I'm a fan of many Kpop/pop artists. As well as TV shows, Musicals, video games, etc.
I somewhat write. You can find my Masterlist for ATEEZ âHere!â
Don't ever feel afraid to interact with me, I respond to everything!
I only have one(1) rule, be kind.
This is a 18+ blog. Minors please don't interact with me or my blog/posts for both your safety and mine.
Credits for my pfp are at the end!
Here are some â ď¸Warningsâ ď¸ for my blog:
1. I WILL block blank/ageless blogs.
2. I DO NOT accept anon asks, for my peace of mind.
3. I DON'T post anything related to politics and I will block you if you try to force me to. My political beliefs have nothing to do with this blog and therefore, I won't be talking about politics.
4. I DO NOT support non-con content whatsoever and I WILL block you.
5. I do not support dub-con content. You shouldn't be touching anyone unless CLEAR consent was given beforehand. No, consent doesn't always have to be verbal but common sense isn't common I fear.
6. I DO NOT believe in âyou're responsible for the content you consume.â (unless you're blatantly ignoring the warnings.) However, if the writer tagged it properly the first time, there wouldn't be any issues. That being said, I take complete responsibility for any tags I miss in my work and I will fix them as soon as I notice. If they aren't fixed, I haven't noticed. You are always welcome to let me know if I've missed any.
7. I have called out people publicly before and I will do it again. Reference This and This if you don't understand. Yes there are multiple posts for each of these people which can be found by looking up the words 'Lexi' or 'holybibly' in the search bar for my blog. This is an extension to the Lexi shit.
No like I don't think you understand, I was so mean and disrespectful for literally no reason fr. Like yes some people were racist and homophobic and no I really don't feel bad for being mean to THEM but even so I don't want to be mean to anyone.. y'know???
Like... I don't want that to be how I'm thought of. I want to be someone who is genuine and kind and I think I am.
But when you're in a place where the entire point is to be mean, it's very easy to just give in and go along.
And it definitely isn't the first time I've been like that either, I was an awful person on Twitter in middle school. All because I wanted to get approval from someone I liked. Even after we fell apart.
Now, I'm a grown adult looking back and wishing I could take that back because.. that's never who I wanted to be.
I'm so fortunate that I'm able to see how awful I was being and finally breaking that cycle cause it was so draining.
âIâm a vampire⌠Thatâs why I donât breathe right when Iâm near you.â
âOh, okay. Right. A vampire. Of course⌠Is your name actually Stefan? Is your brother Damon chilling around the corner in a leather jacket waiting to kill my roommates?â
Good news? The gorgeous, mysterious guy youâve been seeing for weeks finally admitted heâs incredibly into you.
Bad news? He chose to deliver this confession right after telling you he can hear the blood rushing behind your ears, and you're 90% sure heâs just using supernatural lore to dodge a commitment.
⢠vampire!yunho x human!reader | ⢠supernatural au, vampire au, friends to lovers | ⢠yunho has a martyr complex, vampire talk, lots of the vampire diaries and twilight references, misunderstanding | ⢠11.6k | ⢠okay listen in my defence i love the vampire diaries (team stefan, sorry to disappoint) and i actually cannot believe writing a vampire au never crossed my mind until it came up in my inbox. now that iâve started, iâm afraid youâll be seeing a lot more vampire yunho from me (i say this damn well knowing thereâs vampire yunho smut dusting in my drafts since january đ). also... doesnât the banner photo totally SCREAM vampire yunho? i rest my case. p.s sorry if i totally failed at the comedy.
ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââThe wind didnât just blow; it knifed through the gap between your scarf and your throat. Beside you, Yunho was doing his best impression of a turtle, hands shoved so deep into his pockets his shoulders were practically touching his ears. It was a ridiculous look for a man who usually moved with the unbothered grace of a runway model, but lately, he seemed determined to make himself as smallâand as gloomyâas the weather. He had this habit of picking the most miserable days to meet. Days where the sky was the colour of a wet sidewalk and the sun was a distant memory. Every time you suggested a bright, crowded cafĂŠ or a sunny park, heâd blink at you as if youâd suggested a casual stroll through a nuclear blast site.
âThe sun makes my eyes hurt,â heâd say, his voice as flat and unyielding as a textbook.
The first three times, youâd laughed. By the fifth, youâd stopped looking for a punchline and just started wearing an extra sweater.
âYouâre doing it again,â you muttered, your fingers tightening around the warm paper cup heâd pressed into your hand the second you met, like he always did now. A little ritual that had formed without either of you naming it. A warm drink in your hands. His gaze on your face for half a second too long. Then the careful, practiced looking-away.
