.
Yunho gave him a short nod, forgoing a rule for Mingi’s appropriate execution of another, your boyfriend hopped up, a smile on his face, following behind his friends down to the shore. His dimpled lower back above the green shorts, how they scrunched around his thighs, the muscles in his shoulders too defined as he jogged away, fuck. You felt like an animal. A perverted, sex-crazed freak with the way your bottom lip caught between your teeth at the sight of him, how your toes dug into the towel beneath you.
You laid on your back instead, trying to rid your mind of the thoughts, of the expectations over your head. Taking a deep breath to ground yourself, to stop being so fucking horny on the blazing beach with all your friends around you.
Yunho’s empty can pressed against your arm.
You turned your head to see his jaw in a steady line, his brows raised. Shit. You stood up, walking over to the cooler in three steps, grabbing him another drink. You opened it for him, he thanked you as you handed it to him, you smiled as you took the empty one.
Even doing something this small, this insignificant, had goosebumps raising on your body. Doing it for him.
Yunho was facing you when you got back to your towel, laying back again, hands laying at your sides. His voice was quiet, soft in a way that meant he was just checking in, “How are you feeling?”
“Good,” you answer in a smooth breath.
“Give me something better than that,” he frowns, voice lowering in volume, “I don’t want to ask you to throw a color all day, if I ask you how you’re feeling, give me words. Tell me what you’re feeling.”
You sit up on your elbows, sunglasses sliding down to the bridge of your nose. The first word that comes to mind, “Stimulated.” You smile, head tilting, “Hot, a little frustrated. Mostly eager.”
He smiles, “That’s good, right where I want you.” He leans back on his own elbows, his can buried in the sand beside him, between you. “Sometimes I think you were meant for this, y’know. You take structure well, you perform easily with it.”
“That’s because I enjoy it,” you respond, words coming easily, the alcohol making your lips loose. “More than I’m supposed to, I think. I like it the other way around too, sometimes.”
He quiets, watching Mingi out on the water. “You both switch. I wonder what I’ll do with you both sometimes.”
Your lip curls in gratitude as you lean your head towards him. “You’ve changed since spending time with us too, you know. Maybe you don’t need to do anything, maybe the three of us are fine how we are.”
He turns his head tight, but doesn’t say anything. You stare through your shades, holding your ground, hoping he feels what you said, and doesn’t cower in fear because what you have is real. He jerks his head to the towel next to him, voice unyielding once again, “Over here.”
You push yourself up without a word, cleaning off your towel before you grab your drink and move to Mingi’s towel, laying back down, all without question or hesitation. Yunho smiles, pride etched into the curve of his lips, “Good.”
The praise sets you ablaze all over again.
When Mingi returns, water dripping down his body, dark hair pushed back by his fingers, Yunho already had a towel in hand. Up by the umbrella, you watched with your head tilted back as Yunho ordered him over by just a nod of his head.
“Water feels so good,” he beamed, sandy feet walking between your towels, shedding droplets of water from his swim shorts as he walked past. He didn’t even notice you’d switched spots, or if he did, he didn’t say anything.
He reached a hand out to grab the towel from Yunho’s grip, but the older man shook his head, “I got it.”
Mingi stood dumbfounded for a moment, but turned around to face the three boys’ gaze who walked up from the water, also dripping saltwater, coated in sunshine. You were sure Mingi’s skin was burning as Yunho dried him off, slowly wiping the towel across his wet skin, on his hair. You bit your cheek. For someone who didn’t want anyone to know, he wasn’t exactly being discreet, but you supposed no one noticed Yunho at the going away party, either.
“They’re so weird,” Sana mumbled under her breath, on her stomach, elbows holding the weight of her upper body. She dipped her sunglasses down to the bridge of her nose, watching Mingi and Yunho across the sand.
Jihyo and Tzuyu turned over on their towels, looking at Sana to see where her eyes were locked, then focusing in on the scene before them.
Tzuyu smiled, “Yunho’s so sweet, it must be nice for them to be so close.”
Jihyo squinted. The way Yunho’s hands dragged up Mingi’s body, his fingers curled over Mingi’s shoulder, how he leaned in to say something in his ear. She had a feeling since that morning, catching Yunho in your apartment, but brushed it off because you wouldn’t lie about something like that. Especially not to her. She would never judge you for having a threesome.
But Mingi’s head dipped down, eyes on his own crotch, mumbling a few words in response, and Jihyo’s lip curled. There’s no fucking way. She turned her head, “I caught Yunho at their apartment, you know.”
Sana and Tzuyu’s heads snapped to Jihyo, eyebrows raised, silently saying continue. Jihyo sighed, “Yunho was shirtless, towel on his waist, he had just gotten out of the shower. In their living room. Mingi had on boxers, she looked just-fucked. They said he was only there to shower because he had no water.”
“Doesn’t he live right around the corner from Joong and Hwa?” Sana asked. “If he didn’t have any water, why didn’t he just go there for a quick shower instead of traveling across the damn country?”
“They’re close,” Tzuyu leaned in, forever devil's advocate. “Would you go to Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s for a shower if Ji was home?”
“First of all, girls are different,” Sana shook her head. “Also, yes. They have a waterfall shower, and those jets in the walls for your body, plus Seonghwa uses that really good body wash from—”
“Exactly!” Jihyo cuts in. “Literally exactly my point. There’s something going on there, right? I’m not crazy?”
“Definitely not crazy,” Sana shook her head again. “Remember how Yunho snapped at me last night, too? When has he ever done something like that?”
“Maybe he was tired,” Tzuyu’s voice was small, like she didn’t believe the words that were coming out of her own mouth. “I don’t know girls… They've been together forever. Do you really think Yunho would be involved with them… intimately?”
Jihyo shakes her head, lips scrunched, disappointed that you’d keep something so important from her. She even insinuated it, and you said no. “Who knows what goes on with them anymore. It’s not like we get any details.”
Yunho is more than pleased when Mingi cleans off the left side towel for Yunho, then the center one for himself, after Yunho nodded his head in silent direction, instruction in his body language only.
You were buzzing. You were both following instruction cleanly, discreetly, you were passing with flying fucking colors, you wondered if your ability to obey made him any more inclined to be your boyfriend. Your boyfriend’s boyfriend. You wish you could be inside his brain so desperately.
Yunho stood, brushing the sand off his multicolored, patterned shorts, throwing his sunglasses back on the towel. You sat up involuntarily, knowing if he moved, you moved with him.
He didn’t look back as he started for the shore. You stood, Mingi following, within arm’s reach as you flanked him down the beach, to the water. None of you knew you had eyes on you the entire time. Or that Wooyoung approached San the moment you walked away.
You minded your surroundings as you breached the shore, no sign of Hongjoong or Seonghwa, they must be on a walk, or back at the house. You’ve been so laser focused on Yunho and Mingi you almost forgot everyone else was there.
“Min said the water’s nice,” Yunho looked to you, then over to Mingi on his other side, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Wanna swim?”
You nodded, even if you didn’t have a choice. You wondered where the line stood with things like this, if you didn’t want to swim, if the urge to obey wasn’t so heavy. Would you be punished? For something measly like swimming?
Ice wraps around your ankles, your calves, your body shaking, hissing the deeper you went into the sea. Mingi and Yunho dove in, completely unaffected, fully submerged by the time you got up to your hips. “Fuck, it’s cold, fuck,” you had your arms tucked tight to your chest, slowly wading deeper into the water while they swam a few feet out, laying under the sun for hours would have made the warmest water freezing.
“How the hell are you guys so deep?” You yell across the waves that crashed against your abdomen, water reaching your belly button. “It’s fucking cold.”
“Don’t be a baby,” Mingi teased, grinning, hair melted around his face, flat against the curves of his cheekbones.
“And watch your mouth,” Yunho added, also teasing, smiling, on his back as he floated in the water. You scoffed, then faced the water before you, you’d have to rip the bandaid off if you were ever gonna be comfortable in the water.
“Just go underwater, baby,” Mingi called again. “You can do it. I believe in you.”
You scowled, eyes pointed, jaw locked. “It’s too fucking cold.”
Yunho’s smile widens, listening to your complaints, drinking them all in. You hissed again, dipping your fingers into the sea, up to your forearms, legs pushing against the moving water to get deeper. Up to your waist, below the tie of your bikini top, you finally said fuck it and sank beneath the surface.
Holding your nose, you gasped when you came back out to the salty air colder, ice consuming you head to toe. The two men just feet away cheered.
“Come here, baby, swim over,” Mingi called out, ushering you over with one hand. Breathless from the cold, you wiped the saltwater out of your eyes, blinking through the sting as you swam closer to them. Clinging onto your boyfriend’s front for life, he tucked one arm under your ass as you moved his hair out of his face. He smiled proudly, eyes bronzy beneath the sun, “It’s nice, right?”
You still shivered in his hold, but smiled playfully, he’s so handsome it hurts. “Fuck, fuck you.”
“Curse again,” Yunho taunts from a foot away, swimming closer, affection in his voice. His eyes go over your head, scanning the beach behind you, before they land back on you, just as icy as the water. “See what happens.”
“I’m sorry,” you whine, “it’s cold.”
“I’m in the water with you, quit whining,” he muses, coming closer. “I’ll give you something to whine about. Is that what you want?”
Arousal licks up your spine, you twitch in Mingi’s hold, but you shake your head. Yunho’s head tilts, “You sure, baby? You’ve been fidgeting all day, bet you’re feeling empty by now, aren’t you?”
You’ve been doing so good. Keeping up with his rules, being obedient, focused, you didn’t think your arousal was noticeable at all. You shake your head again even if Mingi could feel your thighs clench, “No. No, I’m fine.”
Yunho’s hands tug on your hips below the water, turning you until your back is pressed against Mingi’s chest, slotting himself between your floating legs. Mingi keeps his hands on your waist as your breath goes shaky, eyes widening, “Y-Yunho they can see—”
“Mingi is blocking us, they can’t see this far out,” Yunho cuts you off. “This body is mine. You don’t get to question me, you don’t get to worry. That’s my job.”
Even in the water, being held up by your boyfriend, he still feels so fucking big in front of you. You swallow, looking up at him through lashes coated in saltwater, voice as small as you felt, “O-okay.”
“You take what I give you, when I choose to give it,” he tilts his head, hands sliding down your thighs, thumbs curling into your plush skin, feeling so soft beneath the water. “Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” you nod, and he grins. Leaning in, he presses a soft kiss to your lips, hands sliding up your hips, up to your waist, over Mingi’s hands. He breaks away just to press a kiss to Mingi’s lips, too.
Your heart is racing in your chest. Intimidation, adrenaline, the press of cold surrounding you, concern about someone seeing you.
He leans back, keeping himself close. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”
“Horny,” you blurt and he laughs. You shake your head, smile on your face, “Overwhelmed.”
His eyes look up to Mingi behind you, who responds, “Also horny. Stretched thin.”
“Color?”
“Green,” you and Mingi respond simultaneously without missing a beat.
“Don’t be scared,” Yunho shakes his head, grabbing your wrists lightly, sliding them onto his abdomen. “Do you trust me?”
You nod, “Yes, sir.”
His eyes jump to Mingi who didn’t realize Yunho was talking to him too, in a rush he responds, “Yes, sir.”
“Then make me cum.”
Mingi keeps a knee beneath you as his hands race to Yunho’s waistband, reaching in to feel Yunho’s cock that wasn’t even hard. Mingi looks up at Yunho who smiles, “The water’s real cold.”
At the shoreline, Hongjoong and Seonghwa had almost returned from their walk, fingers interlocked, legs moving at the same pace, mirroring each other’s movements. A mile down the beach, a mile back, the sun was warm, the water cooled them down, they loved everything about the beach. They’d get married on the beach, one day, soon.
Standing in the shallow water, arms stretched by how Seonghwa kicks about the waves and sand, Hongjoong stops him. “Baby, Hwa.” Seonghwa looks up, his attention grabbed, Hongjoong’s chin dips in the direction of the sea, a little ways out from where they stood, “Is that Yunho out there with them?”
Seonghwa puts a hand atop his eyes, shielding his vision, squinting beneath his glasses. “I think so. Maybe they stopped fighting.”
A theory the two had going from the time you’ve spent at San’s beach house so far, one they discussed before going to bed last night, a silly question from Hongjoong’s mouth that Seonghwa couldn’t believe he caught on to, too. From your reactions when choosing rooms to the bonfire yesterday to breakfast this morning, Hongjoong and Seonghwa have been keeping an eye on you three, reading your body language, your interactions.
“Oh shit,” Hongjoong’s jaw dropped when Yunho leaned in to kiss you. “Oh shit,” he smacked Seonghwa’s arm when Yunho kissed Mingi, too.
“What? What did you see?” Seonghwa is leaning in, bending forward, fidgeting where he stood, angling his head around to see.
“They kissed, Hwa,” Hongjoong is whispering, his voice coated in sheer disbelief, “they fucking kissed!”
“Who kissed?” Seonghwa raises himself on his tippy toes as if he wasn’t already taller than his boyfriend who could see clearly, “Joong! Who kissed?”
“Yunho kissed both of them,” Hongjoong’s hand moved to Seonghwa’s forearm, “Holy shit.”
“Holy shit,” Seonghwa whispers, a small mumble, his eyes widening beneath his sunglasses. “No- no, what are they doing now?”
Hongjoong breaks out in a wide grin, before a disbelieving laugh punches through his lips. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. In public? In ocean water? People pee in there. Fish pee in there.”
“I feel like we’re intruding,” Seonghwa shakes his head, turning away. “We’re definitely not supposed to see this. We shouldn’t watch. This is an invasion of privacy.”
“They’re hooking up on the beach! They’re lucky there’s no one else out here.”
“This section is private,” Seonghwa turns away fully. “San owns it, or something like that, I don’t know how it works. Plus, we can’t see what’s happening under the water, they could be—”
“You mean to tell me they aren’t jerking him off right now?” Hongjoong’s orange brows bend over the frame of his sunglasses, his smile completely amused.
Seonghwa cringes, but turns around again to meet Hongjoong’s grinning cheeks. He looks out in the water, studying, frowning, “I don’t know if she’s doing anything. It might just be Mingi and Yunho.”
“Okay, but still,” Hongjoong smacks his teeth. “They’re seconds away from fucking in the ocean. Am I wrong?”
Seonghwa’s lips flatten, “Don’t say anything. They didn’t seem okay yesterday and today they’re inseparable, so clearly they’re figuring something out, and keeping it private.”
Hongjoong pouts, “Boo.”
Seonghwa smiles, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his boyfriend’s lips, “Do the right thing, my love.”
“You’re right,” Hongjoong sighs, looking out in the water again. "That's so juicy, though. In the middle of the ocean for anyone to see is crazy.”
You feel dizzy on your walk back up. Frustration curls low in your gut, a pestering weed left alone for too long, growing at a rapid pace through your veins, into your limbs, your chest. You needed to get off. Your composure was running scarily thin.
“Can I go to the bathroom when we get back up?” You ask Yunho, fingers laced with Mingi’s, both walking behind him, you on his left side, Mingi on his right.
“Are you gonna touch yourself?” He looks over his shoulder, brows raised.
You shake your head, “No, sir. Just need to pee.”
He nods, small, but permission-granting.
You didn’t say anything to anyone as you walked past the group, up to the house, to the outhouse tucked into the side of the property. It was more like a shack, no roof, thin bamboo walls to separate the toilet from the shower, nothing was enclosed except for the main door which was latched shut.
You eased a breath as you put the black steel hook through the matching loop, running your hands through your hair, eyes squeezing shut while the throbbing between your thighs becomes too much to bear in the silence of the bathroom.
Just for cursing.
Just for complaining about the water being cold.
He’s mean. He’s so fucking mean. You asked for this, he reminded you three times, but the words that left his mouth, so degrading, so teasing, all while being passed between them like a fucking doll. All while neither of them touched you. That was almost worse than having your orgasm ripped from you this morning, watching, listening to them pleasure each other, while being on the sidelines but also right fucking between them, you don’t know if you can do it.
You don’t know if you can take him like this. Mean, arrogant, purposely denying you pleasure because you haven’t earned it yet. You’ve been good all day. You deserve it.
You sit on the toilet with furrowed brows, knees kissing, toes touching the wood beneath you. Your clit cries for attention, throbbing, buzzing, there’s a streak of wetness in your bikini bottoms that was too fucking slick to be washed away by the ocean. Your body feels tight, wound-up, aching for attention.
You could probably get away with it if you touched yourself. He’s not in the bathroom with you, he’s down at the shore with Mingi, with your friends, he’d never know. Your thighs clench at the thought, it wouldn’t even take long. You could probably get off in thirty seconds. Your jaw clenches, fingers curling to fists on top of your thighs. Don’t do it, your subconscious screamed at you. He’ll know.
You swallowed, taking a deep, grounding breath. Your need to obey, to please him, outweighed the ache. At least that’s what you told yourself while you wiped. You opened the latch after washing your hands to be met with Yunho standing outside the door. You jumped, a gasp leaving your lips, “Shit, you scared me.”
“Give me your hand.”
You stared at him dumbfounded before the instinct kicked in. He pulled your fingers to his nose as soon as you lifted your palm, sniffing deeply. Just his fucking touch made your thighs clench.
“You didn’t touch yourself,” he says it like he’s surprised.
Biting your lip, you shake your head. “No, sir.”
He leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, moving to push past you and you want to scream. He’s even denying you a kiss to your fucking lips?!
“I can’t do it anymore,” you whisper.
He leans back, brows furrowed. “Can’t do what?”
“I need you to touch me,” your voice cracks on touch. “I need you to kiss me, I need you to fix whatever is happening to me right now. I’m gonna freak the fuck out.”
His eyes thin, jaw settling and god you want to sit on his face. “You don’t need anything.”
“Yunho,” you fall forward, forehead pressing against his still-wet chest, hands landing on his hips, the soft skin just above his swim shorts. “I need you. I can’t take it anymore.”
His neck cranes side to side, a heavy sigh pushing through his lips, his hand landing on top of your hair, fingers massaging at your scalp. “I’m teaching you submission,” he says into your hair, his voice steady. “It’s what you asked for. This is what it would be like. You can say red if you want to stop.”
Red feels like giving up, failing the test. You’re frustrated, but not enough to say the three lettered word that would end it all. You’re wound tight, clit still throbbing for attention, but the need to impress him aches worse.
You stare at him blankly, saying nothing. His lips curve, standing back a step. “You have your answer then.”
“Wait,” you interject, pleading with your hands on his chest. “Why did Mingi get to cum, then? How is he any more well-behaved than I am?”
“You didn’t follow the rules,” he shrugs, answering plainly. “I don’t have to give you a reason, if I don’t want you to cum, then you don’t cum. Your body is mine to do as I see fit.”
“I can’t,” you whine, hands going into your roots, frustrated. You don’t even know what was going to follow the two words, what’s left to say after that.
“Stop whining,” he bites. “It’s ugly, and you’re not ugly.”
Your bottom lip quivers, leaning into him, hiding your frustrated face. “I’ve been good.”
“And that’s ending now, I guess.” “Yunho.”
“Are you acting like this because you want to get punished?” Two hands on your cheeks, he pulls you away from his chest, forcing you to look up at him. “Purposely whining to piss me off, even when I gave you clear, concise instructions for the day?”
You shake your head, ears tipping with heat. You can feel the heat everywhere. Shame, arousal, they blend together with the need to appease him, to impress him, you’re fighting against your own instincts.
“Then listen,” he snaps. “That’s the last time I’m going to say it.”
Jongin sees you as he leaves the house. He grabbed his keys from the rack in the kitchen after the group decided to go out for an early dinner, a place that served bar-food just down the street. You, standing with your head in Yunho’s chest, until he grabs you by your cheeks and tilts your head backward, talking to you… sternly? He stays pocketed behind the tall pampas grass, watching through leaves, his heart picking up in his chest. Is he catching something he isn’t supposed to?
Somehow, he moves far enough to where neither of you see him, and makes his way back down to the beach. He has to tell San, he has to tell Mingi– should he even get involved? Considering what Wooyoung told him and San earlier, there’s a chance Mingi is in on it, too.
“Got our keys,” he smiled briefly at San. “We should wait until they get back.”
San lifts a brow, “Did you see them? Any treachery?”
Jongin shakes his head quickly, not exactly sure why his gut tells him to lie. “I saw him inside, she was outside. No treachery to be seen.”
San’s lift lips in distaste. “Boring.”
Jongin feels bad lying to his boyfriend of three years, the man who changed everything about himself for Jongin, the yin to his yang. But this felt out of his control, a little too heavy for the friend group to be throwing around so easily, it's more than gossip. You, Mingi, you’ve been together for so long… longer than he’s known San. From what he’s learned, you’ve been together longer than any of the couples here.
Except for Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Maybe. He’d have to ask San for clarification on that one.
It wasn’t long until you and Yunho were bouncing back down the beach, wide grins on your faces and damn, his conscience feels heavy after lying. You bend down to press a kiss on Mingi’s lips and the way he grins with stars in his eyes tells Jongin enough. He’d keep his mouth closed for now. But if you and Yunho were any more obvious, if you take another risk— maybe someone else wouldn’t be as nice.
There’s bamboo everywhere. Sand under your feet, surf boards lining the baby blue, wooden walls, the roof coated in thatch, the tiki bar–cafe-restaraunt whatever the fuck was the pinnacle of everything Haos claims to be. An escape, another world, somewhere the wealthy pride themselves in vacationing, it reminded you to breathe. To enjoy everything around you, your friends’ laughter, how the sun just beginning to sink was now far less brutal, the way Mingi and Yunho both had a claiming hand on either one of your thighs under the long, wooden picnic table.
“Don’t speak unless spoken to,” with one hand on either of your shoulders, Yunho walked in the center of you and Mingi in the parking lot, one step behind you after you climbed out of Jongin’s Jeep.
You were still playing. Stomach still churning, body still wound tight, you wished you could force yourself to believe that you wouldn’t explode if someone didn’t touch you soon. Still embarrassed over your outburst earlier, not being able to handle what you asked of him, most of you was glad he didn’t give in– even if arousal kept your body temperature heated to a low-grade fever.
Mingi, free as a bird, was giggling to himself at something Wooyoung said across from you, his face sunkissed, his forehead, the tip of his nose, like the sun shone down on Mingi alone. Maybe it did, your irresistible boyfriend with a heart of gold, you wouldn’t be surprised if the sun woke up every morning hoping just to see him. The sound was music to your ears, you leaned your head on his shoulder, hands holding onto the small, laminated menu.
You flexed your thighs, I missed you guys.
The answering squeezes to your skin told you they missed you just as much.
“Today went by too fast,” San shook his head of messy black hair to the left of Mingi, it was a rare sight to see him unkempt. San was always dressed to the nines, hair gelled back, face chiseled, the face of masculinity. Seeing him with pink cheeks and an affectionate grin made your heart swarm with affection, you loved it most when the group left business behind and lived in the moment instead. “I need to have you guys here more often.”
“Invite us then,” Wooyoung teased back, still shirtless, sitting on the end of the table across from Yunho. Skin bronzed and glowing, he reminded you of some kind of Greek God, like him and summer had a contract. “We’ll come when you call.”
Jongho leaned forward, his flower-patterned shirt unbuttoned and dragging along the picnic table, his dark hair messily sprawled across his forehead, sunglasses still sitting over his eyes. “Says the one who lives three states away.”
Wooyoung laughs, leaning forward, looking to his right to see Jongho almost at the other end of the table, “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“At the risk of being fired, I’m sure,” Hongjoong smirks, the only person to his right Seonghwa, who held the end of the table. The pair still had their matching hats on, sunglasses resting above the brim, the only two whose faces were unaffected by the sun’s rays. Maybe you should all invest in hats, the sun was inescapable in Haos.
Yunho leans in, eyes dancing between each speaker, “Are you gonna get fired?”
Wooyoung shakes his head with his face scrunched like his company wouldn’t dream of firing him. Sana’s dark eyebrows raised, glossed lips falling in a line like he wasn’t telling the whole truth, the sight made a snort fall from your nose. When Wooyoung noticed, he nudged her side, scoffing, “You know they won’t fire me, they need me. You’re supposed to be on my side, Sana.”
You lean back with a laugh, hand covering your mouth, so stupid it was funny. You missed him so much, and if the possibility of Wooyoung getting fired was any indication, you think he missed you guys just as much.
“We should take pictures after dinner, at sunset on the beach,” Tzuyu chimes in, sitting in her crochet cover up between Yeosang and Jongin at the end of the table on your side. “No dressing up, just in our bathing suits with some drinks, candid style.”
Jihyo and Sana agree, nodding, sitting next to each other like two peas in a pod. “We should get couples shots, too,” Jihyo adds, dark hair waved by saltwater covering her bikini top, “Jongho and I haven’t taken a proper picture together in so long.”
“Woo and I need pictures for our holiday cards,” Sana agrees, nodding, already leaning into Jihyo. Wooyoung, with his sunglasses pushing his hair off his face, silently groans from beside her. You giggle at his face, stealing Sana’s attention.
Before she could open her mouth, San leaned forward, talking across you and Mingi, “Yun, we need to get you a girlfriend so you can be involved, too.”
You stop laughing immediately like San had reached over and stolen the smile from your face. You blink as Yunho’s hand jumps from your thigh, your body stiffening, trying not to let your eyes widen, to show surprise or discomfort on your face while a sharp pang of something sour hits your chest.
“We could ask a random girl from the bar to pretend,” Wooyoung snickers, eyes locked with San’s.
Jongho laughs, a high-pitched, amused sound, “We’d have to pry him away from those two first.”
Yours and Mingi’s attention jumps to Jongho, who eyes you both, mischief in his eyes. Yeosang, with his elbow on the table, props his chin on his cheek, staring down at Yunho, asks, “What happened to that girl from Woo’s going away party?”
Yunho shakes his head of chocolate locks inflated by humidity. Voice clear like he wasn’t bothered at all, he answers, “Just didn’t work out.”
Your body is on fire. So badly you wanted to tell them all to stop speaking about the past, to not bring up a future that isn’t centered around yourself and Mingi. Yunho is yours.
“Are you okay?” You pick your head up to Jihyo who was eyeing you carefully, eyes pointed, jaw set. “You look sunburnt.”
You shake your head, forcing an easy smile on your face, “I’m fine, probably am sunburnt.”
“How? Yunho put sunscreen on you, like, four times,” San wore a slimy grin, the table erupting with laughter.
“It was once,” you counter, eyes narrowed, tone biting. “And I can’t reach my back.”
“You’re quiet, Mingi,” Wooyoung interrupts, and Mingi’s eyes pick up, wide and doe-like.
“What do you want me to say?” He asks, brows furrowing, head tilting like Wooyoung said something stupid. You smile. Yunho puts his hand back on your thigh.
Like a saving grace, the waiter finally approaches your table, breaking your conversation to ask for your order. Yunho orders for you, then for Mingi, exactly what both of you would have chosen if you’d ordered for yourself. You felt eyes on you as Yunho finished, but you didn’t dare meet a single person’s stare. You didn’t want to know what their eyes would tell you.
You didn’t have to guess, not when San spoke after the waiter left your table, his voice a blanket over one end of the table to the other. “Am I crazy? Is anyone else seeing this, or is it just me?”
The three of your heads pick up in a line. The table is quiet, the only thing you can hear is the reggae music, soft from the speakers, dissipating into the summer breeze. Low, far but close, it melts into the sound of waves, offsetting how thick the tension had become at the table.
San’s face bulges out, bewildered, “No one’s gonna say anything?” He turns to you three and your heart falls into your ass. “Are you three together?” You swallow the bile in your throat. “Are you fucking?”
“No,” Yunho’s answer comes before your lips could part. The word is rigid, a wall, a finality. You look at Mingi who’s already looking at Yunho, his eyes so big, so round, you can hear your heartbeat over the music, the breeze, the waves. No.
Yunho even laughs a little. “Come on, are you serious?”
You glance at Jihyo who’s already looking at you like she knows everything. Like your skin was transparent, and she could see your heart cracking beneath your ribs all over again.
“You’ve been joined at the hip all day,” Wooyoung’s grin is feline, like he wasn’t done prying for information. “Can’t blame our minds for going there, can you?”
You and Mingi don’t smile, don’t laugh. You can’t pretend. Yunho takes a sip of his drink, “They’ve been together for years, you know we’re close. It’s weird that your mind would go there.”
Weird. It’s weird. He’s not yours at all. You feel like ice under the summer sun, melting too quickly, soon you’ll be a puddle darkening the sand beneath you if you don’t remove yourself from the situation. You refuse to let any of them see you upset. You hate that a part of you doesn’t want them to know if Yunho doesn’t want them to know.
You look at Mingi, I’m going to the bathroom.
He nods once, eyes glossy, you wish you could bring him with you. Pushing yourself up with your palms on the table, you swing a leg over the bench and don’t look back, don’t listen to a single word as you nearly run to the bathroom. Your skin is on fire, there’s no air conditioning in the small two-stall bathroom with baby blue walls, it’s suffocating.
You stand at the sink, throwing cold water on your face, two hands hooked around the white ceramic to force yourself to calm the fuck down. What was last night for? What did you talk about all of that shit for? What did you fuck for? Now you feel fucking stupid for today, for thinking you’d pass a test he was never proctoring. It all felt redundant. Pointless.
The door swings open, you don’t move. “Are you okay?”
Jihyo, smiling softly, apologetically. Your lips tighten, you refuse to let tears fall. You refuse to repeat what happened last time. You should have expected this.
“All good,” you force a smile. “I think I got too much sun today.”
“Don’t bullshit me,” she leans in the middle of the two sinks, shoulder pressed to the wall between the mirrors, one manicured hand on your forearm. “Did he lie?”
You huff amusement, it lacks any semblance of warmth. “Yeah, he lied.”
“Fucking asshole,” she crosses her arms. “What’s with him and commitment? That day I came over, I knew it, I knew what he was there for.”
All you can do is shake your head, “I don’t know, Ji.”
“How long has it been?”
You hum before answering. “A month? Five weeks maybe?”
“Damn,” she shakes her head. “The way he looks at you… I don’t understand him. I don’t understand the denial.”
You give her another weak smile. “Don’t tell the others. Please.”
“I won’t,” she scrunches her lips to one side. “You still have Mingi, though. And Mingi has you.”
“Thank god for that, right?” Your smile is only half-fake now, moving away from the sink, pressing your back against one of the stalls. “Although I think he’ll be more upset than I am.”
“He was holding it together out there,” Jihyo shifts to lean her butt against the sink, head tilting. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth from the start?”
You shrug, lips flat. “It was instinctive, we hadn’t talked about it yet. After you left that day he freaked out, we fought, we only worked that situation out last night.”
“He said you’d tell people?”
You tilt your head, showing your bottom row of teeth, “Not exactly. More so that we’re more comfortable being in a gray area now, our feelings out on the table, working towards something. We weren’t expecting anyone to call us on it.”
“They’re such assholes for airing out your business,” she pushes herself off the sink, taking two steps toward you to throw her arms over your shoulders, tucking you into a hug. “I’m sorry, you guys will figure it out.”
You let your eyes close, sucking as much comfort as you can from the hug, “I hope so. Thanks, Ji.”
She pulls away to cup your cheeks, “You know you can talk to me, right? Let me in, I can be a shoulder to cry on.”
You nod, fingers wrapping around her wrists, “I will.”
The rest of dinner was damn near silent. Yunho was in your head with apologies, none you answered, you didn’t want to talk to him or hear him out. Mingi answered once or twice, short responses, it was clear the two of you were hurt and needed time to reset your feelings again. You didn’t want to argue, or settle your feelings in the bedroom again, you’d done that already. It clearly didn’t work. Pictures on the beach were swift, yours and Mingi’s were all fake smiles and silence, watching the live photos in your camera roll made your skin crawl. You don’t think you or Mingi said five words between dinner and bedtime, until it was the three of you in your bedroom again.
Yunho actually had the audacity to pull down the comforter. You stopped him with your palm splayed flat on the right side of the mattress, voice monotonous and bored, but your eyes shot daggers. “You can sleep downstairs.”
His brows raised, “Are you serious?”
You settled deeper beneath the comforter, Mingi still throwing on clothes after his shower. You hold his eye, “It’s weird that you’d try sleeping in our bed.”
His hands fall to his sides, all emotion wiped from his face. “I just said that so they would leave us alone.”
“You could have been honest,” you answer simply. “You could have laughed it off. You could have said anything other than it being weird, Yunho.”
His face softens, “It wasn’t my intention to–”
“You don’t seem to have any intentions,” you cut him off. “You can sleep downstairs, like you were planning to last night.”
Lips bending, a slow nod, without another word he turns around, grabs a pillow and a blanket, and leaves your bedroom. Mingi, watching from the dresser, finally crawls into bed after Yunho closes the door behind him.
You open your arms, welcoming him into your chest, fingers immediately scratching into his hair, pressing a kiss to his clean scalp that still smelled like seasalt, “You okay baby?”
“Tired,” he mumbles into your chest, voice deep and heavy. "Don't wanna do it anymore. Too confusing.”
“You wanna be done?” You pause, fingers stalling in his hair. He looks up at you, his eyes big and round, sad. You frown, one hand sliding down to graze his cheek. “We can be done.”
“I don’t want to,” his voice is so small, just barely above a whisper. “But I think it’s obvious we’ll end up being his secret forever. I don’t want to be a secret, I want him to be proud.”
“Me too,” you lean in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m proud you’re my boyfriend, y’know.”
He smiles, “And I’m proud you’re my girlfriend.”
“That’s all we need,” you kiss him again, parting your lips for him, sinking farther down the mattress until he can roll on top of you, elbows bracketing your head. Throwing your arms around his neck, your legs over his thighs, you break the kiss to say, “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he smiles into the kiss, body pressing into yours, and it’s the easy reminder that you’ll always have him, no matter what, that eases weight off your chest.
It’s easy to pretend everything is okay when you lean into the reminder that Mingi will be by your side forever. It’s stuck with you since seven in the morning, when San abruptly woke up the house cracking a wooden spoon against a pot, screaming activities day over and over. He popped into your room with a wide grin, asked where Yunho was, and left your room as confused as he entered it.
Jet skiing, mini-golf, a barbecue, ending the night at Rêve, a reputable bar in town. San insisted that your last day should be filled with the best things Haos has to offer. Of course he left out the part that jet skiing was at the yacht club he was a member of, and that he owned shares at Rêve, making him part-owner; never humble until he was supposed to be, you wished he told you to be on your best behavior today.
Not that your group would ever be on their best behavior. Wooyoung was already drinking by the time you went downstairs for breakfast, he made mimosas for everyone, you had two. The first you chugged after Yunho went upstairs immediately after you entered the kitchen, the second you chugged when he came back downstairs, shirtless, swim trunks painted onto his thighs. If you were going to be forced into activities with him all day, you should make it easier for yourself.
White buildings with terracotta roofing, there were too many buildings to count, a winding paved asphalt driveway up to the front where men in suits stood under a white awning, one approaching as San put his Bronco in park parallel to the main doors. It had valet.
The yacht club was beautiful, massive, every nook and cranny of the main building screamed prestigious. All patrons you encountered were dressed up, some in sports wear for the golf course you could only assume is somewhere on the grounds, in long summer dresses or business-style suits, everyone seemed important. Everyone looked proper. Part of you felt out of place, with your group half-dressed in bathing suits and cover-ups like you were headed to the beach, but it didn’t last long when you got outside to where everything was docked.
Your mouth didn’t close once from the time you walked inside the heavy red doors all the way out to where he kept his jet skis docked, next to his boat, The Kai. Not a far walk, you realized, you assumed meant he was also a very important person here, too, the size of his boat only aided in the confirmation.
He owned four jet skis, which meant four couples could ride at a time, leaving two couples and a Yunho out. Luckily he had a cooler fully stocked on his boat, one he and Jongin brought out to the dock while the first wave of people went out on the water. On the dock were Mingi, Jihyo, Jongho, and Yunho– of course, naturally. You sipped on a seltzer, sitting between Mingi and Jihyo, your feet dangling over the side, one arm behind you holding you up.
Yunho sat on the other side of Jongho at the end and as much as you were grateful after you and Mingi threw in your white towels last night, it hurt that he wasn’t even trying. He didn’t even look at you, not once today, you think. At least when you got out on the water you and Mingi were smiling and laughing, he let you drive the jet ski, which he quickly regretted when he realized the watercraft turned you into an adrenaline junkie.
Mini-golf was ten minutes from the yacht club, half of your group in San’s Bronco, the other half in Jongin’s Jeep. A standalone establishment that had a small course on the outside, an ice cream shop on the inside, and a small kitchen for bar-type food. The alcoholic bar itself was small, connected to the kitchen-half of the indoor space, but it didn’t stop your friend group from ordering a round of shots, cocktails, and beers for all. Even better, the tab at the bar plus admission for minigolf was all paid for by San. His treat, he said, and who were you to argue after seeing The Kai?
There were too many of you for one singular game, but the consensus amongst the group was that you wanted to play together. So instead of splitting your group in half to play two separate games, you played in pairs, and once again you and Mingi were thrown into a triplet, this one you didn’t agree to so easily. One shot down and a cocktail in your palm, no one could feel the tension between the three of you, the energy should be light at mini-golf. You mentally decide you’ll be civil. Maybe you’ll even try being friends.
Mingi and Yunho both had beers in their hands, neither jumping for joy at the blue club you chose, it wasn’t the longest, and the two men you shared with were a hell of a lot taller than you. You stifled a laugh as Mingi uncomfortably hunched over the club as he lined up his feet, awkwardly swinging the club to hit the blue ball.
“This game is fucked,” he stands up straight when the ball bounces off the back wall, missing the hole completely. The first hole is the easiest.
You snort a laugh where you stand, watching his face morph into frustration, his brows knitting and lips parting like he couldn’t believe he missed. “You’ll get it next time,” you encourage, taking a sip of your cocktail.
Hongjoong goes up next, he makes it in with one swing. Tzuyu goes next, she makes it in with one swing. Sana next, she makes it in with one swing.
“This is fucking rigged,” Mingi curses, taking another sip from his beer. Yunho laughs under his breath as your arm comes up to rub his back encouragingly.
“Don’t worry,” you coo. “Yunho and I will win for you.”
“I can play golf,” Mingi argues defensively. “The club is just short. Yunho won’t be able to do it, either.”
Jongho goes next, he makes it in with one swing. Mingi’s brows raise like he’s seconds away from losing his shit. Jongin next, he makes it in with one swing. Mingi’s fuck is loud enough for the children at hole thirteen to hear.
“Don’t get us kicked out of minigolf, Min,” Wooyoung is still laughing, a hand clutching his belly. “We know you’re competitive, it’s just a kid’s game.”
“I know it’s a kid’s game,” Mingi bites, all in one breath, barely looking at the younger man as he says it. Your face is full of amusement when Wooyoung turns to you, brows raised in surprise.
“Don’t ask me,” you shake your head. “I’m not his keeper. When it comes to games, he’s on his own.”
It’s your turn again, the blue ball alone on the green. You’ve played enough minigolf in your life for this to be muscle memory– childhood games at arcades, random birthday parties from school friends over the years. But it’s been a long, long time since you were a kid, too long since you’ve come close to a minigolf course. Your first swing, just a foot away from the hole, you miss. The group laughs and you roll your eyes, waving a hand, “I’m just warming up!”
“Oh, I’m sure!” Sana’s voice is dripping with sarcasm and your lips tighten. Feeling hotter now, you line up your feet, the club with the ball, and swing.
You fucking miss.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” you huff. “Someone hand me my drink, I need to be drunker if I’m gonna suck.”
Yunho’s laughing as he hands you your cocktail and you suck down half of it before lining your feet up all over again. You hit the ball this time, but it’s fueled by your rage, it bounces off the brick siding and onto the green of hole four right next door to hole one. You straighten, hand covering your mouth, eyes widening as your ball hits someone else’s ball that was currently playing hole four.
“I’m sorry!” You call as the young kid, definitely not a day over the age of eight, throws the baby blue ball back onto the faded putting green. It’s as if it was in slow motion, how he threw the ball in a perfect arc for it to land flawlessly in the hole without as much as a singular bounce. You whip around to your friend group, eyes wide, “Does that count? Can that count? Jongin, count it.”
Your friend group sounds like a clan of hyenas, loud cackles, obnoxious laughter breaking out across twelve people because of how ridiculous that unfolded.
“Are all three of you competitive?” Seonghwa asks, genuine, voice light and kind.
You shrug as you walk off the green, “I’ve never really played sports, I don’t know.” Skipping over to Jongin who was keeping score, you brush up close to his sculpted arm, tone candy sweet, “So? Are we counting it or what?”
He makes a shh motion, one finger raised, smiling behind the purse of his lips. Your hand forms into a fist and you tuck it into your body with success, “Yes, hole in two, baby.”
Mingi and Yunho are snickering when you return to them, but it’s Yunho who mocks you, “Not competitive, my ass.”
“Hey,” you point a finger at him. “You can’t make fun of me, I’m pissed at you. I said I was gonna make up for Mingi’s shit swing.”
“Yours was even worse!” Mingi’s voice is high-pitched, still defensive. You’re all giggles when you lean into him, pressing a hand to his cheek to pull him down for a kiss. Beer and home, he tastes like half of you.
You feel Yunho’s eyes, but you don’t stop, you don’t do anything to make him think it’s for him. Even if there’s the evil part of you that hopes he wants to rip his skin off his body, that he’s so enraged he sees red, you hope he doesn’t act on it. You hope he doesn’t act on anything ever again.
At hole two, Yunho surprises you both with how efficiently he makes the ball into the hole with only one swing, yours and Mingi’s jaws falling to the concrete. Yunho exudes everything smug on his return.
Smirk on his lips, rolling his shoulders, he says, “What? Like it’s hard?”
Your laugh is verbal disbelief, Mingi immediately quips, “Do not quote Legally Blonde right now.”
Yunho’s giggle is proud, his grin wide, his shoulders doing a little shake in celebration. So fucking cute you could rip out all your hair, you dig your head into Mingi’s chest to smell him, to rid yourself of feelings towards Yunho. Your forehead meets your boyfriend’s skin with a groan, “I need another drink.”
The third hole goes by quickly, efficiently, Mingi excited he got a hole in one, deservedly so. At hole four, you’re up again after a cocktail and a half, at least you’re at the starting line this time. You stare at the blue ball sitting on the green, eyes squinted, whispering, “Do not embarrass me. Okay?”
“Are you talking to the ball?” San asks, humor laced in his tone. “I don’t think it’s gonna answer, girl.”
“I’m giving it a pep talk!” You snap your head to respond and then stare at the ball once more. You line up your feet, then the club with the ball, and swing.
Your fuck is louder than Mingi’s was when you miss. You wave apologetically to the family of four that shoots daggers at you from across the course.
“I can’t watch this,” Yeosang shakes his head as he approaches you. “You're legitimately killing me.”
Your face heats with embarrassment as he stalks up to you, determination in the crease of his brow. You pull all your hair to one side as he stands behind you, arms wrapping around you, hands dwarfing yours over the handle of the club. “Hold like this,” he explains, then kicks one foot between yours, spreading your legs farther, your knees bending. “Stand like that.”
Yunho, tensing beside Mingi, snaps his head to the side to get Mingi’s attention. “Hello?”
Mingi’s brows furrow when Yunho’s shoulder bumps him, his feet staggering. “What?”
“Look,” Yunho says, like it’s absurd Mingi just asked what. He can see the flex of Yeosang’s arms as he stretches them over your shoulders, the veins swimming along his forearms while his hands clasp over yours. It makes his jaw tick, his heartbeat quicken— you’re not Yeosang’s to touch.
“He’s showing her how to play,” Mingi says casually, taking another sip of his beer, leaning towards Yunho like he was watching a sitcom instead of his girlfriend getting felt up by another man.
Yunho’s head tilts, dumbfounded and semi-enraged that Mingi doesn’t feel a shred of the possession he does, his voice a harsh whisper, “Yeosang has had a thing for her since… since forever.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Mingi’s brows raise as he turns to his best friend, a disbelieving chuckle falling from his lips. “No he hasn’t. Tzuyu is right there.”
Yeosang kicks your feet apart and Yunho’s body jerks at the action. His foot inches forward, fingers grasping his beer a little harder like he was ready to pounce. Instead, he grits his teeth, “Have you ever watched Yeosang interact with her? Like ever? He’s basically told you to your face he thinks she’s sexy.”
“She is sexy,” Mingi shrugs, rolling his neck nonchalantly. “If I’m not pissed off then you shouldn’t be either. She’s not yours, she’s mine.”
Yunho’s neck snaps, meeting Mingi’s dead-serious stare. Stunned into silence, he shuts his mouth, drinks his beer, and lets it be. Just when Yunho thought they were getting somewhere, that maybe you wouldn’t be awkward all day, he’s surprised that Mingi’s the one who put him in his place. It’s worse when you return smiling, overflowing with excitement, asking Mingi if he saw your hole-in-one three times before throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him. He feels sick, palms sweating, you weren’t doing this to get a rise out of him, you were leaning on each other because he was the one who fucked up. Again.
The rest of mini-golf goes by in a blur. He doesn’t speak much, he doesn’t have anything to say, his mind is on a roll, trying to come up with any sort of plan to fix this. He needs to get you two alone, he needs to apologize, he needs to say something to get the two of you to stop looking at him like you don’t care about him because that in itself is so fucking terrifying he can feel his goddamn throat close another inch every time he notices.
The drive home is quiet, wind in Yunho’s ears, he can’t even hear the soft music playing through the speakers, he didn’t care to. Out of the corner of his eye he watches you sink into Mingi in San’s backseat with the sun laying over your lap like a blanket, your eyes closed beneath your sunglasses like you didn’t have a care in the world. Like nothing was bothering you at all.
He’s never let himself learn just how terrifying it could be to love someone who didn’t want him. Two people who didn’t fucking want him.
“Who’s ready to BBQ?” Wooyoung shouts from the passenger seat of Jongin’s Jeep, emphasizing the acronym, basically hanging halfway over the door while grinning wide enough to showcase each and every one of his bone-colored teeth. You’d just pulled into San’s driveway, finally back at home to barbecue, to fill your stomachs with a good, hearty meal before you were back on the streets for Haos’ nightlife.
Everyone piled out of the cars quickly, heading inside just for the men to immediately split off into the kitchen to start prepping the grill. You watch as they gather around the kitchen island, shouting orders and ideas about cooking of all things until Tzuyu bumps your hip with her own at the base of the staircase, stealing your attention.
Pulling her hair tie from her bun, she lets it fall behind her in loose waves, scratching her fingers through her roots, “I guess the man-grill thing is genetic. Or built-in, like a default setting.”
“There’s nine of them,” you whisper. “How many does it take to man a grill?”
“Nope, I’m out!” Hongjoong raises both his palms beside his head in defeat while he retreats from the kitchen. “You’re all insane, I’m showering and napping. Call me when dinner’s ready.”
“Eight,” you correct yourself, a grin growing on your cheeks, and Tzuyu laughs from beside you.
Jihyo, her bag over her shoulder, enters the living room with Sana at her side, the two approaching you and Tzuyu with grins on their faces. Sana does a little shake of her hips, grin reading excitement, “Who’s ready to fuck up the club?”
“It’s a bar, I think,” Jihyo laughs, “but it’ll be nice for us all to go out and let loose.”
“We’ve done nothing but let loose all weekend,” Tzuyu furrows her brows.
“No.” you shake your head once. “We have not.”
“I brought face masks,” Sana’s fingertips dance together mischievously. “We should pre-game getting ready while they grill and shit.”
Out on the deck, Mingi stood over the grill in front of the railing, a pair of tongs in his hand while he flipped pieces of meat and seafood on the black, steel grates. The speaker inside played music through the screen door, everyone mindlessly humming and singing along while they set the table, chatter and laughter flowing through the chilly summer breeze that ruffled his hair.
So many years these guys have been his friends, so many years Yunho has been his friend, he can’t believe it’s all gone to complete shit. This was his worst fear coming true, the lingering fear when all of this began, that he’d cross a line and lose Yunho. Yeah, they’d all still be friends, but his friendship with Yunho has always been different. Deeper. He can’t believe he’s losing it, right in front of his eyes.
He felt alive again that first night in Haos, back to normalcy, you three felt closer than before, just for it to be ruined all over again the next day. Each and every time he met Yunho’s eye today, he hated that those three words still sat in the hinge of his jaw, the back of his throat, begging to be spoken. He could tell it was the same for you, where your eyelids sat over your glazed pupils, a certain twinkle to them as you stared up at Yunho even if you tried to hide it. He knows what the words look like forming on your lips, how you tighten your smile to stop them from spilling out, he knows you like the back of his hand.
He can’t believe you both love him and you can’t have him.
“Almost done?” Mingi’s head snapped up to Yunho on his right side, his head peeking over Mingi’s shoulder, the heat of Yunho hotter than the grill. Speak of the devil.
Mingi nods, eyes sliding over his face. Big, brown eyes with clean cut brows giving them structure, cheekbones high and sculpted, lips a pretty, pale pink heart. He wishes there was no one else on the deck, he wants nothing more than to lean forward and press his lips to Yunho’s, he hates that his feelings still linger.
Yunho’s head tilts when Mingi lacks a response, amused by Mingi’s eyes locked in on his lips. “What’cha thinking about?”
“Nothing,” Mingi mumbles, bringing his eyes back to the grill.
Yunho sighs, “Mingi–”
“Don’t,” Mingi keeps his eyes locked on the burning fire beneath the grates. “I don’t want to hear it, it’s all bullshit.”
It feels like a blow to Yunho’s ribs. “None of what I want to say is bullshit, Mingi. You know me.”
“I thought I knew you,” Mingi mutters, purposely keeping his voice low. “I thought I knew how you felt about us, I thought we were getting somewhere, that even though you’re scared, you wouldn’t pretend you didn’t feel anything.”
Yunho frowns, his head dropping. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, Min.”
“But you did,” Mingi meets his eye. “And you knew you did in the moment. But you didn’t go back on what you said, you didn’t change your answer. You let me sit there looking stupid because I–”
Mingi cuts himself off and Yunho’s brows furrow for a second, “Because you what?”
“Nothing, it doesn’t matter.”
“It matters,” Yunho urges. “Everything you say matters.”
“Not to you,” Mingi turns sideways, his jaw locked, his brows flat. “Don’t apologize, don’t say whatever pretty words you think are gonna make it better. It was embarrassing, Yunho, sitting there while everyone laughed at the idea of us being together because you said it was weird.”
Yunho’s fingers rub at his eyes, exasperated, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say it, it was word vomit, I got scared–”
“Yunho,” Mingi’s voice is so clear, so even Yunho stands a little straighter. “I know how you feel already. You’re twenty-eight years old, you’re old enough to know words have meaning. You know how we feel about you. We’re done here.”
Yunho’s throat is so tight he doesn’t think he could take a breath even if he tried. There’s no oxygen in the air, nothing to feed his lungs, Mingi’s words feel so concrete all he can do is turn around and walk away. Inside, toward the bathroom, he’s walking without vision, without a brain, he locks the door behind him and finally heaves a strained, verbal breath.
We’re done here.
You’re done with him. Mingi’s done with him. His back presses against the door, facing the ceiling, willing his tears to stay below the surface. He’s right. He’s grown enough to know that his fear is childish, that it’s time to settle down, he shouldn’t be afraid of what his friends think, what anyone thinks. He shouldn’t be afraid of commitment with you, he knows you won’t hurt him in his soul, he knows how you feel about him. He feels the same way toward you, if not deeper, he feels so fucking much toward you that it terrifies him.
He’s running out of time to get over it.
If this was a month ago he’d be seeing this situation as an out, he’d be thinking that this was for the best, but now his heart feels shriveled down to a husk in his chest. Hollow, like the best parts of him were gone, missing the people who made him feel whole, gave him purpose outside of sex. Outside of the role he gave himself.
When he goes back out onto the deck, the sun’s at its last moments of visibility over the horizon, the girls had made it back down, too. You sat next to Mingi at the corner, Jihyo and Jongho across from you, Tzuyu and Yeosang beside you. Yunho sits beside Hongjoong who’s next to Seonghwa, and the couple look at him with sad eyes.
Seonghwa leans across Hongjoong, his voice low. “What’d you do?”
Yunho sighs, lips flattening. He doesn’t question how Seonghwa read the situation. “You saw what I did. At dinner yesterday.”
Hongjoong makes a face, one that says you’re fucked. “That was a tough watch.”
“I know,” Yunho answers, tone flat. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I don’t think we’re able to give you advice, this is out of our area of expertise,” Seonghwa looks apologetic, voice soft as he leans across Hongjoong to lay his palm flat over Yunho’s hand, encouraging. “You’ll figure it out if you love them as much as they love you.”
Yunho stares at him for a second and for the first time in thirty minutes he can’t actively hear his own heartbeat. He gives Seonghwa a soft, grateful smile, pulling his hands back in his lap, thinking.
You’ll figure it out if you love them as much as they love you.
He lets his eyes graze over the meal, a feast is what it was, far too much food for thirteen people to consume and feel good after digesting, but no one seemed to care. Music flowed from inside, loud yet calming, a backtrack to conversation, banter, laughter, not anything Yunho could hear over the sound of his pounding heart.
San made a toast to the last night in Haos, a small speech of how happy he was to maintain the friendships that were vital to him. Appreciation for all of you, gratitude for years of friendship, relationships he wouldn’t trade for the world, he even choked up talking about how close he holds everyone to his heart. Not often does he get emotional, but the way the table stood, clapped, clinked their glasses and took turns squeezing him tight, maybe he’ll be more inclined.
Maybe the three of you weren’t the only ones who are having an emotional weekend.
By the time dinner was over, all thirteen of you stuffed full, the impending night out seemed more like a chore than anything. Yunho’s stretched out on the couch half-asleep until he hears Wooyoung complain to San that the girls were getting ready in his room, perking his ears enough for him to wake the hell up and trudge up two flights of steps to his room, your room, to see Mingi passed out in the bed.
A white tee, briefs on his legs, he lays on his side, both hands pressed together beneath one cheek, lips parted as he snores softly. Yunho smiles to himself, staring from the doorway, leaned up against the wooden frame, he looks so peaceful. So pretty, Yunho wanted so badly to crawl onto the bed and press a kiss to his lips, he knows better. Instead he creeps across the hardwood, gathering his things for a shower and leaves.
The hot water gives him clarity. Maybe it’d be easier to confess tonight with a little liquid confidence, it’d give him an easier flow, he could say everything he needs to say without the stupid fucking wall that’s embedded in him biting his tongue. He loves you, he loves you both so much he feels incomplete, the world feels tilted off its axis without you two by his side. One week without you was hell, one day watching you with each other was like living in purgatory, the in-between, where he can look but can’t touch, he thinks that might be worse.
Mingi’s still asleep while he starts getting ready, he only wakes up when Yunho’s buttoning up his shirt. He sits up slowly, wiping at his eyes, “What time is it?”
“After nine, I think,” Yunho responds, staring at Mingi through the mirror. His hair looks untouched, eyes half-lidded, he licks his lips three times just to get moisture in his mouth again. Yunho can’t fight his smile.
“Fuck,” Mingi’s top lip lifts. “You’re dressing up?”
Yunho grins, “I’m only in a button-up and pants.”
“Yeah, but they’re your good pants,” Mingi argues, “the ones that make your ass look good.” His eyes widen after he says it, like his own words woke him up the rest of the way, but he doesn’t correct himself.
Yunho looks over his shoulder like he’ll be able to see his own ass. “You think my ass looks good in these?”
Mingi stretches, a verbal noise of tightness leaving his chest as his arms go over his head, his shirt lifting at the hem, Yunho’s eyes snap to the exposed bit of skin like a moth to a flame. Mingi lays flat on the bed, arms straight out beside him, legs spread. “You know it does, don’t play coy.”
Yunho laughs a little as he buttons the last one, leaving the top three undone, one silver cross pendant sitting on his chest. He turns slowly, hands planted on the dresser behind him, taking a breath to build confidence since there was zero liquor swimming in his blood, “I regret what I said at dinner yesterday.”
Mingi sits up on his elbows, sleep still evident in his glossy eyes, his tone remains flat, knowing. “Do you?”
Yunho nods, lips scrunching to one side. “I don’t like how we are right now.”
Mingi sits up all the way, “I don’t like it either.”
Yunho’s voice is breathy, a little shaky as he asks, “Can I fix it?”
“Last time we were fixing things it took one day for it to get fucked up again,” Mingi lifts himself off the bed, running a hand through his hair. He stops right before Yunho, facing him, “You’re the only one who needs to figure your shit out, Yunho.”
Yunho watches as Mingi heads for the door, calling behind him. “What if I figured it out already?”
Mingi holds his stare from the door. “Then what are you waiting for?”
Stuck in time, Yunho stares, his tongue caught between his teeth, his heart in his throat. Mingi laughs a little, disappointment clear as he shakes his head. Before heading to the bathroom, he mutters, “Thought so.”
Yunho curses under his breath when he hears the bathroom door close, the shower turning on. He doesn’t wait around for Mingi’s return, he goes back downstairs, most of the guys already showered, dressed, ready to go. He opens a beer with the same tightness in his jaw, frustrated that Mingi just gave him an opportunity to speak and he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t say a word.
There’s music playing from the TV in the living room, something pop from a decade ago, he doesn’t have it in him to listen, or to the conversation happening around the kitchen island. San, Jongin, Wooyoung, Jongho, it’s all muted mumbling in his ringing ears, he feels pathetic.
It’s worse when Mingi comes downstairs and doesn’t even look at him. He joins the conversation seamlessly, the laughter grows, they’re talking louder than the music, it makes Yunho feel not only on the outside of his relationship, but on the outside of everything. Isolated because he can’t speak up, he can’t say how he feels, he’s trapped within his own mind, trapped beneath his feelings. He cracks another beer.
He doesn’t think it can get any worse until you walk down the stairs. On the couch now, he gets a front-row view of the black dress painted onto your body, tied around your neck, stiletto heels with straps that twist up your calves like vines. Mingi meets you at the base, picking you up off the bottom stair with one arm hooked around your body, lips pressed to yours, when he sets you down carefully he says something in your ear that makes your head fall back with laughter.
Emotion feels like bile rising in his throat. He’s jealous, but it’s different now; what was once frustrating was now driving, the words sit heavy on his tongue. You two look like you’re matching, dark clothes, hair styled, jewelry silver and offsetting one another, he looks down at his outfit and it’s almost like fate that he’s matching, too.
He looks back up to meet your eye across the room, what was supposed to be a glance lingers.
Yunho gives you the smallest of smiles, You look beautiful.
Your chin tilts upwards ever so slightly, I know, Mingi just told me.
Ouch. He leans into the backrest, I can’t tell you, too?
The corner of your lips tug upward. Thanks.
He watches as Mingi’s hand slithers around your waist. I need to talk to you.
You sink into Mingi’s hold, your back pressed against his chest, What if I don’t want to hear it?
Yunho’s jaw clenches. You do.
Sana shrieks from the staircase as soon as she sees Mingi’s lips pressed to the skin below your ear, “Do not fuck in that dress, I just bought it!”
You pull your attention away from him and he feels like grieving. You don’t give it to him again until you’ve had tequila poured into your mouth from the bottle, all thirteen of you in the kitchen fully dressed, pouring liquor like it’s water and calling it a pre-game. Outside, splitting two Escalades, rides San ordered for your group to take to Rêve across town, Yunho opted to sit in the back with you and Mingi, you scowled as soon as it left his lips. He smiles, because at least you care enough to frown.
San was immediately greeted upon approaching the upscale bar, stepping out of the Escalade to be met with two men wearing suits like it was regular, casual. Inside it was red everything, from leather booths to velvet barstools to the curtain that hung closed upon the stage; walls full of vintage framed photography, the architecture a brown so deep it appeared burgundy, dimly lit shaded lamps on tables, some traded for candles, the bar was drenched in an amber hue. It was definitely moody, a brand created off of atmosphere, it felt cozy as much as it felt expensive.
It was calmly crowded, plenty of people filling up the tables in the center of the room, a crowd before the stage that had waiters with trays between them. You spotted martini glasses, short glasses of whiskey poured neat, women in daring dresses and doused in jewels, men in suits who blew clouds of swirling smoke in the air from their cigars. All thirteen of you looked appropriate, expensive– but not old money expensive like some of the patrons you observed. You wondered about the history of Haos, about San, how deep his pockets really ran.
You couldn’t wonder for long, though, with how the group was directed past the stage to a steel door at the back of the building that seemed… insignificant. Like it’d bring you outside or to a storage room, not to a long, dark hallway that hummed louder and louder with each step he took.
Bass thumped beneath your shoes, the group quietly following the man in black like this was normal, no one questioned anything only because San followed with confidence, chest puffed out, shoulders back. Surprise wasn’t the word for what was behind the twin steel door at the end of the hallway, it opened to flashes of blue and purple, music so loud it made you jump where you stood.
Women on platforms half-dressed, swaying their hips to the beat of the song, bottle girls with buckets of ice and handles of liquor atop their heads parting through the crowd like it was the Red Sea, patrons in clothing that matched yours exactly. The room was filled with people in your age group dancing to the music at the center of the backdoor club, the walls filled with enclosed sections you assumed were VIP, all by velvet roped attached to silver poles.
“So? Are you guys surprised?” San asks from the head of the group, his smirk turned to a wide, excited grin, which everyone replied with a monotonous, confused yes. San laughed, leaning into Jongin, “We wanted to surprise you, you guys looked so confused at the front, like we were gonna smoke cigars and watch Cabaret.”
“I wouldn’t have minded,” Jongho shrugs, and most of the group nod their agreement, including you. You didn’t care where you ended up tonight as long as there was liquor for you to guzzle.
“This is better, no?” San raises his brows as he begins walking you toward the back wall, what you assume was your VIP section. “Music we know, people our age, it’s been a long time since we’ve all gone clubbing together.”
Tzuyu, in a red dress painted on her body, adds, “Because all the clubs at home suck.”
“Not the ones here,” San quips like he was waiting for that reply, entering the section backlit by blue lights cool enough to be white. “They love me here.”
“You own it,” Mingi snorts, “they have to love you.”
“I partially own it,” San raises a finger as he steps into the open booth, the table at the center already full of ice and champagne. “There’s a difference.”
Jongin starts pouring champagne into flutes, “Should we make another toast?”
“We don’t need to get all teary-eyed again,” Sana smiles, softly instead of the nasty smirk she usually wore with her rebuttals. This was appreciation. “We have our makeup done, Sannie made us emotional enough back at the house.”
“It’s not every day that you get to tell your friends how much you love them,” San holds the flute between his fingers, brows wiggling.
Yeosang laughs, “It could be, you just choose not to.”
You can feel the music in your blood, the dance floor calling to you, excitement in the bounce of your knee. You only spend fifteen minutes in your section, finishing a singular cocktail before Tzuyu’s pulling you out to the dance floor, after getting ready together in Sana’s room it was like all four of you had taken a breath of fresh air.
The dance floor was already swarming with sweaty bodies loosened up by liquor. Yours not quite there yet, you’re in a fit of giggles as the girls twirl you into the crowd, you stay on the outside of Jihyo and Sana who fall into rhythm, backs pressed to one another as they sway their hips, laughing as they twist around. You and Tzuyu are watching, smiling, giggling until the two pull you into their circle, forcing your hips into the same rhythm as theirs.
“I’m out of practice!” You yell over the music, and both Sana and Jihyo shake their heads, like they wouldn’t accept the excuse.
Jihyo slaps a hand on your shoulder, “You fuck, you know how to use your hips!”
Head tipping back with another laugh, you let her pull you into her, your hips so close they might as well be touching. You follow her rhythm, using a fuck-worthy roll of your hips as you do, bottom lip caught between your teeth while you focus.
“You’re thinking too much,” Sana’s behind you, hands on your hips. “You need another drink, damn.”
Your lips tighten in a line as you look up at Jihyo again, embarrassed. She laughs in response, “She means you’ll feel looser with a little liquor in you.”
Sana stops the bottle girl holding a tray of shots, her screech for help loud as she tries to balance four between her fingers, the three of you snatch them from her hands like candy. Shooting it back in one swallow, you push a breath through your lips like it’d rid the sting from your throat, your face scrunching up at the taste. Vodka– bitter, painful.
But it helps, it’s not long until your arms lay over Jihyo’s shoulders, your back pressed to Sana’s as she moves to the same rhythm as you, Tzuyu swaying her body in front of Sana. You can feel the music in your blood now, your body thumping with the bass, bones turning fluid with each shake of your hips. You’re unable to feel the warmth spreading through your skin, your senses already overwhelmed by the atmosphere, you’re too busy watching Jihyo’s half-clothed body grinding herself against you.
Eventually Tzuyu heads to the bar for more drinks, handing you another shot before a glass full of something and tequila, you don’t realize how quickly you’re sipping it while Tzuyu is bent over in front of you, her ass pressed to your crotch. You can hear your obnoxious laughter over the music when Sana lands a few smacks to her ass, Jihyo pulling out her phone to record it, the four of you erupting in a fit of drunken giggles and snorts, bodies light, brains somewhere else entirely, not once did you remember there’s an entire club of people around you.
It’s been so long. House parties, clubs, bars, your friend group used to be outside on a weekly basis, you missed it. You missed them, dancing with them, completely carefree, like you’re twenty-three again. It was nostalgic in a visceral way, like maybe you were twenty-three again, sharing platonic kisses with your friends on the dance floor, waiting for your boyfriend to come scoop you up and fuck you in the bathroom because neither of you could wait.
You don’t realize you’re drunk until Mingi joins you on the dance floor. When you see his face, structured and beautiful, strands of hair hanging over his glossy eyes, a smile on his plump lips, you feel the rush of warmth from your chest to your toes. His pants cling to his legs like they’re tailored to him, strong thighs filling out the fabric, his unbuttoned shirt is showing enough skin for you to lick down his chest. You want to, the urge sitting at the forefront of your mind, you lick your lips as he approaches.
“I was wondering where you went,” Mingi’s loud over the music, you could get drunk off the rasp to his voice alone. You throw your hands over his shoulders, swaying your hips to a rhythm he meets you at immediately, his hands on your waist.
“I’ve been here,” you tilt your head, dazed. “We were dancing, the girls are so funny.”
Mingi snorts, “You’re drunk.”
“Nooo,” you shake your head, the word exaggerated, playful. “Just tipsy. Did I tell you how handsome you look?” Mingi looks amused, brows raising, you don’t wait for his answer. “You look sofuckingsexy.” His belly laugh makes your smile grow. “I’m serious, Min. I want you, like now.”
He leans in to attach your lips, a quick peck, he fights your strength to keep him close. “Now? Like were twenty-three again? Don’t wanna wait until we get home so I can fuck you in our bed?”
A small noise slips through your lips at the thought. “Too far away, we just got here.”
“We got here over an hour ago,” his hands curl around your waist, gripping you harder. “You’ve been out here the whole time, baby.”
It feels like you’ve been dancing for ten minutes. “Whatever,” you whine, pressing your front against his. “Kiss me already.”
He obliges, smiling before he presses his lips to yours, hands sliding down to grip your hips, pulling your body flush to his. You gasp into his lips, he tastes like whiskey, bitter but sweet, addicting. Your fingers find his hair as his tongue parts your lips, tasting you, groaning into you, your hands fall from his neck to feel him.
“Baby,” he says with caution, you swallow the warning, tilting your head to kiss him harder. He squeezes your hips as your hands fall from his hair to his chest, palms splayed over his pecs down to his abdomen, tongue dancing with his.
“I just wanna kiss,” you mumble into his mouth, hands fisting the fabric of his shirt as you take his bottom lip between your teeth, biting softly. He groans, chasing your lips again, his hips pressing into you, he’s so easy it makes your core clench.
He parts your legs with one of his own, pressing into you, making you gasp a sound too lewd for where you are. Entirely bare beneath your dress, the pressure combined with the texture of his pants makes a breathy moan fall past your lips, one he drinks up with his own. Your fingers curl into his shirt tighter, hips bucking into him, one of his hands sliding up to the side of your neck.
“Can feel her on me,” his voice is deeper, almost a growl as he says the words into your mouth. “Knew you weren’t wearing panties.”
One of your heeled feet leaves the floor to grind against him at a better angle, head falling forward until your forehead lands against his, “Shit, feels good.”
He reaches behind you, fingers finding the hem of your dress, holding it taut over your ass. You moan again as your core drags over his thigh, forehead falling to his shoulder, the rest of the club melting away. He curses under his breath, “Baby, hold on, you gotta–”
You whimper into his shirt, eyes screwing shut, tequila and Mingi was a cocktail for impulsivity. Him, the smell of him in your nose, his body pressed to yours, he made you so fucking cockdrunk without even giving you an inch, without even touching you. The pleasure’s overwhelming, you needed more, pressure building steadily, you didn’t care where you were, who saw.
Yunho can’t believe what he’s seeing. Curiosity getting the better of him, he should have known not to follow Mingi out to the dance floor to find you. But he was growing antsy at the table, listening to the bullshit conversation everyone was having when all he wanted to do was kiss Mingi across the table. Sitting back against the couch with his knees spread, beer in his hand, lips wet and pink and plump, Yunho was stirring in impatience. He’s hungry, he wants to touch him, to kiss him, wants him on his knees between his legs, he wants to tell him how much he loves him with his lips wrapped around his cock. He stared with his chin in his palm, elbow pressed to his knee, his foot tapping against the floor, the liquor made him restless.
At least he waited a few seconds before following Mingi, just to find the two of you at the center of the dance floor, surrounded by bodies and eyes while you grinded your hips against his fucking thigh like you were the only people out here. Mingi’s holding your dress over your ass, your hands in his shirt, leg hooked around his body, he stared until he understood the rhythm you were moving at, watching how you twitched like you were about to fucking cum.
He was seeing red. In his mind you were both still his, and you were letting all of these random fucking people see you like this? Seeing what’s his? He was moving before he could think about it, pressing himself up against your back, hands on your waist to shield you from everyone who could be watching. His voice comes out rough, harsh, “Don’t you fucking dare.”
Your hips still like your blood was still victim to his command. Head tilting backward, you stare at him through wet lashes, lips parting, his name leaves your mouth in a soft gasp. Eyes hazy, glossed over, fuck, all his rage dissipates into the humidity of the club, just from one look at you. Disheveled, you didn’t have a frown on your face, your brows weren’t tied together, so fucking beautiful flushed with arousal he can feel it in his chest.
He looks at Mingi who’s equally as fucked out, cheeks red, eyes glossed over, he stares at Yunho like he wants to devour him, just like Yunho was staring at him in their section. His cock twitches in his pants, his heart twists, it’s been one fucking day and he misses you like he hasn’t had you in months.
He can’t take it anymore. He can’t do this anymore.
He isn’t thinking when he leans forward, sandwiching you between himself and Mingi as his fingers grab his cheeks, there’s no patience in the way Yunho kisses him, no softness, it’s all hunger and relief and driven by every single thought he’s had today. He says each one with each lick into Mingi’s mouth, he hopes he can feel it, the guilt, the fear, the ease he feels just by tasting the whiskey on his tongue.
“Oh my god,” he hears you whisper, it goes one ear and out the other as Mingi groans into his mouth, it goes straight to his cock. He feels you slip from between them as Mingi’s hands find his hair, his hands slide to Mingi’s neck, their chests pressed together like they couldn’t be close enough.
“I love you,” Yunho breaks the kiss only to say the three words into his mouth and he moans. Between kisses, he holds him close, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I fucking love you.”
“They’re watching,” you’re tugging on his arm, panic ebbed in your tone. “Yun, they’re watching you. They can see you.”
He pulls away from Mingi to turn to you, your eyes wide with fear, lips parted, eyes bouncing back and forth between Yunho and what he can only assume is all of your friends. He doesn’t care. There’s no shame, there’s no denial, there’s nothing inside him that could stop him from grabbing you by the waist, throwing the other in your hair, and pressing his lips to yours. He breaks it only to murmur, “Let them see.”
You’re stiff for just a second before melting into him, his kisses softer than those with Mingi, more controlled, like kissing Mingi took the edge off his impulse. “I love you,” he whispers into your mouth. “I don’t give a fuck if they see me kissing you, you’re mine.”
You hook your leg over his thigh, palms on his cheeks, relief flooding you. You tilt your head to the side, smirking, “You couldn’t have said that yesterday?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop speaking,” your fingers tighten in his hair. “Your mouth gets you in trouble. Take us home.”
Your friend group watches Yunho guide you both through the club with wide eyes and parted lips, you don’t spare them a glance as you and Mingi trail behind Yunho like dogs to their owner. The Escalades are still parked out front, a few words from Yunho to the driver and he’s opening the door to the backseat for you and Mingi, ushering you inside.
You stole Yunho’s mouth the entire drive, Mingi settling for his neck, the skin on his chest, more with every button he ripped apart. You didn’t speak, you didn’t need to, you’d said everything on the dance floor, specifics could come later. The only thing left was consummation, which was the only thing on your mind as you nearly sprinted through the front door, almost tripping on your feet on the climb upstairs.
“Careful,” Yunho said from behind you when you’d taken two steps at a time, but he couldn’t hold in his laughter, amused at your impatience. You ignored him, forgoing an answer to instead steal his lips once more when you reached the top of the steps.
His hands found your hips, tongue pushing through your lips, you felt Mingi’s palms a steady wait on top of Yunho’s as he backed you into your room, then closed the door behind you. You broke away to untie your dress behind your neck, just for Mingi to trade places with you, stealing Yunho’s mouth.
“Bed,” you said into the air, and watched as they tripped over each other, stepping in each other’s line of direction as they backed closer, closer, and closer to the bed. Mingi fell backwards, Yunho’s hands flying for his belt.
You kissed your boyfriend, who hummed when your lips met his. “Tequila.”
“Tastes good, right?” You smile into the kiss, dress riding up your thighs, body bent over completely to keep your mouth on his.
You can hear Mingi’s pants hit the floor, grabbing your attention. Yunho has his shirt off, Mingi’s briefs discarded. Yunho’s eyes, always cool and collected, are wide, crazed; sparkling with the moonlight that makes a puddle of white at the balcony door, casting the room in a hue of midnight.
Reality settles, and it’s heavy. Drunk you may be, but not drunk enough to not be wondering what’s going through his mind. “Hey,” you offer. His eyes meet yours, charcoal, swirling with moonlight, not quite steady. Your lips curve, “I love you.”
His bare shoulders settle, ease washing over him. He leans over Mingi’s legs, two hands cupping your cheeks as he kisses you deeply, speaking into your mouth, “I love you, too.”
“Holy shit,” you mumble into his mouth, making him giggle right back. He giggled.
He loves you. He fucking loves you.
Mingi reaches for your legs, pulling one over his chest, you’re absent-minded as Yunho keeps his tongue tangled with yours. He pushes your dress up over your hips, holding it up over your waist, and pulls you down to meet his awaiting tongue.
You gasp out a moan as Mingi groans, bare hips bucking against Yunho who was still leaning over him. Yunho leans back, eyes darkening as he takes in the sight, your hips already rolling against Mingi’s tongue.
“Fuck,” Yunho sighs, grabbing his length through his pants, his grip tight like he was pacing his own pleasure. Like seeing you with Mingi might’ve very well brought him closer than he should have been.
Mingi’s arms hook around your thighs, tongue poking out to let your hips rock against it, allowing you to set your own pace, to use him however you want. You waste no time setting a brutal pace, whimpering as his flexed tongue rolls over your clit, as your hips rock back onto his nose. Fingers curling into your skin, searing where they held you, no doubt leaving oval shapes behind, the sting only makes you grind against him harder.
Yunho’s fingers find his button, his zipper, his eyes zeroed in on the sight before him like he couldn’t rip his eyes away if he tried. Indents of strain dimple the space above his brows, just a slight furrow, his hand finds his length again over his briefs, running his flat palm over his hard cock, a moan tumbling off his tongue.
Your eyes flare. “G’na cum just like that? Watching?”
Yunho’s lips part. “Could, if I wanted to.”
You find the hem of your dress at your waist, pulling the thin fabric over your head in one quick motion. Still rocking your hips, abdomen flexed, breasts falling at your chest, Yunho groans.
“Fuck,” he curses under his breath. You hiss when Mingi’s nose catches on your entrance. Yunho’s eyes sink down to where Mingi’s tongue swallows your folds, how it blankets over your core, swiping through, spit sliding down the sides of his mouth. His hand picks up speed over his briefs, hips bucking into his own hand, chest rising and falling heavily, “I might.”
You lean forward, holding Yunho’s eye, moaning as Mingi’s tongue curls inside you. You take Mingi’s length in one hand, the other pressed on his chest, and Mingi’s hips jerk into your hand immediately, a sharp grunt vibrating your thighs.
Mingi’s knees spread, hips bucking off the bed, feet finding the edge of the bed, legs lifting just to spread wider. You keep your eyes on Yunho, voice a husky whisper, “Join.”
As if you were a siren, his body pulls him forward, his hand leaving his cotton-covered cock just to wrap around Mingi’s, his hand fitting perfectly right above yours. Mingi’s palms wrapped around your thighs keep your hips moving as you and Yunho pump his length, one-handed, your eyes never once leaving each other.
“Fuck him,” you nearly whisper, your voice still husky, coated in arousal. “Push his legs up to his chest and fuck him. I have his mouth.”
Yunho gasps, and it would have been silent if you weren’t so close. His face twinges, a jerk of a reaction, like he wasn’t used to someone giving him orders. But his hands find Mingi’s knees, the underside of them, pushing them upward. He leans toward you, taking your lips in his, and as his tongue pushes into your mouth you know it’s claiming. Steadying. Reminding you who he is, who he is to you.
Yunho’s hand disappears between Mingi’s legs, earning a shattered moan spat into your core, you smile through the sound that rips from your chest. Rocking your hips again, sitting up straight once more, Mingi’s fingers singe your thighs, each fingertip like iron soaked in fire.
Mingi’s heels find the bed, cock twitching against his abdomen, leaking all over the stretch of skin beneath his belly button. The skin of your thighs gathers between his fingers, but you rock yourself through it, the pain mixed with the pleasure better than any cocktail you’ve had tonight.
Your head tips back as Yunho preps him, listening to Mingi curse into your folds, whining and whimpering but giving your clit the most attention of all. “S’good, Mingi,” you moan out, reaching behind you to run your fingers through his hair, sounding utterly dazed. “Mm, I love you.”
You barely hear him say it back, his voice lagged, muffled by a mouth full of you, head no doubt fuzzy from Yunho knuckle deep in his ass. You bring your eyes back to the older man who’s focused, taking his time opening him up, prepping him for his cock that neither of you can ever really be prepped for.
“Makin’ a mess, Min,” Yunho comments, finally noticing the painting the younger man made on his own skin. Droplets of pre, ropes that dripped down his sides, Mingi moaned in response. Yunho pushes his legs up, you catch them, palms splayed over his knees, holding him spread.
Beautiful, watching Mingi suck in every single inch. Beautiful, watching Yunho fight every fucking instinct to cum as soon as he bottomed out. It ignited the fire in your gut like you were the one Yunho was splitting open; a harsh moan pushing past your lips, clit throbbing against Mingi’s unmoving tongue. At least he stuck it out, you thought as your hips bucked against him, grinding harshly against the muscle he wanted you to use for your own pleasure.
When Yunho started moving, when Mingi started moaning like nothing has ever felt this good in his life, you could feel it like a phantom limb; brows furrowing, moans growing in pitch, watching your boyfriend fuck your other boyfriend brought you right to the edge.
“Shit… shit,” you moaned, your fingers finding your nipples, pinching, twisting. Hips bucking rapidly, watching Yunho’s abdomen flex as his hips rolled into Mingi’s ass, you neared so close you could taste it. “Gonna cum, Yun, gonna c-cum–”
“Wait,” he ground out, his voice ragged and harsh like he was nearing the brink himself. It made your eyes dart to him, he always lasted, he’s never cum this quickly. Ever. His grin is lazy, his head tipped backward, sweat kissing his moonlight-kissed skin, he utters, “Been waiting– for this, t-to tell you how I feel.” His chin dips, eyes squeezing shut, “Fuck.”
You understood then, that his release was so much more.
“Let me cum,” you urged. “Let me, want to watch you.”
Yunho’s eyes met yours, and agreement shone in the subtle spark of white dancing in charcoal. He leaned forward, wrapping his fingers around your neck, tugging you toward him to crash your lips onto his, shoving his tongue into your mouth, tasting the orgasm that washed over you as soon as you met.
Mingi’s grip rocked you through it, a sob leaving your throat, lips unmoving against Yunho’s. Whispering into your mouth, he uttered, “I love you.”
You couldn’t answer. You couldn’t do anything but roll off Mingi’s face, the younger man gasping for a breath, reaching his arms upward for Yunho. Yunho’s hips didn’t falter as he leaned down, as he pushed Mingi up the bed, crawling onto it himself. Head in the pillows, utterly dazed, lovesick and spent, you watched Yunho take Mingi for everything he’s worth.
Mingi sobbed, hands in Yunho’s hair, muttering I love you over and over again like he couldn’t believe he could say it. Yunho’s hips snapped against his, responding every fucking time Mingi said it, not missing a single time it passed through his lips.
And it occurred to you then, that they were yours. Both of them, finally, for real this time, they were completely yours. So beautiful together, their bodies molding perfectly, lips touching, speaking, not kissing; Mingi’s hands in Yunho’s hair, Yunho cradling Mingi’s cheeks.
You didn’t feel the tears on your cheeks until Mingi spilled onto his stomach, blurry eyes darting to where it dribbled down his side. They didn’t notice until after Yunho emptied himself inside Mingi, when the smack of hips became a sound of slick movement, and their heads turned to yours.
Mingi’s face, fucked-out turned to concerned. Brows bent, lips pouting, he scrounged to sit up on his elbows, “What’s wrong?”
You shook your head, wiping under your eyes. “I just love you, both of you. That’s all.”
Yunho crawled over to you, a warm smile on his lips as he split your knees, placing a cupped palm on your cheek before he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. Wiping your tears, he murmured, “I’m sorry for all the shit I put you through this weekend.”
You sniffed, “I’m just… still a little drunk, you don’t need to console me. I know you’re sorry.”
After cleaning himself up quickly, Mingi curled up to your other side, pressing his lips into your bicep. The two of them watched you like hawks, taking in every micro-expression on your face.
“I’m fine,” you reiterated with a small laugh. “I swear, I’m just emotional. It was an emotional weekend.”
Yunho’s face drooped with guilt. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get my shit together. I didn’t mean anything I said to you–”
Your palms found his cheeks, guiding him down, cutting him off by pressing your lips against his. “I know,” you whispered, eyes opening to look into his. “I know how you feel, I knew the whole time. I’m proud of you.”
His lips quivered. Your smile grows, “Now why are you getting emotional?”
“Because I’ve been searching for this for so fucking long,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “Searching for you, both of you,” his eyes find Mingi, “in everyone.”
“Search is over,” Mingi rolls on his back, eyes playful, lips pinned up on one side. He looks at Yunho with barely a turn of his head, “Should we throw a party?”
Yunho snorts, pressing another kiss to your lips before throwing your leg over his body, collapsing on your other side. After a moment, he adds, “I’ve never felt more like myself than when I’m with you.”
Both yours and Mingi’s heads turn to him, listening. Yunho’s head angles toward you, but he doesn’t look as he continues, “I think it’s why I’ve never settled down. Nothing ever felt right, not until that first night with you both. I mean, after that, I never really left.”
“You tried,” you add with a grin.
Yunho looks at you just to roll his eyes. “It’s scary knowing the best thing that could ever happen to you is happening to you. I fucked it up before I even had the chance to fuck it up.”
“No you didn’t,” Mingi counters with a shake of his head. “You’re here, we’re here. Everything happened the way it was supposed to.”
Yunho’s quiet for a moment. “Thank you for letting me figure it out. For not abandoning me when I gave you every reason to.”
Before tears have the chance to fill your waterline again, you wrap yourself around him, literally climbing on top of him to attach yourself to him. Whispering into his neck, you say, “That’s what you do when you love someone.”
“And we love you very, very much,” Mingi adds, already cuddled up to Yunho’s side.
Yunho presses his lips to yours, a short, sweet kiss. Then turns to Mingi, pressing another short, sweet kiss to his lips. “And I love you both very, very much, too.”
the first time you came to club roxe, it was simply to observe. now, you come to surrender. tonight all eight hands are here to hold you.
bdsm club au. doms!ateez x sub!fem!reader
words: 9.8k
PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! heavy bdsm and dom/sub dynamics. psychological domination. total power exchange. nudity. mentions of bdsm scenes in front of others. impact play with hands, paddles and riding crops. use of restraints. rope bondage & suspension play. heavy subspace. this is intended as an exploration of the psychological side of bdsm & rope play, and may be heavy at times. i have done my best to write an accurate piece, but if i have faltered here, feel free to correct me. do not attempt to try any of this, especially suspension play, on your own. suspension bondage is extremely dangerous for amateurs, and can cause nerve damage and worse fast. if you’re interested in this sort of thing, i recommend you find a reputable club to learn how to do it safely.
The Club has one rule that sits above all others.
What happens inside stays in. What happens outside stays out.
When you walk through those doors, when you pass your ID to the bouncer and slip through the gap between the heavy velvet curtains, your outside identity—reality—slips off like a robe, leaving you bare. Exposed.
Those are the rules. And it’s the only reason this works.
The wall between in and out, the barrier no one crosses—it makes you honest. To yourself, and to the people you come here to see.
There are eight of them, though rarely all at once—but you know that beyond your view they work in tandem on your upkeep. You don’t know much of who they are outside, nor do you want to, but in here you can read them like a book. In here the nine of you know each other inside out. And the honesty the Club demands both officially and instinctively means that, really, you know them far better than anyone on the outside ever could.
Walking out into the main area, set up like any typical bar, you scan the room for one of your ‘companions’, as the Club calls its patrons, but no one catches your eye. You know at least one of them is here tonight, they always are, so the anxiety that used to fill you when you couldn’t find them doesn’t come—but it’s certainly strange. Usually you’d quickly spot one of them somewhere around the bar.
For you they’re hard to miss, because they’ll be the only ones in the room with their eyes on you. You don’t tend to draw much attention, for the sole fact that unlike many of the others here, in communal spaces you are always fully clothed; you’re not particularly extroverted, and your companions don’t like to share.
Which is why you’re a bit confused that you’ve not been whisked away into a private room as you’d usually be by now. They’re here, of course they are, why the hell wouldn’t they be—but they’re not here, next to you, or sat at the bar beckoning you towards them like usual. You walk to the bar anyway, at ease in your routine but with an uncertainty that reminds you of your first few times at the Club. The bartender spots you and quickly slides a drink across the counter; she nods at you, confirming who it’s from, so you don’t need to take a sip to know it’s non-alcoholic. You’re not allowed to drink on Club days. If they smell alcohol on your breath you’ll be sent home. They don’t like you impaired.
Still alone at the bar, you down your drink, leg now tapping against the metal bar of the seats, dangerously close to anxious. Where are they? You try not to worry, not only because you know it’s stupid, but also because you’re not actually allowed to—over time they’ve worked you carefully enough to expect that of you, to expect you to follow their rules and their orders even as it pertains to your own thoughts and feelings, and you obey them to the letter. That’s why you come, after all. That’s why they keep you.
Just as you feel your resolve, your nerve, beginning to fracture, you hear it. Someone clears their throat behind you; a familiar sound, and you turn towards it. Relief floods you like a wave when you finally meet his eyes.
He’s dressed as he usually is; a loose shirt, rolled up to his elbows and pinned in place, unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest, necklaces, layered together, sitting shimmering against his skin. His hair is pushed back, loosely styled, and his eyes are as piercing as they always are.
From the very first time he met you, he’s looked at you like that—like he already knows everything about you. You were warned about it, by the older woman who’d taken you under her wing when you came to the Club for the first time. The captain, she’d called him—apparently that’s the name he preferred, until he deemed you worthy of something more personal.
It was over a month and half a dozen sessions before you heard the name Hongjoong for the first time.
You try not to get excited, to let your relief or anticipation show; you keep your head bowed, lips sealed—because you do nothing, not even speak, without permission.
He’s silent for a moment; he always is. You’re fairly certain he can tell if you’ve misbehaved since the last time he saw you just from watching the way you react to the sight of him.
“Did you worry, dear?” He asks, finally. “You may answer.”
“No, sir,” you reply, quietly; respectfully. “I did not.”
“Good,” he says, his tone approving. “Follow.”
He turns on his heel, nothing else said, and heads briskly towards the private rooms; he doesn’t wait for you, doesn’t look back to make sure you’re following—he knows you are. You always are.
Only once you pass through the doors leading to the hallway of rooms does he finally turn to face you again; ever the well-behaved companion, though, you keep your eyes fixed firmly on the floor until he curls a finger beneath your chin and gently pushes upwards. A silent order. Look at me.
“We wanted to see how you would react if no one came for you,” he says lowly. “To see if you would still follow the rules, or if you’d fail. If you’d worry.”
You swallow—you’re relieved, now, that you hadn’t allowed yourself to succumb to your nerves.
“But you did not,” he continues. “You were uncertain, but you did not worry. You remained just as well-behaved as you are with us. I’m proud of you.”
You allow yourself to smile, because they like that; they like it when you smile at them, and he offers a slightly softer smile in return.
“We’ll be in the private lounge today. All eight of us.”
Your eyes widen a little, instinctive, and you open your mouth to speak, but he answers your question before you can ask it. “Yes, all eight of us. We’re all here. Aren’t you lucky?” He smiles again, pushing open the door. “In you go.”
Your eyes are cast down as you walk in, just as they expect of you, until one of them commands you to look up. Wooyoung’s gaze is as piercing as it always is, but there’s a small smile on his lips as his eyes rake over you.
“You look lovely tonight, doll,” he says; a couple others make noises of agreement. All eight of your companions are on the couches now, and you can scarcely believe they’re all here, at once, for you.
You feel yourself starting to flush slightly, but you make sure not to look too embarrassed, because that’s not allowed either. You will not be ashamed of who you are—who they make of you. “Thank you, sir.”
“Kneel.”
You drop immediately, legs giving out before you’ve even registered the command—by now obedience is an instinct, and you feel a dash of pride at how well trained you are, how well conditioned. You hope they’re proud, too.
Another, Yeosang, stands without a word, walking towards a bar cart in the corner and pouring himself a drink. You watch him silently, and if your companions would rather you kept your gaze ahead, or on the ground, they don’t say it. A little leeway tonight, it seems; a slight reward. For what, you’re not yet certain.
He sits back down, taking a few sips before placing his glass carefully on the ground in front of him. He curls a long finger inwards, beckoning you towards him; you obey, careful to keep your eyes on him as you crawl. You settle back onto your knees and he rewards you with a pat on the head, smoothing his hand across your hair. “How are you?” He asks. “Does it feel right?”
They ask that every time, though your answer is unchanging— “I’m well, sir. It does.”
“Very well,” he says. “Shall we begin?”
It’s not a question for you.
Trying not to look too eager, you merely smile, dropping your gaze to the floor in silent permission. Before long a hand grabs your hair and pulls you to kneel elsewhere with what could almost be misconstrued as gentleness—could be, were it not for his other hand drawing back and slapping you square across the face.
You barely react, eyes still cast downwards, incurious—you don’t need to look to know who this is. You know his shoes, you know his scent, and the way he pulls you upwards to plant a small kiss on your stinging cheek before shoving you back down and slapping it again—that’s his ritual. Your ritual. Yunho.
“Pained little thing,” he croons softly, slapping you again. “You need this.”
“Doesn’t she just?” Another purrs, and oh, you love his voice. The deepest of those of your companions, a few words from Mingi whispered in your ear gets you hot like nothing else. You whine a bit, starting to squirm slightly but another slap quickly settles you.
“You’re going to have to relax,” Yunho says mildly, but his tone is a little sterner now, still cradling your face in his hands. “I won’t play with a bitch who can’t sit still when she’s ordered to.”
He lets go of your face and, having already dropped considerably into your headspace, you nearly fall to the floor without his hold—but you steady yourself, luckily, and instead bow your head in apology, because you don’t know if they want you to talk.
By the displeased look on their faces, it doesn’t seem to matter—whether you speak to them or stay mute, it looks like your fate has been decided now.
No more leeway, you guess.
They share a look among each other, before the man next to Hongjoong—Seonghwa—stands from the couch. He stares down at you for a second and you hear him sigh, as though this is all just some great inconvenience, before his foot collides with your chest and forces your back to the floor. He walks off as another man takes his place on the couch and pulls you back up to your knees by the hair; San’s expression is bored, indifferent, but his eyes are interested. Excited.
“Seems someone’s not impressed with you tonight, petal,” he murmurs, glancing in Seonghwa’s direction then back to you. “Changes his mind quickly, doesn’t he?”
“It’s my fault,” you whisper softly. He raises an eyebrow. “I’m not as settled as I should be, sir.”
He hums, nodding thoughtfully. “You need to go under a bit?”
You do. God, you do. You’ve been wound so tight lately, you need nothing more than to be broken; to be pulled apart the way only they know how to. You make a noise halfway between a hum and a whimper.
Hongjoong’s voice cuts through the ensuing silence like a shard of glass. “Answer him.” The firmness makes you flush a little in embarrassment, fear, as much as you can get away with. You don’t know what’s wrong with you tonight, but you know you’re failing—you’re slipping. Faltering. They all know it.
“I’m sorry, sir,” you say. “Yes, I need to go under. Please.”
“Very well,” he replies. He turns to share a look with Wooyoung, who nods; when his gaze returns to you, he seems resolved. “Stand up and strip, then walk over to the bench.”
You knew this was coming, but you feel your stomach drop all the same. The bench is the deceptively mild-sounding name for the imposing, leather-padded device in the corner of the room, adorned with straps and belts to hold you in place while they do, well, whatever they want. But the bent-over, all-fours position it keeps you in means it’s usually used for punishment.
It’s a familiar routine by now; your clothes come off quickly, without much thought, you being far beyond the point of feeling modest or embarrassed of your nakedness around them, and you quickly situate yourself on the padded leather, staying still and silent as they approach you. It’s Yunho and Seonghwa—you can tell by their hands; their scents; the way they touch you. You don’t know if they themselves are even aware, but they each have a slightly different way of doing it; a pattern and feeling of claiming you that differs ever so slightly between each of them. There’s more strength behind Yunho’s touch; more worship behind Seonghwa’s. The only common denominator between them all is the one thing they all share with pride—their ownership of you.
Once you’re restrained, Yunho crouches down to whisper into your ear, his breath brushing cold against your skin. “How do you want to be spanked?” His voice is low, teetering on the verge of dangerous, but you know he’s not angry—allowing you to choose the item they beat you with is their version of a reward.
You don’t have to think about your answer for long. “The crop, sir.” You just love the way they wield it; the power behind each swing and the marks it leaves behind.
Yunho chuckles like he’d expected the answer; you imagine he did. “The crop it is,” he says. “Your safeword?”
“Jumbo,” you answer. “And the colour system.”
“Good girl,” he smiles. He cups your cheek for a second, allowing you to keen into his touch, before his hand drops, straightening up. “You’ll get ten from each of us,” he says. “You don’t need to count. Just feel it.”
You feel the effects before the first strike even lands; just the feeling of being strapped down, bent and immobilised on the bench as you have been so many times before—each time cared for, protected and guided by the eight men surrounding you—brings a familiarity and safety that instantly settles you. This is what you needed; this is where you belong. Held up and strapped down, no control of a single limb and not even holding your own weight— completely helpless.
You’ve missed this.
Being such an obedient, perfect pet, hardly ever needing punishment these days, it’s been so long since you’ve found yourself on this bench that you’d pretty much forgotten the large, full-length mirror that sits before you. It’s tall enough that you’ll be able to see the man behind you, but thin enough that you won’t know who’s coming next. All you’ll see is the man hurting you, and yourself, taking it all.
Yeosang is first. You’d expected that—he was the first club member you’d played with, and his strikes, though by no means soft, aren’t quite as hard or ruthless as some of the others. Yeosang prefers slow, methodical strokes spread over the whole of your ass and the tops of your thighs; easing you slowly and carefully into the pain to come. He catches your eye in the mirror, smiling softly at you before, without a word, the crop comes down.
You hadn’t even seen it in his hands, let alone seen him raise it—it’s only when it strikes against your naked flesh that you even remember what you’re doing here. You cry out, half from surprise and half from the, albeit still manageable, biting pain of the hit.
When you first started playing with them, you found the crop extremely difficult to take; something about it hurt more than even the belt, and you were rarely able to take more than a few strikes before you were tapping out. But you wanted to take more, and they knew you could, so they’d gradually taught you how to take it; how to relax, how to feel it properly, how to enjoy it as much as you fear it.
Now, as the second strike hits you just under the curve of your ass, you welcome the sting like an old friend.
The third and fourth come a little quicker, and though they hadn’t told you to be quiet, you instinctively bite your lip to hold in the noise. Yeosang notices quickly, frowning. “Don’t bite your lip,” he orders. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
The irony isn’t lost on either of you, but you obey silently. It’s a familiar, fundamental rule between you all—no one except us is allowed to hurt you. Not even you. You still remember the marks Seonghwa left the first time you’d broken it.
While the final six strikes come down, you feel yourself easing into his rhythm; the feeling of the crop, the sound of it cutting through the air is a constant you can cling to, that you can wrap yourself around and surrender to. By the time he finishes, rubbing your stinging ass soothingly as he hands the crop to Hongjoong, you know for certain this is exactly what you needed. The look in Hongjoong’s eyes as he surveys Yeosang’s marks tells you he knew it long before you did.
He hums, squeezing the flesh just hard enough to hurt, but you don’t squirm. You couldn’t, anyway. He drags the crop across your thighs, letting you feel it before he raises it up and brings it down without a word.
The first hit makes you gasp, and you barely have a second to take it in before the next two come down on each cheek.
He’d never admit it, but Hongjoong can be quite playful with you. He’s as strict as they come and never hesitates to punish you when you fall short, but there’s a gleam in his eye while he does it that gives him away. He likes the game; the suspense. He likes to toy with you and leave you guessing what’s next.
The rest of his hits come unexpectedly; in various areas of your ass and thighs and at random, differing intervals. Maybe it’s so you don’t tense up in anticipation, which could cause the strike to be more damaging than intended. Or maybe—just as likely—it’s to keep you on edge. In the dark. To affirm your total loss of control over your own body.
You’re more than used to his antics by now, but the final strike surprises you; it lands firmly on the soles of your feet, and it feels like the blade of a knife. You shriek, momentarily struggling against the restraints until a large hand, now gloved in the soft leather he favours when you haven’t earned his touch, comes to rest on your calf, grounding. You look up to meet Yunho’s eyes in the mirror, crop in hand. He raises an eyebrow. “Colour?” He asks. You know he’s concerned, but he doesn’t show it; what makes Yunho so good at this is his ability to appear completely and entirely emotionless. It’s one of the reasons he’s probably the one you fear most.
“Green,” you say after a moment, sniffling slightly. For a second he looks unsure, but you all know that this entire arrangement is built on trust; on good faith in each other to be honest and sincere in everything you do. You know he’d stop if you didn’t say green, and he knows you’d never say green unless you meant it—that’s why this works, after all. He regards you carefully for a moment before nodding and stepping back. His eyes are dark, focused on your ass as he raises the crop.
By the time you register the first strike, the second has followed, then the third. You knew this was coming; Yunho is brutal and relentless and, conversely, you in many ways have a deeper understanding of each other than you do with any of the others. You trust them all with your life, you’d do it blindly, but Yunho reads you in a way they just don’t. He doesn’t feel the need to go slow, or to check in on you between strikes, because there is no need. He knows exactly how far he can push you, and he knows when you’ve reached your limit even before you do.
The strikes are hard and fast as though he’s releasing all his anger and frustration onto you; a particularly hard strike makes you clench your thighs, and he notices straight away. “Don’t tense,” he barks. As soon as you obey, letting yourself go limp again, he continues.
By the time he’s handed the crop to Jongho, your face is soaked in tears and you feel yourself drooling onto the leather. By Mingi’s turn, the strikes feel more like a dull, distant sensation than the sharp, biting hits they’d once been. San and Seonghwa’s hits barely register; Wooyoung only has to hit you twice before you go completely and utterly numb.
You don’t realise you’ve been released from the bench and carefully placed on your knees until you feel the cool leather against your neck—your collar. The familiar feeling brings you home, cements your submission and wakes you from the haze without breaking it. You’re not dazed and numb like their hits had made you; nor are you tense and overthinking like you were before. They’ve manoeuvred you into the perfect headspace, and the feeling in your stomach of complete ownership is one you never want to leave.
The leash clips on effortlessly, and a finger curling under your chin forces you to meet Mingi’s eyes. His gaze is cool, verging on cold, but there’s something like fondness in the embers. “Are you ready to serve us now?” He asks. He tilts your head a little further upwards, making you strain your neck. You can practically feel the rush of power your helplessness sends through him.
“Yes, sir,” you say quietly.
“Louder,” he commands. “So we can all hear you.”
You shiver, moving to bite your lip but stopping yourself in time. “Yes, sir,” you say again, louder this time. “I’m ready to serve you.”
Mingi smiles, and it’d almost be cute were it not for the situation you’re in and the firm hand in your hair, pulling you towards the couch with the leash in hand. Your practiced crawl barely keeps up with him, and the impact of your burning ass on the carpet when he finally stops and shoves you back down to your knees makes you whimper.
Jongho is the next to touch you; he grabs your chin in firm hands, staring you down silently; analysing. His gaze could burn a hole through a metal wall, you think. The smile that follows could keep you warm through the harshest of winters.
It’s well-known you have some sort of feelings for them; as do they have feelings for you. It’s natural, you’re told, for feelings to arise in such intense, intimate, emotionally charged interactions. But you all know that those powerful, consuming feelings can, should exist only in the Club; only in the context of this arrangement and what it brings out in each of you. The anonymity is what gives rise to them; the knowledge that this side of you is separate. The thrill and devotion that brings cannot exist without it; in the outside world it would fizzle and die. The Club made that clear from day one. That nothing that happens in happens out, and nothing that happens out happens in, and that’s exactly how you like it—how you all like it. Your life beyond these walls is none of their concern. Your life within them is theirs for the taking.
Jongho’s thumb pushes past your lips and into your mouth. You suck at it eagerly, soothing yourself on the warm skin until he yanks at your jaw, forcing your mouth open. “Tongue,” he orders. Familiar with his commands, you stick your tongue out, allowing him to inspect it. He holds the end firmly between two fingers; when he lets it go, you’re well-trained enough to know not to put it back in your mouth until he tells you to. He smiles almost proudly, before a wad of spit hits the back of your throat; he closes your mouth gently, patting your cheek.
“Hold it in your mouth,” he orders; then, a second later, “swallow.”
He looks down, gently nudging at your knees, pressed together, with his shoe. “Spread.”
Your legs part quickly, revealing your pussy to the man in front of you. His eyes flicker between it and your face, a knowing smile on his lips. “You’re wet,” he states.
“Poor thing,” another chimes in. You turn your head slightly, catching the eye of the man sitting next to Jongho. Hongjoong smiles and tilts his head as though he has no idea the effect this all has on you. You purse your lips, holding back a whine.
They all know what their voices, the commanding, condescending tones, do to you; they capitalise on it frequently. You don’t even realise you’ve been grinding your bare pussy against the floor until Jongho’s foot collides with it. For a moment you forget yourself, the feeling of his shoe against your bare cunt too intense to think through; you cry out, reaching down to clutch at it pitifully. Irritated, he kicks you again—this time the leather shoe lands against the hands shielding your cunt. He grabs your hair, pulling you up between his spread legs and bending you over one of his thighs, the other locking you in place. You know what’s coming before the first hit lands.
“Move. Your. Fucking. Hands.” Each word is punctuated with a slap to your already sore ass, and he adds a few more for good measure before grabbing your hair again and pushing you back down to the ground, just as you were before. “Are you ready to behave?” He asks.
“Yes, sir,” you whisper.
“Good,” he smiles. “You’re going to suck me off. And if you do a good job, I’ll think about letting you hump my leg. Yeah?”
“Yes, sir.”
He pulls his dick out, an expected development but it sends a thrill through you nonetheless. He nudges you closer to him. “Show them how you please me.”
With practised grace you push yourself up to reach him as he feeds his dick into your mouth. You keep your hands behind your back, per the rules, fingers laced together as you slowly start to bob up and down on his length.
By now you’re well accustomed to taking their entire lengths, but Jongho’s thickness is always a challenge; it forces your mouth open just this side of painfully, and you struggle to keep your teeth from grazing his sensitive skin. He doesn’t care, though; as long as you do what they tell you, none of them particularly do. Jongho lets out a long, quivering sigh that tells you you’re doing a good job and it motivates you to take him deeper, to gag on it more, to forget about comfort and let the haze swallow you entirely.
It happens quickly; you slip into it softly, quietly, like sand between fingertips. You stop worrying about breathing; stop being conscious of it. Because you know that they are—know that they’re monitoring you, that if anything were to even begin to happen to you they’d see the signs before you did.
The slightest twitch, the slightest hair out of place, and they’d stop the scene. The knowledge, the safety of it, is as thrilling as the bite of any whip.
“Christ,” you hear San say. His voice sounds distant and floaty; unreachable beyond the fog of subspace. “She takes dick so well, doesn’t she?”
“Like a trained whore,” Seonghwa hums. “Aren’t we lucky to have such a pliant little pet?”