âDoing what?â he asked. His eyes flicked to yours, all dark lashes and hidden depths, before he performed his signature moveâthe âcareful, practiced looking-away.â
âBeing... you,â you said, letting the steam from your drink kiss your nose. Cinnamon. He always remembered the extra dash of cinnamon. âYou didnât have to get this, you know. For the hundredth time.â
âI wanted to,â the words were simple, but they landed in your stomach with a heavy, confusing thud. It was the classic Yunho special: a dash of extreme sweetness followed by a mile-high wall of emotional unavailability. You took a sip of your drink, watching Yunho out of the corner of your eye. His posture had shiftedâshoulders square, jaw tight. He looked like a man who had just decided to jump off a bridge and was now reconsidering the height. âDo you ever...â He started, his Adamâs apple bobbing with a heavy swallow. He paused, his jaw working as he fought with whatever thought was trying to claw its way out. âDo you ever feel like youâre going to say something and itâll change everything? Like thereâs no going back to how it was five seconds ago?â
You slowed your pace, the ripples in your coffee mirroring the sudden tremor in your chest. You tried to laugh, but it came out sounding hollow. âThat sounds like a classic âYunho Thought.â Deep, slightly ominous, and very dramatic.â
âIâm serious.â
âI know,â the silence that followed wasnât the cozy, âfriends-hanging-outâ kind. It was heavy. It was the kind of silence that pressed against your ribs until it was hard to breathe. You could feel the weight of him beside youâan oddly steady, cold presence that seemed to pull the air toward him. Then, his head snapped to the leftâsharp, predatory, and way too fast. You followed his gaze into the mouth of a narrow, shadow-choked alley. You saw nothing but trash bags and darkness.
âDid you hear that?â he asked, his voice so dropping low it made the hair on your neck stand up.
You held your breath, listening to the distant hum of the city. âHear what? I donât hear anything, Yun.â He didnât answer. He just stood there, head tilted, nostrils flaring as if he was trying to catch a scent on the wind. His face was a blank mask, but his body was tense. âYunho? Youâre being weird. Even for you.â He didnât answer right away. His head tilted at a slight, unnatural angle, eyes narrowing as if he were cataloging a sound on a frequency you couldnât even perceive. His face remained blank, but his shoulders turned to stone. And thenâso quick it was almost a blurâhis nostrils flared. It wasnât just breathing, more like catching a scent. A cold knot of unease tightened in your stomach. âEarth to Yunho?â
His eyes snapped back to yours, the focus vanishing so instantly it felt like a lie. He blinked once, slow and deliberate, and when he spoke, his voice had returned to that gentle, melodic liltâthe one that always felt a little too practiced. âSorry. I thought I heard⌠something.â
You tried to laugh it off, leaning into the easy sarcasm that usually bridged the gaps between his silences. âYouâre turning into a paranoid old man.â
A ghost of a laugh escaped him, but it died before it reached his eyes. âIâm not paranoid,â he murmured, his gaze dropping. âI justââ He cut himself off, the words seemingly stuck behind his teeth.
Your fingers fidgeted nervously with the lid of your coffee cup. âJust what?â Yunhoâs gaze droppedânot to your eyes, but to your mouth. It wasn't a casual look; it was as if his eyes had slipped there against his will, drawn by a magnet he was failing to fight. Your throat went tight. For a second, the grey autumn air felt thick and suffocating.
He blinked again, sharper this time, looking startled by his own lapse in control. âNothing.â And thenâbecause he was apparently determined to kill you slowly with unspoken thingsâhe reached out to adjust your scarf. His knuckles brushed the sensitive skin of your neck, and you physically jumped. His hand wasnât just âchilly.â It was cold. It was the biting, absolute cold of metal left out in a frost. You froze. He stayed still for half a heartbeat, his dark eyes searching your face for a reaction, before he pulled back so abruptly it felt like a slap. âSorry.â
You stared at him, your skin still tingling where heâd touched you. âYour hands are freezing.â
âIâm fine.â
âYouâre literally notââ You stopped. The way he said itâthe tight, vibrating control in his voiceâmade it clear that this wasnât a conversation he was going to let you win. His jaw worked, a muscle jumping as he looked away toward the street as if the passing traffic held the secrets of the universe.
âIâm just⌠not used to the cold weather,â he said finally.
You frowned, gesturing to the grey sky. âYou only hang out on cold days.â
His lips parted, and for one dangerous second, you thought the wall might actually crumble. You could see the truth sitting right behind his eyes. Instead, he swallowed hard. âI should walk you home,â he said, the words coming out too fast, too urgent.
âWeâve been out for ten minutes!â you huffed, checking your phone. 5:43 PM. âItâs barely even dark yet.â
âPlease.â The word came out softer than the rest of him. Quieter. Like he was asking for something he didnât have the right to ask for.