You hear murmurs of agreement just as Jongho pulls out of your mouth, wiping his hands down on his slacks before he tucks his dick back in without a word. It’s a rule you set together the first time you played like this—they don’t come during the scene. They can shove their lengths down your throat, they can even fuck you, but they do not come. Because this isn’t about pleasure, theirs or yours. This is about submission—about power and trust and sensation. You like it better that way—though you can’t deny you’d like to feel them fill you up at least once, just to know what it would feel like.
A tug of your leash pulls you towards San and Wooyoung. They come as a pair more often than not, and today doesn’t appear to be an exception. They stare down at you quizzically, like they’re sizing you up, deciding what to do with you. Deciding how to break you.
“I love you like this,” San says. “Pliant and broken and ready to obey. Yeah?”
“Yes sir,” you mutter.
He clicks his tongue. “Louder,” he snaps. “Let the others hear it. You don’t hide from us, girl.”
“Yes sir,” you repeat. He nods in satisfaction then slaps your cheek; a hard, biting hit that feels as sweet as any reward. He barely seems conscious he’s doing it; more of an instinct than a choice.
“We talked about what to do with you today,” Wooyoung says. “There’s so many possibilities, so much we could inflict on you. Pain—you always like that. Humiliation. We thought about taking you through to the main area and whipping you there, but we know you can’t go down properly if there’s strangers around.”
He’s right. You’ve done a couple of ‘public’ scenes, on the benches out in the bar area, once on the stage where Club sometimes holds demonstrations and performances. You just wanted to try it; to feel the rush the other patrons seemed to get from having an audience.
It wasn’t catastrophic. It was fine. But it wasn’t what it usually is, what it is in here. You spent the whole scene stuck somewhere between subspace and full consciousness, never quite able to ease yourself over the line in either direction. Mingi had called yellow before the bruises had even bloomed.
“Yeah,” Wooyoung says. “It’s not your sort of thing, is it honey?” He sounds faintly amused; your thoughts must have been playing out on your face. “I know. You like it in here with us, so do we. So we thought about what we could do in here. Do you know what we settled on?”
“No, sir.”
He doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at you; so does San. You’re not quite present enough to notice what the others are doing; if they’re staring at you, too, or if their attention has drifted. Wooyoung exhales. “Look up,” he says. “What do you see?”
The ceiling, is your first thought; painted white, but more of a dim, muted red in the low lighting of the Club.
Then you see it. Fixed to the ceiling, inconspicuous. Easy to miss—and you have missed it. For all the times you’ve been in here, you’ve never once noticed the eyebolts hanging above you; the steel shining ever so slightly in the dim light.
They’re spread out across much of the ceiling, and you know from your time at the Club that they’re a higher quality than you could probably ever afford. You’ve never used anything like that, though; never really thought to.
You know, though, that your companions are experienced in that area. You remember in your early days at the Club, when you’d watch Yunho and Mingi and Seonghwa out in the open area; when you’d watch them curl thick, strong ropes across bare skin, when you’d see the care, the caution, the ease they worked with. The expertise—the focus.
You remember the first time you saw someone suspended, too. You hadn’t expected it—hadn’t expected Mingi to finish tying the knots, those intricate patterns across the naked back and chest and legs of the woman he was playing with, then hook the ropes through bolts affixed to the ceiling and just… lift her.
It was wondrous; watching her rise from the floor and upwards, like an angel; watching Mingi lift her so carefully, so slowly but so certainly, sure of every movement of her body and every choice he was making.
Every inch of her was positioned by him, to his liking. Nothing moved without his consent. You’d never seen a person so completely and entirely in control of another. You’d never seen surrender like that; hadn’t known it was something that was in your reach.
You’d come to the Club as a curious, nervous observer. The night you watched Mingi pull that girl up with just rope and skill and surrender—it was a turning point. The point of no return. The moment you realised that rope—not just rope, but restriction, the physical and the psychological—could be used not just to bind, but to free.
You’d been desperate to try it; buzzing with excitement when you entered into your agreement with Mingi, already anticipating the ropes and the knots and the freedom. But he’d just looked at you with an expression that was almost patronising—like you were a child dreaming of the impossible—and told you you weren’t ready for that.
“You’ve no experience,” he’d said. “You have a lot else to learn before we start lifting you up. But your day will come.”
And for all your earlier excitement, in the thrill of diving into this new world not just with him, but with the seven other men who took you in as well, the play you’d been so fascinated by had all but slipped your mind entirely.
Until now. You swallow, thick, breathing shuddered and catching in your throat. It feels like the bolts are staring at you as much as you are at them, inviting and mocking at the same time. “Bolts, sir,” you answer.
“And do you know what they’re used for?”
Despite everything—where you are, what you do here, how many far worse and far dirtier things you’ve done with them—you blush a little. Enough to tint the top of your cheeks. “Su…suspension, sir. Rope play.”
“We’d like to lift you up today,” San says. “Colour?”
“Green.” You wait a second or two before saying it—not because you’re unsure, but because that’s another rule. You answer in good time, but not immediately. They need to know you’ve thought about it properly; that you understand what you’re consenting to and aren’t just trying to please them or agreeing to things automatically the way you sometimes do when you’re deep in subspace.
San nods. “Good,” he says. “Then here’s what we’ll do. You see the mat over there?”
He nods towards the middle of a room, where a thinnish padded mat, like the ones used for gym class in high school, is laid out on the floor. You’ve used it, on occasion, when they’re keeping you in intense or complicated positions for extended periods, to stop the floor from digging into your knees or your elbows or your hips.
“Yes, sir,” you nod.
“You’re going to crawl over there and lie yourself out for us. Face down, ass up, the usual position you present yourself in. We’re going to use rope, a lot of it; you’ll stay still while we get you ready. Do you know what happens after that?”
“No, sir.”
He smiles. “After that, you fly.”
You’re not sure how long it takes; how much time passes like that, with your face pressed into the mat, hips raised, as they get you ready. Yunho and Mingi—you remember them being introduced as two of the expert riggers of the Club—move the coils of thick rope across you, beneath your hips and across your chest, around your arms held pinned against your back, around your ankles and up your legs. They move you now and then, onto your side then back into position, and after each new knot they ask you the same questions.
Can you feel it? Is it numb? Tingling? Can you feel their hands when they touch you here?
Yes, you say. I feel it. Nothing hurts, nothing tingles, nothing is numb. When Mingi presses his finger harshly into the skin of your hip without warning, just next to the rope he’d tied a few check-ins ago, you whimper. Usually, you’re not allowed to; noises without permission are a sign you’ve let the discipline they’ve taught you wane—but the sound he makes now is all satisfaction.
“The most important thing,” he tells you, like he sensed your confusion, as if it was revealing itself in your posture, the way you held yourself, the way your weight sank into the knots, “is safety. Feeling. Obedience is secondary. Disobedience can be dealt with—danger, injury, or worse, it can’t be. Suspension play is risky, as you know. So you tell us the second something feels wrong. Yes?”
“Yes, sir,” you whisper.
“Good.” His hand is resting against your back, above a tight knot that bleeds into loose, flaccid coils of rope. You assume those are the ones they’ll feed into the eyebolts on the ceiling. “Curl your toes for me.”
You do. A long finger runs across the sole of your foot, just above where the riding crop had struck it earlier. You wonder if there’s still a mark. If it will bruise. “Good,” Yunho says, then the finger moves up to your lower back. “Open your hand. Squeeze my finger as hard as you can.”
You remember this, the safety check. At the demonstration, the shibari classes you’d sat in the back of, watching silently as one of your companions talked the audience patiently through the process, they’d emphasised this part. Monitor sensation. Nerve damage comes quickly.
There’s a slight tug, a little pressure pulling at the bindings. You hear shifting behind you, something metal, a low murmur, but you can’t turn to see what they’re doing. You realise now, though, that Mingi isn’t kneeling by your side as he was before. Ah. He’s working. He must be feeding the ropes through the eyebolt, testing the pull of them, the way they hold your weight.
He speaks then, low and calm, confirming what you thought. The pressure increases a bit, enough to lift you ever so slightly off the ground. “Tell me how it feels.”
“Good,” you say. “Light.”
“How do the ropes feel? How are they holding you? Is there pain or strain or pressure anywhere?”
“No, sir.”
The ropes slack, and your body comes gently back down. Yunho curls a hand around your calf, squeezing you softly, like a reminder of his presence. “Your leg will go up first,” he murmurs. “Then the rest of you will follow. Your other leg goes last, because if we lifted them first, at the same time, you’d be lopsided. Will you stay slack and relaxed for us?”
“Yes, sir.”
More movement, another sound you can’t quite place, and your left leg is pulled up. Yunho pulls his hand away. “Beautiful,” you think you hear him say.
Another pull. The rest of you rises slowly, carefully, until only your right leg still touches the ground. More rope; new knots around your thigh that Mingi connects to the one just above your hip. He seems to have made that something of an anchor point, but you notice the distribution of the knots is even across your body. You know his plan now; know the points on your body where the ropes will hold you steady.
“Pressure?
“No, sir.”
“Curl your toes.” You do. “Again. Good.”
Their voices feel distant now, like a memory. You don’t feel like part of the world right now. When you open your eyes—you hadn’t even realised you’d closed them—it feels like you’re looking through a layer of gauze; everything seems softer, dreamier, blurrier.
Your right leg lifts. They pull you up until you’re a few feet off the ground. Fingers push into your mouth. “Suck,” Seonghwa orders. “No biting.”
Your eyes feel heavy. You’re not tired, though—everything is just slowing down. So is your breathing and your heart rate and, you think, time itself.
“That’s it,” Seonghwa murmurs. “Feel it. Let the ropes hold you. Forget everything else.”
“We don’t have anything else planned,” Hongjoong says. Perhaps he sees the small part of you that can't stop itself from bracing itself for what’s next no matter what you’ve been ordered to do. “We just wanted to have you like this. No pressure, no expectations. We’re just going to keep you like this, and touch you, and talk to you, until you’re so far gone you can’t do anything but float there.”
“Yes, sir,” you mumble, and it’s already coming fainter and more garbled than it ever has. God. Your head is swimming.
You’re adjusted slightly, with another tug of one of the ropes that connect you to the ceiling—the movement presses one of the knots directly against your clit.
You gasp. Louder than you’ve ever gotten away with. A jolt of something, like an electric current, rushes through your body, starting in your toes then moving upwards, but it’s gone as quickly as it came.
After a second or two, the rope against your clit fades from stimulation into mere contact. The electricity and arousal is nowhere to be found; the knot becomes just another hand that cradles you.
“I’ve never seen her like this,” Yeosang says. “So gone, so easily.”
“She usually needs something brutal to get here,” Jongho agrees. “Something intense.”
“This is intense,” Yunho says. “Just in a different way.”
No one disagrees—instead the silence stretches. You get the sense they’re simply taking in the sight of you.
A footstep, then another. Yeosang’s voice comes as a low murmur as his fingers brush down your side, his touch feather-light as it trails across your bare skin. “Tell me how you feel.”
You open your mouth to reply. The words don’t come. They don’t even try to. You make a small, soft sound instead, somewhere between a squeak and a sigh. Someone chuckles faintly; distantly. Yeosang hums. “You’re in deep,” he says. “You give in so sweetly. You’ve gotten so good at surrendering.”
“She needed it,” Seonghwa says. He pushes his fingers in a little further, pressing against the back of your throat and your eyes are watering as you try not to gag around them. “She needed all of this. It takes so much trust to do this.” His voice has dipped, softened, clearly speaking to you now. “So much strength, to let the ropes hold you like this, to trust us not to let you fall. Trust that we’ve tied them in the right way to hold you steady. That’s why you had to wait so long; we had to know you could handle it. And you handle it so beautifully, don’t you?”
His fingers pull out of your mouth; you whine at the loss, dizzy, head swimming and fuzzy and blurred; you assume that’s why they let you get away with it. Usually noises like that, whining like that, attitude like that, gets you beaten.
A single finger presses under your chin, angling your head up just a little. Just enough to see him. “Colour.”
“Green, sir.”
He’s silent for a moment, staring, then, “define green.”
“S…sir?”
“This is new and heavy and it’s sent you down hard. Show me you understand what you’re saying right now. What does green mean?”
“Means good. Means… means I’m okay.”
It’s a struggle to get the words out; he seems to recognise that, his other hand caressing your cheek gently the way he does when he’s pleased with you, or when he’s showing you off, or when he simply wants to admire you.”
“Smart girl,” he murmurs. “Perfect thing.”
“I want to take a picture,” Yunho says. Technically, he doesn’t need to tell you; you’ve done it before, on his expensive camera no one gets to touch but him, and you’ve told him he can. That he doesn’t need to ask—still, he often chooses to. “You look stunning like this, so vulnerable. And the ropes bring out the redness in her ass, don’t they?”
“It’s a nice contrast,” Wooyoung agrees. Mentally, silently, you second his words. You bet the contrast is beautiful, actually; it usually is. It’s one of Yunho’s favourite things; Seonghwa’s too; to mark you up then put you in something soft and white and delicate to make the bruising pop. These ropes, white, soft against your skin despite the thickness and rigidity of them, must be doing the same.
Yunho hums, and you feel him shifting just beyond your line of sight, then a long finger pressing against one of the ropes that run across your upper thigh, just below where it meets your ass. He moves his finger over the rope, vertical, so it dips down into the slight dent the rope is making in your skin on either side. He pushes at the rope with his finger. It doesn’t budge.
“Beautiful work, Mingi,” he says. “Rigid. She couldn’t move if she tried.”
Footsteps. Another hand on the back of your thigh. Yeosang’s voice reaches slowly and softly through the haze. “Her ass is so red,” he says. “Bruising already. If someone came in now, that’d be what they’d notice. How red and warm and swollen she is here.”
“They’d know what happened, too,” Seonghwa adds. “They’d know she needed to be beaten because she couldn’t go down on her own. They’d know how well she took it, too.”
“Everyone knows how well she takes it.”
A few of them laugh, a low sound, and you know why. Hongjoong is right—you’ve been beaten out in the open area more than a few times. Sometimes on the stage, as part of a demonstration, or sometimes, when you couldn’t sit still and behave while they were socialising, dragged over to the nearest chair and over someone’s knee before you could blink.
Whatever it is, you always take it well. It’s a point of pride for you.
“Look at that little face,” Seonghwa chuckles. “So blissed out. My favourite sight.”
“Such a pretty girl,” Mingi agrees. “I’ve never seen anyone give into the ropes like this. Totally slack.”
“How do you feel?” Yunho’s voice comes from behind you. “Tell me your colour, sweetheart.”
“Green.” You murmur. “Feel good.”
A finger presses into the rope on your pussy, increasing the pressure on your clit, making you pulse, toes curling; your breath hitches quietly, then a small whimper pushes past your lips. They’re talking, you hear their low voices, the gentle, easy authority that settles itself around every word, but you don’t know what they’re saying exactly. Sometimes they touch you, a finger trailing down your side or your leg or your back, or a hand resting on your thigh or your ass and just sitting there, unmoving, a quiet grounding presence to keep you floating in place. Stop you from drifting.
The next thing you’re aware of is Seonghwa, in your line of vision now, pushing his thumb past your lips again. “Don’t suck,” he says. “Let it sit there. I’m going to ask you a question. You’re going to answer it honestly. Say yes sir.”
“Yes sir,” you respond.
“You were whipped because you weren’t properly settled. There were things—worries, stresses, whatever it was—you were still carrying with you. Yes or no?”
“Yes sir.”
“This is what you’re getting tonight—the ropes. Our intention from the start was for this to be the focus, but I want you to tell me honestly—will this be enough? Do you feel you’ve gotten everything out that you wanted to get out? Will this keep you settled until the next time we meet?”
It takes a moment for the words to sink in. Another for the answer to take its shape. “No, sir.”
None of them respond. Seonghwa makes a sound like he was expecting you to say that—like he’d seen it somewhere in you. Your face, maybe. Maybe somewhere else. Somewhere, you can tell, he’d picked up on the static that was still buzzing under your skin, the weight still sitting heavy on your shoulders. Something that needs quieting.
“Thank you for telling me,” he says. “I thought the same. You’ve gone down beautifully, but I wondered if one beating would be enough to sustain you. It often isn’t. Tell me what you need.”
What you need. The words feel strange to you, for some reason; off, slightly. Perhaps it’s the simplicity of a question that, now, to you, feels so monstrous.
You don’t know, exactly. The thoughts scatter like mice when you try to reach for them. You settle on the word that’s been sitting there quietly for longer than you’ve really been conscious of it. “Hurt.”
“Hurt,” he repeats. “You want us to hurt you? Is that what you need?”
“Please.” The word comes as little more than a whisper.
“You can’t take anything heavy like this,” he tells you. “Just our hands. But you’ll feel it deeper, more intensely than you would otherwise. Colour?”
“Green.”
Seonghwa is right; that’s your first thought, when a large, calloused palm lands on the back of your thigh. The hit is measured, not gentle but restrained, but when you’re this helpless, when your weight is held so strangely and entirely as it is now, it makes your entire body light up. A sting, then an ache, that sinks into your skin and permeates beneath it, just as he said it would. You gasp, your foot twitching; the only movement you’re at liberty to make like this. When you’re not restrained, the first hit can sometimes make you jolt; one of the few disobedient habits they haven’t yet managed to work out of you. Like this, though, you’ve no choice.
For a moment, you wonder if they’ve noticed that too—that the rope is holding you still, that it forces you to take the hits with the grace and control you ought to have a handle of by now.
The moment after, you realise that they definitely have noticed. You don’t think you could sneak anything past them if you tried.
“Again, Mingi,” Seonghwa says. “You can go a little harder, let her feel it. And sweetheart.” He tilts your head upwards to meet his eyes. They’re calm, gentle, the hint of severity subtle enough that anyone else would likely miss it. Not you, though—not the person who knows every facet of their dominance the way you know the facets of your own body; who seeks that dominance, that control, like it’s the only thing that can sustain you. “Don’t move your foot this time,” he says. “This is your chance to show us the control we’ve been working on. To show us you can take it properly.”
“Yes, sir,” you whisper. The next hit lands while you still taste the words on your lips. You keep yourself still this time, you think. Seonghwa hums.
“Excellent. You do know how to behave, don’t you, my girl?”
Another hit, this time in the middle of your ass; this one seems to be someone else, a smaller hand that hits with equal determination. The words almost choke you where you force them out of your throat. “Yes, sir.”
“You make a good rope bunny, too,” he smiles. “All blissed out. Not trying to balance yourself or hold your own weight; just trust the ropes to hold you properly. Like your body knows this is where she belongs.”
Another hit. Another. Another. You’ve lost count now, the pain blooming across the expanse of your backside, down to your knees, sticking to your skin like glue and reducing everything else to a dull, dormant hum. The hits don’t really feel like hits anymore; just a tool to preserve and add to the pain, the sting, the depths of submission you feel it pushing you towards. They don’t hurt individually. They’re just parts of the whole. Small fragments of the big, heavy, blooming pain that feels like being guided home.
At some point you start crying, whether from the pain you’re hardly registering or the release you hadn’t realised you’d been in such need of you don’t know; what you know is that Seonghwa runs his thumb across your cheek, expression kind, then pushes it past your lips. It sits there for a second before pulling out. “Crying now,” he murmurs, musing to himself mostly. “Those poor, pointless tears of yours, just crying for the sake of it. You really needed this, didn’t you?”
“‘Needed,” you repeat, the words pushed out between short gasps for air.
“Yeah,” Seonghwa says, with a low, short laugh. “I know.”
“We’re going to want to take her down soon.” Yunho’s voice is low, the words probably not meant for you to hear. You’re not certain why you do hear them, when so much of what they’ve said and done since they strung you up like this has slipped by unnoticed. “We’ll make sure she’s gotten what she needs, then slowly start to lower her.”
“She’s not there yet,” Seonghwa replies. “There’s still something unsettled there.”
“Yunho,” Mingi murmurs. “You think she can take a paddle? Just a small one. It’ll get her there faster.”
It’s silent for a moment; Seonghwa’s thumb is rubbing slow circles into your cheek now, the other trailing slowly down your chest towards where your breasts sit bare and suspended, nipples hard in the cool air. Yunho makes a nose you can’t decipher. “Yeah,” he says after a moment. “We’ll put the leather paddle on the backs of her thighs. That ought to do it.”
You hear shuffling, footsteps, presumably someone heading to where they keep the collection of paddles. A large, steady hand is resting on your ass, your skin still hot from Mingi’s heavy handed smacks, keeping you grounded while you wait.
You’re not sure how long it takes. Time is a fickle thing like this. When the paddle, small, leather, circular, the first one they ever used on you once they decided you could take more than their hands, presses against your thigh, someone else is wielding it. It taps against your skin once, twice, three times, and you give a shuddered exhale.
It’s San. He likes to do that when he’s about to beat you; like he’s getting your skin used to the feeling of the implement before he makes it hurt. “Good girl,” he murmurs. “You’re going to be so pretty and red for me. Hot, swollen little legs so everyone knows how well you take a beating. Colour, girl.”
“Green, sir.” It’s a fight to say anything that sounds like a word right now.
“Good girl.”
San isn’t the hardest hitter of them all—but none of them are anything in the realm of gentleness. And given you’re apparently on something of a time crunch now, you probably shouldn’t be surprised when the first hit comes down like a bullet.
You gasp, breath hitching, and he hums. “Hurts more on your thighs, doesn’t it?”
“Yes sir.”
“We usually leave them alone when you’re not being punished.” Another hit, then another, one on each side. “But today is a special circumstance. Today you need it.”
San is lying, sort of—not about you needing it, but about them leaving your thighs alone when you’re not being punished. They all—Yunho and Mingi in particular—like to pepper the backs of your thighs with smacks to warm you up before focusing on your ass, and that tends to include the occasional swat to your thighs. You don’t remember an impact session that hasn’t left you red and aching halfway down to your knees.
But you suppose you understand what he means; they never really focus on your thighs. Nothing like this. Because you can’t take nearly as much on your thighs as they’ve trained you to take on your ass.
Now, though, you suppose that’s the point.
“She’s glowing red,” someone says—Hongjoong, it sounds like, but you can’t tell where his voice is coming from. “Poor little thing. Can’t imagine how much she’s been needing this.”
The hits have faded into each other now, just as they did before, the pain and the submission too intense to feel each swat individually. It’s just a uniform pain that gets harder, louder, pushes you deeper every time he adds to it. You feel like you’re a hundred miles away from the Club, on a cloud somewhere up high, and your body doesn’t feel your own anymore. Doesn’t feel real. Everything that’s happening to you—the pain, the sting, the ropes pressed into your skin and rubbing against your cunt—feels separate. Fuzzy.
And then, in an instant, everything goes quiet. Your thoughts slow down then stop. The weight in your chest, on your shoulders, fades into itself then disappears completely.
You feel the last hit—hard, solid, uncompromising. Your tears are wet against your cheeks. You exhale.
“She’s done.” Yunho’s voice is like a physical presence on your skin; like a hand that presses into your back and anchors you to the ground. You feel yourself coming back down, the far-away, floaty feeling dissipating. You land back in your body as gently and softly as a falling feather.
Everything is silent. Even your head. A thumb presses into the sole of your foot, just beneath your toes, and rubs a slow, firm circle. “Lower her,” Yunho says. “Mingi.”
Mingi says something, something affirming, and then slowly, carefully, you’re returned to the ground.
Your body feels yours again.
You’re a little sad to see the ropes go; for a while, after all, they felt as much a part of you as anything else, and they held you so safely and securely while your companions worked. It feels like saying goodbye to a friend. You whine a little, unable to help yourself, and Mingi softly swats your thigh. There’s no chiding behind it; just care.
“Hush,” he chuckles. “You did well, sweet girl. You were so brave.”
“It takes a long time, usually, for a submissive to let the ropes hold her like that,” Seonghwa adds. His hand is still pressed against your cheek, thumb sitting on your tongue now, and your head is cradled in his lap. “But you did it on your first try. I’m so proud of you.”
You’re lifted up then, cradled against someone’s chest then sat down on the couch. You’re held sideways, titled onto your side to avoid putting pressure on your ass or your thighs. It’s only when a hand comes to press against your ass, rubbing it softly, that the pain even really registers.
It’s not sharp and biting anymore; just a lingering ache, a slight sting. You sigh contentedly, letting yourself relax again, breathing in the warmth of your companion’s chest and the scent of his cologne.
Yeosang, it takes you a second to place. He’s undone the top of his shirt to let you press your face into his skin.
“Perfect girl,” he murmurs. “Perfect sub.”
You hear the others hum, noises of agreement, then their voices fading into the quiet.
It’s a comfortable kind of quiet. Warm. Familiar. Hongjoong breaks it with a voice barely above a whisper.
“You know,” he says. “Sometimes she makes me want to break the rule.”
If anyone responds, your head is still too fuzzy to register it.
left the ending open on purpose bc i grew quite fond of this au while writing it, so i may come back to it at some point. as always, thoughts and comments are appreciated.
pairing(s): tutor!hongjoong x f!student!reader (ft. playboy!wooyoung x f!reader & tutor!hongjoong x f!reader x roommate!seonghwa)
genre: college au, slow burn, romance, fluff, angst, smut
summary: struggling in your korean class, you're assigned a tutor—but there might be more than studying happening during your private lessons.
warnings: MDNI. 18+. cussing, explicit sexual content, heavy dom/sub dynamics, harddom!hongjoong, meandom!wooyoung, switch!seonghwa, sub!reader, threesome, consensual non-consent (cnc), degradation, humiliation, exhibitionism, bondage, sex toys, unprotected sex, fingering, p in v sex, voyeurism, cockwarming, impact play, spanking, pussy spanking, nipple play, spit kink, dacryphilia, oral sex, mirror sex, daddy kink, praise kink, knifeplay, biting/marking, overstimulation, dual stimulation, choking, finger sucking, sexual roleplay, punishment, pet names, derogatory names, hair pulling, rough sex, begging, throat fucking, creampie, fearplay, dubcon, mentions of blood/violence, derogatory language, jealous/possessive behavior, manipulative behavior. please tell me if i missed any!
word count: 12.1k
note: this is purely a work of fiction and does not accurately represent ateez in any way. all translations are at the end :)
chapter-specific warnings: minors, this is your final warning!! dni!! explicit sexual content, threesome (f/m/m), p in v sex, power dynamics (d/s), unprotected sex, oral sex (f and m receiving), fingering, rough sex, finger sucking, spit kink, choking, biting/marking, nipple play, praise kink, hair pulling, overstimulation/dual stimulation, creampie, voyeurism/exhibitionism elements, jealous/possessive behavior, manipulative behavior. please tell me if i missed any!
Your heart is already lodged somewhere high in your throat when Seonghwa pushes the door open.
With a shaky breath, you quickly consider the possibility of turning around and pretending you forgot something in the car. But Seonghwa’s hand finds the small of your back, guiding you inside before your nerves can convince you to run.
The apartment is warm, and the savory smell of something clearly meant to be cooked for hours—slow-cooked beef, herbs, onions, and vegetables—overwhelms your senses. Garlic, too, though whoever used it had been a little too generous. You scrunch your nose.
Seonghwa notices and a quiet laugh escapes him, and he pats your back once as if you’re a child caught making a face at their vegetables. "I'll go a little easier on the garlic next time," he murmurs fondly under his breath.
You blush, embarrassed that you reacted at all, your heart now beating even faster than before. But the clatter of a ceramic lid being set down on a countertop makes your head snap to the kitchen.
Hongjoong is standing near the island, his back half-turned toward the door, leaning slightly over the slow cooker as he presses the buttons on it with increasing irritation. He's dressed in a slightly oversized sweater and a pair of loose gray sweatpants. His dark hair is a soft, messy disaster, sticking out in every direction like he’s been running his hands through it all night.
He hasn't noticed you yet.
"형, 슬로우쿠커 고장난 거 같아," Hongjoong calls toward the doorway without looking up. His finger jabs another button. "아무것도 안 됐어. 시켜 먹어야 할 것 같아."
You obviously don’t understand the words, but you can tell from the way he's squinting at the crockpot that something isn't working.
Seonghwa lets out another quiet chuckle behind you and nudges the door shut with the heel of his shoe. He guides you further into the apartment.
"It's okay, Joong," he says, switching to English for you to understand. "My date and I ended up eating out."
Hongjoong jumps so violently that he knocks the side of his head straight into the cabinet above him.
"아씨—!" he curses as he recoils, wincing hard and clutching the side of his head. The wooden spoon in his other hand lifts defensively as though it might somehow help. He rubs the sore spot with a tight grimace. "I forgot you were bringing back a—"
He turns around.
The rest of the sentence never quite makes it out as his eyes finally land on you.
Whatever casual annoyance had been resting on his face disappears instantly, wiped away by a shock so visceral it freezes him in place beside the kitchen island.
Hongjoong goes perfectly still.
"...date." He says it like he's asking a question. Like the word doesn't fit the reality he's looking at.
His eyes—usually so carefully averted around you—are wide and completely unshielded.
His stare moves over you slowly, cautiously, like he doesn’t quite trust what he’s seeing. It lingers on the low neckline of your velvet dress, your lip gloss glinting faintly when you swallow, and your hair falling over your shoulders. But his confusion only lasts for a second before his gaze hesitantly drops lower. His eyes lock onto the place where Seonghwa's hand disappears behind you.
For a moment, he just stares blankly at it. Then his face shifts again. The confusion gives way to something harder to read.
A sudden twist of guilt coils in your stomach, and you have to fight the instinct to pull your body away from Seonghwa. Hongjoong looks completely out of place in his own kitchen. You want to run across the room, to explain, to apologize, to do anything that might soften the look on his face. But Seonghwa's fingers flex against your spine, stopping you before you can move.
"We went to omakase," Seonghwa says smoothly, shattering the silence that settled over the room. He's totally nonchalant, not even bothering to glance at his best friend. Instead, his attention stays on you, an adoring smile playing on his lips that would look innocent to anyone else. His fingers slide slowly from your back, tracing along your dress before wrapping confidently around your waist. With an easy tug, he pulls you closer. "Have you ever been, Joong?"
Hongjoong doesn't answer. He doesn't even look at Seonghwa. He goes silent, his eyes lingering on the place where Seonghwa’s hand is currently pressing into the velvet at your waist.
When his gaze finally trails back up to your face, the confusion is gone. His usual shyness is nowhere to be found. His face begins to twist: his expression tightens, contorting into strain. Your body squirms in Seonghwa's grasp.
"No," he says. His voice is short, clipped at the edges with a coldness that sends a shiver sliding down your spine. "I haven't."
You can't look away from him. Your pulse pounds in your ears as you stand there, still as stone. It worked, you realize in a panic. Oh my god. It actually worked.
"Well, it was incredible," Seonghwa says with a satisfied sigh, pretending not to notice the tension. He leans in closer to you, his face just a few inches from yours. "Wasn't it, angel?"
Hongjoong’s entire body goes rigid, his eyes snapping to his roommate as he registers what he called you. As you stare at him, you see his knuckles pale, draining of color as his hand clenches hard enough to strain the wood.
"It was," you manage to agree, your voice slightly breathless. You finally force yourself to look away from Hongjoong, swallowing hard as you turn your attention to the man holding you. "I'd never had fresh flounder like that before tonight."
"I knew you'd love it," Seonghwa smiles. He reaches up with his free hand, his knuckles brushing gently against your cheek as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
The silence that follows suffocates you. Hongjoong doesn't say a word, doesn't try to break it, but you can still feel his gaze on you.
"Ah, I almost forgot," Seonghwa says at last, finally dropping his hand from your waist. "I have a gift for you."
You blink, caught off guard. He never mentioned anything about a gift. Still, you force yourself to play along. "What?" you say, a small, nervous laugh slipping into your voice. "Hwa, you—you shouldn't have..."
At the sound of the nickname leaving your lips, Hongjoong’s eyes narrow from across the kitchen.
Seonghwa catches your eye and offers a tiny, barely-there wink before stepping away from you, walking backward toward the hallway.
"Wait right here, angel," he says. He turns and disappears. A second later, you hear the click of his bedroom door opening.
And just like that, you're left alone with Hongjoong.
The air in the kitchen feels like it's been sucked out of the room. You stand awkwardly in the space between the living room and the kitchen, staring down at the toes of your expensive heels, suddenly terrified to lift your head. But you can feel him—his attention locked on you.
You've seen Hongjoong nervous before. You've seen him shy, overly careful with his words. You've seen him anxious, fidgeting with his glasses when he doesn't know what to say. And you've seen him strictly professional, retreating behind politeness when things drift into something past simple tutoring.
But as you finally gather the courage to lift your chin and meet his eyes across the room, you realize you have never, ever seen Hongjoong like this.
He looks away first, staring down at the granite as he slowly lowers the wooden spoon and sets it down beside the crockpot.
"So," he starts, his voice rough and a little nervous as he continues to avoid eye contact. One of his hands drifts across the counter absently, his fingers tracing the island's edge before tapping twice against the granite. "You and Seonghwa..."
He trails off. He doesn't finish the sentence. It's not even really a question, but as he slowly lifts his eyes back up at you, the look in them makes it very clear that he's waiting for an answer anyway.
You force your chin up, holding his gaze, though the nerves make your palms feel sweaty. But you refuse to ruin the plan by revealing how terrified you are. "I saw him on Thursday," you say, your voice somehow remarkably steady. "When... when you weren't at tutoring."
Something passes over his features before he straightens his posture again, pulling his shoulders back.
"How are you feeling, by the way?" you add carefully.
Hongjoong catches your tone right away. He stares into your eyes for a long moment, the muscle in his jaw shifting as he clenches it.
"I..." He looks down briefly, both hands gripping the edge of the granite. "I feel a lot better now."
You swallow, forcing the tightness in your throat down as you nod. "You must've been sick for a while," you push back, remembering Seonghwa's words: don't let him off the hook. "I never heard back from you on Monday night."
Hongjoong doesn’t reply. His fingers curl tighter. You know he's smart enough to realize what you’re doing—he has to suspect, on some level, that you and Seonghwa are playing a game with him. But Seonghwa's acting had been flawless, and the doubt is clearly gnawing at Hongjoong. There's no way for him to prove whether this date was real or not. For all Hongjoong knows, the way you and Seonghwa had just been holding each other was real.
He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he looks away for a second, visibly fighting to calm his simmering anger. When he looks back at you, his expression is different—contained. Carefully redirected.
"How..." he starts before clearing his throat to buy himself a second. "How was the substitute?"
Of course, he retreats to academics. But that's fine. This is the chance you were hoping for, the chance to make him feel what his absence did. Disappearing wasn't harmless, and it left you dealing with the consequences.
"He told me," you say carefully, "he didn't ever have to dumb things down for his other students like he did for me."
Hongjoong's face drops.
"What?" he says, shock crossing his features with a subtle guilt following close behind. "He said what?"
Though you still feel bad about the plan, a bit of satisfaction slips in anyway.
You don’t repeat yourself. "I ran into Hwa after I left," you say, making sure to emphasize the nickname. "I was pretty upset, and he... he helped me." You pause, watching Hongjoong’s face contort through a million different emotions as the realization starts to set in. "Then he bought me a drink. Told me the only cost of it was to go on a date with him."
Hongjoong is silent, staring at you. You can see his mind racing behind his eyes.
"And you..." he says quietly, his breath unsteady. "...you agreed?"
You nearly hesitate before you nod. "I did."
You refuse to break eye contact, even though your hands are shaking so badly you have to grip your bag to hide them. You don't give him anything more than that.
You can actually see his restraint starting to break: his shoulders have gone rigid, his mouth has tightened into a line, and his hands are still braced against the counter. And yet... he still says nothing.
You begin to get more nervous with every ticking second. Why isn't he reacting? Seonghwa had been so certain that by now, you'd force somethingout of Hongjoong—he'd finally make a move, protest, or at least make some kind of jealous comment. Instead, you're left with nothing but that complicated, unreadable look.
"You look..." Hongjoong finally speaks, his voice lower than before. His eyes drag hesitantly down your body, taking in the careful way you put yourself together tonight—the dress in his favorite color—before gliding back up again. "...dressed for it."
You try your best to fight off your blush.
"I am," you reply, though your voice wavers with a slight tremble that makes you want to kick yourself. You pause, trying to smooth it over. "It was... fancy. Hwa is... definitely a gentleman."
You can see his tongue poke hard against the inside of his cheek as he bites something back.
"How so?"
"He answers my texts."
The moment the sentence leaves your mouth, you almost slap a hand over your mouth. Shit.
You didn’t mean to be so direct. The plan had never been to corner him outright. You and Seonghwa had explicitly talked about this: you have to play the game smoothly, beat around the bush instead of throwing your feelings straight at him. Otherwise, he might panic and run away again.
But it's too late. The words are already out there. And from the way Hongjoong stills, you know he understood them perfectly. He understands just how much his silence hurt you.
Hongjoong looks completely stuck, his mouth opening slightly like he's about to defend himself, but no sound comes out.
Before he can pull a single word together, you both hear the sound of footsteps.
Seonghwa steps back into the kitchen, either oblivious to what just happened or perfectly pretending to be. He’s holding a vinyl record, a small, silver bow taped to the plastic sleeve. He steps right into your space again, his arm sweeping confidently around you as he holds the gift out.
"Here you go, angel," Seonghwa says warmly. "Since you’re picking up Korean so quickly, I wanted to give you something to help you practice."
You blink and take the record. It’s IU’s A Flower Bookmark.
"Oh," you breathe out, surprised by the actual thoughtfulness of it. "Seonghwa, this is—"
But Seonghwa leans in until his lips are practically brushing your ear. You blink again; this wasn't the plan. You explicitly agreed to keep all the fake-flirting at a normal volume so Hongjoong could hear every last word of it. But Seonghwa's voice drops to a murmur meant only for you.
"Listen closely to track five. Meaning of You," he whispers, the warmth of his breath sending an unexpected shiver down your neck. "The lyrics reminded me of you."
Your heart does a strange stutter. You look up at him, your eyes wide. He’s looking back at you with a softness that isn’t just convincing for Hongjoong; it feels real to you.
Is he... still acting?
His hand resting purposefully on your waist, the genuine care in his eyes—it suddenly doesn't feel like a game anymore. The butterflies erupting in your stomach are unmistakably real.
You blush deeply, looking down at the record to hide the confusion written all over your face. "Thank you, Hwa," you murmur shyly. "It… it means a lot to me."
For a moment, it’s just the two of you, locked in a soft, quiet orbit.
"그건 그녀가 좋아하는 음악 종류조차 아니야."
All of a sudden, Hongjoong's voice shatters the moment.
You both snap your heads toward him.
Hongjoong has finally let go of the counter, but he isn't looking at you. His glare is fixed on Seonghwa; whatever he said was clearly meant only for his roommate to understand.
Seonghwa, however, doesn't flinch. In fact, his grip on your body tightens. He meets Hongjoong's glare with a cool, nonchalant calm.
"그건 네가 뭘 안다고 하는 소리야?" he replies.
You discreetly nudge his arm with your elbow. "Seonghwa, what—what are you saying?" you whisper, your hands tightening around the IU vinyl. This was definitely not part of the plan. You don't understand a word they're saying, and the energy in the room has shifted around you. "I don’t understand."
He doesn't answer you. He isn't even looking at you anymore.
Hongjoong suddenly pushes off the kitchen island, his eyes locked on Seonghwa as he stalks past the two of you, heading straight for the large display of records in the living room.
"선물 줄 거면," Hongjoong says, his back to you as his fingers aggressively flip through the stack of records next to his player, "적어도 그녀가 좋아하는 걸 줘."
You look up at Seonghwa, silently pleading for him to translate, to help you figure out what on earth is happening. But Seonghwa’s jaw is set, his eyes tracking his roommate with an impassive face.
Finally, Hongjoong pulls a sleeve from the stack. He turns around, marching straight back over to you. He stops much closer than he usually allows himself, invading the little bubble you and Seonghwa had built.
Hongjoong holds the record out to you.
"You said you liked GD," he says, his voice entirely different now in English. It's quieter, yet rougher around the edges, stripped of his usual composure.
You hesitate, your heart racing. You look into his eyes—searching for your tutor—but he's barely there. Slowly, you reach out and take the vinyl from his hands. You look down at the cover.
One of a Kind. G-Dragon.
"Listen closely to track four. That XX." He pauses, swallowing hard. His eyes dart down to Seonghwa's hand on your waist before dragging back up to meet yours. "It's..." Hongjoong suddenly hesitates. "It's my favorite."
The apartment plunges into silence as you lose your breath. You can barely feel Seonghwa beside you anymore. All you can see is Hongjoong.
You know this song. It's been one of your favorites for years—besides, you remember stalking Hongjoong's Instagram, scrolling all the way to his very first post: a grainy video of him covering it. You know exactly what the lyrics say.
What does that bastard have that I don't?
Your heart flutters.
Why can't I have you?
Right now, Hongjoong is standing in front of you with everything he's been too afraid to say out loud completely bare in his eyes. He's confessing to you, right here, right in front of Seonghwa... but as your fingers grip the edges of the G-Dragon record, a frustrated ache blooms in your chest.
If you can do this through lyrics, you think, staring back into his eyes, why can't you just say it to me with your own words?
But Hongjoong doesn't seem interested in seeing if you understood the message.
His eyes move to Seonghwa. It's a silent standoff, and you swallow nervously as you feel the air shake with all the things the two men aren't saying out loud. You clutch both records to your chest, feeling caught in the crossfire of a battle you don’t even understand.
Eventually, Seonghwa is the one to break it.
"Thanks for checking the crockpot, Joong," Seonghwa says. His voice is perfectly polite, but there’s a dismissiveness to it that leaves no room for argument. "But I think you could give my date and me some privacy now."
Good, you think, the breath trembling as it leaves your lungs. Back to the original plan. Whatever just happened between the two of them with the records, Seonghwa is steering the ship back on course.
Hongjoong falters. The intense look in his eyes fractures. He looks at his best friend with an unreadable expression.
"Right," Hongjoong says after a long moment. "I won't bother you. I'll just be in the kitchen."
It’s an absurd statement, considering the kitchen and the living room are essentially the same open space. But Hongjoong turns on his heel anyway,retreating back behind the island.
He yanks the plug of the crockpot out of the wall with unnecessary force. Picking up the wooden spoon he had abandoned earlier, he aggressively starts scooping out the ruined, slow-cooked beef, dropping it piece by piece into the trash can.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. You wince at the sound of the ruined dinner hitting the bottom of the garbage bag. Technically, he's giving you privacy—but his rigid back and the tense line of his shoulders make it painfully obvious that it's still very much the three of you in the room.
Taking advantage of the fact that Hongjoong’s back is turned, you tilt your head up to look at Seonghwa. You hug both the IU and G-Dragon records even tighter to your chest, leaning in close so your voice won’t carry over the aggressive scraping of the wooden spoon.
"Seonghwa..." you whisper, your brow furrowed with anxious confusion. "What just happened?"
Seonghwa looks down at you. The sharpness he had just directed at his best friend melts away instantly, replaced by a relaxed ease. He lowers his head, closing the distance between you until his lips are just a breath away from your ear.
"Don't worry about the specifics," he murmurs. A satisfied undertone coats his words, almost comically at odds with the tension floating around the apartment. "It’s going exactly how I thought it would. He’s getting jealous."
You dart a quick, nervous glance past Seonghwa's shoulder. Hongjoong is practically stabbing the inside of the crockpot now.
Seonghwa's hand resting on your waist flexes slightly to pull your attention back to him. He pauses, his eyes dropping to your lips before locking onto your eyes with a burning focus.
"But," he continues, "he still needs a little more of a push." The corner of his mouth ticks up. "Do you trust me, angel?"
You stare up at him, uneasy. Do you trust him? At this point, you really don't even know anymore. The lines between what's real and what's fake are blurring so fast you feel like you're losing your footing. Seonghwa's touch feels a little too warm, his acting a little too convincing, and the look in his eyes makes your stomach do another complicated flip.
But as another loud thwack echoes from the kitchen, you can't deny the truth: his plan is working. Hongjoong is breaking. He's undeniably at war with his emotions, fighting back the jealousy of seeing you on a date with his best friend. If you ever want Hongjoong to finally admit his feelings, you know that you have to see this through to the end.
Right now, Seonghwa is once again the only hope you have.
You swallow down the lump of anxiety in your throat.
"I do."
Seonghwa’s lips curve.
"Good. Then it’s time to improvise."
He doesn't waste a single second. Without warning, his volume rises, leaving the whispers behind.
"Did I tell you how beautiful you look in this dress, angel?" he asks, his voice carrying effortlessly across the open floor plan. He drops another wink just for you. "Blue really is your color. My favorite, too."
You flush, a sudden heat rushing to your cheeks. But out of the corner of your eye, you catch the immediate reaction from the kitchen: the furious scraping stops. Hongjoong’s shoulders tense, his back still turned to you both.
"You've only mentioned it about twenty times, Hwa," you giggle, trying to keep your voice playful despite the nerves eating away at you.
Seonghwa laughs. He moves both of his hands to your waist, his grip firm as he turns your body fully toward him.
"But you know what I haven't mentioned yet?"
You raise an eyebrow, your breath hitching as he pulls you closer. Is this really necessary? you think, glancing over to the kitchen. Hongjoong is facing the other way—he can’t even see how closely Seonghwa is holding you.
"What?" you ask, your voice betraying a tremor.
"Our dance."
Your eyes immediately dart toward the kitchen to see if Hongjoong heard him, but before you can even catch a glimpse of your tutor, Seonghwa's hand slides up your neck. Two of his fingers hook gently under your chin, guiding your face back to his.
"Eyes on me," he murmurs under his breath before speaking louder. "You owe me, angel, remember?"
You stare up into his eyes. So... this is it? Another dance?
But... Isn't this "improvisation" too similar to the original plan?
"I..." You want so desperately to look back at the kitchen, to gauge if Hongjoong is finally about to snap, but Seonghwa's thumb sweeps a distracting path across your jawline, demanding your full attention. You force the words out. "Of course I remember."
Caressing your cheek, he says softly, "Then follow me, angel. Let me finally have my dance with you." He pauses, letting a beat of silence stretch. "In my room."
Your heart stumbles over itself. The look Seonghwa is giving you right now is far more dangerous than anything you’ve seen from him all night.
Panic begins to claw at the edges of your mind. It's nearly exactly what you discussed, but for some reason, it feels wrong. Is this still part of the plan? Or is this "improvising" not for Hongjoong's sake at all?
Before you can really process what's going on, Seonghwa’s fingers slide down your arm, lacing through yours. He gives your hand a gentle tug, softly taking the vinyls out of your hand and placing them on one of the living room tables before leading you down the hallway.
He doesn't look back at the kitchen. He doesn't check to see if his plan worked. He walks, his grip on your hand warm, pulling you further away from the living room and closer toward the door of his bedroom.
Your breath gets trapped in your throat as the panic finally sets in, every step feeling like you are crossing a point of no return.
This isn't supposed to happen. Hongjoong's supposed to stop you. Hongjoong's supposed to—
The loud clatter of wood hitting the floor freezes both you and Seonghwa in your tracks.
"걔 네 방에 안 가."
Seonghwa’s eyebrows shoot upward in surprise as he whips his stare behind you; clearly, he hadn't anticipated Hongjoong actually speaking up.
You instantly spin around. Hongjoong hasn't moved from his spot in the kitchen, his back still turned to you, but his knuckles are white where he's gripping the edge of the counter. His shoulders are locked, and his voice is so low and commanding that it makes goosebumps flare over your skin.
And yet still, you have no idea what he just said.
Seonghwa pauses in his spot halfway down the hallway. He stares at the wooden spoon discarded on the floor.
"Relax, Joong," Seonghwa says slowly. "It's just a date."
"그럼 다른 여자랑 사귀어."
Hongjoong finally turns around. The look on his face makes your breath catch in your throat. He's staring at Seonghwa with the most cutting glare you've ever seen.
Your brain scrambles, desperately sifting through the flashcards and tutoring lessons, trying to decipher what was just said. 그럼... then. 여자...woman. 사귀어... was that 'to meet'? No, that was 만나요. You mentally kick yourself as you realize you can't quite piece it together.
Seonghwa meets Hongjoong's furious glare with total stillness. He lets the silence stretch for what feels like an hour before he speaks again.
"왜? 내가 데이트하자고 했어. 걔가 좋다고 했어."
You feel yourself starting to panic. You don't understand a single syllable of Seonghwa's words. He's talking too fast, too aggressively. You look frantically between the two men, completely lost. Why is he doing this? Seonghwa promised he wouldn't speak in Korean; the whole point of the plan was to let Hongjoong—and you—hear everything.
"굳이 걔한테 물어볼 필요 있었어?" Hongjoong practically growls, abandoning the kitchen island and stalking toward the hallway until he stops just a few feet away from you. His voice drops into a furious whisper. "다른 사람도 많잖아."
"왜 네가 신경 써?" Seonghwa shoots back.
Hongjoong's jaw locks. Seonghwa takes a purposeful step closer to his bedroom door and wraps his hand around the handle.
You freeze, your heart plummeting into your stomach as your mind screams at you. Why is he actually trying to go inside? Hongjoong is right here! He's stopping us! Isn't this what the goal was? Why isn't he letting up?
"너 걔 좋아해서?"
Seonghwa's thumb rests on the latch.
Hongjoong freezes. The anger in his eyes fractures, breaking into something painful. When he speaks, his anger is quieter.
"알잖아, 나…" He swallows, his voice nearly breaking. "나 걔 좋아한다고."
Seonghwa goes quiet. You stare at him, begging for him to tell you what's going on, but he simply watches his best friend with an unreadable look, the tense air thick enough to choke on. Then, slowly, he pushes the handle down. The door clicks open.
"그럼 영어로 말해."
Hongjoong goes dead silent. He doesn't move a muscle. He stands there in the hallway, his eyes wide and panicked, staring right at Seonghwa. And when he doesn't speak... Seonghwa doesn't wait.
He steps backward into the dark room, his hand tightening like a vise on your waist, and spins you inside with him.
It's so sudden that you gasp, stumbling as the world blurs around you.
The room smells just like Seonghwa's cologne tonight, shadows draping over his bed and desk, but you can't focus on any of it. Your head is spinning. You don't know what was just said. You don't know what is happening. All you know is that you put every ounce of your trust into Seonghwa's hands, and as you stand trapped in the dark of his bedroom, it suddenly feels like a horrible decision you can't take back.
Through the half-open doorway, Hongjoong is rooted to the floor of the hallway. His hands are balled into fists so tight his knuckles are trembling.
"왜 이런 짓을 한 거야?" Hongjoong asks, his voice thick.
But Hongjoong isn't looking at his best friend anymore.
His eyes shift directly to you.
He looks at you standing in the middle of Seonghwa's bedroom, dressed in the beautiful blue dress you picked out just for him to notice. His gaze drops to Seonghwa's hand, still resting possessively on your waist, before trailing back up to your wide, terrified eyes. You stare back at him, silently pleading. Please, your eyes beg him. Say something. Do something. Before it's too late.
Seonghwa’s hand slides up your back.
"못 해?" he murmurs, staring straight at Hongjoong. "그럼 내가 데려간다."
Seonghwa pulls you by the waist and twists your body so you're fully facing him. The shadows of his dark bedroom cloak him, painting the focus in his eyes even more intense than before.
He leans down until his mouth is hovering right over your ear.
"Angel," he whispers, his voice so low it’s hidden from the man in the doorway. "I need you to keep trusting me."
Trust him? Your chest heaves as you take shaky breaths, looking up at him with wide eyes. You cannot trust this man. You don't even know what game he's playing anymore, or if it's even a game to him at all. Every instinct in your body screams at you to shove him away, bolt past him, run out of the apartment without looking back. It's over. It didn't work. If Hongjoong is willing to stand there and watch you get dragged into his best friend's bedroom without intervening, then nothing will ever force him to confess.
But before you can pull away, you turn your head.
Hongjoong is still there, framed by the warm light of the hallway, perfectly still. It's as though he forgot Seonghwa was even there. His eyes are still locked entirely on you.
The anger from a moment ago has drained away, leaving his face devastatingly blank, but his gaze is so heavy it feels like it's just the two of you in the room. You can't hear Seonghwa breathing beside your ear. You can't hear anything at all. Hongjoong isn't leaving; he hasn't retreated to his room or turned his back. He came after you.
It has to mean something, you realize, your breath trembling. He wouldn't still be standing there if he didn't care. You stare into his eyes, and Seonghwa's words echo in your racing mind: He just needs a little more of a push.
You tear your gaze away from the doorway, looking back up at the man holding you. Taking a final shaky breath, you give Seonghwa a single, imperceptible nod.
The moment you signal your surrender, his hand yanks you against his chest. Another quiet gasp escapes your throat. His free hand comes up, his long fingers sliding against your skin to cradle the back of your jaw, tilting your face up to his.
There's no hesitation. No gentle, questioning brush of lips.
"Angel..." he murmurs, the word ghosting across your lips as he leans in.
He crashes his mouth against yours, like he's been starving for this exact moment all night. Your mind goes white. The apartment, the plan, the man in the doorway—it all dissolves, shrinking down to nothing but the heat of Seonghwa's mouth and the bruising pressure of his hands holding you captive.
His thumb strokes across your cheekbone as he deepens the kiss, parting your lips. The arm banded around your waist tightens, crushing the velvet of your dress until there is absolutely zero space left between your bodies.
Suddenly... you've forgotten why you're here.
Without realizing you're even moving, your fingers fly up, clutching desperately at the front of his shirt. That tiny, breathless surrender seems to snap something. He groans quietly as his hand slides from your jaw to the nape of your neck, his grip tightening as he angles your head and kisses you deeper, savoring the taste of you. Your head spins, the lingering anxiety burning away into a heady, intoxicating fog as you melt entirely against him, lost in the overwhelming softness of his lips—
"그만."
Seonghwa freezes. His long fingers go still against your jaw, his warm breath hovering just a millimeter from your swollen lips. Your eyes flutter open, the haze of the kiss shattering as your brain struggles to process the growl that just ripped from the doorway.
Seonghwa’s eyes flick over your head. The shift in his demeanor is instantaneous—the seductive warmth vanishes, replaced by a calculating gleam. Slowly, he lets his hand fall away from your face.
Only then do you dare to turn your head.
Hongjoong steps over the threshold, and the sight of him makes you suck in a breath. He doesn't look like your tutor anymore. His chest is heaving with erratic, shallow breaths, his dark hair is a mess, and his eyes are practically burning holes into you behind his glasses. There's no confidence radiating from him; only desperation.
But instead of letting you go, Seonghwa’s arm wraps tighter around your waist. He pulls you backward, away from Hongjoong, into his chest so hard you stumble.
"I thought I said to use English, Joong," Seonghwa says, locked on the man stalking toward you.
Hongjoong closes the distance in a few strides, stripped of all usual caution. He stops just inches away from where Seonghwa is gripping you. He's so close. You look over his body, seeing the faint tremor in his shoulders, the adrenaline running through his veins making him vibrate. His face is twisted into a bitter smirk, but there's absolutely no humor in it—it's pure jealousy.
"손 떼," Hongjoong whispers. His voice shakes on the first syllable.
Seonghwa lets out a slick smirk of his own. Instead of obeying, his hand slides from your waist to the curve of your hip. "She didn't seem to want me to stop."
Hongjoong’s eyes snap down to you. He takes in your flushed cheeks, the rise and fall of your chest, your lips still swollen from his best friend's mouth. A noise escapes his throat. He reaches out. His hand trembles before his fingers touch your skin, tracing the line of your jaw, his rough, urgent touch completely lacking Seonghwa's smoothness.
"You... You're too smart to be playing games like this, ____."
Your lips part on instinct. Your lungs refuse to give you air. You're frozen, pinned between the desperate need for the man you've been agonizing over for months and the desire for the man caging you against him.
"Tell me..." Hongjoong says lowly, ignoring Seonghwa now. "Did you want him to kiss you?"
You can't speak. When you don't answer, Hongjoong’s jaw locks so hard you can see the muscle jump beneath his skin. His hand suddenly tightens, his fingers digging into your cheeks as his eyes fixate on your lips—the exact spot where Seonghwa just kissed you.
"씨발…" he growls under his breath, his chest rising and falling. "박성화, 죽여 버릴 거야."
He stares at your mouth for another second, and when you let out a quiet whimper at the pain of his hands on your face, whatever tether was holding him back snaps.
Hongjoong's eyes blaze as he tips your face up and crashes his mouth against yours.
There's nothing gentle or practiced about it; his kiss is angry, unplanned, a collision of teeth, his tongue forcing past your lips, violently trying to wipe away every mark of Seonghwa from your mouth. He pants against your mouth, his breath hot and ragged as he kisses you like he can't stop himself. His hand slides into your hair, gripping tightly as he pulls you closer.
Butterflies twist violently in your stomach. You melt into the brutal, uncoordinated heat of it, leaning closer into him as your own tongue rises to meet his crazed pace. Your thoughts finally go entirely, blissfully blank, overwhelmed by the feeling of him finally, finally taking what he wants, leaving you with only one thought echoing in your head:
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes—
But while Hongjoong is kissing you breathless, his hand sliding down your jaw to wrap a desperate grip around the front of your neck, Seonghwa doesn't just back away.
His fingers begin trailing up your sides. The metal tab of your zipper is suddenly pulled down the length of your spine. A breathless little gasp spills straight into Hongjoong’s mouth. You instinctively arch your back away from Seonghwa’s hands, accidentally pressing your chest against Hongjoong.
Hongjoong breaks the kiss with a ragged breath. He's panting, staring down at you darkly. His lips part, his throat bobbing like he’s trying to drag the words out of it, but nothing comes out. He’s mute, his hand gripping your neck and keeping your face tilted toward him, his eyes blown wide.
"It’s easy, Joongie," Seonghwa taunts from behind you. He tugs the zipper all the way to the base of your spine, but he doesn't slide the dress off your shoulders just yet. You feel him lean down, his fingers gently brushing your hair out of the way. His lips press a kiss against your shoulder. "Three words. Just like this."
Seonghwa slowly trails open-mouthed kisses along the line of your shoulder blade. His hands grip the curve of your hips tightly as he works his way up the column of your neck. Your eyes flutter shut. The contrast of Hongjoong's panicked energy and Seonghwa's slow worship is intoxicating. Your head threatens to fall back against Seonghwa's chest, stopped only by the hold Hongjoong still has on your neck.
Seonghwa's lips reach the shell of your ear.
"I like you, angel."
He gently takes your earlobe between his teeth, nibbling just hard enough to send heat straight down to your core. A helpless whimper slips past your lips.
At the sound, Hongjoong’s eyes snap from your mouth up to your eyes. "Don't make sounds like that for him," he grits out. His fingers flex, his grip on your neck tightening, a reflex that only draws another involuntary whimper from your throat.
Seonghwa chuckles between soft, wet nibbles down the side of your neck. "Why shouldn't she?" he murmurs. "I'm the one making her feel like this."
As he speaks, one of his hands slides up from your hip. It grazes your stomach, inching higher and higher until it rests over your chest. Through the loosened fabric of your dress, his hand cups your breast, squeezing gently, kneading the sensitive flesh as his teeth graze your collarbone.
"Tell him how good you feel," he whispers against your skin.
"I... I..." you stammer, your mind melting as your eyes flutter shut again. Seonghwa hums, prompting you to go on. "I... I feel so good, Hwa..."
You feel his satisfied smirk press into the skin of your neck. Without warning, Seonghwa opens his mouth and sucks fiercely at the sensitive sweet spot beneath your ear, pulling a loud, breathy moan from your lips.
Your hands flail blindly, desperately needing to latch onto something in the overwhelming pleasure. One hand reaches back, your fingers tangling into Seonghwa's dark hair.
Your other hand lands squarely on Hongjoong's shoulder.
Then, beneath your palm, you feel it—his entire body quivering.
"그가 널 기분 좋게 해줄진 몰라도," Hongjoong mutters as his eyes bore relentlessly into yours. You don't understand the words, but the way his fingers tighten at your throat makes you gasp. "네가 원하는 건 나라는 거 알아."
"이젠 아니야," Seonghwa nearly groans in response. He ignores the lethal warning in his roommate's eyes, sliding his other hand up your stomach to join the first. He kneads both of your breasts through your dress, his hips slowly pressing into your backside as he sucks harder at your neck. "나랑 보낸 밤 이후로는."
"이 자식," Hongjoong hisses through his teeth. His eyes flick past you to the bed behind Seonghwa before his jaw tightens, his free hand sweeping your hair off the other shoulder, baring your skin as he forces your chin higher. "그럼 내가 누군지 다시 깨닫게 해줄게."
He crashes his lips against yours again, but this time, it's somehow even rougher, angrier, more possessive. The hand at the front of your throat squeezes, using the leverage to pull your body forcefully forward, trying to wrench you out of Seonghwa’s hold.
Seonghwa refuses to let you go. His hands tighten, working needier and hungrier over your chest.
Hongjoong breaks the kiss, his lips trailing a hot, frantic path across your jawline and down to your exposed collarbone. You're trapped. You're pinned between the bodies of two men, your mind numb as they devour both sides of your neck simultaneously. You whimper as Hongjoong's teeth scrape against your skin.
It's too much. Your knees start to buckle, your head spinning. A desperate sound tears from your throat. "H—H—"
"It's Hwa, angel," Seonghwa groans wetly against your skin, his thumbs brushing over your peaks.
"Hongjoong," the other man grunts, a demanding correction. He doesn't bother to release your neck, his mouth moving up the column of your throat, leaving messy marks everywhere his lips touch.
He trails up your jawline until his mouth finds your ear. He bites down on the cartilage, pulling at it with his teeth, an aggressive nip that makes you gasp. Then, you feel the wetness of his tongue laving over the bite.
He pulls back just an inch and whispers.
"침대 위에서."
Finally, you can make out what he's saying.
On the bed.
You freeze in place, panting. Goosebumps erupt all over your flushed skin. Behind you, Seonghwa’s movements halt, his hands still resting on your chest.
Before you can even process the command—before your weakened legs could possibly follow it—Hongjoong takes matters into his own shaking hands.
He grabs you by the waist, his fingers digging into your sides, and forcefully yanks you out of Seonghwa's arms, pushing you backward.
The back of your knees hit the mattress, and you fall onto Seonghwa’s bed.
Your head bounces softly against the pillows, but you don't even have a second to catch your breath. Hongjoong follows you down. He cages you in, his knees sinking into the mattress on either side of your hips as he hovers over you, his dark, frantic eyes tracing the lines of your heaving body.
"눈 나만 봐."
Hongjoong's command is sharp, but there's a catch in his breath underneath it, like he's forcing it to be firm.
There are just enough vocabulary words in that short sentence for your brain to translate through your haze: Eyes. Me. Only. Look. Keep your eyes on me.
You obey without a single thought, wide-eyed and breathless, staring up at him as he hovers over you.
"알겠어?" Do you understand? Hearing that strict tone coming from Hongjoong's lips sends a rush of heat to your core on the spot. You nod quickly, incapable of forcing any words past your throat.
He reaches down, his hand still visibly trembling as his thumb comes to rest against your cheek. He caresses your skin softly, like he's still afraid to touch you. "Smart girl," he praises quietly.
As his thumb softly brushes across your cheekbone, the panic in his eyes seems to stall. He looks dazed, like it's finally registering in his brain that he has you here, beneath him, yielding to him.
"존나 예쁘다," he breathes out.
So fucking pretty.
You stare at him, your whole body catching on fire at the realization that your tutor is talking about you—talking to you—like that.
His thumb slowly slides from your flushed cheek down to your mouth, brushing roughly over your bottom lip. Almost like it's second nature, your lips part. A tiny, disbelieving smirk starts to tug at the corner of his mouth—the reaction of a man who can hardly believe what he's seeing, learning what he's allowed to do in real time. His thumb slips past your parted lips, coming to rest heavily on your tongue.
Without thinking, you close your lips around it and start sucking softly.
Hongjoong sucks in a sharp breath. His eyes darken, filling with lust from watching you take him into your mouth. The last threads of his composure finally melt away as he stares down at your wide, doe-like eyes.
"I’ve been staring across that table for so long," he says, his voice wrecked, his free hand sliding from your jaw to grip the side of your neck. "Wondering if I’d ever actually get to touch you the way I imagine."
His fingers flex against your pulse point, feeling how fast your heart is racing for him. He smirks, knowing you won't understand what he says next.
"오늘 밤… 내가 항상 원했던 거, 가질게."
You blink up at him, sucking softly as you try your hardest to translate, but it's no use.
Hongjoong's smirk widens as he pats your cheek at the attempt.
"진짜 아름다워."
Seonghwa's whisper cuts in from beside the bed. He steps closer, looking down at you. You glance up at the two men hovering like predators above you, the sight stealing your breath so suddenly that you nearly choke around Hongjoong’s thumb.
Seonghwa’s eyes are gentle yet simmering with desire, his gaze tracing the lines of your body like you're something he’s been imagining he’d only ever see in a dream. But Hongjoong... Hongjoong is staring at you with pure possessiveness. Your usual awkward, hesitant tutor is completely dead and gone, replaced by a man pushed so far over the edge by jealousy that he's finally brave enough to take what he wants after months of denying himself.
Hongjoong’s gaze drops to your mouth, completely enraptured by the wet, soft sound of you sucking on his thumb. Slowly, his dark eyes glide down your body, tracking the heavy velvet of your dress where it clings to you.
"이 드레스 예쁘네," he says lowly, his voice becoming raspy as his eyes lock onto the curve of your chest. "내가 좋아하는 색깔." His trembling hand slides from your neck, his fingertips tracing the fabric. "이런 드레스 더 만들어 줄게."
You have no idea what he's saying, but your eyes widen even more when he slowly slides his thumb out of your mouth. It slips past your lips with a quiet, wet pop.
Without breaking eye contact with you, Hongjoong nudges Seonghwa sharply with his elbow. "벗겨."
Your breath hitches. A vocab word. Take it off.
Seonghwa scoffs, bristling at being ordered around in his own bedroom. He reaches down, his fingers tracing the exposed line of your waist where the zipper is wide open, and mutters defiantly. "내가 때가 됐다고 생각하면 이거 벗길게."
Hongjoong barely reacts. His dark, blown-out eyes flick to his roommate. "그녀를 기분 좋게 해주고 싶지 않아?" he asks quietly. "벗겨."
Seonghwa doesn't look at him, but a soft sigh escapes his lips. He reaches down, his fingers sliding gently through a strand of your hair.
"You really are beautiful," he murmurs. He smirks down at you, but the look in his eyes is gentle. "Relax for me. I'll make you feel good."
Hongjoong’s own smirk returns as Seonghwa slowly starts slipping the dress off your shoulders.
"네가 그녀를 기분 좋게 해줄 순 있어," Hongjoong says as his eyes rake over your bared skin. "하지만 걘 나를 봐."
Seonghwa drags the fabric down over your chest, fully exposing the lace of your bra. His hands slide to your waist, giving your sides a gentle tap to prompt you. You shakily arch your back off the mattress, allowing him to slide the dress completely down your hips and off your legs. He smiles softly as he folds the velvet neatly before setting it gently on the floor.
You're left in nothing but your bra and panties, exposed under the heated gazes of the two fully clothed men above you.
The dress barely touches the floor before both men move.
Hongjoong's shaking hands dart out, his fingers wrapping tightly around both of your wrists. With one swift movement, he pins your arms above your head against the mattress.
But Seonghwa refuses to be shut out.
While Hongjoong pins you down, Seonghwa moves to the foot of the bed, stepping between your legs. His hands trace unhurried paths up your bare calves and over your thighs, pushing your knees apart, spreading your legs. He leans down, pressing unbearably soft, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. His hands slide up to cup your hips while his thumbs trace over your panties.
A shaky gasp escapes your throat. Your back naturally arches off the mattress, reaching for Seonghwa’s hands, your head instinctively turning as you try to get a glimpse of what he's doing between your legs despite Hongjoong pinning you down.
The needy whimper you let out for the other man makes Hongjoong's eyes flash.
"나만 보라고 했지," he snaps.
Before you can even process the demand, Hongjoong dips his head, and his mouth crashes against your collarbone—right over the exact spot Seonghwa had kissed so gently before Hongjoong pushed you to the bed. But where Seonghwa is careful and teasing between your legs, Hongjoong is losing control entirely. He sucks and bites at your skin, leaving his own bruised marks in his wake.
You moan softly, your hips helplessly bucking up into Seonghwa's hands.
You feel a wet heat pool between your legs as Hongjoong pulls back. He stares unabashedly down at your chest, at your breasts hidden beneath your bra.
He shifts his weight, releasing one of your wrists. He uses his free hand to cover the cup of your bra, his fingers squeezing you roughly through the fabric.
"I try so hard to be professional," he confesses, his voice still trembling as that same hand slides around to your back, pulling another subconscious arch from your spine. "But when you're sitting there... looking at me with those eyes while I'm trying to tutor you..."
He trails off, biting down hard on his bottom lip as his eyes drag down your trembling body. His fingers hook around the clasp of your bra.
"You make it impossible to remember why I shouldn't touch you."
With one rough, impatient tug, he unclasps your bra. Your breasts immediately spill out into his waiting hand, and he yanks the delicate lace away, tossing it carelessly onto the floor.
At the same time, Seonghwa's fingertips hook around your panties. He drags the thin material down your legs, his knuckles brushing against your shivering skin, until he slides them over your ankles and drops them softly to the floor next to your dress.
His hands trace back up your calves and over your knees, spreading your legs wider. A rush of air hits your skin, and the realization crashes over you: you're completely, fully exposed beneath them. Naked, trembling, and entirely at their mercy.
Hongjoong's eyes are consumed by the sight of your bare chest. His hands cup your breasts, kneading the soft flesh with a trembling grip. He watches the sight of his own hands on you, swallowing hard before breaking his stare and smashing his lips against yours again.
His kiss is messy and urgent. He trails his open mouth down your jaw, sucking another harsh mark into your neck, before working his way down to your chest. As his mouth reaches your breast, he traces soft, wet circles around your nipple with his lips. Without warning, he flicks his tongue over the sensitive peak.
A surprised moan tears out of your throat.
Hongjoong pauses, looking up at you through his suddenly fogged-up glasses. He quickly rips them off and throws them somewhere on Seonghwa's beside table, a smirk pulling at his lips as he keeps dragging his tongue over the peak, his other hand roughly kneading your other breast.
"Sensitive, 자기야?"
Before you can even gasp out an answer, he closes his lips and sucks hard. You moan, squeezing your eyes shut, hands balling into the bedsheets as you become overwhelmed by his touch. He suddenly pinches your other nipple between his fingers, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your already dripping core.
"눈 나만 봐," he repeats, his fingers pausing their torment.
He waits, refusing to move another inch until your fluttering eyelids snap open.
"좋아," he praises, his voice shaking. Good.
He sucks even harder. He squeezes and rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger with such rough, possessive desperation that you cry out, your back arching high off the mattress to press yourself deeper into his mouth. “Hongjoong—”
While Hongjoong is fully claiming your top half—kissing, licking, and sucking bruises all over your chest—you can’t see what Seonghwa is doing; you can only feel him. He presses impossibly soft kisses against the inside of your knee. Flushing hotly under Hongjoong's devouring mouth, you instinctively try to squeeze your thighs shut to hide yourself.
But Seonghwa’s hands clamp down on your knees, holding you in place.
"No," he murmurs, his thumbs stroking your skin. "Don't hide from me, angel. I want to see all of you."
He kisses a path from your knee up to your inner thigh. You shake uncontrollably, whimpering and moaning as your brain short-circuits from the dual stimulation. He stops right before he reaches your core, leaning in close just to get a good look at how slick and needy you are for them, pressing hot kisses to your upper thighs.
"예쁜 보지..." he says under his breath. "나 때문에 이렇게 젖었네…"
A grunt rips from Hongjoong's throat, his lips pulling away from your breast with a wet smack.
"넌 대체 한 게 뭐야?" he mutters, glaring down the length of your body at his roommate. Hongjoong moves his mouth to the soft side of your breast. He bites down and sucks, leaving yet another mark on your skin. "이거 다 나 때문이잖아."
Seonghwa's tongue suddenly darts out, dragging a long, wet stripe straight up your soaked folds.
A violent jolt shoots through your entire nervous system. You cry out loud, your head tossing to the side against the pillows.
"Hwa!" you moan out, your eyes rolling back into your head as his tongue begins circling your sensitive bundle of nerves.
Hongjoong recoils at the sound of his roommate's name falling from your lips. His jaw locks, a wave of jealousy crashing over his features. He instantly bites down harder, his hands gripping your waist, punishing you with pleasure just to make you scream his name instead.
"내 이름 불러," he commands, his hot breath hitting your skin. Say my name.
"H—Hongjoo... Ho... Joong…" you stammer, your voice wrecked.
"크게 말해."
Your mind goes hopelessly blank. Seonghwa’s tongue is lapping over your dripping core, sending wave after wave of blinding heat through your body. The overload of both men devouring you makes it impossible to translate in your head.
When you just lie there whimpering, Hongjoong stares dead into your unfocused eyes. He cocks a dark eyebrow, a new blend of the tutor you know and the wildly jealous man you're trapped beneath.
"Don't know what that means?" he tsks. He shakes his head, the disappointment in his expression making you feel incredibly small and desperate to please him. "And here I thought you were making progress with your listening."
"I am," you whisper helplessly, practically moaning the words out as Seonghwa presses two long fingers against your slick entrance, teasing but refusing to push inside. "I... I am..."
Hongjoong's eyes are unyielding as he holds you on the very edge of your sanity.
"Will you listen carefully?"
You nod frantically, your eyes squeezing shut as your hips buck upward, begging for Seonghwa’s fingers to just enter you already.
"Yes!" you sob out. "Yes, I will!"
You put all your strength into focusing on his words, desperately trying to focus as Seonghwa's fingers slowly start to press inside your dripping hole. His tongue relentlessly teases your clit, but you force your wide, teary eyes to stay locked on the man hovering over your face.
"혀."
Vocabulary—tongue. You nod once, frantically. He sees the understanding click in your eyes, and he reaches down, his pointer finger tapping against your closed lips.
"내밀어."
His fingers tap your lips again, making you obey before your brain finishes translating.
Sucking in a shaky, whimper-filled breath, you part your lips and stick your tongue out for him. Hongjoong's eyes narrow as he leans down, his mouth curling right above yours.
He spits, letting his saliva land right on your tongue.
"삼켜," he whispers.
Swallow.
You obey instantly, swallowing it down and sticking your tongue back out to prove it.
A grin breaks across Hongjoong’s face, utterly intoxicated by your submission. He pats your cheek. "좋아. 내 모범생."
Good. My star student.
Seonghwa’s fingers suddenly start moving inside you. He'd slipped them all the way in without you realizing—you were too consumed by Hongjoong even to notice. A loud, broken moan escapes you as he begins to pump his fingers in and out of your slick heat, his mouth latching onto your clit at the same time.
Hongjoong watches you fall apart under his roommate’s fingers hungrily, tracking every buck of your hips.
But as your breathing turns into high-pitched sobs, Seonghwa gets too swept up in his own lust. Panting, he pulls his mouth away from your pussy, his eyes glazed over. He reaches down for the buckle of his own pants, clearly intending to take exactly what he’s been teasing. While he fumbles with his belt, he crawls up your body to capture your lips for a desperate kiss.
But Hongjoong's hand shoots out, gripping his wrist and stopping him. When Seonghwa groans and tries to pull his arm back, Hongjoong shoves a hand hard against Seonghwa’s chest, pushing him back against the mattress.
"안 돼," he orders. No. He glares down at Seonghwa. "입술은 내 거야."
Seonghwa stares up at Hongjoong, wiping his mouth—still wet from your slickness—with the back of his hand. There's a smugness in his eyes, knowing he successfully pushed his friend to his breaking point, and he doesn't fight him. He yields, pulling back just enough to let Hongjoong take the reins as he works on unbuckling the rest of his belt.
Hongjoong's eyes look back at you.
A breath later, his expression hardens.
He moves, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your hands and knees, his grip harsh, sweaty, and jealous. You let out a startled squeak as your bare knees sink into the mattress, your back arched with your chest pressed to the pillows. Hongjoong kneels behind you, his dark eyes raking over your exposed core already wet with both your desire and what Seonghwa left behind.
You glance over your shoulder, wrapping your arms around one of Seonghwa's pillows to steady your trembling body. You gasp as you watch Hongjoong's hands fly to his waistband, shoving his pants down his thighs.
His cock springs free, his erection hard, twitching, and already glistening red. He's so thick that his own fingers hardly wrap around his girth as he strokes it slowly, watching your reaction with an unreadable look.
There’s hesitation in the way he breathes, his chest rising and falling, like he’s taking one final second to memorize exactly what he’s about to do before he crosses the line of no return.
Then, something shifts in his face. He reaches out, his fingers tangling roughly in your hair, and forces your cheek down into the mattress, completely cutting off your line of sight.
You let out a startled whimper as you feel him line his tip right at your entrance, his hands clamping down hard on your hips to lock you in place. But just before he pushes inside, his hand leaves your hip to point a shaking finger over your back, aiming right at the empty space at the head of the bed.
"가서 입에 물려," he orders, his voice trembling through the command.
You try to lift your head, straining against his grip on your hair to look over your shoulder and gauge what he just said. But before you can move, a shadow falls over you. You blink through the hazy, overstimulated fog.
Seonghwa is kneeling at the head of the bed, right in front of your face. He's pulled out his own length from his pants, not nearly as thick yet much longer than Hongjoong's, already dripping with precum. He smiles down at you, that gentle look returning to his eyes. His hand wraps around his base, stroking himself as he guides his throbbing tip right to your parted lips.
"You're doing well for us, angel," he murmurs, his fingers brushing away the hair in your face. "Now open up."
You open your lips, taking Seonghwa’s cock into your mouth.
Behind you, Hongjoong's hands grip your hips tighter, his thumbs digging into your skin. He leans over your back, his hot breath hitting your ear as he looks down at you from behind.
"You've wanted this just as long as I have, haven't you?" he asks, his voice trembling with pent-up desire.
You shake violently as Seonghwa starts to thrust into your mouth slowly, but you nod frantically, trying your hardest to look up at your tutor.
But a nod isn't enough for him. His grip turns bruising, demanding words. "말해." Say it.
You pull back from Seonghwa just an inch, a desperate tear slipping down your cheek. "네. 나… 너 갖고 싶어." I want you.
Hearing his own language fall from your lips in such a broken, needy confession seems to shatter him fully.
"우리 처음 만났을 때부터… 계속 이 생각만 했어," he whispers, his fingers shaking as his voice cracks. "지금… 나만 생각해."
He thrusts his hips forward, burying his thick cock deep inside your tight hole in one push.
You scream, the sound completely muffled by Seonghwa’s cock as he guides his length right back into your mouth. Your fingernails dig into the bedsheets, the bedframe shaking as Hongjoong begins to fuck you from behind. His hips snap forward without any rhythm, completely uncoordinated, relying solely on the instinct to stretch you, hitting that deep spot inside you over and over again.
In front of you, Seonghwa strokes your hair, taking in your muffled sobs around his cock, thrusting his hips gently into your mouth.
"Look how good he’s making you feel," Seonghwa moans, staring down at you sucking him, your body jerking as Hongjoong pounds into your cunt. "Just take it, angel. Give it all to Joong."
Hongjoong leans his weight over you, his hips bucking as his chest slides against your sweat-slicked spine. His free hand reaches blindly around your side to roughly play with your breasts, tweaking your nipples as he fucks you breathless.
"씨발, 존나 조여…" he curses between pants, his hips slapping wetly against your thighs.
Seonghwa moans above you as he guides his cock in and out of your mouth. "Are you really that tight, angel?" he groans, watching you take his friend. "씨발... I bet you feel so fucking good..."
"내 거… 넌 내 거야," Hongjoong grunts. His pace accelerates, his thrusts growing faster as you moan out his name. You're crying, drooling, and choking around Seonghwa’s cock, taking Hongjoong's dick, completely breaking apart. Your knees wobble beneath you, threatening to give out as you feel his length twitch inside you, sending hot sparks to your core and dragging you closer to the edge.
Hongjoong feels your legs shaking and slides his hands down your ribs, locking around your waist to hold you up.
"무릎 꿇고 제대로 받아," he orders, angling his hips to hit the spot that makes your eyes roll back.
Seonghwa pulls his hips back just enough to let his length slip from your lips, his thumb reaching out to gently wipe the spit and tears from your chin. "You hear him? Stay up on your knees and take it right," he whispers. His eyes are completely glazed over as he watches his best friend stretch you out. "Show him what an angel you are."
You let out a broken, breathless sob, trying to nod. Hongjoong hits the very back of your walls and grinds there, his hand pinching your nipple hard.
"내 좆으로 가득 차서 예쁘게 우네," he groans.
Seonghwa pushes past your lips again, thrusting sharply in time with Hongjoong's brutal pounding. "씨발..." His own voice is shaking now. He strokes your hair, breathing heavily.
Time distorts. You can no longer separate Hongjoong's filthy Korean from Seonghwa's breathy English. You moan both their names blindly into Seonghwa's cock.
Hongjoong's thrusts lose all rhythm, his control cracking, giving way to his desperate need.
"내 모범생," he growls, his voice cracking on the words. "진짜 미치게 완벽해."
Seonghwa’s hands tangle tightly into your hair, holding your head in place as he thrusts deeper into your mouth. "Come for him," Seonghwa begs you, his eyes squeezing shut as he gets closer. "Please, angel..."
"H—Hong—Hongjooong—!" you sob out, letting Seonghwa slip from your lips, your fingernails shredding into the pillows as the orgasm rips through your body. Your walls clench violently, milking Hongjoong's cock with stuttering spasms.
Hongjoong lets out a guttural groan at the feeling of you coming around him. He grabs your hips, buries himself as deep as he physically can, and releases inside you with hot, relentless pulses.
In front of you, Seonghwa grips his own cock, his eyes rolling back. He strokes himself furiously as he watches his best friend finally take you over the edge, a loud, helpless moan ripping from his throat as he finishes in thick ropes right onto your chest and the sheets beneath you.
Hongjoong stays slumped over your back, his forehead resting against your shoulder blade as his chest heaves. He's trembling just as hard as you are, his grip on your hips slowly loosening as the last few shuddering pulses of his orgasm bleed out of him.
Slowly, he pulls out. You hear the wet sound of him sliding out of you, the only sound other than the ragged gasps tearing from all three of you.
Without Hongjoong holding you up, your arms give out.
You collapse forward onto the mattress, your cheek hitting Seonghwa’s damp pillows. Your whole body feels like liquid. Your muscles twitch with the aftershocks of your climax. You can barely even keep your eyes open.
Behind you, the mattress shifts as Hongjoong falls back onto his heels.
In front of you, Seonghwa slumps back against the headboard, his long legs sprawled out. His chest rises and falls rapidly. Glistening sweat covers his entire body. He wipes a hand roughly over his mouth, his dark eyes slowly trailing over your exhausted, shivering form, taking in the messy proof of exactly what they just did to you.
As the haze of the orgasm finally starts to clear, your brain slowly begins to form thoughts again.
What did we just do?
You force your heavy eyelids open, using whatever strength you have left to push yourself up onto your elbows. You look over your shoulder.
Hongjoong is sitting at the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall. The man who was just cursing at you in filthy Korean is gone. You can practically see the panic replacing the jealousy. When he senses your gaze, he looks over at you. His eyes dart to your bruised lips, down to your chest covered in his best friend's release, and then to his own shaking hands resting on his thighs. He looks shocked by what he just did.
You shakily turn back around as you hear Seonghwa shifting against the headboard.
He grabs a box of tissues from the nightstand, tossing it gently onto the bed. He looks at Hongjoong's panic and lets out a breathless sigh.
"네가 이겼어, 중아," he murmurs. His voice is raspy, stripped of the seduction from earlier. His gaze, however, softens as he looks at his best friend. "이제 영어로 말할 준비됐어?"
Hongjoong flinches. He looks back at the wall, swallowing hard, his jaw ticking.
Seonghwa pulls one of the tissues out of the box and gently wipes his release from your chest, careful not to touch you too harshly. Once you're cleaned up, he pauses, brushing the sweaty hair out of your face and smiling softly at you. He lets his thumb caress your cheek one last time before he reaches over to a pile of clothes, picking up one of his random hoodies thrown carelessly to the floor.
"Here, angel," he says, holding it out to you. "Let's get you covered up."
Trembling, you reach your arm out to take it.
"No."
Hongjoong croaks the word, staring at Seonghwa's hoodie in your hands.
Before Seonghwa can react, Hongjoong reaches down and grabs the hem of his own sweater. He pulls it over his head, leaving himself bare-chested at the edge of the bed.
He crawls forward, his hands shaking with the sweater in his grasp. He pulls it over your head, helping guide your arms through the sleeves, hiding your body from view. The care in his hands is so gentle it aches, but his eyes refuse to meet yours.
After you're dressed, he quickly turns away, hastily pulling his sweatpants back up and tying the drawstring. He stands up, staring firmly at the closed bedroom door.
"Come with me," he says. His voice is hoarse.
He doesn't wait to see if you follow. He just turns, grabs his glasses from the dresser, and walks out into the hallway.
You hesitate for a moment, your legs trembling as your bare feet softly touch the hardwood floor. You pull the oversized sleeves of his sweater over your hands, trying to sink away from what just happened. But before you follow Hongjoong out of the room, you glance back one last time.
Seonghwa is still leaning against the headboard, his breathing finally steady. A satisfied look rests on his handsome face. He catches your eye and smiles.
"Thank you for such an incredible night, angel," he says, giving you a slow, teasing wink.
You still have no idea what his true intentions were tonight. You don't know if he just wanted to break his best friend or if he genuinely wanted a piece of you for himself. But as you look at the empty doorway, you realize it doesn't matter anymore. He did exactly what he promised. He pushed Hongjoong over the edge.
You give him one last look before stepping out into the hallway, following after Hongjoong.
He leads you past the kitchen, past the crockpot still sitting on the counter, and pushes open the door to his own bedroom.
You follow him inside as he holds the door open for you. Your heart is pounding in your throat, but for an entirely different reason now. The lust is gone, replaced by the terrifying anxiety of what comes next.
Hongjoong stands in the doorway for a second. His hand grips the handle tightly. The anxious, overthinking tutor you know is back, standing on the precipice of a reality neither of you actually thought you'd ever have.
He looks at you, swallowed up in his sweater. With one last, shaky breath, he steps fully inside the room.
Hongjoong shuts the door behind you.
translations:
형, 슬로우쿠커 고장난 거 같아. Hyung, I think the slow cooker is broken.
아무것도 안 됐어. 시켜 먹어야 할 것 같아. Nothing's cooked. I think we’re going to have to order.
아씨—! Damn it!
그건 그녀가 좋아하는 음악 종류조차 아니야. That's not even the kind of music she likes.
그건 네가 뭘 안다고 하는 소리야? What would you know about that?
선물 줄 거면… If you’re going to give her a gift...
적어도 그녀가 좋아하는 걸 줘. At least give her something she likes.
걔 네 방에 안 가. She’s not going to your room.
그럼 다른 여자랑 사귀어. Then date another woman.
왜? 내가 데이트하자고 했어. 걔가 좋다고 했어. Why? I asked her on a date. She said yes.
굳이 걔한테 물어볼 필요 있었어? Did you really have to ask her?
다른 사람도 많잖아. There are plenty of other people, aren’t there?
왜 네가 신경 써? Why do you care?
너 걔 좋아해서? Because you like her?
알잖아, 나… You already know… I...
나 걔 좋아한다고. I like her.
그럼 영어로 말해. Then say it in English.
왜 이런 짓을 한 거야? Why did you do this?
못 해? You can’t do it?
그럼 내가 데려간다. Then I'm taking her.
그만. Stop.
손 떼. Take your hands off.
씨발… Fuck…
박성화, 죽여 버릴 거야. Park Seonghwa, I’m going to kill you.
그가 널 기분 좋게 해 줄진 몰라도… He might be making you feel good, but...
네가 원하는 건 나라는 거 알아. I know it's me you want.
이젠 아니야. Not anymore.
나랑 보낸 밤 이후로는. Not after the night she spent with me.
이 자식. This bastard.
그럼 내가 누군지 다시 깨닫게 해줄게. Then I’ll make you realize who I am again.
오늘 밤… 내가 항상 원했던 거, 가질게. Tonight… I’m going to take what I’ve always wanted.
진짜 아름다워. Truly beautiful.
이 드레스 예쁘네. This dress is pretty.
내가 좋아하는 색깔. My favorite color.
이런 드레스 더 만들어 줄게. I'll make more dresses like this for you.
내가 때가 됐다고 생각하면 이거 벗길게. When I think the time is right, I’ll take it off.
그녀를 기분 좋게 해주고 싶지 않아? Don't you want to make her feel good?
네가 그녀를 기분 좋게 해줄 순 있어… You might be able to make her feel good...
하지만 걘 나를 봐. ...but her eyes are on me.
나만 보라고 했지. I told you to only look at me, didn't I?
자기야? Baby.
예쁜 보지... Pretty pussy...
나 때문에 이렇게 젖었네… You got this wet because of me...
넌 대체 한 게 뭐야? What the hell did you do?
이거 다 나 때문이잖아. All of this is my doing.
크게 말해. Say it louder.
내밀어. Stick it out.
입술은 내 거야. Her lips are mine.
가서 입에 물려. Put it in her mouth.
우리 처음 만났을 때부터… 계속 이 생각만 했어. Since the first time we met… this is all I've thought about.
지금… 나만 생각해. Right now… only think of me.
씨발, 존나 조여… Fuck, you're so tight...
내 거… 넌 내 거야. Mine… You’re mine.
무릎 꿇고 제대로 받아. Stay on your knees and take it right.
내 좆으로 가득 차서 예쁘게 우네. You're crying so prettily, filled up with my cock.
내 모범생. My star student.
진짜 미치게 완벽해. You're so fucking perfect.
네가 이겼어, 중아. You won, Joong.
이제 영어로 말할 준비됐어? Now... are you ready to say it in English?
@ queenofsa1gon, 2026. please do not steal, copy, or translate my work! thank you <33
for mature audiences only, minors will be blocked.
⟢ a/n: THIS IS THE SECOND HALF OF PART 12 | this does NOT in any way, shape, or form depict who / how any of ateez are irl. please do not take this fic as fact on their personalities or actions, please and thank you.
⟢ summary: the grande finale™
⟢ total word count for both parts: 56.4k (128 pages....)
⟢ warnings: MINORS RUN FOR THE HILLS | swearing, captive reader, conditioning, use of names (daddy, angel, sir), psychological warfare, manipulation, mentions of death/dying, PTSD, brief/indirect mention of SA
Everything hurts but also… doesn’t. Like something is blocking you from feeling any of the pain from before. A dull, underlying discomfort.
You don’t remember much of what happened, why you ended up here, wherever you are. There’s a black hole in your memory that turns everything fuzzy and confusing. What you do remember is how cold you were, near freezing. Cautiously, you move each finger one by one, and wiggle your toes, making sure all were accounted for. You remember two loud, sudden noises. Someone else got hurt. Two others, you think. You can’t recall who, though.
You remember being touched by strangers. The thought terrifies you all over again, and you slowly squeeze your thighs together, testing for any soreness. You don’t feel anything. A huge mental weight suddenly lifts off of you, and you sink further into the bed, turning your head to the side to cry in relief. Daddy would’ve been so mad…
When you eventually open your eyes, the first things you see are balloons.
Odd.
Off to the side, they float on a large shelf beneath a large flat screen television, telling you to get well soon in funky fonts. Underneath the balloons are an array of gifts, each one differing in packaging and size, and a teddy bear perched on top of the pile like a throne. You wonder if they’ll find and give you Puppy sometime soon. That would be a greater comfort than the teddy bear, even if it did have a cute red ribbon tied around its neck. But you breathe a sigh of relief upon the sight of all the gifts. A wave of comfort washes over you at the thought of Yunho sending you all of these. He must not be mad at you anymore, and sent you these, knowing how scared you are here. You can’t wait to see what he got you.
You see that they have also placed a small Christmas tree in the corner.
Right… you remember, it is Christmas – or at least it was recently.
You groan as you shift to get more comfortable, and feel a small tug within your chest. Your eyes fly open and you panic once you see multiple tubes protruding from your chest and arm. Immediately, you want to rip whatever is in there out, but your hands are still restrained. A rough scream that sounds just like Yunho’s name tears from your throat and two nurses run in, trying to calm you down.
“No!” You try to scream at them, but it comes out as a breathy, broken cry, “No! Leave me alone!”
Both nurses back off right away. One of them calmly tries to explain to you that you’re in the hospital, and the tubes you see are to drain the fluid in your chest, and an IV to keep you hydrated. You don’t respond. You regress further.
Daddy hasn’t given you permission to speak to any of these people.
He’ll take the presents away if he finds out.
He’ll leave you here.
You press your mouth together, refusing to say another word. Curling up on your side, you don’t even look in their direction. In this position, there’s an added pressure somewhere in your chest and a pull in your shoulder that you don’t like. Yet you don’t move. You hate that they’re looking at you. They’re not allowed to.
One of them brings the teddy bear over, setting him down on the foot of your hospital bed, leaning against the footboard. Eventually, after checking your vitals and trying – and failing – to ask you a dozen questions you don’t want to answer, they leave.
You break down as soon as you’re alone again.
You don’t understand… why did Daddy leave you here? He would never leave you out in the world unprotected, no matter what. He didn’t even assign one of the boys to stay with you. It just does not make sense. The not-knowing overwhelms you, and your temples begin to throb from stress.
The only comfort you can find is in being asleep. So you’ll sleep until Daddy comes to get you.
Until he brings you back home.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Sleep is something you’re not really afforded.
You wake up often due to the pain, sometimes pressing the button for the nurse to administer more pain-killing drugs to your system, and several times throughout the day – and night – people walk in to poke and prod you. They keep asking you questions. The same ones, every single time, every single shift. It’s always loud, bright, and disorientating. You hate it here. You miss the blackout curtains throughout the apartment, shielding you from this blinding light. You miss waking up snuggled next to Yunho. You miss that safety.
The nurses finally freed your hands from your sides earlier this morning and you don’t even thank them. You hid your hands under the blankets, like a child that didn’t want to give you their favorite toy. In your somewhat newfound freedom, you pulled the blanket higher over you, so you really didn’t have to look at anyone if you didn't want to. It’s easier to block out the world this way.
By mid-morning, you’re unable to fall back asleep, which you kind of anticipated. Still, it’s desperately annoying. One of the nurses that had come in when you first woke up stands by your bed, checking your vitals and typing something into her laptop. She checks on the dressing that covers your wound. You watch her work for a while. You decide that you dislike her the least. She keeps the shades drawn, having noticed your agitation when the sunlight streamed into the room. And so far, she’s been nice. She can read what you want better than the other nurses.
You startle her by speaking.
“Where is he?”
She jumps and clutches her chest, not expecting a question from you. But she quickly regains her professionalism and asks, “Where is who, dear?”
“Da–” You think twice in the middle of saying it. You need to be specific. “Yunho.”
“Yunho?” She repeats.
You nod twice.
“I– I don’t know, dear. Is he your boyfriend?”
You drop the conversation there, frustrated. And partly because you don’t know how to answer her question. Whatever your relationship is, it’s so much deeper than that.
“You say his name a lot in your sleep,” she mentions, resuming her typing after flicking through your chart again.
She looks up at you, hoping for an explanation, but you just turn onto your side, closing yourself off. You don’t move again until she leaves, and even then you wait a few extra minutes to make sure she’s gone.
Sleep drags you down out of nowhere. It’s welcomed.
But of course, it doesn’t stay with you for too long.
“Honey?” A woman’s voice stirs you out of your deep slumber about two hours later. A gentle hand shakes your shoulder, just enough to wake you up. You grumble and rub your eye, intent on ignoring whoever this is and going back to sleep – it doesn’t register that you’re no longer restrained just yet. But she speaks again, and the words catch your attention. “Someone’s here to see you.”
Your eyes open and you push yourself up all at once, looking around the room. Did they find him that quickly? Is he going to take you home? A dangerous hope blooms within you, watching the door.
“Your parents are right outside. Do you want to say ‘hi’ to them?” The nurse asks.
Parents…?
The word feels foreign. Wrong. The only person in the world you have is Yunho, you know that. Your parents stopped looking for you. They don’t care. Their faces are blurry, names forgotten.
You don’t say anything to the nurse, staring at the mattress in silence, hoping she’ll go away. You hope everyone will just go away. The nurse gives you a minute to answer before going to the door, waving two people in.
A roughly middle-aged man and woman enter your room slowly. The woman clutches the man’s sleeve, staring at you through watery, round eyes. The man holds a small present in his shaking hands. They appear to be exhausted, maybe jet-lagged. There are dark circles under the man’s eyes like he hasn’t slept in days. They both look at you like you’re a ticking time bomb, ready to detonate at any second.
“Hi sweetie,” the woman says softly, keeping her distance even though you can tell it’s taking a lot of effort on her part to do so.
The man chimes in, “Hey, kiddo.” He stops himself from saying more.
The nurses must have said something to them.
Again, you don’t reply. You keep your eyes on them, watching and waiting for them to do something that Yunho wouldn’t like. Their being here… it doesn’t sit well with you. There’s absolutely no way Yunho would ever let them see you. Especially not unsupervised. For the hundredth time, you wonder where he is, why he’s letting this happen.
The two people in your room dare to come closer, and you tense with each step.
Misplaced blame shrouds them both.
Once they’re close enough to see the extent of your injuries, the woman collapses into one of the chairs near the bed.
“Oh, my poor baby.” She cries, unable to tear her gaze from the violent purple and red bruising that covers every inch of your throat up to your jaw, and down towards your chest.
Ugh.
This display of emotion annoys you – or maybe it’s hearing the nickname Daddy gave you coming from someone else’s lips. You even roll your eyes, though you instantly feel guilty for doing so. She weeps harder, covering her face with her hands as she tries to pull herself together. The man places a hand on her shoulder, and the small action triggers something.
A memory.
You remember the airport, waving goodbye to… someone. A man and a woman, the man’s hand on the woman’s shoulder. To control her? To comfort her? You can’t tell anymore. They had waved goodbye until you were out of their sight. They had shouted encouraging words after you so that they may follow you on your journey, far from home.
They had picked you up from school, taken you to doctor’s appointments, held your hand in the dentist’s chair, let you sleep in their bed when you woke up from a nightmare. One of them coached your soccer team when you were a kid, you just couldn’t remember which one. You loved them once.
This was all lifetimes ago, now.
You’re different. You’re not theirs. They stopped looking for you. They gave up.
Yunho would have torn the world apart if you ever went missing. He wouldn’t have stopped his search, not for anything. Of this, you’re certain.
“I’m sorry,” the woman says through sniffles, plucking a tissue from a nearby tissue box and wiping her eyes. “We’re so sorry, sweetie.”
You don’t look at them. You don’t want to, even though your body naturally starts to relax around them. It’s recognizing them before your brain does. The heart monitor records how your pulse gradually begins to slow to a normal pace.
The man changes the subject, pointing out the pile of presents. “Looks like you didn’t miss Christmas after all.”
You almost shrug. The most he gets in response is a slight twitch in your left shoulder.
“Do you wanna see what you got?” He asks.
Yes. But not with them. You don’t want them to touch what Yunho got you. The man picks one of the presents up, bringing it over to you. The tag is written in unfamiliar handwriting.
To: Y/N
From: All The Staff ♡
Oh… well, that’s nice of them, you suppose. All you do is stare at it, unmoving. It’s not from Yunho, so you really have no desire to open it.
But the man takes it upon himself when you don’t unwrap it. Growing more and more agitated, you clench your teeth, hands itching at your skin. You don’t want your first present to be from strangers. No.
You look away before you can see what it is.
“Oh wow,” he says, pulling the gift out of the box. “The staff got you a weighted blanket. That was nice of them.”
Your shoulders hunch and you bow your head, not wanting to hear. He places it over your legs, and it takes every single ounce of self-control to not throw it off of you like a petulant child. The weight of it feels claustrophobic, meant to keep you here forever.
“Gotta make sure to thank them when they come in again,” he reminds you innocently, but that’s the last straw.
He doesn’t tell you what to do. You press the call button for the nurse to come back in. You hope it’s the one you like.
“Are you okay, sweetie?” The woman asks, worry lacing between every syllable. Her eyes are still red from crying. “Are you in pain?”
Right away, the nurse you want comes in, her eyes sweeping across the room, trying to figure out what you need.
“Hey, honey. What’s going on?”
Keeping your head off to the side, all you do to answer is point over at the door. It only takes the nurse a second to realize what you want.
“Okay, no problem. Mom, Dad, we’ll see her tomorrow, okay?”
You want to correct that, to say that you don’t want to see them tomorrow at all, but remain silent. They’ll just keep coming back anyway. Deep down, you know you’re expected to go home with them. But that’s not what Yunho wants.
The woman cries again as the two of them leave, escorted out by the nurse, and you can hear her until she reaches the end of the wing. You don’t relax until you know they’re gone. With a swift kick, the blanket falls off the side of the bed, and the weight is gone as well. That’s enough excitement for one day, surely.
A knock on the door shatters that hope.
Thankfully though, it’s just the nurse from before. She lets herself in quietly, picking up the discarded blanket and setting it down over the back of one of the chairs instead of placing it back on you. Smart.
Then she sits down.
Neither of you say anything for a while, and you don’t look at her. You watch the clock like it’s the most fascinating thing to you, never wanting to miss a single second. You tap your finger against the mattress, the one with the pulse oximeter on it.
“It’ll all get easier,” the nurse says, this time startling you. “Just takes time, you know?”
She doesn’t expect a response, and you don’t really give her one. However, a shrug in response from you is still considered progress. She’ll gladly take it between the alternatives. You suppose she’s right, but you’re not happy about it. You don’t want to get used to a new normal, whatever it may look like. The uncertainty of it all scares you.
There’s another bout of silence.
“Your parents don’t know who ‘Yunho’ is… do you know his address or number?”
You used to know his number, but you haven’t exactly seen your phone in about a year. You’re pretty sure Yunho chucked it into the Han River the same night he took you. He couldn’t have it potentially alert your location and bring the police right to his doorstep, per se. You bite your lip, shaking your head. It’s frustrating to be able to remember select, small details like that, and not what happened recently. Or your parents.
Wanting more answers, you point at your throat and chest and then your wrist, hoping you’re making it clear you’re asking when this all happened. Two days ago? A week? The nurse tilts her head, confused. You point towards the Christmas tree and tap your wrist again.
After a few moments, she seems to understand.
“How many days since…?” She gestures to your injuries.
You nod, looking down again.
“It’s December twenty-seventh today, so… four days ago.”
Huh. So that’s why the man said you didn’t miss Christmas after all, even though technically you did. You woke up only yesterday, the twenty-sixth. A brief memory of being happy to know the date again flashes in your mind, but you can’t place when that was. December something. Someone had told you the date… who was it? Why can’t you just remember?
You look up at her, as if she has the answers. Speaking of names you don’t remember, you point at her nametag, unable to read it. You’re sure she’s told you before but you weren’t exactly in a get-to-know-you mood yesterday.
“My name?” She clarifies. You nod. “Jiyeon.”
Pretty. It’s nice to put a name to a face. You repeat it over and over in your head so you can maybe remember it later. Hopefully everything else will come back to you in time. It’s just going to be frustrating for now. At least you still remember Yunho. The thought of him is keeping you somewhat grounded while you’re here, though it raises a lot of questions you don’t have the answers to. And no one here knows who or where he is, which brings up even more unanswerable questions.
A loud siren blares through the hospital halls, calling all available medical staff to one of the rooms. An automated voice announces that it is a ‘Code Blue’ and Jiyeon springs up from her chair at once, telling you that she’ll be right back before rushing out. Before the door closes behind her, you see other nurses sprinting down the hall as well. You blink, and you’re alone again. The announcement stops after about another minute or so.
Jiyeon doesn’t come back right away like she said she would. Eventually, you just stop waiting for her to return. The silence creeps in, burrowing into your ears and you paw around at the blankets to try and find the remote for the TV. You find it on the table next to you, within reach. It’s similar to the remote you are used to in Yunho’s apartment, which is helpful. With a push of one of the buttons, the television blinks to life. Color explodes across the screen.
You relax once you see it’s some sort of children’s cartoon program, something that Yunho would allow you to watch. It entertains you for a while, but it quickly becomes too overstimulating. The voices and sound effects mixed with the bright colors proves too much for your head to handle at the moment. The channel switches to the news. The two anchors relay all the information about a recent bus crash somewhere in the city before moving on to a singing program, and you decide it’s good background noise. You lower the volume a little more, and turn on your side, intent on trying to fall asleep again.
An hour later, with no success, you just listen to the news anchors once they reappear on screen. You don’t want anyone to come in, but you are antsy that Jiyeon already broke a promise to you. She said she’d be right back. You know it’s selfish of you to think you’re the only patient that she should pay attention to, but you can’t help it. However, you guess you’re used to being alone.
Unfortunately, you’re not left alone for long. A nurse you don’t think you’ve met before comes in, alongside a tall man. A doctor in a long white coat, holding a clipboard. On sight, you instantly tense up, scooting farther up the bed to put distance between you and him. Your pulse quickens, and each pound of your heart hammers against your bruised chest.
“Hi, Y/N,” he says warmly, standing at the foot of your bed. “Glad to see you awake. I’m Dr. Ahn. I just wanted to touch base with you and see how you’re doing.”
You bring your knees in so your feet are no longer that close to him. If he’s going to touch you, you’re going to see him coming towards you first, which gives you time to act. You don’t like him saying your name so casually.
He’s obviously been briefed that you are refusing to speak, because he doesn’t wait for a response from you. He flicks through your chart like he’s reading the newspaper.