You stopped. It had been months since heâd asked for your number after you bumped into each other in that coffee shop outside your workplace. Youâd still remember the smell of espresso and wet wool, the little jolt of embarrassment when youâd spilled a few drops on your white sleeve, and the way heâd reached past you to grab napkins with hands that were too pale and too steady. At first you were excited. Youâd been ridiculously excited. Youâd checked your phone too often, thumb hovering over the screen like you could will a notification into existence. Youâd wondered if heâd text, if heâd ask you out, if thereâd be a moment where the story slid into place. But it was never quite did. Youâd hang out. Talk. Walk. Heâd pay for your coffee without making it a thing. Heâd tilt his head when you laughed like he was loving the sound. And then heâd keep his distance like there was an invisible line drawn between you, like he was terrified of crossing it. No lingering touches. No flirting that lasted longer than a breath. No âI missed youâ even when he looked like he had. It got to the point where you stopped calling these meetings dates in your head. You tried to steel yourself. Tried to strip yourself of hope like it was something childish you needed to outgrow.
You swallowed, throat tight from the cold and from the stupid ache of wanting something that wasnât happening. âWhy do you always do that?â
His gaze snapped to you, and it was so intense it felt like someone had cut the air. For the first time he didnât look away. âDo what?â
You lifted your cup a little, then lowered it again when you realised your hand was shaking. âYou ask me to hang out and then youââ You made a small, sharp gesture with your fingers, like snipping thread. âYou disappear inside yourself. Youâre right here, but youâre a thousand miles away.â
His jaw worked once. He looked like he was holding something back behind his teeth âI donât,â he said, but the lie was thin.
You took one step closer. Close enough that you could feel the cold radiating off him againâthat unnatural, metal-left-outside cold that seemed to defy the very laws of biology. The streetlight painted his lashes gold, casting long, dramatic shadows across his high cheekbones. âYou do, and I canât tell if itâs because you donât want me like that⌠or because you want me and youâre fighting it so hard itâs killing you.â
Something flickered in his eyesâfast and dark, like a shadow passing over a moon. Yunhoâs hand lifted, hovering near your wrist without touching, his fingers trembling ever so slightly. Like he was asking permission from the air itself. âPlease donât do that, donât try to read me.â
âI justââ Your breath fogged between you, thin and shaky. You hated how honest your body was, how it betrayed your vulnerability before you could turn it into a joke. âWhen you asked for my number⌠did you mean it in a friendly way?â The words rushed out like you could outrun the sheer embarrassment of them. âLike⌠âIâm new to this town and I need to meet someoneâ friendly?â The wind surged, a violent shove against your shoulders that nearly knocked you off balance. You didnât budge. You were pinned by the weight of his gaze.
âA friendly way?â Yunho repeated. The words sounded foreign in his mouth. He let out a short breathâone that didnât even make a cloud in the freezing air, a detail you were too frustrated to notice. âIs that what you thought? That I was just... looking for a tour guide? Someone to show me where the best coffee shops are?â
âI donât know what to think anymore! Youâre hot and cold, Yunho. Mostly cold!â Yunho didnât flinch at the sound of your words; he didnât even blink. He just stood there with that terrifying stillness while you shivered hard enough for your teeth to click.
âIâm not looking for a tour guide.â He took a half-step toward you. The movement was predatory in its smoothnessâno sway, no heavy footfall, just a sudden, seamless shift in the space he occupied. The smell of him hit you then, cutting through the cinnamon of your drink: crisp winter air, expensive laundry soap, and something metallic, like tasting blood in your mouth when you bit your tongue too hard. âIf I wanted a friend,â he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours with a magnetic intensity that felt like it was pulling the very soul out of you, âI wouldnât spend every night staring at my phone, wondering if Iâm strong enough to see you without...â He stopped. His jaw clamped shut so hard you heard the bone grind.
âWithout what?â You reached out, your fingers grazing the rough wool of his coat sleeve. Yunho recoiled as if youâd branded him with a hot iron. He backed into the brick wall of the alley, the rough stone scraping against his coat with a harsh sound. His chest wasnât moving. You realised with a sudden, jolting clarity that he hadnât taken a single breath since youâd mentioned the word âfriendlyâ.
He looked down at your hand, then up at your throat where the scarf had loosened again, exposing the pale skin of your neck. The veins in his own neck were standing out, taut. âPlease donât do that. You have no idea what youâre asking for. You think Iâm being shy? You think Iâm... awkward?â A dark, humourless sound escaped his throat. He looked back toward the dark alley, his pupils blown wide until the brown of his irises was just a thin ring. âI can hear your heart,â he whispered, and for the first time, there was a visible tremor in his hands. He shoved them deeper into his pockets, bunching the fabric. âItâs been hammering against your ribs for the last three minutes. I can hear the blood rushing behind your ears. Itâs... it's the loudest thing in the world, and itâs all I can focus on.â
You let out a shaky breath, the fog of it dissipating against his cold, marble-like cheek. âYouâre scaring me a little. Stop talking like youâre in a movie.â
âGood,â he snapped, his eyes snapping back to yours. They looked darker now, almost black, reflecting the amber streetlamp. âYou should be scared. Iâm trying to give you a choice. Iâm trying to stay on my side of the line, for your sake.â He leaned in, his face inches from yours. The cold coming off him was like a wall, and it made your skin prickle into goosebumps. He looked at your mouth again, but this time, there was a hunger in it. His tongue swiped over his lower lip, a quick, nervous habit that seemed at odds with the sheer power radiating from his frame. âLet me walk you back home. Now.â
âAnd if I donât want to go?â You challenged, your voice small but stubborn. You were tired of the mystery. You dropped your half-empty cup onto the pavement. It spilled with a dull splash, the scent of cinnamon-sugar swirling around your boots. You stepped into his space, forcing him to either retreat further into the wall or hold his ground. Yunhoâs hands flew out, grabbing your upper arms to stop you. His grip was firmânot painful, but like iron bands that refused to let go.