“Your vitals are looking good, so no issues there. We’ll be taking the chest tube out this afternoon, see if your lung is doing what it should be on its own. Your parents are gonna be here all day, so if you want them in here when that happens, just let us know.”
You glare at him as he gets closer, checking your IV bag. The squeak of his shoes against the floor make you nauseous. He notices you staring and offers a small smile.
“You’re very brave, you know,” he says, patting your knee. You resist the urge to bite his hand off. Your skin crawls, astounded at his audacity. A wave of anger and fear crashes into you all at once, and you shove his hand away. You ignore the surprise on his face, more preoccupied with how frightened and fed up you are. Can’t they just get all of this over with so you can go home? At this point, you’ll walk back. You don’t care if that’s what you have to do to get back there.
The doctor says something to you, but you ignore him. You watch the door, waiting for Yunho to come in and kill him for touching you.
The young nurse speaks up next, taking his place beside you.
“Y/N, I’m Nari. I’m a sexual assault nurse examiner. I would like to perform a Sexual Assault Forensic Exam on you, but only with your permission. It’ll be entirely up to you if you want to send the results to the police as evidence. Do you think that’s something you’d like to do?”
You freeze. Sexual assault?
Your pulse skyrockets. Is that what they think this is? Is that what you’re a victim of? Is this why they’re keeping Yunho from you? They don’t understand. No one does. Yunho didn’t put you in the hospital, surely not. He wouldn’t. He’d never hurt you this bad. Even when he had burned you, he made sure it wasn’t bad enough of an injury for you to need a visit to a hospital. He’s smarter than that. Minor injuries, or death. No in between, and certainly no hospitals. You breathe heavier and heavier, suddenly feeling like you can’t get enough air into your lungs.
Both of them see that you’re getting worked up again and back away, getting out of your space.
“It’s okay, honey,” Nari says, trying to calm you down.
You want to yell at them, scream, cry, throw things, but you force yourself to keep quiet and still. If they think Yunho made you into such a mess, you won’t just play into that theory so easily. No. You won’t prove them right by acting up.
You flip that same switch that always straightens you out. Suddenly you’re calm, indifferent. You can’t let them continue to think that Yunho was a bad influence on you, so you’ll be on your best behavior. However, you’ll still keep the no-touching boundary. You’ll talk to people when they’ve earned the right. You breathe normally again, settling back against the hospital pillow like nothing happened.
Dr. Ahn and Nari stare at you, utterly perplexed. You don’t meet their stunned gazes. In fact, you only look up again when you hear Dr. Ahn leave.
“It was nice meeting you, Y/N. I’ll see you later to remove the chest tube, alright?” He’s already halfway out the door before he finishes his sentence.
Nari lingers for a little longer before leaving as well. You almost relax once she’s gone but you hear her run into someone just outside your door.
“Jiyeon!” She says, “I’m glad I caught you.”
You perk up. Jiyeon was on her way back to your room.
“What’s going on?” You hear Jiyeon say, lowering her voice.
“Okay so… she’s refusing the SAFE,” Nari starts, seriousness lacing through her words.
Jiyeon exhales. “Okay,” she says, processing that as Nari continues.
“And she responded badly to Dr. Ahn. I think we should keep the male staff to an absolute minimum when it comes to treating her.”
“I agree,” Jiyeon says. “I’ve been trying to tell them.”
Your heart warms a little upon hearing that. She’s been sticking up for you even when you’re not around to hear it. She probably doesn’t realize you can hear her now.
“I’m gonna try and hold off the detectives until tomorrow. Does that sound good?”
“Yeah, she’ll be off the chest tube and in less pain, I think that’ll be okay. Her dad said the family lawyer flew in this morning, too. I’ll talk to her about it. I don’t want her getting caught off guard by such a big visit.”
“Okay… alright, thanks, Ji. Have a good rest of your shift.”
“Thanks, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Knock knock.
Your door gently opens, and Jiyeon peeks in. You’re still curled up, knees bent and feet flat on the mattress, absentmindedly running your hand over the soft blanket.
“Hey, Y/N,” she smiles as she comes in, settling back down in the chair she was in earlier. “Doing okay?”
You nod, keeping your expression neutral.
“Good. Listen, I wanna talk to you about tomorrow. There are some people who would really love to come talk to you, and just figure out what’s been going on the past year. I can try to be in here with you, or, if I’m not available, I can get Mijoo to be there.” Mijoo must be the other nurse, the one who told you that your parents were here.
Jiyeon waits, giving you space and time to say anything before continuing.
“Y/N… I want you to know that all of these people, they just want to help you. Our number one goal is to help you in any way we can. Does that make sense, honey?”
The words impact you, but it just takes a while to process and believe them. They sound genuine coming from her, but you can’t say the same for the others that she’s talking about. Your trust is not so easily earned anymore. Especially not here. Jiyeon is nice, yes, but that doesn’t mean you trust her as much as you did Yunho or–
Oh my god–
There were two shots that night. Both hit their targets.
Three bodies in the snow.
Unbeknownst to Jiyeon, a certain word she said triggers a memory or two. There’s a familiar voice in your head, “There are other people who want to help you. Protect you.”
“Angel, please let me help you.”
Seonghwa’s injured. Mingi’s shot. They’re hurt. Hell, you don’t even know if they’re alive or dead. You cover your mouth with your hands.
Jiyeon’s voice cuts through your panic, “Seonghwa and Mingi?”
You realize you must have said their names out loud without even noticing.
“They came in with you,” she says, scooting her chair closer. She doesn’t try to touch you, which you appreciate in this state. “They’re here, don’t worry.”
“Alive?” You ask, and she hides her reaction to you speaking quite well, maintaining a calm demeanor.
“Stable,” she confirms. “I can’t really tell you anything else, for privacy reasons.”
The sigh of relief that leaves you is from your very soul.
Stable. Alive. Not dead.
If only you knew anything about Yunho.
“Can I see Seonghwa?” You hear yourself saying before you can stop yourself.
Jiyeon shifts, fidgeting with her ID badge. “I– I don’t know, honey. That may not be such a good idea.”
“Why not?” You ask, not understanding why you shouldn’t be allowed to see him.
She shifts again, avoiding eye contact with you, clearly trying to think of a professional answer that will satisfy your question without saying too much. She looks over her shoulder, towards the door. You follow her gaze, not understanding why she’s looking over there.
“I’ll ask,” she says finally, faking a quick, small smile. You don’t return it. “Anyway– back to what I was saying about tomorrow. Do you think you’ll be up for that?”
You almost forgot what she even said. It takes you a long moment to remember. Something about people who want to talk to you, that either she or Mijoo will be with you while they talk to you, how they want to help. Something tells you that you’ll have to do this eventually – it’s not something you can ignore.
You nod, even shrugging a little.
Jiyeon sighs with a small grin playing on her lips, and she pats the bed. “Great. I’ll let them know.”
She gets up to leave again, but you make a small noise, like a cat not wanting their owner to leave for work. There’s something you want to say, on Yunho’s behalf. It takes you a couple minutes to force the words out, pushing past the mental block.
“It’s… not assault,” you manage to get out. Jiyeon’s eyebrows furrow, but she says nothing, waiting for more. “He– he didn’t sexually assault me.”
Now her face is unreadable, but it’s clear she doesn’t believe that at all. It’s rather jarring when she doesn’t say anything back to you. She just pats the mattress again, and sees herself out.
You look away too quickly, missing the two policemen guarding your door.
You deflate once the door clicks shut behind her. The teddy bear continues to stare at you, still leaning against the footboard. You’re rather surprised you haven’t kicked it off in your sleep yet. Or maybe you have, and someone put it back on the bed.
Whatever.
You pull the blanket up and over you, ready for this day to be over already. At least you got some answers, though. Seonghwa and Mingi are accounted for. They’re both here, somewhere. Since you have similar injuries, you bet that Mingi is probably even on the same floor as you. Two people you know and are familiar with. They’re here and they’re ‘stable’.
It’s quite a comforting thought.
You hug the blanket, tucking it under your chin where the bruises aren’t so bad, and decide to try and sleep again.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
You get about three hours of sleep before you’re woken up to remove the chest tube from you.
Gladly.
Every time you breathe, you can feel it rubbing against your ribs. It’s rather uncomfortable.
It’s a semi-quick procedure, albeit a bit painful as it’s being removed. Later, they wheel you into a room to be X-rayed, to make sure your lungs remain expanded, working properly. Judging by the satisfied looks on the nurses faces, it must be a success.
By the time you get back to your room, you’re exhausted, but you already know you’re not going to be able to go to sleep until tonight. You eat your lunch quietly, finishing everything on the plate and showing Mijoo when she comes back in to take the tray away. You flick through the same channels before finally giving up and landing on the sports network. It’s a replay of a baseball game from over the summer. You’ve never been interested, but you remember Yunho talking about a team he liked several months ago. You can’t think of the name of the team for the life of you, but you know it isn’t either of the ones on screen right now. Hm.
You’re trying to figure out and understand the rules of the game when there’s a soft knock on your door. As usual, you don’t really react, but your eyes instantly snap to the door, waiting to see who walks in.
It’s two men. One is obviously a police officer of some kind, complete with a badge pinned to his chest. You’re taken aback by his presence entirely. The second man, you don’t recognize at first. Dressed head to toe in black, sunglasses on even though he’s indoors, face mask, and black fluffy hair. It’s the hair that gives him away, as well as the sweater he’s wearing.
“Seonghwa!” You gasp, sitting up.
He takes his sunglasses off, looking over at your window. Of course you still had the shades drawn. He won’t need his glasses in here. Unsteadily and slowly, he makes his way over to the chair by your bed, taking your hand in his when you reach out for him. He sets something down on the floor that you didn’t realize he was holding before. His eyes linger on the officer who stays put by the door, waiting to see if he’ll break you two apart.
“Hi, angel,” he says quietly, like talking any louder will earn him another concussion. The officer shoots him a look, which Seonghwa sheepishly looks away from.
You lower the TV volume, as well as the volume of your voice, “Are you okay?”
He shrugs, glancing down at his sunglasses that dangle off of his free hand. The obvious answer is ‘no’. You both know that.
“Linear skull fracture. Could’ve been worse. I got discharged today,” he says, lightly touching the back of his head. On instinct, he checks for blood when he lowers his hand back down. “Are you okay?”
You squeeze his hand, bringing it closer to you. “Yes… kind of. They want to bring in detectives tomorrow to talk to me.” As you finish your sentence, you look over towards the officer. He doesn’t look like he’s paying too much attention to what you’re saying. Then again, you could be wrong.
You still have no idea what he’s doing here.
Seonghwa nods, taking that in. He pulls his face mask off too, putting it in his pocket. His lip is split but healing, the skin there a noticeably darker color. The dark circles under his eyes are fading, and his skin has more color to it than before. That’s good. He looks much better than last you saw him. He looks alive.
“You should talk to them.” He clears his throat, playing with the face mask and sunglasses in his hand.
“Okay…” you acquiesce. Only Seonghwa could’ve made you agree to do that. Him or Yunho. Maybe that’s why the nurses let him in to visit you.
Seonghwa chews the inside of his cheek for a moment or two, looking down at your intertwined hands before seeming to remember something.
“Oh yeah,” he mutters to himself, leaning down to give you what he had brought in. It’s a little gift bag, with sparkly white tissue paper peeking out at the top. You prop yourself up even more. He glances over at the pile of presents on the desk, comparing the size of some of them. He hopes you like what they got you.
“The boys and I, um… we got you this.”
You unlock your hand from his so you can open your gift, setting the tissue paper down on your lap to unveil two items: a leather-bound journal, and a small, flat box. You pause, knowing what type of box this is. Seonghwa’s leg bounces from nerves, alternating between watching you open it, and the baseball game that apparently just got interesting. You take the journal out first, flipping through the fresh, blank pages. The edges are silver lined. The leather feels expensive, definitely high quality, and there’s a pure white ribbon attached to the spine of it for you to use as a bookmark.
“I needed a new one,” you murmur, saying it more to yourself than to Seonghwa. “Thank you.”
You set it down on your lap, peering into the gift bag to see if that box is still inside. It is. It wasn’t an illusion or trick of the light. You pick it up like it’ll break, glancing up at Seonghwa as if to verify that they really got you jewellery of some kind. His leg keeps bouncing rapidly, carefully watching your reaction.
Engraved within the deep maroon lid, is the word, ‘Cartier’, and your heart skips a beat. No way. When you lift the lid off, you’re met with a stunning silver bracelet, thin and delicate and beautiful. There are tiny black stones intricately embedded into the silver, and you look back at Seonghwa for answers on what they are.
“It’s obsidian,” he explains rather sheepishly, “it’s meant to um… it’s supposed to protect you. At least, that’s what Wooyoung said.”
“Wow,” you breathe, almost too nervous to take it out and try it on. It looks so dainty and fragile nestled between the velvet interior of the box. “It’s just… it’s so beautiful. Thank you.”
Seonghwa scoots forward, taking it from the box to help you put it on. It’s so light against your skin, and it catches what little light filters through the shades effortlessly. If you thought the journal was expensive, this must be worth so much more. You bring your wrist up to your face, looking at it closer. Every single detail is perfect. How did they– why did they do this for you?
“You deserve it,” Seonghwa says, as if he was reading your thoughts.
There’s a long pause between the two of you. The baseball game and the accompanying commercials break up the silence adequately. Your free hand keeps touching the bracelet, running your finger over the deep black stones. It’s much prettier than the hospital one you have to wear. The officer keeps staring at Seonghwa, like he’s waiting for him to make a wrong move, or say the wrong thing. Occasionally, you’ll steal a quick glance over to both of them before returning back to the game. Before long, you and Seonghwa just pretend to be interested in it, unwilling to talk about anything serious just yet.
“Do you…” you swallow hard, hoping he’ll actually tell you something about this. “Do you know why Yunho hasn’t come to see me? Is he still mad at me?”
Seonghwa pales.
The officer clears his throat. Seonghwa stops talking. You glare at the officer, anger flaring up.
“Can you give us some privacy, please?” You ask, tone more impolite than your words. When the officer doesn’t move, ignoring you to just continue staring directly at Seonghwa, you almost lose it. You’re so tired of not being listened to here. And the way he’s just standing there silently, observing and eavesdropping like an invasive ghost is making your fucking skin itch.
“An– Y/N, he has to be in here with me… it’s for your safety.” Seonghwa explains in a meeker, unsteady voice.
“You won’t hurt me,” you insist, a little surprised at how much you actually believe that. It was barely a formed thought in your head before you said it out loud. It must be true. “He won’t,” you say to the officer, trying to convince him.
Seonghwa takes your hand again, “It’s alright, it’s alright. He has to be in here to make sure that we’re both safe. That we’re not mixing up our stories.”
You bring his hand closer, frustrated tears starting to gloss over your eyes.
“I don’t understand…” you mumble dejectedly. “I can’t even remember most of it.”
He gets it. His memory is just as patchy, if not worse due to his injury. “No one’s expecting anything from you right now. All you need to do is focus on getting better.”
You try to agree with him, stubborn as you are. You know he’s right. In time, you will know everything, you’re sure. It’s just hard to be patient when there are gaps in your memory you’d really like to fill. Which brings you to ask your next question.
“Have you seen Mingi?” You ask, suddenly very interested in your blanket, avoiding eye contact for now. You feel kind of stupid for asking, but are curious nevertheless. Of all people, you know that Seonghwa will give you the answers you’re looking for if you ask him.
He sighs shakily, squeezing your hand tighter. “I’ve heard that he’s okay. I’m not really allowed to see him.” It’s obvious that he’s trying extra hard to cherry-pick the words he uses in front of you and the officer.
‘Keep it vague,’ they had told him before entering your room. ‘Don’t push it.’ Jiyeon had to pull so many strings to even get him allowed to be in the room in the first place. Even more to allow him to bring the gift in. Seonghwa knows his lawyer is probably freaking out right about now. Oh, well.
“But– why–?” You shake your head, pressing your free hand to your forehead. You know you should just drop it, but you can’t. “Seonghwa, where is Yunho? Tell me.”
He leans back, away from you and peeks over at the cop. This, he knows, he really cannot say anything about.
Basically, he only knows what Wooyoung and Jongho told him. Both of them came to the hospital yesterday to visit him, and to supply him with some updates, as well as your gift on the off chance he’s allowed to give it to you. In a word, the two of them are conflicted about their roles in all of this. They feel just as guilty, but were never as involved as the rest of the group. Hongjoong, effectively, saved them from most of the legal trouble the others are currently facing now. They’re free. They spent one night at the police station, answering questions, and that has been it so far.
Hence, the need for a cop or two outside your room, as well as Mingi’s. It makes everyone who knows more details about this than the general public feel more at peace, knowing that there are two that essentially ‘got away with it’.
Wooyoung and Jongho told him that Yunho has been charged with aggravated assault since neither you, Seonghwa, or Mingi died. However… they’re having a hard time finding any concrete evidence to pin any of the attacks on him. They have the group as witnesses to the shooting of Mingi, but nothing else. Just word of mouth simply isn’t good enough. It’s highly likely that Mingi will testify against Yunho, so his security will be ramped up soon. Apparently, since the boys told them, the cops working your case have been trying to find any evidence that links him with the manager’s death, and the girls before you. The apartment has been picked apart piece by piece, swept through by forensic teams and equipment. Evidence collected, bagged, and shipped off for analysis. The detectives have a lot of grieving families and loved ones looking at them for answers right now. The pressure is building.
You are their miracle. The one who can put him away for good.
The question is: will you?
“Tell me, Seonghwa. Please?” You shake his hand, trying to convince him.
“He…” Seonghwa gradually begins to shake, pulling at the collar of his sweater with his free hand, looking anywhere but at you. He’s just so nervous as to how you’ll react. The only way to find out though, is by telling you.
But the officer beats him to it.
“He’s been arrested. That’s all you need to know.”
Seonghwa winces, and you blink.
First of all, you’re angry that the cop so rudely interrupted your – what should be – private conversation, and secondly, what he said just doesn’t compute.
“Was Hongjoong arrested too?” You ask Seonghwa in a quieter voice, ignoring the cop once again.
He takes a deep breath. “No… not yet, at least. But they’re gathering evidence against us–”
“What more evidence do they need?” You interrupt, gesturing towards yourself.
“What?” He asks, eyebrows furrowing together in total confusion.
“Hongjoong shot me.”
Now Seonghwa is really taken aback. Who told you that?
He blinks before repeating his last question, “What?”
“Hongjoong shot me.” You repeat yourself as well. In your patchy memory, what you do recall seeing clear as day is Hongjoong reaching for the gun right before you were shot, and holding it in his hand afterwards. It makes sense to you that that is what happened.
The cop in the corner starts to get antsy, silently making sure his bodycam is still recording everything accurately. Anything said in here has to be reported back, especially if it relates directly to the case. You saying that someone else shot you could be detrimental to the aggravated assault charge they booked Yunho with.
“A-angel, no…no, no, Hongjoong didn’t shoot you. Yunho did.” Seonghwa says as gently as possible, subconsciously leaning farther back to avoid a potential explosion. This time, the officer lets the pet name slide.
“How do you know?” You snap at him. “You were unconscious almost the whole time.”
He doesn’t even flinch. “Wooyoung and Jongho told me.”
Well… Wooyoung and Jongho were definitely awake during that whole ordeal, so it’s hard to discredit what they say. Nevertheless, your mind argues against believing it. They’re just trying to demonize Yunho, surely. Of course.
“No, that… he wouldn’t… that doesn’t make sense.”
Your breathing turns erratic, though you fight to control it. The thing is, it does make sense.
Even if you deny it, your memory reorders itself.
Hongjoong trying to get the gun away from Yunho, he grabbed his arm, not the gun. Not until after you were already on the ground. Even then, you try to reason against your memory that because he touched Yunho, the shot was accidentally aimed at you. That explanation would satisfy you if you didn’t remember moving to protect Seonghwa at the same exact time. The look of pure shock on Yunho’s face… wasn’t because Hongjoong shot you. It was because he shot you.
Well… you always knew he would. He’d made it clear to you that he would. This is an outcome you’ve been trained to expect if you acted out. You stood in front of a loaded and aimed gun. That probably counts.
Contrary to what Seonghwa expects, you process this information quietly. There’s no outburst. Not yet. Just a silent realization that you’ve been wrong. Confident in your incomplete and ungrounded recollection. You go into damage control right away. It was an accident. He didn’t mean to. But there’s a price to having your memory begin to repair itself: the truth. You had prepared to die. You accepted it.
And yet the knowledge that Yunho isn’t coming to bring you home nearly kills you. All the time you wasted in this room waiting for him, wondering why he let you come here…
So, you attach yourself to the nearest person. As usual. You clutch Seonghwa’s hand with both of yours, desperate to keep him here. Maybe he’ll take you back to the apartment. You can wait there until Yunho is released, right? They can’t make you go home with your parents. You’re an adult. But you can’t convince yourself that you can function on your own. And you can’t ask Seonghwa to uproot his life, though a selfish part of you wants to. However, before you interrupted him, he mentioned that the police are gathering evidence ‘against us’.
The thought of losing Seonghwa next is almost catastrophic.
Your pulse spikes, beeping incessantly on the monitor. Unfortunately, the cop notices. And, with the worst timing imaginable as you feel the world as you know it on the brink of falling apart, the officer takes a step towards Seonghwa.
“That’s enough. Let’s go.”
Without a fight, Seonghwa stands, sending an apologetic look your way.
“No, no, don’t–” You pull him back, “Please, please don’t leave.”
“It’s okay–” He tries to reassure you, but the cop pulls him by the arm, breaking you two apart.
You call his name again, but the officer hurries him out, calling for a nurse. You don’t want a nurse. You want him to bring Seonghwa back to you. Alone, preferably. Body shaking uncontrollably, you throw the blankets off of you, and set your feet on the ground, trying to remain steady. You’re already out of breath by this point, and sobbing rather loudly from distress. Not a good combination for your lungs. Again, your pulse increases its pace.
You don’t even hear Jiyeon come in, but suddenly she is at your side, helping you lay back down. No one is listening to you. Jiyeon said they care, that they want the best for you, so why can’t they just give you what you obviously really want?
Jiyeon is saying something to you, but the world suddenly seems so far away and way too close all at once. The feeling of her hand around your wrist causes you to panic, reminding you of the rope tied around it a few nights ago, as well as the restraints on the hospital bed, and you twist and yank it out of her hold. You must’ve accidentally scratched her because she too pulls her hand back quickly, keeping it close to her chest as she assesses the damage done to it. Nothing bad, but you definitely scratched her hard.
Another nurse runs in, then two more. Jiyeon shoos them out before they can crowd your space and overwhelm you more, calmly but firmly telling them that she’s fine and to go back out. It was her own fault, touching you in this kind of state. She’s just worried about you.
Once back down against the pillows, you keep your hand on your chest. You’re not sure why… maybe you’re just waiting to feel your lungs collapse or your heart stop. Something to blame this panic on other than the truth.
The truth that everyone you have loved has left or is leaving you.
“Honey, let’s calm down now. Tell me what’s wrong.” Jiyeon prompts after checking your vitals to make sure you’re stable.
“They took him,” you sob, looking back at the door to the room, hoping and praying he comes back in. “I– I got upset ‘n panicked so they t–took him away.”
Jiyeon nods sympathetically as you talk, giving you the space to air everything out that’s weighing on you.
“I ruined it, I ruined everything,” your voice pitches all over the place. “They’ll never let me see them again.”
The door doesn’t open, no matter how many times you look over at it, and no matter how hard you internally beg him to come back. No one is coming to save you anymore. That plan has already been carried out. Yunho’s locked up somewhere, Seonghwa isn’t allowed to see you unsupervised, and even if you decided that you wanted to see him as well, you’re sure Mingi is beyond off-limits now, too. Especially if and when he tells the truth.
God… everything is such a mess, and it’s all your fault. If you had told Yunho about the plan to get you out, maybe none of this would’ve happened. There’d be hell to pay, sure, but you wouldn’t have disappointed him as badly. If you didn’t look at Mingi through rose-colored glasses, maybe you'd still be in the apartment, impatiently waiting for Yunho to come home. Mingi wouldn’t have been shot. Seonghwa would’ve never gotten hurt that badly. Yunho wouldn’t have been taken from you. Glancing around at your hospital room, a heavy thought makes you sink deeper against the pillows.
Technically, you aren’t even supposed to be here. And you don’t just mean in this hospital.
You wipe your eyes with the corner of the blanket until Jiyeon hands you a couple of tissues. They’re from the box that your mom had used that morning. Another wave of guilt crashes over you, remembering how you’d been rather mean to her.
She lets you cry it all out. You’re not sure how long that takes. When you eventually calm down just enough to speak again, you crumple the tissue in your hand, staring at it for a moment.
“Are my parents still here?” You ask, tossing the tissue into the nearby trashcan.
Jiyeon nods. “They are. They’ll be here tomorrow as well.”
You bite your lip. You’re not ready to see them again, moreso out of fear that you’ll end up hurting them again. But it’s a nice thought that if you need them, they’re available. It’s a tricky thing to want to be alone, but not feel alone.
“Tomorrow…” you echo, not finishing the rest of your thought out loud. Maybe tomorrow you can try again. Your eyes flick over to her, hoping she understands.
As usual, she does.
Once she makes sure you’re calm for the time being, she jots down your vitals for her notes later, and sighs.
“Okay, honey,” she says, and pats the side of the bed again, “I’ll talk to them. Get some rest for now, I’ll have Mijoo bring in some dinner later. Okay?”
You respond with a short hum, retreating back into your silence. Maybe it’s best if you’re just seen and not heard after all. Maybe Yunho was right… of course he’s right. But something demands to be said. It sits uncomfortably in your mouth, pressing against your teeth and blocking your airway until you let it out. Jiyeon twists the door handle, just about to let herself out.
“I was supposed to die…” you mumble, sniffling into your pillow. You trace the silver bracelet against your skin.
Jiyeon freezes in place, the door halfway open. She doesn’t look back at you, doesn’t try to put you right. The staff assigned to you have recently been notified of what happened.
She knows you’re right.
The door closes behind her with a small click, and you’re alone again. And being alone is exactly what you wanted, and at the same time, your biggest fear.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
The rest of the afternoon into the evening goes by less eventfully.
You manage to sleep, even sleeping through your prescribed dinnertime, and wake up to a tray covered in tinfoil to keep the food hot. You eat slowly, having no one to show your progress to, and come to terms with the fact that Yunho isn’t going to find out if you ate everything you’ve been given or not. It’s rather hard to ignore that so far, they haven’t given you proper utensils to eat with. More like knives and forks for kids, rounded and blunt so as to not inflict any potential damage to the user. The spoons are always nice, though. You lazily push around some of the rice left on your tray, a little unnerved that no one’s watching you anymore… and a little relieved.
No more newcomers or visitors come into your room for the rest of the day. As night creeps in, you keep replaying your interaction with Seonghwa. You wish you can just be… you don’t know. Normal? Is that the word? Everyone looks at you like you’ll shatter any moment, and they’re basically right. You pretty much proved that today. But what he said sticks with you: “No one’s expecting anything from you right now. All you need to do is focus on getting better.”
So that’s what you’ll do. Yunho placed him in charge of you while he was gone, and now it’s just extended time. You follow directions, you obey orders. That’s what you’re good at. That’s what you can concentrate on for now, until you and Yunho can see each other again.
If they’ll let you.
You run a hand through your hair as if to push that thought away, but your hand gets caught halfway through. Ugh… you haven’t bathed in way too long. You look towards the bathroom, hesitant to go in. Mijoo had told you how to properly wash around the stitches and bandages to avoid any infections or accidentally removing them. It’s just… the water.
Facing the water by yourself is more daunting than you know it should be. But you feel just gross enough to at least try. You decide to at least stay in there long enough to wash your hair, you feel like you can still smell the forest air from each strand.
It’s a slow trek from your bed to the bathroom, often taking breaks to breathe and reset. Luckily, it’s not too far of a distance. You manage a small grin at your efforts when you finally reach your destination, this being the farthest you’ve walked by yourself since you’ve been here. But now, you have to continue standing up and face one of your biggest fears. One hurdle down.
Flicking on the light, your ears ring at the sudden, blinding brightness of the sterile room. It’s a small space, no bigger than Yunho’s closet. The strong scent of the level of cleanliness in here disagrees with what you just ate, but you try to ignore it as best you can.
You almost back into the door when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the bathroom mirror. For the first time, you see how bad your injuries still are. Nasty red and purple bruises cover your throat and neck, your chest is basically grey from the severity of the surgery you underwent, and your eyes and cheeks are both sunken in. You’re scary. A patchwork nightmare. After being so used to keeping up appearances for Yunho, this is like getting a lightning bolt straight to the brain. This is what Seonghwa saw when he walked in earlier today. You cover your face with your hands.
“Oh, god…” you lean against the door for support, sneaking another glimpse at your startling reflection. You’re not just smaller, you’re diminished. The hospital gown wilts off of your thin frame like it’s meant for someone else, there’s a matching cut on your bottom lip that’s similar to Seonghwa’s, and a hauntedness about you that doesn’t sit right at all. A would-be corpse stares back at you through the mirror. You can almost see the dirt that’d be covering you, embedded into your decaying skin.
All you want to do at this moment is to wash that corpse away.
Undressing winds you, but you’re too determined now. You have all night to sleep, and you know you’ll feel much better once you’re clean. It’s just the process of getting clean you have to get through now. That’s your one and only goal for tonight.
The rush of the water hitting the tile nearly decimates all of your confidence in one fell swoop, though. You have to grit your teeth and close your eyes, pushing back against the memories as they come. You force yourself to breathe deeply as you finally step into the shower, the warm water only comforting for a fleeting moment. Turning your back to it helps a little, and after a while your shoulders start to relax, no longer tense and hunched by your ears. The lack of curtain aids you tremendously, as you can see the entirety of the bathroom at once, knowing you’re still safe. No one’s watching you or keeping track of how long you’re taking. You can take this as slowly as you want to.
Keep going, you tell yourself.
It also helps to imagine that Yunho is just outside, waiting for you to return to bed, even though your brain keeps replacing him with Seonghwa. Now that you know what you looked like today, you feel a huge crash of embarrassment overcome you more than anything else. You forget your fear just for a second, leaning a little farther back than you are ready for. The water cascades down, dripping off the ends of your hair and you freeze.
This part is the biggest hurdle.
You’re not in the apartment… you’re not in trouble… you control it.
You have control.
The droplets that drip past your ears kind of make you want to die, but you push through it. Little by little, you tilt your head back, letting more and more of the water fall over your hair. You cover your face with your hands, keeping it as dry as possible, and just sit with the discomfort for as long as you can. Instead of any feelings of accomplishment, you only notice the beginnings of panic stirring somewhere in your body. Time to wrap it up while you’re able to keep yourself in here. Shampooing is easy, and you get through rinsing your hair okay, repeating the process even slower than before.
By the time you get out, you still don’t feel very proud. Not yet. You’re exhausted, and ready to lay down again. What warms your heart as you finally step out is thinking about how much Yunho had praised you after every bath since that day he corrected you. To the best of your ability, you combat every negative, fearful thought with something you think Yunho would say to you. How proud he’d be. It’s enough to keep you on your unsteady, weakening legs to redress and open the door back out into the room.
Halfway back to bed, that’s when the exhaustion really hits you. You sit down in a chair by the window and catch your breath. You’re not dizzy, but you’re definitely caught between the borderline. Looking up, you see that your water is both mere feet and hundreds of miles away.
“Fuck…” you sigh.
Your hand jumps to cover your mouth, horrified. You look around the room out of instinct, waiting for someone to yell at you for saying such a vulgar word. You know better. Only Daddy is allowed to say that word. Yet the room stays the same. Nothing happens. No one redirects you.
But they’ll have it on camera, you tell yourself. In the dark, you try to find where they’ve hidden theirs. You don’t see any.
You’re digesting this when something blinks at you from outside.
Something white casts the faintest glow past the edges of the shades that cover the windows. High in the sky and constant, unblinking and unmoving – at least not that you can see from where you are. It is no plane or light atop a building.
The moon.
You hadn’t seen it in such a long time. In all honesty, you had stopped trying to look for it, especially after Yunho covered up all the windows. The sunlight in the apartment could only creep in around the sides, lighter than air and able to weave its way past the smallest opening. The moonlight was never granted access to you. But this moon tonight is full and glowing brightly, and you wish you could see it properly beyond the shades.
It hits you hard: you don’t have to wish to see the sky anymore.
You lean forward before stopping and looking back over your shoulder, just waiting for someone to stop you at any second. You sweep the room one more time for cameras. Maybe you’re tired and missed one because you didn’t look hard enough. Regardless, no matter how hard you search and double check, you find none. Your hand pulls the shades back, only about two inches, just to peek. No one appears behind you. The shade lifts easily, opening even further. No one intervenes.
The window is now fully uncovered, unobstructed. And you’re unharmed. Your forehead presses against it, your breath fogging up the glass as you exhale through your mouth.
The snow is in the process of melting away, only a couple of inches left on the ground. The roads below, from what you can see, are completely clear with the amount of hospital traffic in a big city like Seoul. There’s no one outside on the streets, just a couple of nurses, doctors, and other hospital staff leaving work for the day, pulling their puffer coats closer to their bodies as they juggle their car keys and bags. Stoplights take their turns turning green, yellow, red, and cars glide past to dozens of unknown destinations. You decide you like the world like this, with less people and quieter streets. Sleepily humming instead of the shouting of car horns, the music in stores to entice people inside, the hundreds and thousands of strangers that you’ll never know the names or stories of.
You wonder if you’ll feel like this forever, always looking at life from above and never from within.
It’s quieter in the world that Yunho has kept you in. Safer… right?
‘You’re safe,’ says the voice that sounds more and more like you, slowly advancing forward again, venturing back from her forced hibernation. The other voice in your head is still there, just without her pedestal and carrying less authority than before. Less weight to each word. That one doesn’t have too much to say tonight, which is a first.
You stay by the window until sleep beckons you, unwilling to sleep so uncomfortably in the stiff chair. When you finally tear yourself from the view, closing the shades again and tucking yourself back in bed, you fall asleep with moonlight flooding the entire suite. Though a part of you misses the tealights, you think this is not a bad alternative.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Head clearer than it has been since you woke up, the next day carries the calm theme from last night.
You’re still selective on who you give your voice to – Jiyeon is off today, so you’ve been mostly silent so far – but there seems to be… life within you again. More than what the staff have seen thus far. It’s promising. It’s better. Everyone’s feeling a similar cautious optimism to your sudden switch. Although they’re quick to note your ever-present, continuing aversion to male staff.
Which is why you’re still nervous about meeting with these detectives soon. They’re supposed to be here in two hours, and you don’t feel ready. Exactly what you’re not feeling ready for, you’re not sure. It’s not something you can pinpoint exactly and neutralize the problem. Unfortunately, you’re sure you’ll find out if and when the detectives do something to unintentionally set you off. You sigh, once again feeling out of control in a situation that hasn’t even happened yet.
You push your empty lunch tray further away, like it’s offended you by overstaying its welcome. Your hands itch to wash it, to be good. The television is a good distraction. Today you’ve got it tuned into a nature documentary. You have a theory that maybe seeing the outside world inside may help you assimilate back into it later if need be, although deep down, you really hope you don’t have to. It’s the fear talking, but it's so loud and impossible to ignore. It’s the self-doubt that makes you want to give up and turn the TV off altogether, the memory of going out onto the balcony and feeling fresh air again hitting you hard. And the woods… that’s a whole other battle.
Let’s just say you’re very happy the little Christmas tree in the corner of your room is fake. The scent of sap and bark will haunt you for quite a long time.
At two o’clock, you’re making some progress, walking around your room, still avoiding the pile of presents you’ve yet to open. The gift Seonghwa gave you is enough. You’re just trying to build up endurance again, impatiently wanting to walk without difficulty. For some reason, it felt much easier to walk last night. Maybe it’s because at night it feels like less eyes on you, no spotlight from the sun even if the shades block most of it out. The day just feels too exposing. There’s too many people who could walk in and start fussing over you. You don’t want that. You know your limits better than anyone else.
You may as well have spoken it into existence though, because you’re just catching your breath when you hear someone coming right up to your door. As if you’re getting caught doing something you’re not supposed to be doing, you quickly sit in the chair by the window that you were in last night. The door opens just as you sit down. At first, you avoid eye contact with whoever it is, hoping that they don’t comment that you’ve moved. Giving yourself something to do to really sell the nonchalance, you play with your new bracelet again. The person in your room pauses near your bed, mere feet from you. You almost cover the bracelet protectively, not wanting them to ask where you got it… or who gave it to you.
“I’m glad you liked our present,” a man’s soft voice says, cutting through the silence.
You react at a record speed. You know that voice. It’s the same one you heard in here yesterday.
“Oh my god–! Seonghwa!” You nearly shout, standing up a bit too quickly than you’re used to.
He must see you stumble or sway, because he makes it to your side in two strides, hands ready to catch you if you fall back into the chair. But you’re determined. You stay upright. You resist the urge to paw at him, to make sure he’s real and that he’s here again so soon. He fusses with you to sit, to rest ‘like he told you yesterday’, he nags. If it was anyone else, you’d be staring daggers at them right now. With him, it just warms your heart, and you cooperate, sitting down slowly and smiling as you watch him drag a chair over to sit with you. You’re just happy he’s here.
He’s wearing sunglasses indoors again, so the bright lights of the hospital must still be bothering him. You look over at the shades, just in case they can be drawn any tighter to totally block out what little light comes in.
“Technically you asked for me specifically, so they let me come back. Still supervised, of course.” He answers your question before you even ask it. You look away from him for the first time and see a different officer than before, standing by the still-open door. “The door will just stay open the entire visit. Alright?”
Honestly, you’ll take it. It’s a small price to pay if it means that Seonghwa is allowed to come see you.
“Yes, sir,” you say habitually.
You watch his small grin slip completely from his face. The room feels a bit colder.
He supposes he can’t just expect all the ‘training’ and trauma you endured to just melt away all at once merely because you’ve been freed of Yunho, but he can’t deny that it shocked him back into reality. Such a small, simple word, and yet the history within its use is ten months long.
Seonghwa ignores the moniker usage, and does a really good job of pretending that that doesn’t affect him at all. But it does. You can tell it does.
You self-consciously look away, hand still covering up the bracelet as if you’re scared he’ll take it away as a result of his disapproval of your word choice. Gifts are never permanent, never your sole property. They are privileges, not rights. Based on a reward system, they’re the best way to steer you towards good behavior – following rules, staying quiet, knowing your place.
Luxuries can be taken away.
“I– um,” you stall, trying to change the subject, “how– how are you?”
Glad to shift the focus somewhere else, Seonghwa replies, “I’m alright. How about you?”
“Okay. I have my ‘meeting’ soon… the lawyers.” You glance at the clock, hoping that time hasn’t somehow jumped forward an hour. You hope this time Seonghwa will stay for longer.
He scratches the back of his neck. “Right,” he says, keeping his tone as natural as possible. “I had one of my own this morning.”
There’s an uneasiness to his voice there that you pick up on. He still hasn’t removed his glasses, so you can’t tell if he’s looking at you or not. Something’s not sitting right, and it’s not just because of a certain word slip. He must notice your look of concern, because he rolls his shoulders back, trying to relax himself. The facade he kept up around you at the apartment is getting to be too heavy to carry with him now.
“The story will break tomorrow,” he says through an obviously fake grin, trying to make you not feel guilty about it. He keeps his eyes fixed on the floor. Once or twice, he looks up at your bracelet that you’re still playing with.
It takes you a minute to understand what he’s saying. You adjust how you’re sitting, just to give yourself something to do. All you can say in response is, “Oh.”
‘The story’... reported by outside perspectives with a mystery narrative. No one has asked for your side of it all yet. The boys have probably already given their testimonies, their witness statements as to what happened. Days ago, most likely. That’s one thing you forgot about while staring out the window last night: the world keeps turning. It doesn’t wait around for you. But that’s what today is for. The public can have their crumbs of facts and multitudes of theories about you, but only those closely involved will ever really know the truth of all of it.
“Listen… as far as, y’know, the legal aspect of everything, we want you to know that we will accept any charges you wish to file against us.”
There’s a grim, solemn air around Seonghwa that unsettles you. The cop by the door side-eyes the two of you but ultimately says nothing. He’s better than the one yesterday, that’s for sure.
But… charges. You vs. all of them. Your legal team against eight different sets. Nine stories, all with varying perspectives. You wonder if anything you say will hold any weight to it on account of how bad the fogginess in your memory has become. You wonder if Seonghwa’s worried about the same thing. He keeps subconsciously touching the back of his head, making sure nothing is behind him that could hit it. You desperately want to ask how that happened, but it’s probably a not so pleasant subject to talk about. You’d rather avoid making him feel more uncomfortable than he already is.
In the silence between you, Seonghwa just listens to the background noise coming from the hospital hallways. The nurse’s station is mere feet from your door, so he lets their quiet chatter fill in the spaces. What he said to you is true; they will accept any charge brought onto them. It’s the very least they can do for you, to accept full responsibility for not doing more.
The public is going to eviscerate every last one of them, and they brought it on themselves the countless times they could’ve gone to the police and didn’t. All for the same result. Yunho threatened to drag them down with him, and it’s happening, albeit by their volition.
A gentle, repeated three-note chime coming from his phone seems to pull him back from his brief stupor. Automatically, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small medicinal bottle. You watch as he taps two white pills into his palm before popping them into his mouth, chasing them down with water.
“Pain-killers,” he explains, twisting the cap of the water bottle back on. He leans back in his chair, but not before feeling the air around where his head will be, and sighs. The exhale comes from deep within his chest. You watch his hands, searching for something. He notices you looking.
“What?”
“You’re not wearing your ring.” You point out.
Seonghwa looks down at his hand, as if to confirm. “Yeah,” he mumbles, “it just… doesn’t feel right anymore.”
In all honesty, he didn’t think you’d even notice. He had taken it off on the second day of his hospital admission, when Yeosang and San had come to visit him. It felt heavy in his palm, like a weight that he could no longer bear. He’s not quite sure where it is, as he told San to take it back to the dorms, wherever they had all put theirs. The only ring missing from the pile is Yunho’s, but it has more than likely been confiscated by that point already.
“What time is your meeting?” He asks, changing the subject.
You glance at the clock on the wall. “It’s at three,” you inform him, finding a stray piece of hair to play with. You lean back against your chair, mirroring him. “How long can you stay?”
At this, he hesitates. The officer by the door offers no help or answer.
“Well… I can stay until the detectives get here.” He says uncertainly. Again, the cop says nothing to contradict what he says.
You nod. “My parents may get here before them.”
“Ah…” Seonghwa rubs his arm, a subconscious way to try and calm himself. “I doubt they’ll want to see me hanging around you.”
“I asked for you,” you counter, leaning forward again for emphasis, wanting him to hear and remember that part. “I get… I get nervous when you’re gone.” You admit in a murmur, barely audible.
Seonghwa still doesn’t look at you, staring off a thousand yards into the tile floor, his hand on his arm pausing a couple of seconds every so often before continuing the attempt to soothe himself. Honestly, he doesn’t know how to feel right now. He supposes he should feel flattered maybe, or content with knowing that his presence is beneficial to you, but is it really? He fears that his presence only keeps you stuck… he reminds you of Yunho based on association. That name you called him by earlier only proves that. Although he knows there’s no one else around that you trust right now, he doesn’t feel very deserving of that trust. He should give you space after today, let you rebuild a new relationship with your parents, and restart a normal life. As normal as you can possibly achieve after all of this.
“Still, you should be with your family,” he says carefully, “I think it’ll help.”
You don’t say anything right away, unhappy that he doesn’t volunteer to stay. You’re behaving like a child, you know that, but you can’t help it.
“If they weren’t here, would you stay?”
Seonghwa picks up where you’re trying to go with that question at once. “A– Y/N, don’t replace your parents with me. Give them time.”
Of all people, why must Seonghwa not listen to you, either? Your fuse never used to be this short. Why is it sparking and hissing now?
“What if I don’t want to? I asked for you specifically–”
“You only asked for me because you’re not allowed to see Yunho instead.” Seonghwa snaps, speaking before he could think.
The flames of his words settle in the short distance between you two. He pinches the bridge of his nose, wincing at the throbbing in his head as well as what he just said. Hopefully the painkillers work fast, his vision is already going black around the edges every other time he blinks. If he’s honest, he doesn't regret saying it, moreso how he said it. It’s a sentiment he’s been harboring since the first day he was assigned to look after you. Something far from love, but a relative fondness. A soft spot just for you that he doesn’t know what to do with. Nothing about your situation nor your relationship with him is easy to navigate or filter through. He’ll keep his distance because he wants to do the right thing, show his support for you always but never cross an invisible line he’s drawn for himself.
He won’t be like Mingi. He won’t believe your traumatic attachment to him is real, or healthy for that matter. It’ll only hurt you in the end.
At the same time, he knows he’s hurting you now.
You lean back again, wrapping your arms around yourself defensively.
It’s not true… it’s not. You’re happy to keep telling yourself that, even if you don’t fully believe it. It doesn’t matter anyway.
The blunt truth of the matter you’ve been avoiding and ignoring like the plague is that Yunho has been arrested. He’s not coming back for you. Not anytime soon. The detectives coming to your room today are going to take whatever you say as evidence against him. Even if you don’t say anything, they’ll take it to mean you’re so traumatized, the whole ordeal has rendered you mute. No matter what, you’re not going to be allowed to see Yunho ever again.
You swipe at the tears that pool in your eyes, refusing to let them fall. If they do, you’re afraid that the cop may take Seonghwa away again. God dammit, you think before mentally berating yourself again for using another swear word, even just in your head.
“I didn’t do that for someone I don’t genuinely care about,” you sniffle, speaking to him but keeping your eyes down.
Seonghwa’s breath hitches slightly, and you wonder if he’s starting to cry underneath those sunglasses. A petty part of you thinks, good, I hope he is.
Besides, you only jumped in front of a bullet meant for him.
But you think back to when you had upset him only a few nights ago now, in the living room in the middle of the night. It never feels good to intentionally hurt the ones you care about. The ones you let in. You’re just lashing out because he struck first, trying to get the last word in. Very Yunho-esque.
Needing to lie down, you stand shakily, slowly trudging back to bed. With time, eventually you calm down. You let Seonghwa sit there, working it out on his own, until the clock nearly runs out. The officer whistles for his attention, breaking him out of another dissociation, and signals him that it’s time to leave. You don’t shy away from looking at him this time.
When he’s only a couple of feet from the door, you call out to him one more time.
“Seonghwa?”
He looks over his shoulder. The officer does too.
“I’d still like you to come back… if you can.” The insinuation of the incoming chaos ahead is thinly veiled in your words.
Seonghwa nods once, internalizing what you said, and leads the officer out. It’s a bittersweet change from yesterday, when he was basically dragged out.
Barely granted two minutes of silence and alone time to process everything, there’s another knock on the door. This time around, you know who it is.
Your dad opens the door slowly, like he’s trying to not startle you.
“Hey kiddo, it’s us.”
Your mom follows suit, a small bakery to-go box in her hands as she comes in. “Hi, sweetie.”
You swallow hard, managing a small “Hi…” in return.
Your mom looks like she could explode, cry, and laugh all at once. It’s a lot to contain so as to not overwhelm you.
She’s really trying her best to hold it together for you. It’s thoughtful. You remember she was a sweet lady. Always wanted the best for you, supported your dreams no matter what.
Naturally, mainly because it’s such a bright pink color, your eyes drift to the bakery box in her hands. She places it on the portable table near your bed. Her perfume smells familiar… like home somehow. It’s nice.
“Don’t feel pressured,” your mom starts, “I know you just had lunch not too long ago but… you used to love the chocolate cupcakes I used to make for you, so I just…” she trails off, knowing she’s over-explaining herself a bit too much.
Your eyes light up – you haven’t had cake in god knows how long. And your favorite, too.
You grab the box and set it on your lap, sitting up against the pillows. Once open, the chocolatey smell hits you at once and the corners of your mouth twitch, almost grinning. Your parents try not to stare at you, not wanting to make you feel like you’re under a microscope while eating, and you appreciate that as you take a small bite of the cupcake.
Perfect.
It’s so rich and decadent your eyes close as you chew.
“Thank you,” you mumble, placing the cupcake back in the box to eat later. You don’t particularly want chocolate all over your face when the detectives arrive. And, you’ll enjoy it more when you’re not as full from lunch. Maybe you’ll find a way to ask her for another one.
Your dad helps you put it back on the table and goes over to the window to retrieve a chair for your mom to sit in. He drags it back to its original spot near the bed and you just keep looking at it. Seonghwa had been in that chair mere minutes ago. You’re not sure how kindly your parents would take that piece of knowledge; Seonghwa had gotten so antsy at the idea of being seen in here with you by them.
“So,” your dad says, standing by your mom who is placing her purse down by her feet, “did they tell you about talking to the detectives today?”
You nod.
“Okay, good. We’re also gonna have a lawyer here as well. She’s really good, I’ve heard.”
You’re not really sure how to respond so you just… nod again, looking down at your lap, picking at your nails.
Your mom notices how fidgety you’re becoming and asks, “Who gave you that? It’s beautiful.”
She points to your bracelet with a small smile, curiosity in her eyes. Your heart drops to your stomach. Do you tell them? Yunho had beaten it into you not to lie, but you really don’t want to deal with a lecture or horrified reactions or worse, the two of them making it impossible for Seonghwa to come see you. Something tells you it will already be borderline impossible without their help.
“A friend,” you say carefully. Not a lie, but not a very detailed answer either.
The universe has such divine timing for you because before either of your parents can ask anything about this ‘friend’, there’s a knock on the door. You hide your sigh of relief as they turn to look towards the three people who enter, two women and a man. One of the women and the man are dressed similarly, a slight step above business casual, while the other woman is dressed formally, everything tailored and sharp down to her briefcase. All business. But she smiles at your parents and instantly goes over to shake their hands and mention how good it is to meet them in person and not over the phone. Then she turns to you. There’s still a smile on her face but her eyes change into something more serious.
“Hi, Y/N, I’m Choi Hyein, I’ll be representing you in this case.”
She pauses then, but not to wait for you to say anything. Her pause feels intentional, giving you a chance to really look at her, and to register that she’s on your side for this. She is no threat and no enemy. It’s definitely reassuring.
The two detectives linger about six feet from the door, measured and alert. The man scans the room like he’s mapping it. The woman lingers half a step behind, already pulling a small recording device from her pocket. You stiffen at the sight of it. But you’re grateful that they don’t crowd you; there’s already so many people in here – more than you’re used to – and they’ve been advised to give you your space.
“Ms. Y/L/N,” the man says, voice steady. “I’m Agent Lee. This is Agent Jang. It’s nice to finally meet with you. We’re here to take your statement.”
You simply nod politely, not quite sure what to do with your hands. For now, you just keep them on your lap, still twisting and playing with the bracelet.
“I know this is overwhelming,” Ms. Choi says, voice pleasant but serious. “So we’re going to walk you through this carefully. If anything becomes unclear or too much, please don’t hesitate to ask for clarification or a break.”
Her words make you feel less trapped. You’re not going to be forced through anything if you panic. Hopefully, you won’t, but the exit ticket is nice to have just in case. A choice. Options.
You’re in control.
“Okay,” you breathe, straightening up a little more.
The detectives seem to relax, knowing that at least for now, you’re onboard. You may give them the answers they need, the final pieces to fit the puzzle. Your mom gets up and lets Ms. Choi sit in the chair by you, while she and your dad stand against the wall near your bed. The two agents move to the window, Agent Lee leaning against the sill and Agent Jang taking the chair. There’s so many eyes on you.
Agent Jang presses the record button on the little device, crossing her arms and holding it by her elbow. At first, she speaks quietly into it, like she’s talking to herself. “This is Agents Jang and Lee conducting an interview with Y/N Y/L/N. It is the twenty-eighth of December, two-thousand-twenty-five.”
She rolls her shoulders back, clearing her throat as quietly as she can before looking up at you again. Ms. Choi opens her briefcase to retrieve her laptop, intent on writing notes throughout the entire process. You imagine she is also recording this conversation.
“Let’s start from the beginning,” she suggests, leaning forward a bit. “Can you describe what happened on the day you were taken?”
Taken. Like you were plucked out of existence.
“Um…” you itch your arm for no reason other than to just give your hands something to do. Everyone’s watching you. Analyzing you. Waiting for you.
It’s just like the shower: one thing at a time. But last night, you didn’t have five pairs of eyes looking at you the whole time.
You look down, trying to recall as much as you can. Something about ice cream… a nightclub maybe? It was blindingly bright and then harrowingly dark. The air was cold, but less so than your recent night in the woods. You had a coat… or he put his around you? What was the weather? There was something pressed against your face, it made the lights above you swirl and your head hurt until you fell asleep in his car. You woke up in his bed.
“We went out,” you swallow hard.
“Do you remember where?”
You shake your head.
And then comes the question you’ve been dreading since yesterday. Agent Lee is the one to ask it.
“Do you remember who took you?”
The first instinct is to deny Yunho had anything to do with it. Protect and deny everything – clear his name, be good, be quiet, shift the blame elsewhere, go back to him somehow, deny, deny, deny. It wasn’t safe, you could say, someone else was after you. Yunho just let you stay with him until that mystery threat was removed. There is someone still on the run, loose in the world. But you imagine that the police have swept through the apartment by now. They’ve seen the footage and the chemicals he had on hand to knock you out, they’ve probably found the gun.
Not many people in South Korea have a gun.
You’re torn. If he’s already been arrested, though… no– you can’t turn your back on him. This is exactly what he was talking about. Yunho gave you an inch of freedom, leaving you with Seonghwa, and you immediately disregarded all of your rules and responsibilities. But you’re not stupid. Being arrested for his actions towards you obviously means what he did was rather… harmful, to put it into a simple word.
You press your lips together, stress making your arm even more itchy. There’s no clear answer, at least not in your mind. How can you turn your back on him so easily?
“Honey…do you know who took you?” Your mom asks, squeezing your dad’s hand so tight he winces. She loosens her grip for a couple moments before forgetting and repeating the same pressure.
“No,” you say monotonally, “I have no idea.” Your nails leave white scratches against your reddening skin.
The mood in the room shifts, like everyone already knows the answer and you just won’t confirm it for any of them. Your parents look at Ms. Choi, helplessly, as if she can make you give him up at the drop of a hat somehow. They all stare at you in complete disbelief. They look at your body, shadows of intense abuse and malnourishment, shaking like a leaf, your irises dulled grey from seeing too much, haunted by memories and nightmares alike.
“Are you sure?” Your mom presses, her rings digging into your dad’s hand. “You don’t have to protect anyone. You can tell us. Whoever it is can’t hurt you anymore.”
But it will hurt him…
And it will hurt them.
Part of you says ‘fuck it, tell them’. Let all of the boys fry, let them burn, make them watch everything they’ve worked for come crashing down in a shameful spiral. Give them just a taste of your suffering.
But you think of Seonghwa.
Hongjoong, Yeosang, San, Wooyoung, Jongho… even Mingi. The ones who worked tirelessly against their own friend – someone who was once considered their brother – to free you. Do they deserve that? The knowledge of what they’ve done, what they’ve been forced to become a part of, may be punishment enough. You will be the source of their shared guilt and shame forevermore.
You will haunt them to their graves regardless.
That quieter, but equally sinister voice pipes up in your head, reminding you that they’re the ones who tore you and Yunho apart. Though, it is getting harder and harder to be angry with them about that.
The decision you make is not said without a slight waver, that loyalty to Yunho still digging its claws into your vocal chords, but it needs to be said before you tell the room anything further.
“I don’t want to punish the ones who helped me,” you preface.
Based on the vague facts they’ve heard from the detectives, it’s quite hard for your parents to hear the plural attached to that noun. Your dad crosses his arms and covers his mouth, keeping his eyes glued to the floor. Your mom is shaking. A small part of you wants to reach for her.
You don’t.
“That’s a reasonable position,” Ms. Choi says, closing her laptop halfway. “We can advocate for that. We can make it clear that certain individuals acted under duress or made sincere efforts to protect you, which led directly towards your release. However, I will not promise that I can fully exempt them from the law if they are held liable in court.”
The weight of relief that lifts from your shoulders as she talks suddenly slams back down on you again. You wonder if Seonghwa’s lawyer has told him this exact thing already. Most likely. And the others as well. As for Yunho and Mingi, well… their lawyers are going to be in a much harder position if either of them tries for a ‘not guilty’ plea. You have no idea if Mingi is even coherent or awake to have had a talk with his yet.
Regardless, if there’s a chance you can help them, even just a fraction as much as they’ve helped you, you’ll do it.
Agent Jang draws your attention back to her, “Y/N, can you tell us who did this to you?”
Your heartbeat feels erratic, like your pulse is skipping every other beat and then really hammering the next to make up for it. Are you going to denounce him like this? Condemn him like he means nothing to you? You feel like your chest is opening back up again, as if your ribs are trying to crawl out of the wound like a spider. That authoritative, warning voice tries to convince you to not say anything, that he’ll find out and somehow come back to kill you – this time for real.
What if you tell them and he gets out? Will he even want you back?
There’s so many outliers, variables, differing scenarios, all being met with uncertain outcomes. You can’t predict the future. You have no idea what will happen tomorrow…how can you decide the fate of all these people? You were so level-headed and clear this morning. It’s overwhelming that his influence has this much of a chokehold on you.
Even now, you’re just his little puppet, aren't you?
You look down at your arm that you’ve been lightly scratching this whole time, just skin and bones. The image of the walking corpse in the mirror last night pushes to the front of your thoughts.
Just tell the truth. Let them decide, it says.
Maybe you don’t have to make the decision. Everything you say will be without bias, only reciting facts about what happened, and you’ll let them reach their own conclusions. That’s… reasonable, right?
You roll your shoulders back again, breathing in as deep as your damaged lung allows you to without starting a coughing fit.
Your lips part.
All five people wait with barely contained suspense.
The name fights against your tongue, but you push it out anyway.
“Jeong Yunho…”
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
One week later…
Your last full week at the hospital feels surreal.
Less people come and go, only your nurses and your parents. Ms. Choi came back three additional times the past few days, but you mostly just let your parents talk to her with you present in the room.
It’s still undecided whether or not you will actually speak at the trial.
The trial itself will be held a few months from now, but there’s no set date yet. Ms. Choi informs your parents that she will be keeping you all updated as soon as she knows anything new about it. Right now, you decided that you will not attend, and Ms. Choi supports this decision. Seeing Yunho again is most likely a very bad idea, especially while testifying against him.
Your parents bought you a new phone, but the most you’ve done with it is peel the protective sheet off of it and set it up. The wallpaper on the lock and homescreens are the default options. You don’t have any photos anymore. You definitely remember taking many when you first arrived here, though. Now, your old phone could be anywhere in the entire world. More than likely, it’s already been drowned in the Han River. You almost envy it some days when the pain medications wear off. It’s a gradual fight towards recovery, but you’re happy that you can at least take deeper breaths.
It’s admittedly been rather awkward between you and your parents, especially after the interview with the agents. Both of them had to leave the room, and you weren’t even exactly giving explicit details of what you went through. Regardless, it was more than they could bear to hear. You can tell every time they see you, they’re replaying what they heard.
It’s been interesting getting to know them again. Every now and then you remember small details and inside jokes, shared memories together, those sorts of things. You’re speaking to them as much as you would if Seonghwa were here.
But you haven’t seen Seonghwa all week.
The story is probably everywhere by now. Globally, more than likely, but you haven’t seen or read a single article about it. There are several reasons why, but mainly because you just don’t want to relive everything through a stranger’s words. Your television is firmly set on the documentary channel and or the drama channel. This is mostly enforced by Ms. Choi and your parents. Anyway, you imagine Seonghwa has his hands rather full, dealing with all of this public outrage and shame brought upon the group’s name. You know it’s almost impossible for him to come see you at all, and yet you find yourself waiting for him to show up every afternoon and evening. Just in case. You really don’t want your last conversation with him to end in a panic, or a heated exchange. Since it’s your last day, your hopes are really being tested as each minute and each hour passes without him coming through the door.
Your parents had left maybe ten minutes ago to go back to their hotel for the night, leaving you to the rare silence of your room, save for the background noise of a history documentary that’s playing on the TV. Something about spies in World War Two. You’re not really paying attention to it, but the snippets of what you do hear sound interesting.
The phone your parents got you is by your side, nestled on top of the blanket. Your curiosity of the severity of the story and how bad it is for the group nags at you to check. You unlock it, but tap on the TikTok icon instead, scratching the itch to be on your phone but not to search the case. The app successfully numbs that nagging feeling to check for about ten minutes, until you stumble across someone talking about your case. No search required.
The person talking in the video refers to your case as ‘unfortunate’, but ‘hot’ at the same time. A lump forms in your throat rather quickly the more she talks about how jealous she is of you.
The video ends with her asking Yunho if she can be next.
By this point, you’re shaking badly, and the comment section is no better. You had hoped there would be a majority of people defending you, calling her out on such a strange and controversial opinion, but what you see shocks you to the very core.
[user1603275809]: my dream ughhhh
[b<3]: ungrateful bitch lmao
[SAW ATEEZ 07/31]: girl move over i’ll be your next victim yunho🤪
You shut your phone off.
Definitely a mistake. You doubt that you’ll reach for your phone again until you get on the plane back home, and even then, you’ll only use it for music. It’s not even the comments and the whole general message you’re getting from the video that hit you the hardest, it’s the fact that they don’t know about the others. The dead girls in the forest. You wonder if they’d laugh online so freely if they knew about them.
There’s an abrupt gunfire sound effect that explodes from the TV, even on low volume and it startles you that much more. You’re quick to change it back to the drama channel, hands shaking as you sit up and swing your feet onto the floor, intent on getting up and walking this off. The nurses have been encouraging you to go on walks, longer and longer distances each time. You’re almost up to a mile without needing a break. Now’s as good a time as any.
Walks help not just your body, but your mentality too. And you need a bit of both right now.
You’d been adamant the past two days that you want to walk alone, without a nurse present and hovering, waiting for you to fail. They’d respected your wishes, but you noticed how they watched you until you’re out of sight or if you caught them looking. Hopefully, because the evening is already giving way to the night, there won’t be as many eyes on you this time.
When you step out of your room, you’re proven right save for the officer that guards your room. The officer outside your door gives you a look but you draw a circle with your finger, indicating that you’re going to be walking around. He makes an ‘ok’ sign with his hand and waits for you to set off. He gives you as much privacy as he can on these walks, remaining quiet and keeping his distance, staying about ten feet or so behind you. The hallways for now are clear in both directions, and the nurse’s station is only occupied by two nurses, facing the opposite way. Jiyeon is one of them. She looks up from the computer, a brief look of concern flashing across her face before she lifts her hand, her pointer and middle fingers alternating to mimic leg movements.
‘Walk?’ She mouths the word. You nod. She nods as well, and just goes back to whatever she’s doing. You’ll miss her.
As you finish up your second lap, you’re already starting to feel a bit better. That video you watched only had a couple of hundred likes anyway. Surely, not everybody thought the same as she apparently does. It’s just hard to forget about it completely… or forgive.
A male nurse opens a door to a room you’re just about to walk by, and he wheels out what looks like a medication cart. You stop to let him go with a small bow, and glance at the name written on the wall to indicate who is occupying this room.
Someone named ‘Song, M’.
Nosy by nature, you can’t help but peer into the room before the door closes. You can hear the steady, rhythmic beat of a heart monitor, and all the lights appear to be off, just like how you like your room to be. The soft glow of light from the hallway is always enough to keep the rooms dark enough to fall asleep comfortably, but lit well enough to be able to see where everything is. There’s a man propped up in the bed, his face mostly covered by the water cup he’s using to knock back the pills the nurse no doubt just gave him.
You pass by the room and continue your walk.
You don’t think much about it, refocusing on thinking about the flight home tomorrow. Home. You can barely remember what your house looks like. Your parents, upon hearing this from you, have started showing you pictures that were taken in the house, and it’s all slowly coming back to you. There’s pieces being filled in the puzzle again. You imagine it’ll be different actually being there again rather than just seeing pictures of it. They showed you pictures of your room as well, and some different memories from varying ages came back rather easily. Sleepovers and sleepless school nights doing homework at your desk, childhood stuffed animals, shelves full of photos and trinkets collected over the years.
When it comes to your clothes and other belongings here in your old apartment, apparently your parents had received everything a few months ago when it was released from the police. Your old roommates had sent you several of the presents still sitting in your hospital room. The balloons wilted a couple of days ago.
Rounding the corner, from down the hall you can see another police officer standing guard and you look behind you to see if yours is still following you. He is. He looks up at you when he sees you turn around.
“You okay?” He asks, also looking behind him to see if you saw something.
“Yeah, I just…” you trail off, watching the other officer again. He doesn’t look like he’s standing outside your room, he’s too far away. He’s further down the hall, near to where you had stopped to let the nurse go in front of you.
A slow realization dawns on you then. Who else could it be?
Continuing on, albeit at a much slower pace, you stop once again at your room. Wordlessly, the officer assigned to you retakes his post, but you don’t push open the door to go back inside. You hesitate, staring down the hallway.
“Jiyeon?” You quietly call her, moving closer to the nurse’s station.
Her head pops up from her computer again, at the ready. The light from the screen reflects in her eyes, making them partially glow white and blue.
“Who’s in that room?” You ask, already knowing the answer. You just want it confirmed.
Jiyeon follows where you’re pointing with her eyes and leans forward slightly to speak quieter. “I can’t tell you who, hon. Patient confidentiality.”
You bite your lip.
“If I know who it is…” you begin, “are you able to tell me if I’m allowed to see him?”
Jiyeon looks back over towards the room and the cop that guards it. You can almost see her thinking, recalling protocol and hospital rules.
“It’s Mingi, right?” Your voice barely above a whisper.
“Honey, I’m just not sure it’s a good idea for you to see him,” she says gently. “Actually, I really doubt that they’ll let you in.”
You rest your arms on the desk, picking at your nails again. “I know it’s not a good idea,” you agree. You understand completely. Honestly you’re rather bewildered that you’re even asking to see him. “I just… I don’t know.”
Jiyeon sighs, looking up at you apologetically. It’s not her fault. Again, you understand. And maybe it’s for the best that you can’t see him. Maybe he doesn’t want to see you, and then what? More chaos, more heartache, more trouble than you need right now. Even so, that nagging tugs at you.
“Is it possible for me to maybe write him something?”
At that, Jiyeon looks down at her computer again, like the answers are on the screen. She hums as she thinks.
“Possibly. Whatever you write will have to be approved by these guys,” she says, gesturing to the officer outside your door and the one outside his, “so keep that in mind. Some things may be redacted.”
You nod, looking back at the officer outside Mingi’s door one more time.
“Alright,” you say, turning on your heel and disappearing back into your room for the night.
You set about writing your message to him right away, using the new journal and pen that Seonghwa had given to you from the boys. Although, you do spend a majority of the evening staring at a blank sheet of paper. Luckily, the nurse that brings in your dinner doesn’t ask what you’re doing or who you’re writing to. She minds her business, setting your food down with a small smile and a quiet ‘of course’ when you thank her.
The words don’t come easily, and you don’t expect them to. Dozens and dozens of potential things you want to say to him come to mind, but none of them sound or do any good. It has to be short and simple if you want to avoid any potential redactions, but also carry meaning. You dig deep, searching for what you truly want to say. If you were allowed to go into his room and see him, and say anything to his face, what would it be?
Your pen moves not too long after you ask yourself that.
You deliver the note to Jiyeon, on the off-chance she is allowed to bring it to Mingi’s room and she sets it down by her keyboard with a promise that she will have the officers look it over. With a small nod of acknowledgement, you wish her a goodnight and settle down in your room for the last time.
A part of you wishes you had time to look around Yunho’s bedroom the same way you’re taking in the hospital suite you’ve been in for the past week and a half. Just to say goodbye to it, but how were you supposed to know you’d never return there? You sigh as you tuck yourself in one more time even though it’s still pretty early – not yet eight-thirty – and you admire the patterns of light on the floor coming from the hallway and the television. The volume is low in case you wake up in the middle of the night, you don’t want to wake up to dead silence. That’s almost as bad as not being able to see.
But you sleep soundly, letting the occasional quiet beeps from the machines lull you.
And with perfect timing, with twenty minutes left to spend in visiting hours, Seonghwa knocks on your door.
He ignores the side-eye from the cop by your door as much as he can, adjusting his face mask even higher up on his nose so the top of it grazes his bottom lashes. Those dark circles under his eyes from his injury never quite went away on account of the lack of sleep lately. When he pushes open the door, he freezes in place. You’re turned on your side, facing the door, and he can tell that you’re asleep. He hesitates, not sure if he should come in anyway or just turn around and leave. He knows you have an early flight tomorrow.
Just five minutes, he tells himself.
Leaving the door open as instructed, he quietly makes his way over to the chair by your bed. You don’t stir. You look peaceful… healed, at least physically. The lines on the heart monitor jump in a standard, healthy rhythm, and there’s some plumpness to your skin now. It no longer clings to your bones. It’s nice to see you like this.
He definitely stays longer than five minutes, just watching you sleep. He feels like a creep for doing so, but he can’t help but hope that you’ll just wake up on your own and know that he came back to say goodbye. In his head he replays all of your shared time together, internally apologizing to you for all the chances he had of getting you out sooner rather than later, and wishing that he could’ve done more to help. He stares at the fading, leftover patches of bruises around your neck that he put there until his eyes unfocus and his vision blurs. He lifts the heel of his hand to his temple, pressing it there for a second to combat any oncoming dizziness. It’s an internal battle to not cry. He doesn’t feel like he really deserves to.
There’s some murmuring outside your door, and he looks up at the clock to check the time. Five minutes after nine. Time to go. Jiyeon knocks as she comes in.
“Visiting hours are over,” she politely informs him.
Seonghwa fixes his jacket for no reason. “Right. I’m sorry,” he says as he stands, patting his pockets to make sure he has everything and leaves without another word.
Jiyeon catches him in the hallway before he gets to the elevators. “Mr. Park,” she calls softly, jogging after him to close the distance.
He looks over his shoulder, then turns around to face her, awaiting some sort of scolding for staying later than allowed. He’ll take it.
“I’m sorry–” he starts to say, but Jiyeon cuts him off.
“I wanted to thank you. I think you played a big part in her recovery,” she says sincerely. Her words startle him, catching him off guard. It’s definitely not what he was expecting to hear. Seonghwa doesn’t meet her eyes anymore, choosing to inspect the tiled floor instead.
Of course, he denies this. “I didn’t do that much… all I did was upset her each time I came.”
“You remind her of a very difficult part of her life,” Jiyeon says bluntly, not one to sugarcoat, “one that will stay with her forever. But, you’re also part of the reason that she’s safe. You helped to get her out.”
Seonghwa shakes his head, refusing to accept any responsibility of aiding in your rescue. He’s part of the problem that you escaped. Jiyeon steps closer, trying to make him look at her.
“Whether you realize it or not, you’re probably one of the only truly safe people she has right now,” She says. “You’re very important to her.”
He keeps his head down, crossing his arms over his chest and hunching his shoulders.
“ I–I didn't do enough,” he says, his voice betraying him by breaking right at the beginning of his sentence.
Every pent up emotion hits him then. Right there in the middle of the hospital hallway, under bright, accusatory fluorescent lights, outside of your room where he believes he put you, even if he wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger. By not informing the police beforehand, he believes that he is part of the reason you were hurt, indirectly or directly. He promised you that night that you’d be okay. He told you to trust him. Every bottled up feeling suddenly demands to be felt. His stress threatens to make him explode like a pressure cooker.
Jiyeon cautiously places her hand on his back, guiding him into an empty office area and sitting him down. She fills a paper cup with water and hands it to him, advising him to breathe.
“I’ll never be able to m-make it up to her,” he says, close to crumpling the cup in his grip. “I told her she w-wouldn’t get hurt and–”
He stops in the middle, too ashamed of himself to continue. Glancing at the clock, he winces, knowing his manager is probably wondering where the hell he is. He won’t come looking for him though… the whole KQ staff have kind of stopped talking to them unless absolutely necessary. Nevertheless, he feels bad for making him wait.
“From what she’s told me, you did your absolute best to protect her. You kept showing up for her, even now, and that will help her heal in the long term. It’ll remind her that she had someone good by her side at the end of all this.”
Seonghwa sniffles quietly, running a hand through his hair and pausing halfway through.
“She still got hurt though,” he says dejectedly. “She got hurt by saving me. I didn’t deserve such kindness from her… I didn’t deserve to be saved. It should’ve been me instead.”
“She’s alive,” Jiyeon reminds him, “and she’s going home tomorrow because of you. Because of all of you. She didn’t even have to think before she chose to save you. Doesn’t that tell you all you need to know about how much she cares about you? Don’t make her decision meaningless by saying that you didn’t deserve it.”
A beat passes.
Seonghwa nods once, slowly, like he doesn’t quite believe what he’s agreeing to just yet, but maybe one day he will. Her words imbed themselves within his mind, branding into his brain and sticking with him for the foreseeable future.
You’re alive. You’re going home tomorrow.
Except for two snags, not including his own injury, the plan was successful. They achieved what they set out to do: free you from Yunho. They got you out. The risks involved in said plan were well-known, and they knew the level of danger they’d be exposed to if things went south. Despite it all, you and Mingi are both alive and recovering, and Yunho is where he should be: in jail awaiting trial.
Jiyeon hands him a tissue box from one of the desks, and he plucks one from it to blow his nose. He calms down gradually, and she lets him take his time. Glancing up at the clock again, he stands abruptly. He’s way over time now. He wouldn’t be surprised if his manager left him there.
“Oh– I should go,” he says, but doesn’t break for the door just yet. Again, he pats his pockets to make sure he has everything, and pauses when he dips a hand into the one in his jacket. He pulls out a small, torn piece of paper with a number scribbled on it. He’d forgotten to leave this in your room. Dammit.
“I’m sorry, could you please give this to her?” He asks, “It’s… it’s just in case she wants to keep in contact. If you don’t think it’s a good idea though, it may not help her recovery–” he rambles, overthinking.
Jiyeon interrupts him, “Y’know what? Why don’t you stay with her tonight. I think she’d like that. You can give it to her yourself.”
Seonghwa blinks before bowing to her, thanking her sheepishly.
She waves him off, guiding him out of the room and back down the hall to your room. She exchanges a few quiet words with your room guardian, letting him know what’s going on. He side-eyes Seonghwa again, but luckily, says nothing.
“Thank you,” Seonghwa says to her again when she turns back to him, “really. For everything.”
“Of course. Have a good night, Mr. Park.” Jiyeon says with a small wave, already starting to head back to the nurse’s station.
Seonghwa sends a quick text to his manager and takes off his face mask, taking a deep breath before placing his hand on the doorhandle.
This time, your back is facing him as he walks in and you stir when the door is opened again. You sleepily rub your eyes and make a small noise upon hearing someone come in. A nurse, you assume. You lazily drape your arm out to the side to make it easier for her to check your vitals or something. They always need your arm out for some reason or another.
Instead, someone sits in the chair. Someone takes off their jacket. A familiar scent of cologne hits your nose and your eyes snap open.
“Hello?” You ask, confused.
“Hi, angel,” he says quietly, taking your hand that you reach for him with.
“What time is it?” You mumble, looking around the bed for your phone.
“Late,” Seonghwa says with the slightest twinge of a laugh, “they’re gonna let me stay the night with you. Is that alright?”
You nod immediately, worried he’ll change his mind within the millisecond of time between him ending his sentence and you responding. A small grin plays on his lips.
“I’ll stay up–” You start to push yourself upright, but he stops you.
“No, no, it’s okay. I’ll just…” He scoots the chair closer and leans forward, resting his head on his arms. You worry about his back, though. This position can’t be good for his neck either.
You pull his arm towards you until he sits on the bed. Closer, but not what you’re trying to get him to do. Sure, you could outright say what you want, but you’re tired and admittedly still shy around him. So you scoot over, to the very edge of your bed to make room for him. He sighs as he hesitates, and eventually gives in. You unsuccessfully hide your victorious – and honestly, shocked – smile as he gets in next to you in the cramped space. You throw your blanket over him and both of you turn on your sides to face each other. Draping your arm over his shoulder, you play with his hair on the nape of his neck. His eyes flutter closed, allowing himself to relax. He keeps his hands to himself, not assuming that you want to be touched in any way until you tell him.
You breathe him in, snuggling closer to his chest, silently giving him his answer. Your free hand finds one of his, guiding it over your body. The comforting weight of it calms you just as well as any sedative. He presses you close, dropping his arm down towards your lower back, and sneaking his right arm under your neck to embrace you properly like this. You sleepily smile into his chest. His hair is soft between your fingers. The added heat from his body makes the cold hospital room perfectly warm.
You fall back asleep in no time at all.
And so does he.
In the meantime, your little note does make its way to Mingi’s room. The only thing the officers decide to redact is your name at the end. He’ll know it’s from you, but he will be denied that small verification at the bottom of the page. He won’t get to see you or say a proper goodbye. He knows, though, that he doesn’t deserve to. This little note is the best he’s going to get, and he’s grateful nonetheless.
Mingi,
Though I may not feel this way 100% right now, I know in time I will mean what I write wholeheartedly:
I forgive you.
Thank you for helping me.
– ◼/◼
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
The morning is rather busy.
Busier like it had been when you first woke up here. Your parents arrive first thing, bags packed and passports already at the ready. You can tell they can’t wait to leave. To bring you home. The butterflies in your stomach are rather agitated at the thought. ‘Pre-flight nerves’, you refer to them as when your mom asks why you’re so antsy.
Seonghwa had left an hour before they got there, around five in the morning. You had set your alarm at that time to give yourself some time alone, to mentally prepare for the day ahead. Instead, that time was spent exchanging Kakao IDs and resuming playing with his hair. Time seemed against you, moving faster than it ever had here before. Each minute seemed to last ten seconds.
He squeezed your hand tight before he left. You can still feel it now.
Much to your surprise, Agent Jang comes into your room ten minutes before you’re due to leave, carrying a lumpy bag. You hadn’t expected to see her again. Your parents greet her warmly, eyeing what she has in her hand.
“Your clothes,” she explains to you, “from when you were first admitted here.”
All you can think to say in response is “Ah.”
She sets it down on one of the chairs and asks how you’re doing. The two of you actually have a nice little conversation for a couple of minutes before she has to go back to the station. You wish her luck as she walks out. For what exactly, you’re not sure, but you think the sentiment of what you said makes itself known. She wishes you all the best and steps out, nodding to the morning shift officer guarding your door. His shift will be short today, although he is going to be accompanying you to the airport. Then, airport security will take you and your parents through.
“I’ll go through them on the plane,” you decide, gesturing to the bag and the presents that all three of you managed to somehow stuff into an extra suitcase and your carry-on. You read some of the tags. None of them are from Yunho.
Your mom crosses her arms, looking at it like it’s a bug. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I just… I don’t want you to be triggered and then we don’t know how to help you.”
You sigh, but not in annoyance. This could very well happen, and happen while you’re 30,000 feet in the air with no escape. But you’re stronger now. “That’ll happen anyway. Doesn’t matter when, really. I’ll tell you how to help me.”
Unconvinced and wary, your mom lets it go. She trusts you on this. You’re the expert on you.
Jiyeon isn’t working this morning, but she did leave you a little card for Mijoo to give to you. You’ll read it later, right now your parents are checking their phones and watches over and over, silently telling you it’s almost time to leave.
You thank the staff as you pass them in the hallways, stealing a glance down towards Mingi’s room again before stepping into the elevator and descending down, back into the world. You don a face mask and sunglasses, feeling a bit like Seonghwa, and tie your hair up. The last thing you want is for people to easily see what you look like now.
As expected and dreaded, the airport is swarming with reporters and devastated fans who all want a glimpse of the girl who survived the idol. Luckily, you’re well hidden by your parents and the officers protecting you. You’re on autopilot until you actually board the plane, ascending and accelerating towards the clouds.
The mini screen helps the ride go by a lot faster. You alternate between movies, listening to the music and closing your eyes, and just resting your head against the window, watching the clouds drift below. You sleep for about an hour, and when you wake up, the plane has already begun its initial descent. Home. Your skin starts to itch again.
To distract yourself, you reach into your carry on for that bag Agent Jang gave you and the note from Jiyeon. Your mother next to you takes her AirPods out, but says nothing to deter you from looking through it. She’ll just keep a close eye on you, watching for any signs of incoming distress while your dad is passed out, still asleep next to her.
The note from Jiyeon is short and sweet, wishing you all the best, and signing her name with a little drawing of a bunny on the side of it. You pass it to your mom so she can read it, and then you start in on the bag.
The clothes themselves are wrinkled from being in the snow for so long and not being dried properly. You don’t unfold your sweater, not particularly keen on seeing the hole where the bullet ripped through the fabric. The pants are bloodstained on the waistband. Your socks are crumpled like your sweater, soaked through and sad looking. You shove the socks and sweater back into the bag, curiosity over. But you feel something in the pants front pocket. Your eyebrows furrow together, not knowing what this could be.
But the second your fingers touch it, you know exactly what it is. And who it belonged to.
You pull the rosary out slowly, almost bead by bead until you’re holding it up in front of your face. The cross at the bottom points directly down towards the bloodstains.
“Who’s is that?” You hear your mom ask through the roar of the engines and your screaming thoughts.
Quickly, you lie. “Seonghwa’s.”
Though visibly tense, she doesn’t say anything further. You’ve told them a little about him. They’re not particularly crazy about him, as they have a harder time seeing him for anything other than being part of the group that took and had access to you. She looks at it like she wants to chuck it out of the plane window. If only she knew who it really belongs to.
You put the pants back in the bag, holding onto the rosary for the remainder of the flight.
The cold metal burns your skin the whole way down.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Eight months later…
The sun warms your skin as it blinds you.
You cover it with your hand as much as you can, squinting and blinking away the eye floaters that creep into your field of vision. Cars rush past, threatening to splash you from the puddles left overnight. It had been an impressive storm, but you slept through most of it.
The sunlight that reflects off the building makes it look like it’s sparkling all over. You remember this place well; at least, the interior of it. You lower your hand and look across the street, heading the opposite direction. The walking signal shines for the pedestrians and you join the crossing groups of people seamlessly.
Seoul in September is always pretty.
That certain floor and apartment right at the very top look down upon you. They didn’t think they’d ever see you again. Last they saw of you, you were being driven out to the woods again. They should’ve known. You’re the only one who survived the woods… twice.
Sadly, there’s no time to gloat or reminisce, as you’re currently running to find your Uber before they drive off.
Once located, you confirm your names with each other and situate yourself in the backseat of the car. It’s rather nice, and you double check that you didn’t accidentally pay for the Uber Black or something. You’re thankful for the strong air conditioning. Tucked under your thigh, your phone vibrates a few times but you ignore it – you already know it’s your mother texting you for the hundredth time today. She has your location on like she did last year, but now she wants live updates in real time of how you’re doing and where you’re going and who with, every possible detail.
You had to really plead your case to her and your father to let you come back.
Before the entire question was even finished, they flat out forbade you from coming back, especially by yourself. It took a lot of persuasion, a couple big fights, multiple reminders that you’re an adult, and a promise to be monitored at all times while there, but eventually they allowed you to fly back. You’re staying at a nice hotel in the heart of the city, somewhere you’re rather familiar with. Yet another topic of discussion you had to fight over. They wanted you to stay with your old roommates, but you vehemently opposed this – you didn’t want to infringe on their lives by staying with them and make them have to babysit you all hours of the day. That’s not fair to them. You did agree to spend the first two nights back in Seoul at their apartment, though.
You’re 99% sure your mom is also keeping in touch with them as well.
Holding in an exasperated sigh at the fourth and fifth buzz of your phone, you shoot a quick text to your mom as proof of life and safety, screenshotting the route you’re taking to your hotel to check into your room. She reads the text immediately and answers with a thumbs up emoji. It’s both comforting and suffocating that you know she’s watching your location at this very moment. It reminds you of where you were last year at this time.
Driver tipped, bags collected, and key handed over, you finally flop down on the plush hotel bed, sighing into the memory foam. You’re looking forward to these next two hours spent alone before you go back out again. You definitely need them.
You unpack, taking your time to set everything where you want it around the room, quietly enjoying how therapeutic small stuff like this feels. Habitually though, you do check in the upper corners of the walls, in the lamps, and in the bathroom for hidden cameras. Every search conducted ends in the same result: finding none. It’s one habit you’ve yet to fully shake off. Another one is how you tend to freeze when you hear people outside of your room, even muting the TV so no one can hear you inside. Once the sound of their voices fade away, you’re okay again.
You try to tighten up. You have to, especially today.
After sending your mom a picture of you, safe in the hotel room, she finally relents and leaves you alone. It’s annoying, but it’s what you agreed on in order to be here, so you force yourself to not roll your eyes every time your phone goes off.
You spend the next hour sitting on the floor in front of your suitcase, looking down at it like the right outfit will just jump out at you. It’s not that you’re trying to look good, just… confident. Confident and put together without overstating it. You rummage through the shirts, pants, socks, and one dress you brought with you, but none of them feel right. Now only thirty minutes before you have to leave, you give up on it for the time being and just focus on your hair and makeup.
Even though you want to, you can’t bring yourself to wash your face. There are good days and bad days when it comes to water, and today is one of those bad days. Instead, you run one of the hand towels under the sink and lightly dab your face with it to feel more refreshed. You forego winged eyeliner simply because your hands are shaking too much and you don’t have time to make them match, and then find yourself brushing your hair right back where you started, standing in front of the open suitcase without a clue of what to wear. In the end, you just decide on some baggy jeans and a hoodie.
You text your mom that you’re gonna nap and stay in the hotel the rest of your night, and switch your phone completely off.
Sunglasses on and purse in hand, you’re out the door.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
You’re very hyper-aware of your skin.
Specifically how your clothes feel on your skin, brushing up against it. Your chest hurts. Stress causes some pain flares from time to time, so you’re used to the feeling, but it doesn’t make it any less comfortable. You lightly trace your collarbone through your hoodie with your knuckles, just to ground yourself more. It tells you that nothing is touching your chest or your neck.
You’re glad you chose the hoodie because it is freezing in here. The cold metal of the chair seeps through the fabric of your jeans and takes a while to warm up as you wait. Your nails tap against the metal table in front of you. It’s a rather small room, only two other ‘booths’ like the one you’re sitting at now, and dim. You run your hands up and down your arms to self-soothe and to warm yourself up. Your anxiety grows more and more the longer they make you wait.
Maybe you shouldn’t’ve come here. This was a mistake of gigantic proportions, and you know it. Your hands start to itch instead of soothe. Your bottom lip is already bitten to hell, and you stand up, ready to leave and forget you ever even tried to do this.
But the door opens.
And there he is.
You freeze in place, no longer as put together as you tried to appear. Instead, you’re right back into who you were last year. Your heart hammers against your ribs, trying to escape through them to get as far away from him as it can. You wish your feet would follow.
The rattling and jingling of his handcuffs hitting the small table as he sits opposite you make your ears ring and static erupts in your brain. All systems sound the alarm: danger, danger, danger, get out. But you block it out. There’s glass in between you, he can’t hurt you.
You take a small step forward, back towards the chair you were just in. He watches you like a snake would a mouse.
A heavy sound behind him informs you both that the guard has left, the door shutting behind him. The air around you feels thick, like you have to double your efforts just to breathe normally.
He still looks just as handsome as he did when you last saw him. Dammit.
The metal of the chair scrapes unpleasantly against the floor as you sit back down, ignoring the giant lump forming in your throat. For a moment, you still can’t bring yourself to look at him, but you can feel the weight of his stare. You’re glad you chose this baggy, loose-fitting outfit. Subconsciously chosen so that he couldn’t see your body. Yunho makes a face as he looks at your outfit as he sits there, waiting for you to say something. You can tell that he disapproves.
Your entire body starts to feel feverish the longer you prolong this.
“Hi…” you mumble, clearing your throat right after.
Yunho tsk’s, waiting for a certain word to accompany that greeting. You know which one. You look down at your lap, picking at the skin around your nails. If you thought you felt hot before, it’s nothing compared to now as a fierce blush blooms across your cheeks, warming your whole face.
“I’m not supposed to call you that anymore,” you inform him, still not quite meeting his eyes. He seems to tower over you even while sitting. Was that always the case or did he get taller?
Yunho places his elbows down on the little table and rests his chin on the heels of his hands. The little chain linking the cuffs pulls taut. “Mhm. And who told you that?”
“T-the… my…” you trail off, unable to speak. The words ‘the officers’ and ‘my psychologist’ just die on your tongue.
Yunho smirks, knowing the effect he’s having on you.
“Why are you here, baby?” He purrs, tilting his head to one side.
The pet name makes your skin crawl and a dark part of your mind sing. Your hands begin to shake again, but you just sit on them, trying to remain calm and strong. At least externally. You can do this.
You’re in control.
He’s the one behind bars – well, glass at the moment. He can’t get to you physically, and if he tries, the two guards keeping watch of your visit will tear you away from him before you could even blink. It’s like seeing a shark at the aquarium. Protected and kept apart by the glass, you know you’re safe, but there’s always the same thought that looms in the back of your mind: if the glass suddenly disappears, you’re in his element. At his mercy. Would you scream and kick for the surface, or would you just succumb to him like you used to? An hour ago you were sure of which one you’d pick. Now, you’re not so sure. Not while face to face with the threat itself.
Despite this, there’s a reason you came to see him. You have something for him.
Instead of verbally responding to his question, you simply reach into your pocket and pull out his rosary. His eyes widen at the sight of it. So that’s where it’s been this whole time.
“This belongs to you,” you murmur, stating the obvious. “I w-wanted to return it.”
You can tell you’ve gotten under his skin this time. You don’t feel smug or proud about it. No matter how thick the glass is, you’re still afraid of him. Of all people, you know exactly what he’s capable of. He doesn’t need to touch you to hurt you.
He lowers his hands back down, drumming his fingers on the table. The sound makes your skin crawl. You gently place it down in front of you. He almost reaches for it, like he forgot the glass is there for a second before retracting his hand, cracking his knuckles in quiet and controlled frustration.
“How thoughtful,” he hums, his voice tight.
Involuntarily, you blush again, your lips parting to thank him for such small praise. You nervously run a hand through your hair, trying to pass it off as nothing. The air shifts. The power dynamic between the two of you skews even further towards him.
The smirk that slowly grows on his face is pure evil. Sickly sweet, manipulative. Your skin crawls, waves of adrenaline zip down your spine and into your legs, every instinct telling you to get out there now.
“You missed me, didn’t you?” He sneers, leaning forward to get even more into your space. He lazily gestures to the rosary, “Just wanted to see me again?”
Unwilling to back down from him, you ignore those instincts. You stay put, right where you are. You pull the collar of the hoodie away from your neck, suddenly feeling rather suffocated.
“No.” You say as firmly as you can, not offering him anything more to work with. A simple ‘no’ is good enough.
He laughs, his amusement evident. “You’re not being very nice to me, are you?”
“I j-just… I n-needed to see you in h-here,” your voice wobbles a little as you stammer. You’re unable to think or speak clearly. It’s like your mind’s been suddenly placed on pause, slamming on the brakes while going one hundred miles an hour. You try to remember if you had been like this when he first took you. This pathetic. “I don’t have t-to be nice to you.”
“Look at you,” he smirks, leaning back in his chair, without a single care in the world. Superior to you even now. “Acting so high and mighty all of a sudden. Already forgotten who’s in charge, huh?” His voice lowers in volume on the last sentence spoken, leveling you with just a sharp glare.
You shake your head, refusing to let him get in your head like this. Not without a fight. “You’re not in ch-charge of me anymore.”
Yunho doubles down, his voice a soft purr. The same timbre he used to make you forgive him for almost drowning you in the bath. Sympathetic, warm, caring, safe.
“Aww, poor baby. Is it hard to have nobody telling you what to do anymore? Bet you miss that structure, don’t you?”
“Stop it,” you snap at him, though there’s not a lot of edge to your voice. “I’m not yours.”
“Yes you are. You keep waiting for me to praise you… is that what you want? Need my validation? Need to know I don’t hate you for ratting me out to the police?”
“I only came back for Seonghwa.” You say before you can stop yourself. One of your hands flies up to your mouth before hesitating, twitching in the space between your mouth and your lap. Using every single ounce of courage, your eyes flick up to garner his reaction.
You’ve seen that look before.
Through fire, water, earth, and air, you’ve seen it. You’ve never been so grateful to have a thick pane of glass separating you from him.
From the cold metal of the room, you can smell the forest again. The water burns your throat and nose. The snow freezes your skin. The flames lick at your legs.
His jaw twitches and he laughs once, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s no readable expression on his face, not that he lets you see. His hands curl into fists and he hides them in his lap. His bangs cover his eyes as he looks down, jaw clenching and unclenching.
“Park fucking Seonghwa…” he says under his breath, shaking his head in amused disbelief.
Your hand massages your throat, trying to ease the lump in there. He can’t hurt you. You can leave any time.
So why aren’t you?
You came all the way here to give his rosary back to him, to see him in jail with your own eyes in an attempt to stop your nightmares and paranoia. You’ve done what you set out to do. Leave.
However, you’re glued to your seat, and you start to wonder if he’s right in some of the things he’s saying. Are you still seeking his validation? Even though you wanted to come across as confident and better off without him, that charade quickly vanished upon seeing him again. You instantly retreated back into your timid, obedient self that took months to shed off of your normal behavior. Back at square one, you can’t stop the brutal self-deprecating thoughts that berate and jeer at your failure. How easily you crumble in front of him. How small you feel when his eyes are on you. The past months of work you’ve put in with your therapist and the fruition of progress you’ve been so proud of disappear altogether as if they never happened. As if you never left.
You steal another glance at him, and fight against the intensely strong urge to comfort him, clarify what you meant. You hate seeing him upset, especially when you’re to blame for it. He looks so dejected… you’ve never seen him like this. There’s no fire within him anymore, not like before. You have to really force yourself to not say anything to him. It’s none of his business what your relationship with Seonghwa is or is not, especially when you aren’t even sure.
You wipe your eyes with your sleeve, smudging the mascara and eyeliner.
Don’t cry. Please, don’t cry, not in front of him.
You inhale sharply, trying to collect yourself and keep the tears at bay as long as you can. In all honesty, you just want to put your head down on the little table and scream. You don’t have to explain yourself to him. You don’t owe him anything, right?
It’s a question that’s still hard to answer. Obviously you don’t owe him anything, not a damn thing. But you can’t block out the quiet moments you two shared as easily. The good times you had were so good, even if they will never come close to cancelling out the bad. You think, at least for a period of time, you may have actually loved him. Or, felt something quite close to it. Maybe that’s why you want to explain yourself to him, because you still can’t fully deny that you don’t feel anything towards him anymore. You doubt you’ll ever really know. It’s not that simple. Trying to move on from a man who would burn the entire world for you is not something easily done.
The most terrifying realization you’ve had to face at home was feeling that you may never feel as strongly for someone other than Yunho ever again.
Your shoulders hunch and you shrink in the chair, chin to chest.
What you don’t see as you bow your head, is the drastic and visible change in Yunho. No longer smug or condescending, he becomes distant as he holds back his true emotions. Head down as well, his eyes search the floor, his lap, his hands. For what exactly, he himself isn’t even sure. For once, he doesn’t have a quick, lashing reply to give back to you. He bites the inside of his cheek. He slouches in the chair.
Another fantasy dragged back into harsh reality. Disintegrating right in front of him. Again.
Because as much as he denied it, and despite what he has told you… Yunho really does love you.
You were never nothing to him, you were everything. Telling you that he only loved broken things turned out to not be true. Not exactly. At one time, he thought it was true, but he realized he was only talking through his anger and frustration. Not from any substantial meaning. No, he only let you in as deep as he let anyone else get, just surface level. Treading the water there so he can keep an eye on everyone he allows in. You were dangerously close to venturing further, getting to the very heart of him.
He denied himself of you. From seeing you that night in the convenience store, he denied himself of you.
Call it an act of self-sabotage, or that he didn’t know what he was in for, but he saw something in you that none of the others had. A certain spark, a glow, not just potential for his own sick view of what he could shape you into, but also a strength that told him you can persevere. Kindness, humility, beauty, and a natural magnetic attraction that damn near pulled all the members towards you. Of course Mingi fell for you. And now Seonghwa…
Surprisingly, he’s not mad. Not at all. Actually, for the first time, he feels quite defeated. Seeing you past the glass only confirmed that he’ll never have you the way his soul wants. A rather delusional part of him thinks you still want him. That you’ll always want him. That you love him.
He needs to hear you say it so bad. So bad.
But he won’t ask you. He won’t even entertain the thought. Not when there’s a chance you’ll refuse to say it – he doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle that.
So what can he do? He can either push you away and come to his own conclusions based on how easy it is for you to leave, or he can push you harder, see if you’ll break for him again. Neither one reaps many benefits for either of you. It’s just another assessment of loyalty. Another test.
“Why are you here?” Yunho asks you again.
The rosary starts to turn cold on the table. You don’t have an answer for him. The words just won’t come together in the right order, nor do they hold the depth of what you want to attempt to convey to him. Nothing fits or sounds good enough. Each choice is just as cold and lifeless as this room you’re in, void of any real meaning. None of them hold any weight.
Is there anything worth saying at all?
“I’m not…” you swallow hard, knowing that he’s staring at you without needing to look up and verify, “I’m not afraid of you anymore.”
This silence is different. Instead of coming back immediately with a quip or smug response, he simply lets what you said fully process. He really does seem different. It’s the same kind of mental distance you experienced with him when you and Mingi were still close. Jealousy? Maybe, but you don’t want to assume. For all you know, he could just be pissed off that you’re presumably giving your free attention to Seonghwa instead of him now. He must think you’ve completely abandoned him – which, you know you should do, and yet here you are. But again, Yunho doesn’t know how that specific relationship with you and Seonghwa works.
What you say is true, for the most part. There’s a large part of you that still hungers for his approval, yearns for his touch, misses the idea of him. And there’s another part of you that is comforted knowing that he cannot dictate your life anymore, nor touch you like that ever again. The idea of him you hold onto is your own fantasy, conjured up by the fleeting and counterfeit imitations of care and love that he showed you. Seeing him in here does calm your nervous system though, it tells your paranoid mind that he really is locked in here. He can’t get to you. There are dozens of people, several laws, and physical distance between you that will not allow him to touch you again. The thick glass and the handcuffs aid this thinking as well.
For Yunho, all he can hear is white noise and a sentence he’s haunted himself with for almost a year. His lips press together. He can’t be too surprised that you really were afraid of him the whole time, but again that delusional side of him has been very convincing. It was so easy to believe in his own lie until Mingi derailed it with one fatal blow. Just six words. Now here you are in front of him, speaking freely as yourself for the first time since last February, telling him that you’re not afraid of him.
He’s almost split in half. One side glowing, singing that now you can love him, there’s nothing holding you back from it now, and the other realistic side of him shooting all of that nonsense down. He can’t ignore reality forever.
One of your hands rests on the table, drumming your fingers close to the rosary. He subconsciously mirrors you. Tap, tap, tap.
When he doesn’t say anything for another few silent minutes, you pick your purse up from the floor, placing it in your lap. “I should go…”
Yunho wants nothing more than to jump up and beg you to stay with him. So, he doesn’t. He keeps control, clenching his fists tight, knowing he’s solely to blame for how he ended up. If he was just a little more careful…
He watches you stand, the scraping sound of the chair against the floor digging into his ears. Once again, he holds back what he really wants to say.
“I’ll um–” you pick up the rosary, gesturing over to the guard. Why won’t he speak to you? You shift your weight, not wanting to leave like this. You’ve always been the type to not rest so easy knowing that you’ve said something that hurts someone. Even someone like him.
Ready to go, you don’t move. You don’t knock on the door to let the guard know that you want to leave. You have an idea of why he’s gone so quiet.
“We’re not– Seonghwa and I… it isn’t like that.” You tell him, not as eloquently as you wanted to be.
But it does invoke a response of some nature. A single nod, indicating that he understands as simply as possible.
You continue, “I’m not ready for that kind of thing yet.”
“‘Yet’,” Yunho echoes, surprising you by replying quickly this time. “But you will. One day.”
He sniffs, leaning back in the chair. The rest of his sentence goes unsaid, insinuated and understood by you. ‘And it won’t be with me’.
You bite your lip, hand absentmindedly tugging at your sweatshirt, pulling it away from the healed scars on your chest. Your heart is threatening to leak through them.
“I don’t know,” you admit honestly. Right now, you don’t see yourself getting into any kind of relationship in the near future. You don’t want to. You’re afraid everything will remind you of him. You’re afraid you’ll compare – that fear of never feeling the same level of devotion to someone ever again keeps you alone.
“You will. And he’ll be there, I’m sure.” Yunho fails to hold back a scoff. His nails dig into his palms, close to breaking skin. “But all he’ll do is remind you of me.”
Your muscles tense.
There’s a hurt tone to his voice that he tries in vain to hide. Not enough to be obvious unless you knew him quite well… which you do.
It dawns on you then that the two of you trigger each other so much. He triggers your fears, your perfectionism, your traumas, and you trigger his abandonment issues, his overprotectiveness, and his desperate desire for love. Fake or real. He was so close with you. This time, he felt it. The others told him they loved him like they were reading a line from a book. Too rehearsed, without any feeling. You were the only one who almost convinced him.
You know he thinks it’s easier to just push you away if he can’t have you the way he wants.
And suddenly, you think of something worth asking him.
“Were you going to kill me that night?”
He pauses to keep his true emotions in check. He’s not about to let you read him so easily when it comes to this topic.
“Which one?” He asks, lazily, trying to come across as unbothered, nonchalant, but his eyes betray him.
You can see a slight twinge of wariness, like you’re getting too close to the truth of him. Something he’s hidden from everyone else so seamlessly. That’s how you know you’re on the right track, asked the right question. Also, you’d genuinely like to know. Having the answer, fake or real, may help some of the nightmares you keep having ever since that night.
“The last one,” you clarify quietly.
He clears his throat, procrastinating by readjusting how he’s sitting in the chair, straightening up and crossing his legs. He feels caught. The handcuffs dig into his wrists. The only way he can keep control is to not give you what you want – a straightforward answer, but instead, he speaks truthfully.
“I don’t know,” he says, his eyes landing on the silver bracelet fastened on your wrist.
He wonders who gave that to you… it matches his rosary.
You nod once, knowing that’s the best you’ll get out of him. It does kind of tell you everything you needed to know, though. It pairs well with what you remember from that night, the shock and horror on his face when he realized he shot you instead of his intended target, and his many attempts to try and break out of Jongho’s hold on him to rush to your side. You have your answer.
And now you’re not sure what to do with it. You’re still standing in front of him like an idiot, leaving and not leaving at the same time.
His eyes flicker over towards the door on your side of the room. “You should go.”
That startles you almost, and your feet move immediately, like they were waiting for his permission. You don’t miss how the corner of his mouth twitches, and you’re thankful that this time, he doesn’t point it out. He doesn’t have to. Such a small thing like that all but confirms his delusional side’s way of thinking. He latches onto it quickly as he watches you try to slip through his fingers again.
Even if you choose Seonghwa down the line, you’ll still be his. When you’re just a step away from the door, he lets you know that.
“No one will ever love you as much as I do.”
That nearly kills you. It strikes you harder than a fist or a bullet ever did. Hearing the admission you’d been waiting for for all of last year… it almost makes you crumble completely. You knew it, you knew you were right.
He loved you, and still does.
You feel your breath leave your lungs like you’ve been hit there again. Shakily, you turn to look over your shoulder, expecting to see him basking in his small victory, taunting you that his claws are deep in you even after all of this time apart, and that they will continue to be for the foreseeable future.
Except you don’t see that at all. What you thought was a jeering, condescending comment, doesn’t quite match the look on his face. A mix of a small, knowing smile which you expected, and utter desperation, selfishly hoping you’ll never be able to move on from him, that you’ll always come back to him. As hard as it is to admit it to himself, he needs you. So, he’ll revert back to methods that he knows worked on you once. Manipulation, for one.
The desperation that he fails to conceal is what gives him away. You stand your ground, refusing to fall for him again.
“And no one will ever hurt me as much as you have.” You mean to stay strong, but your voice cracks and wobbles halfway through.
You watch his lips part, his eyes widening ever so slightly.
He's always had a talent for hand-picking words and placing them in the exact order that will make you remember them for months to come. Maybe even years. You really have learned from the best.
You tear your eyes away, and it turns out to be the hardest thing to do. Your fist knocks on the door too hard, too urgently. The guard lets you out quickly and asks if you’re okay. You just nod, breathing erratically. He doesn’t believe you, but you’re already walking away, eager to get the hell out of here. Even well past his line of sight, you can somehow still feel Yunho’s eyes on you. Your teeth start to chatter as you collect your phone from one of the guards, barely audibly thanking them as you hitch your purse higher up on your shoulder. You force yourself to walk slower. High stress, high emotions, and high pace can’t be a good combination for your lungs.
When the sun hits you again, you gasp for the fresh air. The very thing you used to hide from, in this moment, you can’t get enough of it. You sit on a bench outside, hands shakily ordering an Uber that cannot come fast enough. Pressing a hand to your head, you will your body to calm down before you act crazy in front of this poor stranger coming to pick you up. You can imagine the headlines if the driver recognizes you, first of all, and tells the press that you were shaken up after visiting the very same prison Yunho is being kept in.
Your parents would never let you leave the house ever again, much less the fucking country.
For a moment you panic, and then remember the time difference. Both of them are surely asleep now, and you relax at the lack of frantic text messages from either of them. Thank god–
The fresh air helps, a gentle breeze occasionally caressing your hair off of your shoulders. You busy your hands by sending Seonghwa a text.