âYouâre so warm,â he hissed, his eyes fluttering shut for a second as he leaned his forehead against yours. He took a breath, inhaling the scent of your skin as if it were oxygen. âYouâre so bright, and it hurts to even look at you.â One of his hands slid up, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. His skin was impossibly smooth. He paused at the pulse point just below your ear, his thumb hovering there, feeling the frantic thump-thump-thump of your life. His eyes opened, and for a split second, you saw a flash of somethingâa vein-like pattern darkening the skin beneath his eyes, a hunger so raw it made your stomach flip.
âYun, your face isââ
Then, he blinked, and it was gone, replaced by a look of profound, aching sorrow. âI want to kiss you so badly I canât think about anything else,â he whispered against your skin, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. âBut if I start... I donât know if I can stop. I donât know if Iâm strong enough.â He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. âI wonât contact you again. Iâm sorry.â He said it like a sentence heâd rehearsed in the mirror. But his hands were still on you. Not gripping now. Not iron bands. Just⌠holding, as if letting go might send you both skidding off the edge of the world. His thumbs pressed faint, trembling half-moons into your sleeves. Yunhoâs gaze dropped to your spilled drink. Cinnamon and sugar turning to a cold puddle. He watched it like it was evidence of a crime. Then his eyes lifted again, slow. They werenât pleading. They were hungry and tired, like heâd been starving for a century and was still trying to be polite about it. You noticed the tension in his neck, the way his jaw clenched until the muscle jumped. He didnât blink.
You swallowed, and he watched the movement of your throat as if it were a confession. As if it were an invitation. You leaned in first. For one heartbeat, he didnât move. Not a flinch. Not a breath. You could feel the pause like a held knife. Then Yunho surged forwardâcontrolled, yet brutal in his restraintâand his mouth met yours.
Cold.
It was like kissing winter itself. Like your lips touched something that had no right to be this smooth, this still, this alive. His kiss wasnât soft, but it wasnât hungry eitherânot yet. It was precision. A question he had been dying to ask. Your breath hitched, warm air spilling into the space between you, and Yunho made a sound low in his throatâhalf pain, half needâas if your warmth physically scorched him. You kissed him back anyway, your hands tangling in his hair. His lips parted, just barely, and the edge of his control frayed. The kiss deepened with a slow, deliberate pressure that made your knees go unsteady. Yunhoâs hand slid up, cupping your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he couldnât help checking you were real. Your mouth tasted like cinnamon and sugar. Yunho tasted like nothing at all. And that shouldâve terrified you. Instead it made something reckless spark in your chest. His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer until your heat bled into him and he shuddered like it was too much. The world narrowed down to the scrape of brick behind his shoulders and the way he kissed you.
Then his lips broke from yours so suddenly you gasped, chasing him without thinking. âStop,â he rasped, his forehead pressing to yours again, his voice shaking so much that it felt more like a machine than a man. âIf you keep looking at me like thatâif you keep letting meââ His pupils were blown wide, the brown nearly erased by ink-black. His thumb hovered at the sensitive dip of your throat, right over the frantic, rhythmic hammering beneath your skin. He didnât pressâhe didnât even touchâbut the air in that microscopic gap felt charged like the atmosphere seconds before a lightning strike. âIâll go insane,â he whispered, the words ghosting over your dampened lips.
When he pulled back, it wasnât far, but it was enough to break the magnetic pull. Enough that you could actually see him. You saw the way his dark lashes trembled as he forced them down, the way his jaw was locked so tight you feared the bone might actually crack under the strain. Your lips stung from the cold and the bruising pressure of the kiss; your chest burned from the way youâd inhaled him, realising only now that youâd been starving for this just as much as he had.
âStop,â he repeated, the word scraping its way out of his throat. His forehead remained pinned to yours, his thumb still a prayer he refused to speak against your pulse. And something inside youâsomething that had been patient and sweet and so fucking careful for weeksâfinally went sharp.
You laughed once. It was a small, ugly burst of sound that fogged between you like a white flag you were done waving. âOkay,â you said. Your voice was quieter than you expected. Too steady. âYou want me to stop? Iâll stop.â
His eyes flicked up instantly. Dark. Blown out. Caught on your mouth again.