Luckily, he responds right away. Unluckily, he asks how your visit went.
Obviously, he’d been rather opposed to the very idea of you going to see Yunho by yourself. It led to a fight between you, though both of you saw where the other was coming from. He knows you’re an adult and can make your own decisions, and you know that he didn’t want you to give Yunho another chance to hurt you again. When the anger had subsided, he let you know he’d support you no matter what you decide to do. As always.
By the time the Uber gets there, you still haven’t answered Seonghwa’s question. All you send back is a simple, ‘omw’.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Seonghwa opens the door before you can even knock.
You duck inside, knowing how bad it’d be if anyone saw you going into his apartment. It’s smaller than the one you were kept in, but a lot more lived in. Signs of life decorated every inch of it. He’d told you it’s taken a while for him to adjust to living alone. Whenever he gets out of the shower, he still sometimes expects to see San curled up in his bed instead of his own down the hall.
It’s a temporary place. For now, it works.
You think it’s lovely.
“Hongjoong came by earlier,” Seonghwa says. “He um… yeah, he just told me to say that he hopes you’re doing okay.”
You nod, sitting down on his couch. Something tells you there’s more to that, but you don’t press him for details. All you can think to say in response is, “Oh. Well… tell him I said ‘thank you’ and ‘same for you’.”
“Are you?”
“Am I?” You ask, tilting your head.
Seonghwa sits next to you, one cushion over. “Are you okay?”
You know he wants to know about your visit with Yunho, and you’ll tell him eventually. Right now though, it is the last thing you want to do. You haven’t seen Seonghwa in person since your last day in the hospital, eight months ago. Sitting here, on his couch, not two feet away from each other, all you want is to just… sleep, actually. You want to be held, even though you know it’s selfish to want to ask of him, and fall asleep together like you did last December. Before either of you were hurt.
You push that need down.
“I’ll be alright,” you say behind a weak smile.
He looks like he wants to say something, but ultimately decides against it, keeping his mouth shut. Instead, he places his hand on the cushion between you. He lets you decide whether or not to hold it.
Of course, you do.
The reconnection feels like coming home. So many things are conveyed through just a simple touch. Commiserations, apologies, trust, and admissions that you’re both glad to see each other again. It’s a special, impenetrable bond, and for the time being, that’s good enough for both of you. It has to be. There’s still too many things to work out and work through to be anything other than just… two people there for each other. It’s an unspoken arrangement. Neither of you are willing to admit why it’s needed.
“How are the others?” You ask, genuinely curious.
Seonghwa leans back, resting against one of the pillows on the couch. “They’re alright. We’re still constantly in touch with each other, so… that’s nice.”
Well, the six of them are.
Mingi’s being held in a separate prison on the opposite side of Seoul, on the outskirts of the city. He’ll get out before Yunho does, having taken a plea bargain and willingly cooperated with law enforcement.
You ask about each of them, where they are and what they’re doing. You’re not surprised to know that they all live quite close to each other. Yeosang and San even live in the same apartment complex. It’s nice to know that they’re all still somewhat together despite everything. You’ve been told about the fight Jongho, Wooyoung and San are leading to keep Yunho in prison for longer than he was sentenced. Without the USB or the files from his laptop, they’re trying to find other forms of evidence to get him charged with homicide, and get justice for the girls and the manager. You’ve seen the mixed social media reactions. Some view it as admirable, others call it performative.
Hongjoong and Yeosang are both relatively off the radar, intent on maintaining a low profile. This, apparently, is almost normal for both of them. ‘Chronic homebodies’, Seonghwa calls them. Still, you naturally worry about them.
The three of them are planning to move abroad early next year. Since the three of them were most implicated in the case, the public outrage towards them despite their contributions towards your rescue, and despite your written testimony that they were not privy to the truth of who you were when Yunho introduced them, has proven to be impossible to simply ignore. Not even the ‘chronic homebodies’ want to be sheltered inside forever, anxious about going outside.
Hopefully western Europe will be more peaceful for them.
An hour into talking, you’re now curled up on the couch while he plays with your fingers, making small noises of disapproval wherever he sees that you still pick at your nails and the skin around them. He just doesn’t want you to hurt yourself like that. On more than one occasion, he’s threatened to buy you a fidget toy or something to help you stop the habit.
He closes your hand, setting it down again and rubs his thumb against the back of it. Another hour later, there’s a natural lull in the conversation as the apartment starts to darken. The sun is peeking out from behind some of the taller buildings in Seoul, beginning its early descent.
The two of you stand in his kitchen as he cooks dinner. He swears he’s gotten better now that he has to fend for himself. The money he’s made from being an idol won’t hold out forever, so he’s trying to be smart about it now and not order takeout so much anymore. He offhandedly says that you should have something that Wooyoung cooks sometime, as he’s the best chef in the group, but he gets quiet afterwards. You don’t push it.
You eat in the living room, feet tucked under you as Seonghwa flicks through all the options on Netflix. You eat slowly, but you’re almost halfway done before he picks something from the ‘Oscar Winning’ category. It’ll do for now. Good background noise while you eat. He checks in on you twice, asking if the food is actually good or if you’re being nice to him, and offering to get you more. You wave him off playfully both times, likening him to a mother hen. It’s a nice little dynamic.
Halfway through the movie, the sun has disappeared altogether. You haven’t planned on staying the night with him or anything like that, but he’s not kicking you out either. You look down at your purse on the floor, resting against the couch, making a mental inventory of what you have in there. Wallet, perfume, headphones, fan, gum, pill pouch stocked with Tylenol in case of flare ups, and a portable charger. You sneak a glance at Seonghwa, who’s busy finishing his second serving of food, eyes flicking up from the bowl to watch the movie. It doesn’t feel like you’re intruding, but you hate to overstay your welcome. The unofficial plan you made for this visit was only a couple hours at most. Already, you’re dangerously close to several hours.
A couple minutes later, Seonghwa collects the empty bowls and dishes that have accumulated on his coffee table, and places them in the sink to wash later. He wants to now, but instead he just lets them soak until the movie is over. You watch him as he walks back to you, sitting himself down a little closer to you than before.
You don’t allow yourself to think anything of it. Not even when you adjust the way you’re sitting, leaning towards him. If you think about it too much, you know who you’ll hear. You know what you’ll remember. You’d rather keep the world and everyone in it out for as long as you can. Since arriving here, you’ve been doing a pretty good job so far, despite the state you were in when you left the prison earlier.
It’s comforting knowing that any silence between you isn’t awkward or tense, it’s just natural. Even more comforting to know that you can’t say or do anything that will ever make him lash out or physically hurt you. The bare minimum, you know, but you’re working on it. You just… feel safe with him in the little things.
That’s the tricky part – the little things, they all pile up, don’t they?
You know you may have waded too deep when you rest your head on his shoulder and he sighs, letting his body relax more into the couch. You lift up, thinking he may be opposed to you doing that, but he guides you back down, not making a big deal of it. The rest of the movie goes by with the two of you staying just like that. Nothing more, nothing less.
When the movie ends, you know you should leave.
You engage in polite small-talk about your assessments of the film, coming to a similar conclusion about it: ‘pretty good’. His eyes glance up towards the kitchen sink, and he bites his lip.
“Would you mind if I washed the dishes really fast?” He asks.
“Oh, no, go ahead,” you say, sitting up straight to let him go. “I can um… I should probably go back to my hotel.”
Seonghwa stops mid-stride to turn around and look at you.
“Oh–” he starts to say but pauses for a moment, wrestling with his inner monologue on what to say next. He looks at the digital clock on the oven. “It’s um…”
“Yeah… I don’t want to intrude.” You smile weakly, gathering your purse. It’s not that late yet, but you’re not terribly keen on going back by yourself in the dark if you can avoid it.
Seonghwa fidgets with the hem of his shirt, alternating between looking at you, the kitchen, and the television. You’re not sure what he’s thinking. He hops from one foot to another as you stand from the couch.
“Hwa?” You check on him, noticing his anxious behavior. It’s rare that you call him by that nickname, but you’re trying to do it more often.
He scratches the back of his neck, stuck in his own thoughts.
“I uh… if you want– I mean, you can stay here, if you want.”
You’d tease him for his eloquence if you weren’t busy processing what he’s saying. Now you’re stuck.
“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you say quietly, looking down at your purse. If you stay, you’d need to ask for so many things from him for the night. Clothes to sleep in for one, a toothbrush, a blanket and pillow for the couch, makeup remover, and… no, not that. You put the end of that thought out of your mind. There’s no need for it, you tell yourself.
Seonghwa steps closer to you, “No, not intruding at all. I’d like it if you stayed, but… if you’d rather leave then that’s fine too.”
In danger of sounding too enthusiastic, you make sure he’s being serious about his offer. “Are you sure?”
This time, he just nods. He lets you think it over.
He watches you place your purse down on the couch. You shyly look back up to him, hoping he’s being serious about his offer. He seems to relax again. A hand reaches out for you to take, which you do, and he leads you into the kitchen. You hop up on the kitchen counter, letting your heels gently hit the cabinets as he washes and dries the dishes. You try to convince him to let you help, at least drying them, but he refuses.
“A guest shouldn’t have to do any work,” he states.
When the dishes are done, he brings you into his room so he can get some clothes for you. His room is very… him. That’s the best way you can describe it. You emerge from his closet, in his T-shirt and sweatpants that you roll up so you don’t step on them. He lets you use his bathroom to take your makeup off and tells you there’s a new toothbrush in its packaging in one of the drawers there. That, there is.
You look away quickly when you place the toothbrush next to his in the little holder.
Y/N, it’ll never work, you tell yourself.
He’s back in the living room when you come out of the bathroom, tying your hair up. He looks up at you from the couch and offers a small smile, and your pick for a ‘double feature’ night. You grin as you take the remote from him, sitting next to him and beginning your search. You’ll show him one of your favorites.
As the movie starts, the two of you resume your earlier positions – you leaning against his shoulder, and him settling back against the couch. This time, he has his arm over the back of the couch, and almost halfway through the movie, he lets it drift closer, but ultimately doesn’t touch you. He’s still so overly cautious. You kind of want him to snap out of it, but at the same time, you feel that much more safe with him. He’ll keep himself close enough to make you feel protected, and not like he’s expecting anything from you. By doing this, he gives you the option to either lean into it or ignore it and keep to yourself. It’s there if you want it, and it’s immediately taken away if you don’t.
You wouldn’t have such a choice with Yunho…
By the time the double feature comes to an end, and the credits start to roll up the screen, you’re sleepily smushed into Seonghwa’s side. He gently shakes you and you mumble incoherently that you’re awake while your eyelids lose the fight to stay open. Very convincing. He turns the TV off and takes your hand to help you off the couch. You wake up just enough to stand and rub your eyes.
“Do you have an extra blanket?” You ask, gesturing to the couch. It’s definitely comfortable enough to sleep on.
Seonghwa blinks before understanding. “Oh, yeah, I do.”
He disappears into his room to retrieve it and hands it to you. You wrap it around your shoulders. He shoves his hands in his pockets, unsure of what to say or do in this standstill. He won’t outwardly say what he wants for fear of sounding like Yunho, and you won’t say what you want for fear of making him uncomfortable. The kitchen light casts shadows against both of your faces. You hug the blanket tighter around you.
It’ll never work.
The polite exchanges of ‘goodnight’ send you both off to sleep.
In theory.
You spend an hour on the couch trying to reclaim the heaviness in your eyelids and the deep relaxation needed in order to sleep, but neither will return.
Two hours later, still with no success, you give up for the time being and scroll on your phone. However, you exhaust all of your social media apps rather quickly – you don’t follow many people anyway. Phone set back down, you get up and shuffle to the kitchen to get some water. You feel like you’re snooping through his stuff as you try to find a glass to put said water in, and eventually pull open the right cabinet. As you set it down carefully on the counter, you note the time on the oven clock. Almost two-thirty. You groan inwardly, knowing you’re probably in for a sleepless night.
Oh, well. It’s better than potentially having a nightmare on his couch, you suppose.
You wince as the cabinet closes a little too loudly, hopefully not disturbing Seonghwa while he sleeps. Trying to be even more quiet, you fill your glass with water and lean against the kitchen counter, just taking in the view of his apartment from there. You like the huge windows in the living room the most. It takes up most of the wall space and boasts a rather pretty view of the city. You take a small sip, the water feeling nice so late at night. Definitely needed.
There’s some small rustling noise from Seonghwa’s bedroom and you freeze, hoping you didn’t wake him up with that cabinet.
But he pads out to the kitchen, rubbing one of his eyes and stopping in his tracks once he sees you.
“Hey,” he says quietly, looking over at the discarded blanket on the couch. “You okay?”
You set your glass back down, “Yeah, I’m okay. Can’t sleep.”
He hums, nodding. “I can’t either.”
Instead of awkwardly standing still in front of each other, he moves to your side to get himself a drink as well. Instead of water, he substitutes it for soju. He reasons it might help him sleep. From the same cabinet, he grabs a smaller glass and fills it up about halfway with soju. He drinks it all in one go, wincing slightly as it burns down. You laugh lightly at his expression, and his ears turn pink. You wonder what type of drunk he is. Maybe one day you’ll find out, you doubt he’s about to get hammered tonight. He takes another shot, and then puts the bottle away.
Something tells you he drinks in order to sleep quite a lot.
You cradle your little glass of water self-consciously. Being here may be nice for you, but it could be triggering him, and he’s just too nice to you to say anything. You look down at his clothes hanging off your body and bite your lip.
“Hey,” he gets your attention, “enough of that.”
“What?” You ask, even though you know he caught you overthinking.
“I want you here. And this,” he gestures to the bottle, “is getting better.”
You lower your head again, feeling caught. He also all but confirmed that what you were thinking is true, or was up until recently.
“I don’t dream if I drink,” he says in a quieter voice. “So…”
Maybe it’s late-night courage, or what have you, but you set your water down and wrap your arms around him in a hug. You’ve wanted to do this since you walked in. Luckily, he doesn’t tense or back away from you like you’re afraid he will. No, he pulls you tighter against him, sighing against your hair as one of his hands rests on the back of your head.
Two broken people in the kitchen, holding the pieces of each other together.
You’re not sure how long you stay like this, but when you two eventually pull away, he takes your hand. He avoids eye contact again, trying to build enough confidence to say something.
“I don’t like sleeping alone,” he admits.
Your cheeks warm. He knows you don’t either. That’s one of the things Yunho told him the night he left. “Me neither.”
Seonghwa nods once. You look back over at the couch. Surely the two of you can be comfortable there for the night? You don’t want to intrude on his private space. You feel like a vampire, you can’t go into a room without being invited first.
This invitation isn’t verbal.
Seonghwa gently leads you into his room before hurrying back to the couch to grab the blanket again. When he reenters, you’re still standing in the middle of his room. God, both of you are so awkward and so overly cautious with each other. You think it’ll just be like this until you both get better mentally. You already plan to talk with him in the morning. For now, you let him know that you don’t feel pressured, and that you want to be here.
He physically relaxes, obviously worried about that until you said something. He gets into bed first, sighing once he settles down. You get in after him slowly, still checking him to see if it’s okay, if he’s not regretting his offer. It doesn’t look like it.
You lay apart, with a few inches of distance between you two, for a couple of minutes, both trying to sleep. It is quickly apparent that this won’t help. You risk moving closer to him, laying your hand next to his. Still awake as well, he plays with your bracelet for a while before he moves to hold your hand properly.
It’s a gradual shift, testing the waters to see what the other is okay with. Eventually, there are no more inches of distance between you, and you’re curling up by his side, your arm laid over his torso, and his arm wrapped around you.
“Does this feel… is this okay?” He checks one more time as the soju starts to kick in, dragging him towards sleep. He fights against it for a little longer, needing to hear your verdict.
You look around the room.
Trinkets overflow off of shelves, a huge monitor on his LED illuminated desk, an equally large Lego collection showcased behind glass, a bladeless fan perched on his nightstand, also equipped with soft LED lights, and small, miscellaneous plants anywhere else there’s room.
You look up at him.
His eyelashes dust the tops of his cheeks as he waits for your reply. He holds a slight tension in his hand, ready to either let go of you entirely, or pull you in closer.
And suddenly, there’s no more forest. No more cameras or fire. No more water or knives or guns, or belts. There’s no more betrayal, tests, or fear. There’s only him. And for tonight, that’s enough. That will make all the difference in the world. Everything else you’ll figure out in the morning, already visualizing the many texts you’ll wake up to from your mother, asking where the hell you are. You’re content to stay right here until your flight home, honestly.
You nuzzle your cheek against the space between his shoulder and his chest. His cheek rests against the top of your head and he gently presses you closer. Both of you breathe in the other.
CAN I GET ONE ONE ONE ONE SINGULAR DAY TO CALM THE FUCK DOWN? CAN HE STOP DOING SOME ROLEPLAY TYPE OF SHIT FOR A DAY? I CAN’T FUNCTION LIKE THIS I CAN’T DO THIS I’M NOT YOUR STRONGEST SOLDIER
summary: in which yunho has had a crush on you for the last three years but you have a boyfriend. but then you showed up at the office pissed, single, and in that skirt!
warnings: dom yunho, sub reader, unprotected sex, overstimulation, creampie, squirting, spanking, choking, throat fucking, anal, IT GETS FILTHY YALL 😭
genre: smut, romance, slowburn
pairing: nerdy office worker yunho x afab reader
word count: 18.5k
masterlist
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
Yunho arrived to work at exactly 7:46 a.m. Not because he was aiming for that time, he just always took the same route, and stopped at the same corner convenience store for the same lukewarm canned coffee. But today he skipped the store.
Today, he felt… off. Maybe it was the storm clouds gathering over Seoul, or the subtle itch in his shirt collar that he’d tried to iron out three times before giving up. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t seen you since Friday, and his brain, like the traitor it was, had replayed the way you’d bent over the copy machine in your pencil skirt no less than thirty seven times over the weekend.
He adjusted the strap of his backpack and stepped through the glass doors of the office, nodding politely to the front desk clerk. His ID card bounced lightly against his chest, swinging from the blue lanyard he’d worn every day since orientation four years ago. It was frayed near the clip, he kept meaning to ask for a new one, but never did.
The office was already half buzzing. Phones ringing, keyboards clacking. Yunho moved through it like a ghost, nodding to people who barely looked up. He liked it that way. Quiet. Predictable as he made it to the break room and poured himself a cup of the bitter office coffee that always tasted faintly of burnt cardboard but apparently that’s how Seonghwa, the one that always makes it, liked it.
“Yunhooooo,” a voice sing songed behind him, “you won’t believe what I heard over the weekend.” Yunho didn’t even have to look to know it was Wooyoung. He turned slightly, coffee in hand, already bracing himself. Wooyoung leaned on the counter like he owned the place, dark hair still slightly damp from the light rain, tie already loose like it offended him on a spiritual level. “Let me guess,” Yunho said softly, blowing on his coffee, “someone hooked up in the archives room again?”
“God, no. That was two weeks ago. Keep up.” Wooyoung grinned. “I’m talking real scandal this time.” Yunho made a noncommittal sound as he sipped at his coffee. “Mm. Can’t wait.”
“You’re terrible at pretending not to care,” Wooyoung teased. “It’s about…. oh!” He cut off, eyes shifting behind Yunho. You walked in and your energy slammed through the room like a thunderclap. The buzz of conversation dipped. Chairs swiveled. But you? You didn’t even look at anyone.
No greeting. No smile. No wave. Not even your usual dramatic sigh and flourish entrance. You looked like hell. And not your usual flirty, lipstick smudged, wild weekend kind of hell. Your eyes were dark circled behind oversized sunglasses, hair up in a messy twist that looked like it had been done in the dark, and your blouse, usually form fitting and tucked just so, was rumpled and hanging half untucked.
You stormed to your desk like it had personally insulted you, tossed your bag down, and sat with a force that made your rolling chair squeak like it was in pain. Wooyoung blinked. “Okay, that’s new.” Yunho hadn’t realized he was gripping his coffee cup so tightly until it creaked in protest, standing frozen for a second too long, coffee cup halfway to his lips, eyes locked on your slouched, stormy figure across the room.
“Her boyfriend,” Wooyoung replied like it was obvious. “The one she never shuts up about but somehow also hates. I bet he…”
“I should go to my desk,” Yunho cut in abruptly, already turning away, ignoring Wooyoung’s knowing snort behind him. Your desks weren’t exactly next to each other… but close enough that Yunho had spent the better part of the past three years pretending not to notice every time you stretched, or sighed, or dangled one heel off your toes and let it swing. Close enough to smell your perfume sometimes, light, clean, and maddening. Close enough to be driven absolutely fucking insane by you.
He sat down slowly, trying not to look in your direction and failing immediately. You were rigid in your chair, fingers hovering over your keyboard like you were considering strangling it. One hand eventually slammed the mouse a little too hard, and you muttered something he couldn’t hear. Yunho’s heart thudded. Not from the noise, but from the fact that you looked… different. Not just rumpled. Not just tired. You looked wrecked.
Your eyes, even behind those massive sunglasses, looked puffy. Like you’d either cried recently, or hadn’t slept. Probably both. You weren’t even wearing lipstick. Yunho had never seen you bare lipped in the entire time you’d worked together. You always had something, berry stained gloss, subtle pink, sometimes that devastating red that made him choke on his coffee. But today? You looked like someone had ripped out your spine and left you standing on pure adrenaline.
He stared at his monitor. The login screen blinked at him. His fingers hovered uselessly over the keyboard as you sniffed. Yunho’s head snapped toward you so fast he felt his neck crack. You weren’t crying. But you were close. Your hands trembled slightly as you reached for your mug. You missed it the first time. Swore under your breath. And that was it.
Yunho stood up. His legs felt awkward, too long, too slow. He crossed the short space between your desks, fingers tightening around his own coffee cup like it could anchor him. “Um…” His voice came out lower than expected. Quiet. Careful. “Do you… need help with anything?” You didn’t look at him. You didn’t even blink. Just sat there for a second, breathing hard through your nose before whispering, “Not unless you can delete an entire person from existence.”
Your voice was quiet. Bitter. Almost dangerous. Yunho swallowed. His brain screamed say nothing, just sit back down, but his mouth, traitor that it was. “W…Well, um… that would involve… murder.” The silence that followed was immediate and suffocating. Yunho’s soul briefly left his body as you slowly turned your head, sunglasses still on, and looked at him like he’d just suggested a human sacrifice in the conference room.
He panicked. “I… I mean…. not that I…” He winced, backpedaling. “Not that I murder. I’ve never…. I’ve never murdered anyone before. Or thought about it. I mean, I have, I guess, but like… not in a real way. Not that I’m… planning anything.” Shut up. Shut up. Oh my God, shut up. His face was on fire. He could feel the tips of his ears glowing red, the heat climbing all the way down his neck. His coffee cup was steaming less than he was.
You took off your sunglasses. Slowly. Like a dramatic movie scene. The kind that would’ve played in slow motion in his head if he wasn’t busy choking on his own breath. Your eyes were definitely puffy. Definitely tired. But there was something else in them too. Amusement. The corner of your mouth lifted just slightly. “Yunho,” you said, soft but clear, “please stop talking.”
His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again as you raised an eyebrow like, I mean it, and finally he shut the hell up. He stood there, blinking, nodding dumbly. “Okay.” You let out a short breath. Almost a laugh. And that tiny shift in your expression, just that tiny curl of your lips, made something in Yunho’s chest tighten painfully.
Because he knew you were hurting. Knew you were probably barely holding it together. But you still smiled at him. Even after he basically confessed to being a coffee fueled serial killer. He sat back down, face burning, fingers tapping nonsense on his keyboard just to give them something to do. You didn’t say anything else. But from the corner of his eye, he saw you pull your mug closer and take a small sip with a little smile.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
By the time late morning rolled around, Yunho had managed to get approximately zero work done. His inbox was full. His report was untouched. The blinking cursor on his screen mocked him with every pulse. But he couldn’t focus. Not when you were sitting just a few feet away, completely silent, when you were usually humming under your breath or clicking your pen in that way that always annoyed Wooyoung. You hadn’t spoken since this morning. Not to him. Not to anyone.
That is, until Wooyoung dropped by like a nosy little tornado at exactly 11:07 a.m, a coffee in each hand and a gossip radar so sensitive it might as well have been government funded. Yunho noticed him before he heard him, his lean frame half bouncing as he approached your desk, probably fueled by espresso and drama. “Hey,” Wooyoung whispered as he leaned on your cubicle wall, all fake casual. “You okay?” You didn’t answer right away. Yunho’s fingers stilled on his keyboard as Wooyoung wiggled the fresh cup of coffee at her. “I brought the caramel macchiato with the gross amount of syrup you like.”
“I’m fine.”
Yunho pretended to scroll. His heart pounded harder with every second. Wooyoung didn’t move. He never moved when he knew there was more. “You don’t look fine.” You laughed. Dry. Flat. “I walked in on him, Woo.” Yunho froze. “Wait…. what?” Wooyoung gasped. “Him him? That dipshit you’ve been dating since you had the personality of a soggy Post it?”
“In my apartment.” Your voice was lower now. “On my couch. The one I paid for. With some girl who didn’t even have the decency to stop when I walked in.” Yunho’s jaw clenched so hard it clicked. “Oh my god!” Wooyoung sounded scandalized, like someone had just spit in his coffee. “You didn’t kill him?”
“I punched him,” you said calmly, like you were reporting the weather. “Right in the jaw. Think I sprained my wrist.” Yunho’s eyes widened. A sound nearly escaped him. “But the crying,” you added after a pause, “wasn’t for him. Not really.” Wooyoung’s voice was much more gentle when he spoke now. “Then what?” You sighed again. “Because I’m a fucking idiot. I was already planning to dump him. But I still walked in like an idiot with Thai takeout and a bottle of wine.” Yunho bit the inside of his cheek so hard it hurt as you continued, softer this time. “So yeah. I cried. But not for him. I cried because I should’ve left months ago. And because now my couch smells like her perfume.”
Yunho gripped the edge of his desk as Wooyoung made a noise between a hiss and a groan. “I swear to God, if I ever see him in public….”
“I’ll already have hit him again,” you replied dryly and Wooyoung laughed. And Yunho? Yunho sat perfectly still, staring at the blinking cursor on his screen like it had just told him the meaning of life. Your boyfriend cheated. You were done with him. And Yunho… for the first time in three years… was officially out of excuses to not make a move.
Yunho stood up so suddenly his chair rolled back and bumped the low divider behind him. He mumbled an apology to no one, grabbed his coffee mug, still half full of now lukewarm sludge and made a beeline for the break room. His legs felt too long, too stiff, and he was ninety percent sure his left knee cracked like a tree branch with every step. Why did he need more coffee? He didn’t.
By the time he pushed open the door to the tiny break room, his thoughts were spinning so fast he could barely hear the hum of the fridge or the sputtering of the ancient Keurig. Her boyfriend cheated on her. His chest twisted all over again. She’s single. His stomach flipped. You’re thinking about how to ask her out? His heart stopped.
Yunho stood frozen, hand on the coffee pot, eyes staring at nothing as the full weight of his internal monologue crashed down on him like a rogue fax machine. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath, “what the hell is wrong with you.” This wasn’t about you. You were upset. Vulnerable. Probably not thinking straight. And here he was, coffee mug in hand, fantasizing about….
“Hi.”
He jumped so hard he nearly dropped the damn mug as you stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame, eyebrows raised. No sunglasses this time. Just your bare, slightly tired eyes, the remnants of rage replaced with something softer. Sadder. Raw. “Oh… uh, hey,” he said quickly, stepping aside like the break room suddenly belonged to you and he was just an awkward ghost haunting it as you walked past him, quiet, grabbing a paper cup and reaching for the kettle. You didn’t speak. Neither did he.
Yunho was internally screaming at himself, Don’t say anything stupid. Don’t say anything flirty. Don’t say anything at all, actually. Go back to your desk, you absolute desperate….
“How’s your code audit going?”
Yunho blinked. Hard. You were facing the kettle, back to him, casual voice like you hadn’t just sent his nervous system into complete shutdown mode. “Oh, um… good,” he said, shifting awkwardly. “I found a bug in the asset routing table, but… it wasn’t bad. Fixed it.”
“Of course you did.” You glanced over your shoulder. “You’re the only one who actually knows what half that code even does.” Yunho swallowed. Your voice wasn’t biting. Wasn’t teasing. It was… warm. And that was so much worse. He turned to face the counter, pretending to clean the lid of the coffee pot with a napkin he absolutely did not need. “Thanks,” he mumbled.
Silence again. The kind that crackled with unspoken things.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
It had been almost an hour since the break room. Yunho was still recovering. You hadn’t said anything groundbreaking, hadn’t dropped any emotional confessions or flirted or even touched him. But you’d stood next to him. Spoken softly. Given him your full attention without a trace of sarcasm. It was enough to make his brain run background processes at 300%.
He’d barely typed a coherent sentence since. His fingers hovered over the keyboard as he tried to focus on a particularly confusing column of spreadsheet data, blinking rapidly and mouthing formulas like a prayer. He was just starting to hit a rhythm when…..
“Yunhooooo!”
Oh no. He didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. Hannah. Her voice was the auditory equivalent of a forced smile and a too sweet perfume cloud. She was new. Sort of. Six months in. Smart, loud, confident and thoroughly uninterested in subtlety as she bounced up to his cubicle, resting her arms on the divider like she owned it, leaning just a little too far forward. “There you are,” she chirped, tilting her head so her ponytail bounced. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Yunho smiled politely. The smile he reserved for problematic printers and coworkers who didn’t understand boundaries. “Oh. Uh… I’ve been here.”
“Duh.” She giggled. “I just meant, like, I hadn’t seen you. Anyway,” She reached up and touched his shoulder lightly, nails painted a blinding neon pink. “I was thinking about what you said last week, about that Thai place near your building? We should totally go after work sometime.” Yunho blinked as he adjusted his glasses with one finger and cleared his throat. “I… actually think I said I walked past a Thai place near my building. And I wasn’t sure it was still open.” Hannah laughed again, clearly unfazed. “Even better! Mystery dinner.” He internally winced. “I…. I don’t really go out much during the week. Sorry.”
“Then Friday!” she chirped, undeterred. “Or this weekend? I’m free all day Saturday. Unless you have a date or something?” She giggled like she knew the answer already. And that’s when it happened. A voice… your voice, cut through the air like a knife dipped in sarcasm. “Oh, come on, Hannah. If you tried any harder, you’d sprain your uterus.”
Yunho choked. Literally choked on his own breath as Hannah spun toward your desk, which was only a few cubicles away. You hadn’t even gotten up. Just swiveled in your chair, one brow raised, legs crossed, mug in hand like you had nothing but time and spite. Hannah narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?” You sipped your coffee. “You heard me.”
“I’m just trying to be friendly.”
“Friendly? Girl, you’ve been circling him like a vulture since HR orientation. He’s just too polite to tell you to take the hint.”
Yunho wanted to die. Or disappear. Or crawl under his desk and become one with the ethernet cables. But…. he also couldn’t stop staring. Because your voice wasn’t angry. It was calm. Sharp. Precise. Like a blade that knew exactly where to slice. Hannah scoffed, cheeks pink. “Wow. Jealous much?” You smiled sweetly, dangerously. “Please. If I wanted him, I’d already have him.”
And just like that, she was gone. Not a stomp. Not a huff. Just a sharp turn and a clack, clack, clack of heels as she retreated like a scolded intern. Yunho was frozen in his chair. The air around him buzzed.
If I wanted him, I’d already have him.
Those words echoed in his head like a dropped marble in an empty hallway. You didn’t look at him again. Just turned back to your monitor, fingers moving, business as usual. But Yunho? Yunho was reeling. Because for the first time since he met you… He didn’t know if you were teasing. And that terrified him almost as much as it thrilled him.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
Lunch break.
Yunho lived for it. Not just because he was hungry, which, to be fair, was basically his default state, but because it was the one time in the day he could slip out of the office and disappear for a blissful sixty minutes into the quiet of his favorite little noodle place two blocks down. No coworkers. No break room coffee. No her. Not that he didn’t like being around you.
God, no. He loved being around you. Too much. So much it felt dangerous. So he kept his distance, showed up at holiday parties and said awkward things like “those are festive” to someone’s tinsel earrings, and watched you dance with other people while he stood by the punch bowl trying to remember how to breathe. He clutched his wallet, slipped on his light jacket, and nodded to a few people as he headed for the elevator, earbuds already halfway in. Routine. Simple. Safe.
“Yunho!”
He stopped short. There you were. Right behind him. Holding your phone in one hand, jacket slung over your arm, that unreadable look on your face again. “Are you headed to lunch?” He blinked, slowly lowering his earbuds. “Uh. Yeah.” You stepped closer, adjusting the strap of your purse. “Mind company?”
His brain crashed. Completely. Error 404: Cool Response Not Found. The last time he’d been near you outside of work, you’d dragged him onto the dance floor at the company Christmas party after half a glass of spiked cider and told him he needed to “loosen up before you short circuit.” He’d spilled eggnog on himself ten minutes later and gone home early. He opened his mouth. No words came out. He swallowed as you tilted your head. “You know. If that’s okay. If you don’t want to be alone.”
“No!” he blurted causing your eyebrows to rise slightly. “I mean yes. I mean…. no, I don’t mind. Company. Your company. I mean…” He paused, took a breath, and mentally slapped himself. “You’re welcome to join me.”
You smiled, small, soft, and something else beneath it. Almost… tentative. “Cool,” you said, slipping your phone into your bag. “I could use food. And air. Maybe carbs will finally cure my stupidity.” Yunho opened the door for you, heart thudding like a jackhammer under his dress shirt.
You didn’t know it, but you’d just done something no one else at that office had managed to do in three years. You’d made Jeong Yunho ditch his comfort zone. And now he was going to try really, really hard not to fall in love more with you over a bowl of hot soup.
Yunho walked ahead of you as you reached the lot, clutching his jacket tighter than necessary, keys in hand. The sun was bright, bouncing off the sleek black hood of his car like a spotlight, and his nerves were already performing an off Broadway musical inside his chest. He could feel you behind him. Your footsteps were unhurried, calm, like you weren’t about to casually ruin his emotional stability over lunch noodles.
He clicked the unlock button. The 1967 Chevelle chirped in response, a deep, throaty echo that vibrated in the still midday air.
“I knew this was your car.”
Yunho froze mid step as you came up beside him, grin already curling the corners of your mouth. “I see it in the lot all the time. How could I not know? It’s the only car here that looks like sex on wheels.”
He turned, throat dry. Gulping. “You… knew it was mine?”
“Yup.” You walked around the front of the car slowly, fingers brushing just above the glossy black surface, reverent like you were touching something sacred. “Three years of teasing you in the office and never once getting to ride in the car? Tragic.” His brain short circuited somewhere around ride and teasing. “I didn’t think you… noticed it,” he managed to say, because his brain clearly hated him.
You gave him a look, sharp and amused. “Yunho, I’ve noticed everything about you.” He forgot how to breathe. Then, casually, like you weren’t shattering his entire worldview, “So…. You gonna let me in or am I gonna have to dramatically sprawl across the hood until someone calls security?”
He scrambled to open the passenger door for you, nearly dropping his keys in the process. You slid in with a soft sigh, leaning back into the seat like you belonged there, legs crossed and fingertips resting lightly on your thigh. Yunho stared for half a second too long before remembering he was supposed to drive.
He slipped into the driver’s seat, adjusting his mirror and pretending he wasn’t sweating through his shirt as you glanced over, that same little grin still playing on your lips. “This car is sexy,” you said again, voice lower now, like you knew exactly what you were doing. Yunho gripped the steering wheel, cleared his throat, and tried to convince himself that this was still just lunch. But when he looked over and caught you watching him like that? He knew. It wasn’t just lunch anymore.
The engine purred to life with a low, guttural growl that sent a shiver down Yunho’s spine, and, unbeknownst to him, yours too. He pulled out of the lot smoothly, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching to adjust the rearview mirror, but only so he didn’t have to look directly at you. He was very aware you were in his car. Sitting in his passenger seat. Looking around like you’d just been given a backstage pass to a private fantasy.
Yunho swallowed hard as he propped his left elbow up against the window frame, fingers loosely curled against the roof edge. His right hand stayed on the wheel, resting low at six o’clock, thumb tapping nervously. The pose wasn’t on purpose. It was muscle memory. Just the way he liked to drive. But to you? It was filth. That white button down stretched just enough over his chest as he leaned, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, exposing slightly tan skin and subtly flexed veins. His fingers gripped the wheel like it was the only thing anchoring him to earth, jaw ticking ever so slightly when he switched lanes.
And the glasses? Forget it. Game over. You didn’t speak. Not right away. Because damn. You’d always known Yunho was attractive. There was something devastatingly endearing about how awkward he could be, how he blushed every time you leaned too close at the copier or asked him to fix your monitor for the sixth time in a month. But this? This quiet, concentrated version of him? Focused on the road, sunlight hitting the side of his jaw, one hand lazily turning the wheel like he’d done it a thousand times with a girl in the seat next to him? Yeah. You were ruined.
Meanwhile, Yunho’s internal monologue was a disaster, Okay. Breathe. She’s just being nice. She’s sitting here because she wanted lunch. Not because she…. Wait, is she staring? She’s staring. Don’t look. Just… OH GOD DON’T SMILE SHE’S LOOKING. Why is she so quiet? Is that good? Bad? Did I forget deodorant? Did she just lick her lips….
“You always drive like this?” you asked, finally, your voice low and far too casual for the chaos you were causing. Yunho blinked. “L… Like what?” You gestured vaguely. “One arm up. Hand on the wheel. Looking like you’re about to drag race Vin Diesel for pink slips and emotional closure.” He choked. “I… I don’t know. I just…. I guess this is comfortable?”
You turned your head, cheek pressed against the seat. “Mm. Looks good on you.” He nearly swerved into a turn lane. “I mean,” you added, clearly enjoying the effect, “the car’s sexy. But the driver? That’s a whole separate problem.” Yunho gripped the wheel harder. And that vein on his forearm? Popped. Just as his favorite noodle place came into view.
The Chevelle pulled up to the curb with a low rumble that turned a few heads on the sidewalk. Yunho parallel parked with mechanical ease, still one hand on the wheel, one arm braced on the window like muscle memory had possessed him as you watched him kill the engine, then glance at you, clearly trying to keep it casual. “This is it,” he said, nodding toward the unassuming noodle shop tucked between a laundromat and a hardware store. Its windows were fogged slightly, bright with handwritten signs in the glass. You already loved it.
Yunho walked around the car and opened your door before you could reach for the handle. Gentleman. Always. Your stomach did a small, traitorous flip. He held the door of the restaurant open, that familiar little bell jingling as you both stepped inside. It smelled like garlic and soy and something comfortingly spicy. The kind of place that healed your soul and gave you heartburn if you weren’t careful.
Behind the counter stood a compact older man in a black apron, wiping his hands on a towel. His eyes lit up when he saw Yunho. “Ah! Jeong Yunho!” he greeted with a warm, booming voice. “You’re late today.” Yunho smiled sheepishly, bowing slightly. “Got held up at work.” The man waved off the explanation like he’d already forgiven him for a crime. “Same as usual? Spicy broth, no egg, extra beef, extra noodles?”
Yunho nodded. “Yes, please.”Then the owner’s gaze shifted. To you. His brows lifted. “Ohhh,” he said slowly, a grin curling across his face. “You brought a guest.” Yunho looked like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water down his back. “Y… Yeah. This is my… she’s my… uh….. coworker.” The way he said it sounded like a question. Like even he didn’t quite believe it.
You extended a hand, smile polite but amused. “Y/N. I’ve been trying to convince him to share his secret noodle spot for years.”You joked as the owner chuckled, shaking your hand firmly. “Welcome, Y/N. I thought he was saving this place for a girlfriend, the way he guards it.” Yunho made a sound, somewhere between a cough and a tiny death. “I… I don’t…. guard it,” he stammered, eyes darting to you, then back to the counter. “I just…. like it. A lot.”
The owner winked at you like you were in on some joke. “I’ll give you both the good seats. Back corner, nice and quiet.”
“Thank you,” you said, still grinning as Yunho practically fled to the booth, his ears glowing crimson. You slid in across from him, legs brushing under the table just enough to make him twitch as he stared at the menu like it was a legal document. You leaned forward slightly, chin in hand, voice low. “Saving this place for a girlfriend, huh?”
Yunho’s glasses slipped down his nose as he stared down at the menu like it was going to rescue him from the absolute emotional unraveling currently happening under this fluorescent lighting. You were across from him, your smile a little too smug, a little too knowing.
Yunho shoved his glasses up his nose like that would help him hide. “He exaggerates. I mean, I just like this place. It’s quiet. Reliable.” Your voice softened, teasing just enough to toe the line. “So… I’m the first?” He blinked. “The first?” You leaned forward, elbows on the table. “First person you’ve brought here.” Oh. Oh god. “Yes,” he admitted, barely above a whisper. “You are.”
That earned you a small smile. A real one. Not sarcastic. Not mocking. And then your eyes dropped to the table for a moment, lashes low. The shift in your posture was subtle but he caught it. So did the heaviness that suddenly settled between you both. Your voice, when you spoke again, was quieter. Not quite fragile, but real. “Did you hear what happened?”
Yunho’s mouth opened. Then closed. Because yes, he had. Every word. From behind the fake safety of his monitor, eavesdropping like some heartbroken intern on a kdrama. But he couldn’t say that. He played dumb. “What do you mean?” You sighed, gaze drifting to the napkin you were folding between your fingers. “To me. This morning.”
He watched you, carefully. “No.” Lying. He hated it. But he needed you to say it, because this wasn’t about what he’d heard. It was about what you needed to get off your chest. “My boyfriend,ex, I walked in on him cheating.” Your voice was flat. Controlled. The way it gets when someone’s trying not to feel too much at once. “In my apartment,” you continued. “On my couch. With someone I knew.”
Yunho’s jaw clenched. You didn’t look up. “I hit him. Screamed. Threw the takeout I’d bought. Then cried like a complete idiot on the bathroom floor for half an hour.”
“You’re not an idiot,” he said immediately, chest tightening as you gave him a look that was all tired deflection. “Felt like one. I should’ve left him months ago. I knew he was trash. I just…“
Yunho shook his head. “You weren’t wrong, he was just good at being trash.” That made you laugh. A short, breathy sound that was as surprised as it was genuine. Yunho smiled, just a little. “He didn’t cheat because there’s something wrong with you. He cheated because he’s an undeserving asshole with the emotional intelligence of a traffic cone.”
You looked at him. Really looked. There was something vulnerable in your eyes now. Unshielded. “And you,” he continued, swallowing thickly, “you deserved better. You deserve better.” You didn’t speak. Not for a long second. Just tilted your head, curious. “You always say the right thing when it counts, huh?”
He flushed. “I don’t know about that.” Then, softly, like it slipped out before he could stop it, “I just… I’ve been wishing I could bring you here for a long time.” Your eyebrows lifted slightly. “What?” Yunho’s soul left the conversation. “I…. I mean… not in a weird way. Just… I thought you might like it. And you… you do….. and I’m glad. That’s all. That’s…. yeah.”
You sat back slowly. And smiled. But not the teasing kind. Not the sarcastic kind. This smile was smaller. Softer. A little sad around the edges, like you didn’t quite trust it yet but it was real. “Thanks, Yunho.” And he realized in that moment…. he would take you to this noodle shop a thousand times if it meant you’d look at him like that again.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
Yunho was trying to work. Really. His fingers were on the keyboard. The spreadsheet was open. His little office plant was thriving. There was even a half full mug of fresh coffee on his desk. But none of that mattered. Because approximately fifteen feet away, you were currently bent over Wooyoung’s desk, short skirt riding up ever so slightly as you leaned in to look at something on his monitor, laughing at something he said, and Yunho could not. He couldn’t. His brain had entered a code red.
Your thighs. Smooth. Bare. Soft looking in a way that made him want to bite his own tongue just to behave. You shifted slightly, one heel lifting, the skirt pulling just a bit more, taunting him. Daring him to look. He told himself not to. He was a good coworker. A respectful man. You were his friend. His crush. A real person who trusted him. And then Wooyoung, damn him, swiveled in his chair a little too fast and smacked his elbow on the edge of the desk.
You yelped, laughing as he stumbled backward and instinctively reached out, landing squarely against you, palms gripping your waist for balance. You both laughed. A real one. Loud, unfiltered, echoing in the open office space. Yunho’s heart dropped to his knees. And that’s when it happened. You leaned over to help Wooyoung straighten his chair, skirt hiking just enough…. and Yunho caught a flash of black lace and delicate straps peeking beneath the hem.
He didn’t mean to see it. But he saw it. And it burned itself into the back of his skull like a branding iron. A thong. Black. Minimal. God tier. He blinked. Then blinked again. And then shut his laptop completely before he short circuited in public. His pulse was thudding so loud in his ears he couldn’t even hear your laughter anymore. His throat was dry. He shifted in his chair, thighs tense, hands clasped in his lap because he had exactly zero control over what the hell his body was doing.
And his brain? Useless. Absolutely useless. Her boyfriend cheated on her. She’s single. She’s here. She laughed at his joke, but she came to lunch with me. She’s wearing that. And I just saw…. I need to log out of life real quick. He reached for his coffee and completely missed the handle, fingers fumbling so badly he nearly knocked the mug into his keyboard. He ducked his head, face burning, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes like that might help scrub the image from his brain. It didn’t. It absolutely didn’t.
Yunho didn’t move for ten minutes. Well, physically, he hadn’t. But inside? He was spiraling through seven layers of hell, purgatory, and maybe a fever dream or two. He was staring at his work monitor, open to an email he hadn’t processed at all, pretending to read while absolutely not thinking about the lace he’d seen. Or the way your laugh had wrapped around him like a damn hug. Or the fact that you were still nearby, chatting with Wooyoung like you hadn’t just cracked his soul wide open.
“Yunho.” Your voice, right next to him. He jolted so hard he hit his knee on the underside of his desk. “Ah…. ow… shit…. hi.” You were already smirking. Not sweet. Not innocent. This was the smirk of a woman who knew. “You okay?” you asked, too casually. “Yep,” he said, voice a full octave too high. “Totally. Fine. Good.” You tilted your head. “You look… tense.”
Yunho tried to sit normally. Tried to unclench every part of his body currently doing its best impersonation of a steel beam as you leaned in closer, dropping your voice just enough to make his spine straighten. “Anything distracting you?” He glanced up at you and your eyes sparkled, lips curled in quiet amusement. “I….. I uh…. no. Just a bug in the… spreadsheet,” he muttered, which wasn’t even a thing, and he hated himself immediately for saying it.
You bit back a laugh. “Well,” you said, straightening up and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, “if you need help debugging anything, just let me know.” Yunho opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out but air. And then you turned, slowly, walking away with a deliberate sway in your hips that absolutely wasn’t there earlier.
He got up in a rush and hurried to the break room just to be able to think without you near him. He gripped the edge of the counter like it might keep him from floating into space. The coffee machine wheezed to life beside him, clearly tired of his shit. He exhaled slowly, shaking his head, his conscious patronizing him, You saw a flash of black lace and now you’re malfunctioning. You are a professional. You are not a teenage boy at his first fan meeting. Get it together….
“Are you running from me?” Your voice again. Right behind him. He cursed every deity he’d ever heard of. You leaned against the counter beside him, arms crossed, clearly enjoying his descent into madness. Yunho shook his head rapidly. “N… No. I’m not. I just…. needed caffeine. That’s all. For focus. For work.”
Mhm.” You nodded slowly. “Definitely not because you saw my thong, then almost broke your coffee mug.” Yunho’s heart stopped. Fully stopped. He turned to you, eyes wide, throat dry. “I…. I didn’t mean to… It was an accident, I swear, I wasn’t…” You smiled. Soft this time. “Relax, Yunho. I didn’t say I minded.” He made a noise. It wasn’t human. It wasn’t functional. It was just a strangled help from a man on the brink as you stepped closer, close enough to brush his arm, your voice a breath against his ear now.
“You’ve been watching me for three years, Yunho. I figured it was time you got a better view.” And then you walked out. Just like that. Leaving Yunho alone in the break room, clutching his mug like it was a grenade and he wasn’t sure if it had gone off yet.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
By 5:47 p.m., Yunho was convinced the day had lasted at least sixteen years. He hadn’t spoken a single coherent sentence since the break room. Not one. He’d stared at his computer, typed entire paragraphs of complete gibberish, and nodded through two different meetings without hearing a damn thing. All he could hear was your voice. Those words had rewired him. Permanently. He was broken. Glitched. Ruined.
He had no idea what to do with that kind of boldness. That kind of power. And then, like the universe hadn’t done enough already, Seonghwa walked by, clapping his hands like a very attractive office fairy godmother. “Alright, people, drinks tonight at Burnhouse across the street. First round’s on me.” A few people cheered. Others groaned. Most started packing up. Yunho didn’t move. He never went to these things. He wasn’t that guy. He was the “thanks but I have laundry and a moral fear of barstools” guy. He stared at his screen, willing the conversation to pass over him like it always did.
“Yunho.” His name. From you. He turned slowly, heart thudding in his throat. You were standing next to his desk, jacket already on, hair a little messier than this morning in the best possible way as you smiled, not like you had a secret. Just like you were offering one. “You going?” He blinked. “What?”
“The bar.” You nodded toward the window, toward the glowing sign already blinking to life across the street. “You going?” And Yunho, bless his socially awkward, brain fried soul, said the only thing that came to mind. “Should I?” Your smile widened, eyes glinting. “Depends,” you said, tilting your head. “Do you want to see what else I’m wearing under this skirt?”
Yunho’s soul did not leave his body this time. It plummeted. Straight into the molten center of the earth as you leaned closer, voice a whisper just for him. “Come have a drink with me, Yunho.” He nodded before his brain even caught up, watching you turn and walked away, heels clicking toward the elevators. The doors slid shut with a soft ding as you and Wooyoung stepped inside, the office floor fading behind you in a wash of fluorescent lighting and the lingering hum of corporate exhaustion.
You leaned against the mirrored wall with a sigh, arms crossed, eyes soft in a way they hadn’t been all day. The emotional wreckage of the morning still lingered beneath your skin, but something had shifted. Something lighter had taken root and Wooyoung, being Wooyoung, clocked it immediately. He leaned against the opposite side of the elevator, hands in his pockets, watching you like a cat that had just seen the can opener come out. “So,” he started casually, “you and Yunho.”
You didn’t even flinch. Just rolled your eyes with a smirk. “What about me and Yunho?” He grinned. “You tell me.” You turned to face him fully, eyebrow raised. “Are you seriously doing this right now?”
“Hell yeah, I am. You basically eye fucked him all day. I thought the poor guy was gonna pass out when he saw you bend over. And don’t even get me started on that break room stunt.” You smirked. “I was just messing with him.” Wooyoung scoffed. “Oh sure. That’s why you looked like you were two seconds from crawling across his lap and undoing his tie with your teeth.” You shoved him lightly. “Shut up.”
“I will not.” He stepped closer, voice dropping just a bit. Not teasing anymore, real. “But don’t use him, okay?” That hit you square in the chest. Wooyoung’s voice softened, but the edge remained. “Don’t use him to get over your ex. Yunho’s a good guy. A really good guy. That loser has had a crush on you since the first time you started working here.” You laughed despite yourself. “He’s not a loser.”
“Sure,” Wooyoung said dramatically. “Just a humble nerd who once brought his coffee to work in a Spider Man mug and nearly came in his pants when he found out that Lord of the Rings show got renewed.” You groaned. “Oh my God, I remember that. He fist pumped in the hallway.”
“He bowed to the intern who told him, like Gandalf personally called his house.” You bit your lip, trying to hold back a smile and failing. “It’s not a rebound.” Wooyoung tilted his head. “No?” You met his eyes. Earnest. Quiet. “I like him.” That sobered him instantly as you continued, voice softer now. “I was gonna end things with my ex, I swear. I was already planning it. I… I may or may not have been planning on going after Yunho when I did. But then the asshole decided to cheat before I could.”
Wooyoung’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my god,” he gasped. “You’re totally in love with that nerd.” You shoved him harder. “Shut up.”
“You are!” he howled, spinning in a circle like he was about to throw confetti. “You love his glasses. You wanna climb him like a tree. You wanna take his Spidey mug and make it yours!” You turned to the mirror, face flushed, but smiling. “Maybe.” Wooyoung slung an arm around your shoulders as the elevator dinged open. “Let’s get drinks,” he said. “And then let’s go ruin that man’s entire emotional ecosystem.”
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
Yunho sat in his car. Still. Motionless. Engine off. Hands resting on the steering wheel like maybe, just maybe, they could steer him through this moment, too. The neon sign of the bar across the street pulsed faintly through the windshield, Burnhouse. Red and low and a little too loud. He could see movement inside. Shapes. People laughing. A spill of warm light every time the door opened.
He was sweating. God, he was sweating. He hadn’t been to a bar since last quarter’s team outing, which he escaped from in exactly forty three minutes by pretending he had to update a server that didn’t actually exist. And yet here he was. Because you asked. Because you smiled at him. Because you looked him in the eye and said, “Come have a drink with me, Yunho,” and he hadn’t been able to think about anything else since.
He exhaled, slow and shaky, then reached down and tugged at the sleeves of his white button down, rolling them up to the elbows with careful, almost surgical precision. His fingers shook a little. Then, after a moment of debate, he reached behind the seat and pulled off his jacket, folding it neatly and leaving it on the passenger seat. He stared at it like it might try to stop him. He loosened his tie next, not enough to remove it, but enough to feel like he could breathe again. You’ve got this, he told himself. It didn’t help.
Another deep breath and Yunho opened the door, stepped out into the night air, and crossed the street like a man walking into a dream he wasn’t sure he deserved. The bar was warm. Louder than he liked. Music pulsed low under the buzz of conversation and clinking glasses. There were booths and stools and lights strung across the ceiling like a half hearted attempt at ambiance. He hovered just inside the doorway. Eyes scanning. Looking for you.
And then, he saw you. Backlit by the soft glow of the bar lights, drink in hand, head tilted back as you laughed at something Wooyoung was saying. You looked radiant. Alive. And then you saw him. And that smile? That smile wasn’t for anyone else. It was for him. And in that moment, Yunho didn’t feel like the awkward office nerd or the guy who brought SpiderMan mugs to meetings. He just felt like the one you were waiting for.
His palms were damp. He wiped them on his slacks as subtly as possible while navigating through the packed bar, eyes locked on you. You were perched on a stool at the far end of the bar, legs crossed just enough to make his brain short circuit again. Your drink sat idle in your hand, condensation sliding down the glass, untouched since you’d caught sight of him.
Wooyoung leaned beside you, elbow on the bar, smirking like he owned the place, but Yunho only registered him in pieces. Background noise. You, though? You were… magnetic. Your eyes followed him as he approached. Curious. Warm. Just the hint of a smirk playing at your lips like you knew exactly what seeing you like this was doing to him. He passed a group of coworkers near the booth and vaguely heard someone say “Whoa, Yunho came out?” but it didn’t land. Not when you were watching him like that.
He reached you after what felt like a century. “Hey,” he said, voice slightly rough. You turned fully toward him, drink still in hand, legs brushing against his lightly as you shifted on the stool. “Hey, stranger,” you said, and Yunho almost combusted on the spot as Wooyoung sipped his beer. “Well, well. Look who grew a spine.” Yunho blinked. “I…. I just came for a drink.”
“You came for her,” Wooyoung corrected, then took another sip. “And I love that for you.” Yunho didn’t deny it as he swallowed hard, shifting on his feet. “Do you… mind if I join?” You patted the empty stool beside you. “It’s yours.” He sat, legs stiff, shoulders tense, until he felt the brush of your knee against his. You didn’t move away. Neither did he. The bartender came over before he could process what that meant. “What can I get you?”
Yunho blinked. “Uh…. beer. Whatever’s… good.” Wooyoung snorted into his glass as you leaned toward him just enough for Yunho to catch your scent, something sweet and warm and too distracting to name. “Is this your first bar beer ever?” He coughed. “I’ve had… beer before.”
“Mmm.” You tilted your head. “Was it in a bottle shaped like Iron Man’s helmet?” Wooyoung choked. Yunho flushed bright red. “Okay… first of all…”
“Don’t worry,” you said softly, leaning in just enough to brush your arm against his. “I like that about you.” He turned to you, stunned. But you were already sipping your drink, eyes still fixed on him, like you’d just dropped a match and were watching him burn. And oh, how he was burning as you looked at him with a glint in your eye that made his heart instantly drop back into fight or flight mode. “Wanna play pool?”
He blinked, nearly missing the way your lips wrapped around the straw of your drink. “P… Pool?” he repeated, like it was a word he’d never heard before in his life. You nodded toward the back corner, where the bar’s single pool table sat glowing beneath a buzzing overhead light. “You know,” you said casually. “Billiards. With the balls. And the stick. That you hold.” Wooyoung cackled into his drink as Yunho rubbed the back of his neck, already sweating. “I’m… not good at pool.”
You leaned in, voice dropping just slightly. “That’s okay. I’m great at it. You can just watch me bend over a lot.” Yunho choked on air as you grinned. “I’ll be back.” And with that, you slid off your stool, drink still in hand, and made your way toward the table, hips swaying like you knew he was watching. Because he was. Oh god, he was. Wooyoung whistled low, swirling the last of his beer. “You should’ve gone with her.”
Yunho exhaled slowly. “I don’t know how to play.” Wooyoung snorted. “You think she cares about pool right now?” Yunho followed you with his gaze and felt his jaw clench. Some guy, tall, a little shorter than Yunho, plaid shirt, probably named Chad, had wandered over and was now leaning casually against the pool table. He said something to you. You smiled politely. He gestured to the cue stick in your hand. Asked if he could join.
You nodded, keeping it light. And Yunho? Yunho clenched his jaw so hard it clicked as Wooyoung leaned back, grinning like the devil himself. “Ah, there it is. The Jealousy Jaw Clench. I knew it would show up eventually.” Yunho forced himself to look away. Sipped his beer. Didn’t taste it. He looked back again a second later. The guy was still there. Still talking. You were laughing at something, though Yunho could tell by the angle of your body, the way you didn’t lean in, that it was the polite kind of laugh. The kind you gave out of obligation.
But that didn’t matter. Not to Yunho. He wasn’t used to this feeling. This hot, tightening pressure in his chest. It wasn’t anger, exactly. It was something lower. Darker. Sharper. Possessive. And it was terrifying. Wooyoung drummed his fingers on the bar. “You gonna sit there and stew in it all night, or are you gonna go remind her who’s had her undivided attention for the last three years?” Yunho didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Because his grip on the beer bottle was white knuckled now. And something inside him was shifting. Fast.
“Hey!” Wooyoung flagged down the bartender with a practiced flick of his fingers, grinning like a man who knew exactly what he was doing. “Three shots. The fun kind.” Yunho was still glued to the spot, eyes flicking between his bottle and you, still at the pool table, still mid conversation with Plaid Shirt McDesperate as Wooyoung slid the first shot glass toward him. Yunho stared at it. Then took it. Then the next one. Downed both in less than ten seconds.
Wooyoung blinked. “Oh?” Yunho exhaled through his nose like a dragon, jaw flexing, eyes fixed on one thing across the bar. You. Then, without a word, he stood, rolled his shoulders, adjusted his sleeves. And walked. Wooyoung smirked as he raised his own shot in salute. “And there he goes.”
Yunho barely heard the music anymore. Barely noticed the people. All he saw was you, hip against the edge of the pool table, cue stick in hand, lips parted in polite fake, laughter at whatever bullshit the guy beside you was spewing. The guy had leaned in closer now, one hand resting too easily on the rail beside your thigh. Yunho’s blood turned molten. He reached the table in six long strides.
You looked up and he saw it. That flicker of surprise. Of curiosity. Of something else. He didn’t even look at the guy. Not yet. Just at you. “Still want to play?” he asked, voice deeper than he meant it to be, words smoother than they ever had a right to be. The alcohol had torched every nerve in his system and replaced them with intent. You blinked, caught off guard. “What?” Yunho’s gaze didn’t waver. “Pool. You asked me earlier. I’m in.”
Your brows lifted just slightly, a smile tugging at the edge of your mouth like you couldn’t decide if you wanted to tease him or kiss him. “Oh,” you said, setting the cue stick down lightly. “Now you want to play.” He stepped closer. Not invasive, but present. There. Unignorable. Voice much deeper than you ever heard him speak before. “Changed my mind.”
The guy beside you cleared his throat. “Hey man, we’re in the middle of a game.” Yunho turned to him for the first time. Slowly. His face remained calm. Polite, even. But his eyes? His eyes were warning signs wrapped in brown velvet. “She asked me first,” Yunho said simply. “And she didn’t seem like she wanted your company.” The guy blinked. Opened his mouth. Then thought better of it. He walked off without another word as you stared up at Yunho, visibly stunned. Still gripping the cue stick between your fingers like you’d forgotten how to hold it.
Yunho didn’t look away. Didn’t fidget. Didn’t retreat. Just stepped up to the table and picked up the chalk, casually prepping a cue like he’d been born in bars instead of behind a monitor. “Well?” he arched a brow, looking at you over the edge of his glasses. “You playing, or are you scared I’ll win?” You laughed. Low. Warm. Wrecked. “Oh no,” you said, stepping into place beside him. “You’re the one in trouble now.”
Yunho lined up his shot like he hadn’t just burned down the last three years of passive pining with two shots of tequila and a lie. The cue slid through his fingers, smooth and practiced, and the click of the break echoed across the table like a shot fired. Balls scattered across the green velvet like they knew exactly who they were dealing with. Two dropped immediately into corner pockets.
He didn’t say anything. Just stepped back with slow confidence, sipping from the beer Wooyoung just walked over and handed him like this wasn’t the most unhinged, out of character moment of his entire life. You turned, squinting at the table, then at him. “I thought you said you couldn’t play.” He looked at you over the rim of his beer bottle and shrugged. “I lied.”
You laughed, really laughed, and Yunho felt it in his ribs. Like something cracked open and warm inside him. The corner of your mouth pulled up, eyes lit with something dangerous, something delighted, like you were seeing him for the first time in a whole new light, and liking what you found. “That was hot,” you muttered, mostly to yourself, but not low enough for him to miss. His smirk curled before he could stop it.
Wooyoung appeared beside him again, holding your drink out like a bartender slash agent of chaos. “Here you go, pool sharks.” He gave Yunho a smug look, the look of a man who knew he’d just witnessed the full sexual awakening of a previously sheltered office worker, then turned on his heel. “I’m gonna go flirt with San from marketing before someone else notices how flexible he is,” he announced, already disappearing into the crowd like the slutty bar fairy he was born to be.
Yunho watched him go, chuckling softly into his drink before turning back to you. You were chalking your cue now. Watching him with eyes that said a lot, none of which you were quite ready to speak aloud yet. He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice just enough to make you look up. “So…. still think you can beat me?” You stared at him for a second. Then slowly, purposefully, leaned across the table to line up your next shot, skirt sliding higher with every inch.
“No,” you said without looking at him. “I think I want to see what else you’ve been lying about.” Yunho downed the rest of his beer in one long swallow. Because holy shit. Yunho lined up his next shot with the calm ease of a man who had, just barely, gotten control of his body back. You were watching him again, lips around the straw of your drink, gaze entirely not on the game. And he could feel it, like a laser beam grazing every inch of his neck, collar, wrists.
He leaned in, aimed, and sunk another shot with a quiet thunk that made him internally smirk. That’s when you moved. Before he could fully straighten, before he could step back or reset, you slid in front of him. Deliberate. Measured. Deadly. You didn’t speak. Didn’t even look at him. Just moved past him to line up your next shot like it was your turn and this was no big deal and Yunho froze. Because your ass brushed right up against his thighs, lightly, barely, but enough. Enough to send another firework straight to his spine. Enough that he had to grip the edge of the table to stay grounded.
You bent slightly, cue in hand, pretending to focus on your shot as Yunho blinked. Then blinked again. Then stared down at the exact placement of your body against his. Your skirt, short. Your thighs, bare. Your ass, pressing right into the front of his slacks like you were inviting him to lose every ounce of composure he’d worked so hard to fake all night and took your shot. Missed it. Because of course you did. You weren’t aiming for the ball. You were aiming for him. Still bent over, you finally glanced back over your shoulder. “Oh no,” you pouted, voice syrupy sweet. “Guess I need to work on my angle.”
Yunho’s jaw clenched. His hand flexed on the table. He wasn’t smiling anymore. Not out of discomfort, but restraint. Carefully, slowly, he stepped forward until there was zero space between the two of you. His front against your back. His voice low and rough right by your ear. “You keep doing that,” he murmured, “and I’m going to stop holding myself back.” You shivered but didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just looked back at him again with eyes full of challenge and heat and want. And Yunho smiled. Dark. Controlled. Dangerous. Because finally, he wasn’t the only one losing his mind.
Yunho still hadn’t moved. You were in front of him, pressed to his chest like a challenge in human form, breath warm, skirt tempting fate and your voice, that teasing little lilt of, “Guess I need to work on my angle,” was still echoing in his skull as he leaned in, close enough to feel the edge of your shoulder graze his chest. His hands hovered, wanting to guide you, hold you, pull you closer. He was just about to move, about to murmur something low and stupid and sinful in your ear…
“The fuck, Y/N?”
Yunho didn’t even have time to fully process it before someone shoved him. Hard. He stumbled back two steps, more from shock than force, catching himself on the table edge as you gasped, spinning around, already pulling the cue stick close like a shield. “What the hell…” And there he was. The ex. The cheating asshole. Tan bomber jacket. Smug, flushed face. Storming toward you like he hadn’t gotten caught with someone else on your couch less than 24 hours ago.
Yunho’s heart pounded, first with confusion, then with something a lot more dangerous. No. Not now. Not him. The guy pointed at Yunho without even looking at him. “You’re seriously fucking this idiot now? All because of a little fight? That’s what this is?” You stepped between them before Yunho could say a word. Your voice was steel. Cold. Controlled. “You fucking that girl in my apartment was not a little fight.” Yunho went still. The bar around you got quieter. Not silent, but the kind of quiet where people start pretending not to look even though every eye is absolutely on the drama.
“And besides,” you added, gaze burning, “I’ve been planning on dumping you for weeks. You just did me a favor by making it so much easier.” Yunho’s jaw tightened as your ex sneered, stepping closer. “So what, you ran to this loser the second I was gone?” Yunho moved before he even realized it. Not shoving. Not yelling. Just stepping up, slow and quiet, placing himself back at your side, just behind you. One hand resting lightly on your waist. A statement. A line drawn in the sand. He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. Because the guy looked at Yunho, saw the calm, the restraint, the way his fingers flexed just slightly against your hip, and he hesitated. “You really left me for him?”
You could hear Yunho breathe behind you, slow, controlled. But his fingers twitched against your hip, and that was the only warning. Because when Yunho stepped forward, his voice was low, not loud, not angry. Just… surgical. “I didn’t take her from you.” That made your ex scoff. “Oh please….” Yunho didn’t flinch. “She was already gone. You just didn’t notice. Probably too busy with the girl you fucked on her couch.”
Your ex’s mouth snapped shut. The bar had gone quiet again. The people closest were definitely listening now as Yunho took another step forward, so calm it made your ex step back. “You think it’s about me? About who she’s with now?” He smiled but it wasn’t nice. It was devastating. “It’s about who she is without you.” You felt something bloom in your chest, hot, sharp, righteous as Yunho’s eyes didn’t leave your ex’s for a second. “And let me guess, you’re mad because she’s finally with someone who sees her. Someone who doesn’t waste her time. Doesn’t treat her like a backup plan or a punching bag for his insecurity.”
“Watch your mouth…” your ex started, voice cracking. But Yunho didn’t stop. Didn’t need to raise his voice. “She’s not yours anymore,” he said, final and clean. “And honestly? You never deserved her in the first place.” You weren’t breathing. Neither was anyone else. Your ex stared at him, jaw working, hands clenched, and then, like the coward he was, he turned and stormed off, shoving past a group of stunned coworkers on his way out the door. The moment stretched. Stillness. Then murmurs. And then Yunho finally turned to you, eyes softening, jaw still tight. “Are you okay?”
You stared at him, heart pounding. Then you laughed, a little breathless, a little stunned. “I will be,” you said, stepping closer, eyes locked on his. “But that might’ve been the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” His ears turned red. But the way his hand tightened on your waist? That was nothing but control. And for once, you weren’t the one teasing. You were the one undone.
Yunho didn’t remember walking out of the bar. Not really. He remembered your fingers curling around his. The way you tugged at his hand, biting your lip like you were holding in something reckless. The sound of your heels clicking against the sidewalk as you dragged him behind you, weaving through the crowd like a woman on a mission. The night had cooled. Neon buzzed around them. Car horns in the distance. City lights flashing over your bare legs as you led him faster, closer, toward his car.
You didn’t look back until you reached it. And even then, you didn’t let go. “Tell me something, Yunho,” your voice quiet but edged in something sharp. “Why did you never make a move?” He opened his mouth, heart already in his throat but you turned toward him, hand still in his, brows lifted. “And don’t blame my ex.” Yunho stopped. Dead still. Right there in front of the Chevelle, headlights glowing faint from the lamplight. The city moved around you both like a river, but in that moment, Yunho couldn’t hear any of it. Just you. Just this.
He looked down at your fingers still curled in his, then up into your face, curious, beautiful, daring him to stop holding back. He stepped in. Fast. Deliberate, one hand found your waist, the other braced flat beside your head against the car door, his body caging yours in with the ease of someone who’d wanted to do this for years. “I didn’t make a move,” his voice was low, jaw tight, “because I was terrified I’d ruin everything. I wanted you the day you got hired. Day one. Red lipstick. Tight black dress. You asked me where the copier was and then laughed at my answer. And I was done.” His chest rose and fell, the words spilling now, finally unchained. “I memorized your coffee order by accident. I timed my break schedule to match yours. I’ve gone home more nights than I can count thinking about what it would feel like to have you look at me the way you looked at him and now I know…”
He swallowed, eyes burning into yours. “He never deserved you. But I’ve always wanted to try.” Your lips parted. You didn’t speak. Didn’t have to. Because he was already there, kissing you. Hard. Hungry. His body pressed into yours, hands gripping your waist like he’d die if he didn’t hold you close enough. Your fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling him in, chasing his mouth like you’d been waiting just as long. There were people on the sidewalk. Strangers passing by. Bystanders who definitely saw. But Yunho didn’t care. Let them watch. Let the whole city see.
Yunho’s world narrowed to the feel of your lips against his. Warm. Hungry. Unapologetic. His hand was still gripping your waist like a lifeline, the other braced beside your head, pinning you against the car as if letting go would send the whole night shattering around him. When the kiss finally broke, your lips swollen, his breathing uneven, it wasn’t silence that followed. It was you. Breathless. Eyes dark. Voice low. “Take me home.”
Yunho blinked. Once. Twice. Heart pounding. “I….. um… yeah,” he said, throat dry, already fumbling for his keys. “Of course, I can take you…” But you cut him off with another kiss, deeper this time. Dirtier. Your fingers curling into the collar of his shirt as you tilted your head and bit his bottom lip, tugging just enough to make him groan into your mouth, pulling back slowly. Deliberately as his breath caught.
You reached up like it was nothing, cool, calm, utterly evil, and adjusted his glasses where they’d slipped crooked on his nose. “To your place,” you said, smirking, smoothing your thumb over the collar of his shirt. Yunho short circuited. Visibly as he opened his mouth like he was going to say something reasonable but no sound came out. Just a sharp exhale through his nose as his jaw locked and he nodded once, fast.
He moved before he could second guess it, unlocking the passenger door and guiding you in with a hand at your lower back, like some gentleman programmed outlaw. Then he got in, gripping the wheel like a man trying very hard not to drive through red lights just to get you home faster, pulse thudding in his ears, lips tingling.
He tried to stay calm the drive to his apartment but, it proved difficult. Yunho’s hands hadn’t stopped shaking since the stoplight before his building. Not that he’d admit it. You hadn’t touched him since you got in the car, no thigh teasing, no biting, no smirking commands, and somehow, that made it worse. You just sat there, calm and quiet, eyes focused out the window like you hadn’t just kissed him like he was the last man on earth and then demanded he take you home.
To his home. To his apartment. Where there was a laundry basket half sorted and at least one action figure still on top of his bookshelf and where….. He unlocked the door and froze. Shit. He stepped inside and immediately did what any self respecting, emotionally fried man would… Panic clean. He tossed his keys in the bowl, stepped out of his shoes, and tried to casually walk toward the couch like his floor wasn’t a crime scene.
“Sorry,” he muttered, avoiding your eyes as he bent to grab a hoodie off the armrest. “I didn’t think I’d be… uh. Hosting anyone tonight.” You stepped in behind him, quiet. Watching. He heard the click of the door as it shut behind you, turning quickly as he spotted his PS5 controller on the coffee table and grabbed it like it might betray him. Then, with all the grace of a man spiraling into cute boy hell, he kicked a pair of rolled up SpiderMan socks under the couch and pretended it didn’t happen.
You didn’t say anything. Which was worse. He cleared his throat. “Do you want water? Or tea? Or like… I have ginger ale? I know it’s weird but I keep it around just in case I…”
“Yunho.”
Your voice was soft and he turned, looking at you leaning back against the closed door like a damn movie poster. Your heels off, bare legs still barely covered by that skirt, lips curved in a smile that said I see everything… and I still want you anyway. His mouth went dry as you stepped closer, slowly. Measured. Gaze flicking down to the PS5 controller still in his hand. “You game when you’re nervous?” you teased gently. He glanced at it like he’d never seen it before. “I…. I don’t know. I just…. my hands needed something….”
“You’re adorable.”
He nearly dropped it as you stepped close enough to brush your fingers over the controller, then his wrist, then higher up the sleeve of his button down, over the strong line of his forearm, and finally to the back of his neck. Yunho stilled as you leaned in, voice low, eyes searching his. “Still nervous?” He swallowed hard. Then nodded. Just once. Because yeah, he was nervous. But not in the way he’d been before. Not from fear. From need. From knowing exactly what was about to happen and still not believing he was allowed to have it.
You didn’t say anything else. Not right away. You just stood there, one hand curled gently at the back of Yunho’s neck, the other tracing the seam of his rolled sleeve. His pulse thrummed beneath your fingertips like a drum too big for its cage. He looked at you, eyes soft, hopeful, wrecked, and that was it. You leaned in and kissed him again. Gentle. Slow. Like you had all the time in the world. Like you were savoring something you never wanted to end.
Yunho’s breath caught in his throat as your lips moved with his, slow and searching, the pressure just enough to make his chest ache. Your hands moved up, brushing through his hair, fingertips trailing behind his ear as his arms finally came around your waist, pulling you in close. He felt you smile against his mouth. And that smile destroyed him. He kissed you deeper, more sure now, less afraid. His hands splayed against your back, fingertips digging in like he still didn’t believe you were real but needed you closer anyway.
You pulled back just an inch, lips swollen. Eyes warm. And then you shoved him. Gently, but with enough force to send him stumbling backward onto the couch he’d just frantically cleaned, his PS5 controller now launching itself off the cushion and clattering to the floor in protest. Yunho blinked, wide eyed, breathless, and completely stunned as you stood over him. Skirt still too short. Hair slightly mussed. Barefoot. Beautiful. Deadly as you climbed into his lap like you’d done it a thousand times, straddling him, knees sinking into the cushion on either side of his hips.
Yunho stopped breathing as you rested your hands on his chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his white button down. “I don’t care about the socks.” He swallowed hard. “I don’t care about the controller,” you added, smirking as you felt his heart racing under your palms. “Then what do you care about?” he rasped, voice raw as you leaned in, mouth brushing his ear. “You.” Then your lips were on his again, nothing soft this time. It was hungry. Desperate. Relief and want and all the years of pretending you hadn’t noticed the way he looked at you like you were something celestial and untouchable.
His hands flew to your hips, anchoring you down, holding you in place as you rocked slowly against him, mouth open and wet and messy with yours. He moaned into your mouth, soft and needy, as your fingers found his glasses, sliding them off gently and setting them somewhere behind you before you grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him stupid. Three years of want. Of waiting. Of watching. And now? Now he was underneath you. Exactly where he’d always wanted to be. Your mouth was everywhere. Against his, down his jaw, along his neck. Hot and messy and hungry like you’d been starving for this just as long as he had. His hands were roaming, greedy and reverent all at once. Every time you shifted in his lap, it stole the breath from his lungs.
You ground down on him. Hard. Slow. A teasing little roll of your hips that sent a growl deep into his throat, low and guttural and completely not something he knew he was capable of making as he slid his hands up your thighs, fingertips gliding over soft, bare skin. And then he felt it. That black lace. That thong. The one he’d caught a glimpse of at the office and hadn’t stopped thinking about since. It had haunted him. Tortured him. And now it was under his palms, real, tangible, damp. His hips bucked before he could stop himself, and he buried his face in your neck with a curse. “Fuck.”
You giggled like you knew exactly what you were doing. And god, you did. “You wore this to tease me?” he asked, voice muffled against your skin. You didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. You just rocked your hips again, slow and devastating. Yunho growled, actually growled this time, hands flying back to your skirt. He shoved it higher, gathering the fabric in his fists until it was bunched around your waist, exposing everything he wanted. You moaned loudly when the air hit your thighs, but the real sound came after. When he brought his hand down hard against the curve of your ass.
You gasped, your whole body jolting above him. Head falling forward against his as you whined, high and wrecked. Yunho’s eyes nearly rolled back. “You like that?” he asked, panting and you nodded into his shoulder. “Do it again.” He did. Harder. Your breath hitched, and you rolled your hips in reward, your arousal smearing over the bulge in his slacks. He groaned so deep it vibrated in his chest.
Yunho was panting. Visibly. Flushed and wild eyed, lips swollen from kissing, glasses somewhere behind the couch and long forgotten. His white button down was wrinkled and pushed halfway out of his pants from the way your hips had been rolling against him. His thighs were spread wide now, legs braced against the edge of the couch, like he needed the entire foundation of his apartment to keep himself grounded. And still, you pulled away, sliding down his lap slowly, deliberately, your hands trailing down his chest as you went. You settled between his knees with a smirk, eyes never leaving his, and Yunho’s breath caught, hard, when your palms moved to his belt buckle. “Y/N….” he started, voice cracking.
You didn’t stop. Didn’t look like stopping either. With calm fingers, you undid his belt and popped the button of his slacks, slowly pulling down the zipper like you were unwrapping a secret. Like you were savoring a gift you’d waited three goddamn years to open. Yunho leaned back slightly, gripping the armrest behind him, chest heaving as you tugged both pants and underwear down in one steady motion. And then you froze. Your hands stilled. Your mouth parted. Eyes wide. “Holy shit.” Yunho blinked down at you, panic instantly rising. “What? Is it… too much? I… I can stop. We don’t have to…” But you weren’t looking at him anymore. You were looking at it. Thick. Long. Resting heavy against his thigh and already glistening at the tip from the hours of tension he’d been holding in all day. His size matched the rest of him, long limbs, big hands, but seeing it, hard and flushed and real, made your brain stutter.
You knew it was going to be good. But this? This was filthy. You swallowed hard as you leaned in, nose brushing his inner thigh, lips grazing the base of his dick, and Yunho nearly levitated off the couch. “You okay?” you murmured, glancing up through your lashes, a wicked little grin playing at your mouth. Yunho’s head fell back against the cushion, throat bobbing as he nodded once, jaw clenched. “Barely.” You hummed with a smirk on your lips. “Good.” And then your lips wrapped around his tip. Your mouth was hot. Wet. Perfect. Yunho’s thighs trembled under your palms as your lips slid down the length of him, tongue dragging with every inch you took, cheeks hollowing as you sucked gently, eyes fluttering up just in time to see him absolutely wrecked.
His hands weren’t touching you, yet. They were fisted into the cushion at his sides, white knuckled, trying so goddamn hard not to move. His jaw was clenched tight, eyes dark behind the veil of his lashes, a bead of sweat trickling down his neck. He was barely breathing. It was kind of adorable. Until it wasn’t. You pulled off with a loud, wet pop, licking your lips, hand slowly stroking him while you caught your breath. Then you tilted your head and smirked. “You just gonna clench your jaw,” you asked, voice dangerously sweet, “or are you gonna fuck my mouth?”
Yunho’s breath hitched as your fingers squeezed at the base. “I mean,” you added, lazily flicking your tongue over the tip, “it’s been three years, right? You’ve gotta have a little more in you than…” Your sentence cut off the moment his hand buried itself in your hair. He pulled, firm, unforgiving, not enough to hurt but just enough to make you gasp and suddenly, Yunho wasn’t the trembling nerd on the couch anymore. He was standing over you now, legs spread, both hands in your hair as he tilted your head back, eyes dark and blown, mouth parted, chest rising and falling like he’d finally stopped holding himself back.
“You want that?” he asked, voice rough, commanding. You didn’t get a chance to answer. Because Yunho was already pushing you down onto him, slow at first, his grip steady as he fed himself into your mouth again, lips parting around him instinctively. “You really shouldn’t have said that…” he muttered through gritted teeth, watching as your lips stretched around him. You moaned, throat fluttering making him grunt. “Fucking hell.” Then he started thrusting, slow, deliberate movements of his hips, the weight of him pressing deeper each time, your hands flying to his thighs to brace yourself.
Yunho’s voice was a growl now, filthy and low, every word punctuated with a roll of his hips. “This what you wanted?” Thrust. “Get on your knees and act like a brat…” Thrust. “Bet you’ve been dreaming about this, haven’t you?” Thrust.You whined around him, tears prickling your eyes as he picked up speed, dick driving deeper, thick and pulsing, hitting the back of your throat until you choked and he moaned. “God, you look so good like this,” he groaned, hand fisting tighter. “Fucking perfect. Taking me like a good girl.” You were a mess. Saliva dripping down your chin, mascara smudged, eyes glassy, throat full.
You didn’t even get the chance to breathe. One moment, your lips were still slick from having him in your mouth, your cheeks flushed, your thighs squeezed together in desperate tension, and the next? Yunho’s grip tightened, and he yanked you up. “Come here,” he muttered, voice hoarse, guiding you up onto shaky legs before pulling you in for a bruising kiss. His hands were everywhere, ripping your shirt open with a frustrated groan, buttons clattering to the floor as he kissed you breathless. You barely managed a gasp before your bra was gone too, tugged down your arms and tossed somewhere across the living room. “Yunho!”
“Shh.” His lips found your collarbone, then lower. “Let me see you.” He stepped back and looked, really looked, eyes drinking in the sight of you, nearly naked except for that thin strip of black lace still clinging to your hips. His hands slid down your sides. “Fucking beautiful.” You reached for his shirt, tugging it open just enough to loosen the tie at his neck. He left it on. And somehow… that made it worse. Better. Worse for your self control, better for every filthy fantasy you’d ever had involving Yunho and a conference room printer. He kissed your breast, slowly, tongue circling your nipple until it peaked, lips dragging across your skin as he kissed his way down, all the way to your belly, hands roaming your thighs as he dropped lower, and lower until he knelt on his living room rug.
Still in his white shirt and black tie. Head tilted up like a man ready to worship. And then his fingers found the waistband of your thong, hooked into it and pulled. The fabric slid taut against your aching clit and you nearly fell into him from the jolt of it, your knees wobbling, a gasp escaping your lips. “Sensitive?” he asked, voice dark and far too amused as you looked down at him, lips parted, breath short. “Please.” He hummed low in his throat and tugged the thong tighter, watching the way your thighs shook.
“Three years,” he muttered. “Three years thinking about this. Imagining what you’d sound like if I did this,” He tugged again, slow and firm, the lace biting right where you needed him most and your breath hitched. “Yunho…” He leaned in, tongue flicking out to trace the line of your underwear. Then he kissed you through it, mouth hot over the soaked fabric, letting it rub against you as he groaned. “You’re so fucking wet already,” he said, eyes locking with yours, pupils blown. You whimpered and he grinned. And then he bit, a tiny graze of his teeth through the fabric before finally slipping one thick finger beneath the waistband and pulling it aside.
You cried out as Yunho’s fingers slid beneath the thin black thong, curling around the damp lace before he slowly, so fucking slowly, pulled it down your legs. He kept his eyes on you the whole time, watching the way your chest rose and fell, how your thighs twitched when the cool air met soaked skin. When the fabric reached your ankles, he tossed it, lightly, over his shoulder, the thong landing on the arm of the couch behind him like a trophy. Then he leaned in. No teasing. No warning. Just Yunho’s mouth on you, open and hungry. You gasped, fingers flying to his hair as his tongue dragged through your folds, slow at first, savoring, tasting, before he groaned into you, the sound vibrating straight through your core.
His lips sealed around your clit, tongue lapping, then flicking, then sucking until your knees buckled and your hand slapped against the wall behind you for balance. But Yunho wasn’t done. Not even close. He gripped your hip with one hand, tight, fingers digging in to keep you from running and the other? That arm slid up the line of your body, up past your stomach, past your ribs. His long fingers stretched across your chest, brushing the underside of your breast before settling just beneath your throat, two fingers splayed wide, palm flat against your collarbone.
You gripped his wrist like a lifeline as his tongue dipped inside you, slow at first, then deeper, faster, licking into your soaked heat with sinful rhythm, fucking you with his mouth like he’d been born to do it. Your hips rolled against him instinctively, chasing the pressure, the pleasure, the desperation as his mouth and tongue worked in perfect sync, dragging you closer to the edge with every messy, soaking stroke. Yunho…. oh my God!” You could barely speak. Your legs were shaking. Your hands clenched around his wrist like you might fall apart without something to hold onto.
But Yunho didn’t care. He growled into you, his mouth relentless, his tongue pressing inside again and again, his lips slick, chin wet, grip bruising on your hip as he devoured you. He looked up once, just once, and the sight of his lips glistening with you, those dark eyes locked on yours while his fingers flexed just under your throat? It was over. Your body arched, pleasure tearing through you like fire, your thighs clenching around his head as you came, loud, messy, completely undone. Yunho held you there, through every wave, licking you until you couldn’t take it, until your hips jerked and your breath stuttered and you whimpered his name like a prayer.
Only then did he pull back, lips flushed, chin soaked, panting as he rested his forehead against your thigh but Yunho didn’t give you much time to recover. One second, his mouth was still brushing the inside of your thigh, lips trailing back up your skin with slow, reverent kisses that made your pulse race again, and the next? He was standing. Sweeping you off your feet with ease, both arms locked beneath your thighs and back, holding you against his chest, your skin pressed to his white shirt, his undone tie brushing your stomach. You looped your arms around his neck, burying your face there for a second, because how was this man real?
How could someone make you come so hard in one breath and then carry you like the world’s sweetest anime boyfriend in the next? But then you caught sight of it. His room. It was… adorable. The light was soft, warm glow from a vintage desk lamp. The walls were lined with shelves of figures and books. And right there, on his neatly made bed, a plush Avengers throw blanket was draped over the foot like a badge of honor. But it was the corner setup that got you. A full Valorant themed gaming PC, glowing in electric blue and purple. Monitors. Headphones. A mousepad with tiny chibi agents. You couldn’t help it. You giggled.
Yunho froze mid step. Your grin widened as you looked up at him, eyes sparkling. “You have a Valorant shrine in your bedroom.” He gave you a look, cheeks pink. “It’s not a shrine.” You giggled at him. “And an Avengers blanket. You’re such a…” He stopped your teasing, voice low. “A nerd?” he asked, eyebrow raised, backing you into the bed slowly. “You knew I was a nerd.” Your lips brushed his as you smirked, teasing. “And I still let you put your mouth on me, what does that say about me?”
He set you down on the edge of the bed, pushing your hair behind your ear. “That you’re mine now,” he whispered. And your breath caught. And then he kissed you again. Deeper this time. Hungrier. His hands found your waist, thumbs dragging up the curve of your ribs, mouth claiming yours like he was done pretending. There was nothing nervous about him now. Nothing timid. Only a man who had you in his bed, naked and smiling and no intention of letting you leave without knowing exactly what it meant to be wanted.
You sat at the edge of the bed, lips kiss swollen, chest rising and falling with every thrum of anticipation still pulsing through you. Yunho stood in front of you, hair a mess from your fingers, flushed cheeks still kissed with the afterglow of what he’d just done to you. His shirt hung open, wrinkled and loose across his chest, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows from earlier as he reached for the knot at his neck. The black tie. The one that had been dangling down his torso as he licked you into oblivion. His fingers curled around the silk, tugging loose… “Don’t.” His hands froze mid pull as your voice stopped him, breathless, softer than you expected but so sure. You lifted your gaze to his, watching the way his brows lifted just slightly in confusion.
“Leave it on,” you whispered and the air in the room changed. Yunho stared at you. Silent. And then his fingers dropped from the knot. He didn’t speak. He didn’t smirk. He just watched you. Like that tie had just bound him to something invisible, some shared understanding between the two of you that the moment he stepped closer, it would all unravel. And he’d never come back the same. You leaned back on your palms slowly, letting your knees part just slightly, the edge of his blanket brushing your thighs as you smirked, voice low. “Three years,” you murmured. “And you’re really gonna act shy now?”
Yunho blinked once. Just once. Then he reached for his shirt. Shrugged it off. And kept the tie on. It dangled over his bare chest, the only thing still clinging to that office persona of his, but his eyes? His eyes were full of something far darker now. Hunger. Want. Years of pent up tension crashing all at once into heat and control and need.”You better be sure,” he said, stepping closer between your knees. “Because once I get in that bed…” He leaned down, tie brushing against your skin, voice a growl at your lips. “I’m not holding back anymore.”
You reached for his tie, still dangling perfectly against his chest and tugged. Hard. Yunho stumbled forward, caught off guard, and you used that moment of surprise to push. He landed on the mattress with a soft grunt, his eyes going wide just before you climbed over him, straddling his lap with purpose. He looked wrecked already. Shirt gone, tie on, pupils blown so wide there was barely any brown left. His chest was rising fast, breath uneven as he looked up at you like you were his wildest fantasy come to life. You leaned in, mouth brushing his, your hands planting on either side of his head, and whispered like a secret, “I’m on the pill.” You kissed him, soft and slow, teasing. “Which means I want you to fill me full.”
His entire body tensed. A low groan clawed from his throat, his hands flying to your hips, but he didn’t grip yet. Didn’t thrust. Didn’t snap like you knew he wanted to. He just stared up at you, tie still crooked, his voice hoarse with restraint. “Is this just a rebound?” Your gaze softened. Just a bit as you shook your head. “Never.” Then you reached down, guided him to your entrance, and sank down. Yunho’s head hit the pillow with a thud. Your breath caught instantly, lips parting in a silent moan as the stretch burned in the best way. You gripped his chest for balance, feeling your thighs tremble as you lowered yourself inch by inch until he was fully inside, buried to the hilt.
“Fuck,” you gasped, back arching. “Yunho… you’re so big…” He looked destroyed. His hands were white knuckled where they gripped the sheets, jaw clenched so hard you could see the tension twitching in his neck. His tie draped down between your bodies, a sinful little reminder of who he was hours ago, awkward, shy, avoiding eye contact at the copier. Now he was inside you. Filling you so deep it felt like he was touching something no one else ever had. And he hadn’t even moved yet.
You started to move for you both. Slow at first, your body adjusting to the impossible stretch of him, the way he filled you, aching, perfect, deep. Yunho groaned low under you, head falling back against the pillow again as your hips began to roll. Then bounce. Your hand slid up his chest, fingers brushing the base of his throat, teasing. Yunho’s eyes flew open, locking on yours like a challenge. So you tightened your grip. Not hard. Not choking. Just there. Your palm flat against his throat, your body moving steadily on top of him, your thighs beginning to tremble as your rhythm picked up, slick, wet sounds echoing through the room with every bounce of your hips.
“Oh my god,” he gasped, hands gripping your waist, fingers digging in. “Fuck…. look at you.” You were breathless, skin flushed and shimmering with sweat, riding him like you were made for it, like you’d waited years just to do this. His voice dropped, rough and filthy. “Riding me like a good fucking girl. Just like that… so tight, so perfect… fuck, look at that messy little pussy swallowing me.” You moaned, your grip moving, hand sliding from his neck to his tie, grabbing it like reins as you leaned back, changing the angle.
Yunho cursed under his breath, hips thrusting up hard into you, the new position letting him reach deeper. You held the tie tight in one hand, other bracing behind you, your head falling back as your body rocked with every punishing snap of his hips. “Take it,” he growled, eyes locked on where your bodies met. “Let me feel you come on my dick.” You were shaking. The pressure was blinding, coiled, climbing, too much too fast. Your grip on his tie slipped, fingers trembling as your thighs gave out, the rhythm breaking as he held you up with both arms. That’s when it hit. You screamed, body spasming around him as the orgasm tore through you, intense and uncontrollable, your hips jerking as your slick gushed out, soaking him, the sheets, everything.
Yunho lost it. “Fucking hell…” he snarled, hands flying under your thighs, holding you up, still inside you as your body trembled through the aftershocks. “You just squirted all over my dick… fuck….. you have no idea what you do to me.” His face was wild, flushed, pupils blown, hair a mess, jaw slack in awe. And he hadn’t even come yet. Not even close. Your body was still shaking, breath ragged, thighs trembling, but Yunho wasn’t done. Not even close. His arms were already moving, sweeping under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly before flipping your body like you weighed nothing. You let out a breathless laugh, heart thundering as your cheek hit the pillow, hips raised behind you.
Face down. Ass up. The moment your knees settled on the mattress, Yunho was behind you again, kneeling tall. His hand slid along your back, slow, reverent, until he reached his tie, still dangling around his neck. He pulled it loose with one slow tug. And then, he snapped it once in the air, letting it smack lightly across your ass. You yelped, a strangled moan slipping out before you could catch it and he chuckled darkly, leaning over, fist full of your hair, tilting your head back just enough for you to hear him growl at your ear, “Give me your hands.”
Your stomach flipped. Your arms slid back without hesitation, wrists together behind your back, breathing already hitching as Yunho guided the silky tie around your hands, not too tight, not restrictive, but just enough for you to hold, a makeshift grip. He slipped it once around, letting you clutch the ends in your fists, but he kept hold of a small loop, his loop. A rein. And then he leaned back. And thrusted into you making you cry out, face buried in the sheets, fingers curling tight around the tie as his hips slammed forward again, hard, deep, relentless. “Fuck…” he groaned, the sound rough and ruined. “You feel so fucking good like this… look at you… look at what you’re letting me do to you.”
You arched for him instinctively, ass pushing back, trying to take every inch of him. He growled again, his fingers gripping the little loop of the tie like a handle, tugging just slightly as he snapped his hips forward. “Is this what you wanted?” he panted. “To be bent over like this? Hands behind your back, soaked and shaking for me?” You nodded into the sheets, too breathless to speak. He spanked you once with the flat of his hand, groaning at the jiggle of your ass before thrusting even deeper. His pace quickened, wet, filthy slaps filling the room, your cries rising with every stroke. “Say it,” he demanded, another thrust rocking your body. “Say you wanted this.”
“I wanted it…” you gasped, “I wanted you… Yunho, please!” His hand slipped under your tied arms, wrapping around your waist, keeping you flush against him as he started pounding up into you like a man possessed and then the pace shifted. He slowed, just slightly, his thrusts no longer brutal, but deep, deliberate, every inch dragging along your walls, making your whole body quiver. Then he stopped. You whined at the loss, but he was already moving again, leaning down over you, his mouth trailing kisses along your back, soft and reverent. “Yunho,” you breathed, body melting beneath him.
But then he shifted. The thick head of his dick slid upward, not inside you, but against you. Specifically, right against the tight, sensitive rim of your ass. You moaned. Loudly and Yunho froze. You felt it, his dick twitching, his whole body going still, like his brain just short circuited. And then you did the most dangerous thing you possibly could. You pushed back against him. Just slightly. Just enough. “Fuck,” he choked, eyes wide. “You… you can’t just….” You turned your head, meeting his stunned gaze over your shoulder. “Can’t what?” you asked, voice full of sin. “Moan when you press your dick against my ass? Push back a little when it feels so fucking good?”
He made a broken sound in his throat. Then he flipped you. One second you were face down, and the next you were on your back, legs spread, thighs trembling, breath catching as he knelt between them, one hand wrapped around his dick, the other pressed to your stomach like he was trying to hold himself together. He looked wrecked. Hair wild. Lips swollen. Tie still dangling from your wrists as he leaned down to kiss you, slow, messy, possessive. And when he pulled back, you were gasping, dazed beneath him, your eyes flicking down to where his dick was resting between your folds.
He pressed in. Just the tip. Then slipped back out. Pressed again, this time a little lower. The head of his dick nudged at your soaked pussy… then slid up to press against your other hole again. You shivered and he grinned. “Look at you,” he rasped, stroking himself slowly as he rocked his hips, back and forth, tip teasing your clit, then dragging lower, switching between both entrances until your breath hitched and your hips rolled helplessly. “You want both, don’t you?” You moaned again, back arching, wrists tugging at the tie behind you as you nodded, lips parted in open desperation. “Yunho…. please…”
He leaned down, his voice like velvet and sin. “Tell me.” You whimpered, body aching. “I want both.” His dick twitched in his hand as you whispered again, louder, filthier. “I want your dick in my pussy and my ass. I want to feel you stretch me out and fill me.” Yunho’s jaw clenched so tight it clicked. And then he was leaning back again, his hands firm on your thighs, spreading you wider, watching your body tremble beneath him, hands curling tighter around your thighs as he dragged you closer on the bed, the sheets twisting beneath you like the tension in your core.
You could barely breathe, heart hammering, legs trembling as he angled himself forward, one hand guiding the thick head of his dick down between your legs. His tip pressed into your already soaked entrance, one slow, filthy thrust, deep into your pussy. You both gasped. Your walls fluttered around him, slick and hot and dripping, and Yunho groaned deep in his chest as he pulled back just slightly, watching his dick glisten with your arousal. He stared for a second, like he was hypnotized. Then he swallowed hard, voice low and wrecked. “Perfect.”
You whimpered, hips rolling without permission as he leaned forward again, his dick slipping free from your pussy with a wet sound, coated in you, glistening from tip to base. He reached down, guiding himself lower. To your other entrance. Your breath caught as his tip kissed your rim, warm, teasing pressure that made your whole body tense. “Relax,” he murmured, kissing your thigh. “I’ve got you.” You did. You trusted him. And then… you moaned. A long, filthy, needy sound, because he didn’t push in all at once. Oh no. Yunho took his time.
He slowly rocked forward, just barely nudging the tip in. You gasped, fingers curling tight in the sheets, body quivering as the stretch began. “F… Fuck” he hissed, his jaw locked, his entire body trembling as he slid in, inch by glorious inch. “You’re so fucking tight… shit” Your thighs shook as he paused halfway, one hand stroking down your belly, thumb brushing just above your clit. “You okay?” he asked, voice strained as you nodded, eyes fluttering shut. “More. Please. More.” And Yunho, sweet, nerdy, secret-possessive Yunho, gave you exactly what you begged for.
He pushed deeper, slower, hands splayed against your hips to steady you both as he finally sank all the way inside. You were full. So full. And Yunho looked like he was holding on by the thinnest thread of control. “Fuck, baby,” he growled, voice breaking. He wasn’t moving yet. Just sitting deep, buried inside you, letting you feel the stretch, the burn, the glorious pressure of having him in your ass after being soaked and wrecked already. You whimpered, eyes fluttering as he started moving. Slow at first. Deep. His dick pulled back just a little, and then he drove into your ass again, hips rolling, pace building, thrusts getting faster and more demanding with each stroke.
Your mouth dropped open. A sound you couldn’t even name spilled out, half moan, half shattered whimper. “Fuck,” Yunho growled, voice rough and low. “You take me so well. Every fucking inch.” His hands gripped your thighs, tight, firm, grounding, and he began to really move, hips snapping forward, burying himself again and again as the wet sounds of your bodies echoed in the room like a dirty drumbeat. You could feel yourself tightening again, already, your body completely overwhelmed by the stretch, the fullness, the filthy perfection of him inside you. And then he pulled out.
You barely had time to register the loss before he shifted, gripped himself, dragged his dick down, and thrust into your pussy in one deep, wet, aching plunge. Your head snapped back. “Yunho!” But he wasn’t stopping. No. He was switching. Pulling out of your pussy, sliding back into your ass. Then out again, dripping with you, back into your pussy with a deep, brutal thrust that made your back arch and your legs tremble. Back and forth. Wet and filthy and perfect. You were unraveling. Completely. No coherent thought, just pleasure. Just sensation. Just Yunho, destroying every nerve ending and building something new from the wreckage.
And then you snapped. “Yunho!” you cried, eyes rolling back as your body tightened, your thighs shaking around his waist, that heat exploding deep inside you as you came hard. Your pussy clenched around him, fluttering wildly, your whole body jerking, a rush of wetness coating him as you creamed his dick. Yunho groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder, hands gripping you tighter as he held himself back, riding out your orgasm with tight, shallow thrusts that made your body jerk with every aftershock. “God,” he rasped, “you’re perfect…. fuck, baby, you feel so good… don’t stop, don’t stop, just let me…. fuck.”
He didn’t pull out. He didn’t even think about it. Instead, Yunho dragged you up into his lap, dick still buried deep in your ass, then, back into your pussy wrecked body, and kissed you like he’d been starving for it since the day you first said hi in the office hallway. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, your fingers in his hair, both of you breathless and soaked in sweat, your thighs shaking around his hips. He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, lips brushing yours with every word he spoke next. “You’re mine.”
It was a low, almost guttural claim, not a question. Your breath hitched. “Say it,” he whispered, voice rough, raw, desperate. “Say it back. Say you’re mine.” You gasped as he thrusted up into you once, not hesitating even a second. “Yours! I’m yours, Yunho.” His hands gripped your hips, and he started thrusting up into you again, harder now, deeper, not stopping, his mouth moving across your jaw, kissing, biting, owning every inch of skin he could reach. You moaned, loud, as he bounced you on his lap, every thrust hitting new angles, deeper than before, your nails dragging down his back, his dick pushing you toward another high.
The man he moved, laying you back down, not pulling out, just kept going as he moved your legs, hooked them over his shoulders, pushing them up, folding you in half beneath him, his pace relentless now, dick slamming into you over and over, your slick thighs shaking against his chest. He gripped your wrists, pulled your arms up above your head, held you there, completely spread and helpless, unable to do anything but take every punishing thrust and moan his name like a prayer. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he growled, voice cracking. “So good for me… so fucking tight… fuck, baby…” And then you shattered. Again.
Your body jerked beneath him, eyes rolling back as you screamed his name, your pussy clenching down around him, a mess of slick and cream and overstimulation. He lost it. “Fuck… I’m gonna…. shit… yes!” He didn’t pull out. He couldn’t. Yunho grunted deep as his thrusts turned frantic, just a few more and then he came, hard, hips pressed deep as he spilled everything inside you, his whole body trembling with the force of it, gasping against your mouth. His dick pulsed inside you, your body still fluttering around him, and all he could do was moan, wrecked, as you milked every last drop from him. “You’re mine,” he whispered again, softer this time, against your lips. And you kissed him back like you were never letting him go.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
Monday morning in the office was always a little sluggish, half the team clinging to caffeine, half pretending their weekends were productive. But this Monday? This Monday had a vibe. People noticed it the second you walked in. A little extra swing in your step. That subtle but smug expression on your face like someone had properly rearranged your insides and your priorities. And then, there was Yunho. He walked in ten minutes later, glasses fogged from the outside heat, hair mussed like he hadn’t really tamed it this morning, his tie slightly looser than usual.
But it wasn’t the subtle changes that gave him away. No. It was how he looked at you. Quick flickers of his gaze from across the office. A slight twitch at the corner of his mouth every time you bit your lip. His entire body stiffening every time you adjusted your blouse collar, and exposed the very noticeable hickey blooming at the base of your throat. And Wooyoung? He was having the time of his life. He walked by Yunho’s desk at least three times before finally dropping into the seat next to him, balancing his coffee on one knee as he grinned.
“So… anything eventful happen this weekend?” he asked, far too casually. Yunho’s pen stopped mid note. “I reorganized my bookshelves.” Wooyoung sipped his latte. “Oh, is that what we’re calling it now? She help you alphabetize them?” Yunho didn’t even turn to look at him. “Drop it.”
“Mmhmm,” Wooyoung hummed. “I’ll drop it right after I ask what position you were in when you gave her that hickey because from here, bro, it looks like…”
“Wooyoung.”
“Okay, okay,” he laughed, hands up in surrender. “I’ll behave.” Enter Hannah. Wearing a skirt just short enough to be HR questionable, as she waltzed up to Yunho’s desk like she hadn’t been told “not interested” seven separate times. “Yunho,” she said sweetly, her acrylics tapping on the edge of his desk. “You going to Seonghwa’s birthday dinner next week?” He looked up, blinked once. “Maybe.” And his answer made her smile too wide. “You should sit next to me. I’ll save you a seat.”
You, watching from your desk with the air of a woman who had been thoroughly claimed in about five different positions over the weekend, narrowed your eyes. You leaned back in your chair, tilted your head to one side, and smirked. Hannah saw it. Her eyes dropped to the hickey. Then to Yunho. Then back to you. And her jaw tightened. You raised your coffee cup in her direction and gave her the softest, pettiest wink in corporate history. She stormed off two seconds later. Yunho let out a slow breath like he’d just been caught in the middle of a Cold War standoff as he turned just slightly to glance at you. And you? You mouthed, “Mine.”
He immediately turned back to his screen and missed four words of the email he was writing.