You stepped back. The space you left felt immediate and violent, like ripping a bandage off skin that wasnât ready to be exposed. âYou know whatâs actually insane?â you continued, because now that the seal was broken, you couldnât swallow the truth back down. Your fingers curled tight inside your sleeves, nails biting into your palms to keep from reaching out. âWeâve been doing this for weeks. Weeks! Coffee. Walks. These miserable cold days. You staring at me like Iâmââ You cut the sentence off, the heat of humiliation rising in your cheeks. âLike Iâm something youâre not allowed to want. Like Iâm a mistake youâre trying not to make.â
His throat worked. His mouth parted, but no sound came out.
âAnd I tried, Yunho. I tried to be so normal about it.â Your laugh turned into something that almost broke. âI tried to tell myself itâs fine if you donât want me like that. I can take a hint. I can take ten hints. I can take a whole fucking billboard.â The streetlight buzzed overhead, a low, electric whine. âBut you donât get to do this,â you said, and this time your voice did shake, not from the autumn chill, but from a fury that had been marinating in sweetness until it turned bitter. âYou donât get to kiss me like that and then tell me to stop like it hurts youâlike Iâm the one hurting youâwhen youâre the one who keeps pulling me close and then shoving me away the second things get real.â His fingers flexed against the air, a reflexive reach he aborted halfway through. His hand dropped slowly, as if gravity were the only law he was capable of obeying in that moment. The lack of contact was louder than the kiss had been. You swallowed, and his gaze jerked to the movement of your throat so fast it was almost violent. His shoulders went rigid, as if your voice was a sound he could no longer bear to hear. âI wonât do push and pull,â you said, softer now, because the anger had a deep bruise under it. âI wonât keep showing up just to feel like Iâm begging for basic honesty.â
Yunhoâs nostrils flared. He turned his face a fraction away, looking toward the alley as if trying to shield his eyes from a glare. Your heat âDonât.â The word was different from before. It wasnât stop kissing me. It was: donât make me choose.
âDonât what?â You hated that your voice cracked, hated that you still sounded like someone who wanted him to stay. âDonât call you out? Donât ask for more? Donâtâwhat, Yun? Donât make you admit you actually like me?â
His head snapped up. For a second, his expression was empty in a way that was genuinely terrifying. The careful, awkward Yunho had stepped aside, and something much older, much colder, was leaning forward in his place. His lips peeled back just a fractionânot a smile, but a warning of how thin his leash had become. âIâm tryingâ Iâm trying to beââ He stopped, his eyes flicking to the ground.
âTo be what?â you pushed, pressing on the bruise because the pain was already there anyway. âItâs so simple! Either you like me or you donât.â
Yunhoâs jaw clenched so hard you heard the faint, grinding sound of bone. Thenâso suddenly it made your stomach dropâhis expression sharpened into a cold, glittering anger that cut across his face like a shadow. His shoulders squared, and it was like watching a heavy door slam shut. âYou donât get to reduce this,â he said, his voice matching the freezing temperature of his skin. âYou donât get to stand there and decide what this is.â
âExcuse me?â
âYou think this is me being indecisive? Playing games? You think Iâm doing this because I like the chase?â His eyes flashed, and for a heartbeat, you could swear you saw that vein-dark pattern spidering at the edges of his lower lids. âIâm not angry at you for wanting an answer. Iâm angry because youâre acting like you have any idea what youâre actually asking for!â
Your mouth went dry. The air around him felt unnaturally still.
âYou think you want me,â Yunho continued, his voice lower, more dangerous. âYou think you want me like that because you like the way I look at you, because you like the way Iâmââ His breath stuttered. He swallowed it down. âBecause you feel like something pulls you to me. You think it's a romance.â
âThat is notââ
âYouâre right, you shouldnât play push and pull, and I donâtââ
You cut him off before he could build another wall out of excuses. âStop it! Itâs fine if weâre friends. But not like this. Not while you look at me like that.â His eyes flickeredâthat half-second of raw hunger he always tried to swallow before it reached his face. âAnd you do,â you added, sharper now. âDonât pretend you donât. You kiss me and then talk to me like youâre doing me a favour by keeping your distance. You donât get to punish me for noticing!â
âListenââ he started, stepping toward you.
âNo! You listen to me!â You stepped back, and the space between you felt like stepping off a ledge into the dark. Cold poured into the gap where his presence should be. Your mouth tasted faintly of cinnamon and the ghost of him, and it made you miserable. âWeâre adults. Iâm not doing this weird, half-lit, maybe-someday thing anymore.â
âIâm trying toââ he said, louder now, as if volume could bridge the gap.
âYouâre trying to keep me on a hook,â you interrupted, done being gentle. âAnd I canât keep navigating your mixed signals like itâs my job to translate you. I see it clearly now. This is going nowhere.â The sentence dropped between you like a stone in deep water. No splash. Just weight. He flinched as if youâd physically struck him. His hand liftedâinstinct, reflexâreaching for your sleeve, for your wrist, for any part of you he could claim without having to speak.
You took another step back, out of reach.
âWait,â he said, and the rough edge of his voice was new. Desperate. âJustâjust let me explain.â
âIâve been letting you explain. For weeks. Every time you stared at my lips. Every time you touched me like it was an accident. Every time you asked me to stop like Iâm the one doing something wrong.â He tried to talk over you, panic rising in the set of his shoulders. You didnât let him. You turned on your heel. The wet pavement flashed under the streetlight, slick as spilled ink. Your boots slapped against the ground, the sound indecently loud in the quiet alley. You didnât look back. You wouldnât give him the mercy of seeing your face break. âIâm done,â you called over your shoulder, your voice carrying like a thrown blade.
Behind you, Yunho said your nameâonce, like a warning. But you kept walking. You didnât look at him. You just left him there in the cold, where he seemed to think he belonged. The wet slap of your boots against the pavement echoed through the narrow street, a rhythmic, angry punctuation to the silence youâd left behind. You didnât look back, even though the back of your neck prickled with the heavy, unmistakable weight of his gaze. You expected him to stay there, frozen against the brick like a statue left out in the rain, but then you heard itâthe soft, unnervingly smooth scuff of his shoes following you.
âStop walking for a second,â Yunho called out, his voice sounding thinner than usual, stripped of that steady, melodic mask he usually wore.
âNo, Iâm good,â you snapped over your shoulder, your breath blossoming in front of you in a frantic, white cloud. âIâm going home to a place that has a heater and people who use their words. You should try it sometime. The words part, I mean.â You increased your pace, your fingers still stinging from the cold of his skin. He was right behind you now, not even winded, despite the speed you were trying to maintain. He didnât have that heavy, huffing footfall of a normal man; he just moved like a shadow sliding over glass.
âI am trying to use them!â he protested, and you could hear the frustration bubbling up, that awkward, clumsy sincerity that made it so hard to actually stay mad at him. âItâs just... there isnât a manual for this. Iâve never had to explain this to a human before!â
You spun around so fast you nearly tripped on a slick patch of sidewalk. âA human? What are you, an AI? A very handsome, very confusing chatbot?â You threw your hands up. âJust go home. Go back to your gloomy, sunless cave or wherever it is you spend all the sunny days in!â
Yunho stopped a few feet away, his shoulders hunched again, looking less like a predatory threat and more like a kicked puppy. He looked down at his feet, his jaw working as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. âIâm not a chatbot,â he muttered, the words barely audible over the distant hiss of traffic. He looked up, his dark lashes wet from the mist, and for a second, his pupils were so wide the brown of his eyes was almost gone. âIâm a vampire. Thatâs why Iâm cold. Thatâs why I donât... I donât breathe right when Iâm near you. Thatâs why I can hear your heart.â
The silence that followed wasnât the heavy, rib-pressing kind from before. It was the kind of silence that happens right after someone says something so profoundly stupid you have to reboot your entire brain. You stared at him. A beat passed. Two. Then, a laugh escaped your throat, sounding bright and ridiculous against the grey dampness of the evening.
âOh, okay,â you said, your voice dripping with a thick sarcasm. âRight. A vampire. Of course. How silly of me not to realise. Is your name actually Stefan? Is your brother Damon chilling around the corner in a leather jacket waiting to kill my roommates?â
Yunho flinched at the names, looking genuinely confused. âWho? No, I donât have a brother named Damon. My brother name is Geonho, he works in real estate in Busan, but thatâs hardlyââ
âAnd let me guess,â you interrupted, stepping closer, emboldened by the sheer absurdity of his lie. You reached out and poked his chestâit felt like poking a marble pillar covered in wool. âYou sparkle in the sunlight? You have a collection of graduation caps on your wall? Youâre a hundred years old and youâve decided to spend your eternity hanging out in mediocre coffee shops with a girl who works 9-to-5?â
âI donât sparkle,â he said, his voice taking on a wounded, defensive edge. âThatâs... thatâs a very weird thing to suggest. And Iâm only twenty-seven. Well, technically. Iâve been twenty-seven for a while, but I wasnât alive during the French Revolution or anything dramatic like that.â
You laughed again, but this time it had a bitter edge. You were hurt that he thought you were gullible enough to accept a literal fairy tale as an excuse for why he was a terrible communicator. âYou are unbelievable,â you whispered, shaking your head. âI ask for honesty, for a reason why youâve been treating me like a puzzle you donât want to solve, and you give me The Vampire Diaries fanfiction? Did you think that would make you sound cool? Or mysterious?â
âIâm not trying to be mysterious!â He looked frantic now, his hands hovering near your arms but never quite touching, as if he was afraid he might actually break you. âIâm trying to tell you why Iâm terrified to touch you! I can hear the blood rushing through your veins, and itâs the most beautiful thing Iâve ever heard, and I have no idea how to be a âboyfriendâ without wanting to... to...â
âTo what? Eat me?â You rolled your eyes, stepping back and turning away. âGive it a rest. Itâs actually embarrassing at this point. Iâm going home. Donât call me again. Iâm not really into the whole âundead martyrâ thing. I prefer guys who have a pulse and donât lie to my face because theyâre too awkward to admit they just arenât that into me.â
âI am into you!â he yelled at your retreating back. âIâm extremely into you! That is the entire problem!â
âGo find a Bella!â you shouted back, not stopping. âIâm sure thereâs a moody teenager somewhere whoâd love this. Me? Iâm going to go have a glass of wine and forget I ever met a guy who thinks heâs a supernatural predator because heâs bad at dating!â As you rounded the corner, you could still feel his presence at the edge of the alley, a cold, still point in a moving world. You didnât look back to see him standing there, looking perfectly, devastatingly human in the amber glow of the streetlamp.
ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ âYou had barely kicked off your boots and put on a warm hoodie when the knock cameâthree sharp, precise raps that sounded far too steady for someone who had just been told to get lost. You stomped to the door, tearing it open with enough force to make the hinges groan. Yunho was standing there, his hands shoved back into his coat pockets, his shoulders hunched.
âIf you say one word about wanting to drink my blood, I am calling the police,â you snapped, blocking the doorway with your entire frame. âOr a therapist. Honestly, Yunho, pick one.â
âIâm not here toâI donât want to drink yourââ He cut himself off, his jaw tightening as he looked at the floor of the hallway. He looked exhausted. âI just... I didnât want things to end like that. You were so angry.â
âIâm still angry!â you countered, leaning against the doorframe. âYou spent weeks acting like I was a burden for liking you, and then you try to exit the conversation by claiming youâre a character from a CW show. Itâs insulting. Whatâs next? Are you going to tell me you have a daylight ring? That youâre secretly pining for a girl from the 1800s who looks exactly like me?â
âI told you, Iâm only twenty-seven, and I actually canât find my daylight ring, thatâs why we only hang out on gloomy days.â He muttered, taking a half-step forward, then stopped abruptly, his toes hovering exactly at the line where your apartmentâs hardwood met the carpet of the hallway.
âOh, whatâs the matter?â you teased, a mean little spark of humour cutting through your fury. âDid you forget to check the moon cycle? Or are you waiting for me to throw a steak at you? No, waitâitâs the invitation thing, isn't it?â You let out a short, mocking laugh, gesturing grandly toward your living room. âCome on then, Dracula. Step into my parlour. Come tell me more about how youâve been âtwenty-seven for a whileâ while you help me fold my laundry.â
Yunho didnât laugh. He didnât even smile. He just looked at you with a an aching intensity. He shifted his weight, his upper body leaning slightly into the apartment, but his feet stayed glued to the threshold.
âIâm serious,â you said, your voice losing some of its edge as the silence stretched. âStop the act. Just walk in, sit on the couch, and tell me the truth. No more vampires, no more âI can hear your heartâ nonsense. Just... talk to me.â
âI canât,â he whispered. His throat worked as he swallowed, his eyes flicking to yours, wide and dark.
âYes, you can. The door is wide open. Iâm literally standing here.â You reached out, grabbing the sleeve of his coat to tug him forward. The moment you pulled, you felt it. Yunhoâs body jerked forward, but it was like heâd hit a wall. His shoulder slammed into an invisible barrier in the empty air of the doorway, the impact making a dull, thudding sound that vibrated through your grip on his arm. He didnât stumble; he just stopped dead, his face contorting in a brief flash of genuine frustration. You let go of his sleeve as if it had turned into fire. You looked at the empty space between the doorframes, then back at him. He was standing perfectly still again, his chest not moving, his face pale and marble-smooth. âWait,â you breathed, the teasing air in your lungs turning into a cold stone. You reached out again, slower this time, and passed your hand through the air where he had just hit the âwall.â There was nothing there for you. Just empty space. âWhy did you... why didnât you move?â
âYou didnât invite me in,â he said simply, his voice trembling just enough to break the âcoolâ persona he never quite managed to pull off anyway. He looked down at his feet, then back at you, his expression a mess of embarrassment. âI told you. Iâm trying to stay on my side of the line.â
The realisation hit you like a bucket of ice water. The metal-cold skin. The way he never seemed to breathe when things got intense. The way he looked at your throat as if it were a ticking clock. âYouâre actually...â You trailed off, your voice sounding small and far away in your own ears. You looked at him and saw the way he was shaking with a tension that had nothing to do with being awkward and everything to do with restraint.
âIâm a vampire,â he repeated, and this time, you didn't laugh. âAnd I really, really like you. Which is a catastrophic problem for both of us.â The silence in the doorway was too thick. You stared at the empty space where his shoulder had just thudded against nothingness, then back at Yunho, who was looking at his own feet as if they had betrayed him. The anger was still there, simmering under your skin, but it was being rapidly overtaken by a bewildered, scientific curiosity that bordered on the absurd. âOkay,â you breathed, stepping back into the warmth of your living room but keeping your eyes locked on him. âSo, the threshold thing. Thatâs⌠that is a very specific architectural hurdle for a supernatural predator. Itâs deeply inconvenient.â
âItâs humiliating,â he corrected, his voice muffled. He looked up, and the amber hall light caught the frustration in his eyesâthat familiar, awkward Yunho expression that usually meant heâd forgotten how to order a complicated latte. âIâve spent the last three minutes trying to figure out how to look cool while being physically barred from a studio apartment by a lack of social etiquette.â
âRight, because thatâs the part of this thatâs weird. Not the fact that youâre technically a corpse,â you shot back, though your voice lacked its previous bite. You crossed your arms, leaning against the hallway wall. âFine. You want an invitation? You can come in. But if you try to sparkle or turn into a bat or a crow, Iâm hitting you with a broom. Iâm serious. You are invited into my home. Just⌠step carefully.â He took a tentative step, and this time, there was no thud. He slipped across the line with a fluid grace that made the hair on your arms stand upâa sudden shift in the space he occupied that felt entirely unnatural. As he passed you, the air temperature in the hallway seemed to drop ten degrees. âOkay, stop right there,â you said, pointing toward the middle of the rug. He stopped instantly, his hands still bunched in his pockets. âStay. I need to check something.â
âIâm not a dog,â he murmured, but he didnât move. He watched you with that intense, magnetic gaze that used to make your stomach dip, but now it just made you want to take notes.
You hurried into the kitchen, your mind racing through every movie trope youâd ever watched. You returned a moment later, clutching a jar of minced garlic and a small, silver-plated butter knife.
âIs that⌠is that garlic?â Yunho asked, his nose wrinkling. His nostrils flared, caught by the scent. âAre you actually going to season me?â
âItâs a diagnostic test!â you countered, unscrewing the lid and holding it out at armâs length. âWell? Does it burn? Do you feel like youâre going to explode into ash?â
Yunho leaned forward, sniffing the jar with a look of profound boredom. âIt smells like a pasta night I wasnât invited to. Iâm not allergic to seasoning. I just canât digest it. It stays in my stomach like a rock for three days. Itâs⌠itâs very uncomfortable, actually.â
âDisappointing,â you muttered, setting the jar on the coffee table. You held up the butter knife. âMirror? Do you have a reflection, or am I currently talking to a very handsome hallucination?â You marched him over to the mirror in the hallway. You stood behind him, peering over his shoulder. In the glass, your own face was flushed and messy, but Yunho was there tooâsharp jawline, dark lashes, and that pale, steady stillness.
âIâm in the mirror,â he said and it sounded almost bored. Like he had done this multiple times before. âThe silver-backing thing is an old myth. Physics still applies to light bouncing off my skin, even if I donât have a pulse.â
âYou really donât have one?â You stepped closer, the fury from the alleyway turning into a reckless sort of courage. You reached out, your fingers hovering over his wrist. âCan I?â
Yunho went rigid. âOkay,â he whispered, his eyes fluttering shut as you pressed your warm fingers against his skin. There was nothing. No thrum, no rhythmic push of life. Just that impossibly smooth, marble-like surface. It was like touching a statue that breathedâexcept he wasnât breathing. You realised then, with a jolt of clarity, that his chest wasnât moving at all.
âYouâre holding your breath,â you whispered, looking up at him.
âI donât need to do it,â he rasped, finally letting out a jagged, shuddering puff of air that didnât even fog in the room. âI only do it to make people feel comfortable. But when Iâm this close to you⌠when I can hear your heart hammering against your ribs like that⌠I forget to pretend.â
âSo youâre telling me,â you said, trying to regain your witty footing because the sheer intensity of him was starting to make your head spin, âthat all those times we went for coffee, you were just⌠what? Renting a chair? Pretending to enjoy the ambiance while your internal organs were on strike?â
âI like coffee, I can have human food but it doesnât help with hunger,â he said softly, a small, genuine smile finally twitching at the corner of his mouthâthe first one youâd seen all night that actually reached his eyes. âAnd I like watching you. Youâre so bright, it actually hurts my eyes sometimes. I wasnât lying about that part.â
You huffed, crossing your arms again to hide the way your hands were shaking. âYouâre still a dork. A supernatural, immortal dork who let me think I was being rejected for a months because you were too busy being a martyr.â
âI was trying to be a gentleman!â he protested, his awkwardness returning in full force as he gestured vaguely toward the door. âI didnât want to be the guy who⌠who ruins your life because he canât stop staring at your pulse point!â
âWell, you failed,â you said, stepping into his space and forcing him to look at you. âYouâre already in the house. The garlic didnât work. Now, are you going to sit down and tell me the rest of this ridiculous story, or do I need to go find some holy water?â
The frantic, buzzing energy of the hourâthe shouting in the street, the mocking laughter, the ridiculous garlic testâevaporated all at once, leaving a hollow, ringing silence in its wake. You stood in the middle of your living room, the butter knife still clutched in your hand like a toy, while Yunho remained exactly where youâd told him to stay. He didnât shift his weight. He didnât itch his nose. He didnât even seem to be blinking. He just stood there, a perfectly rendered human shape that felt like a glitch in the reality of your apartment.
âYouâre not breathing,â you whispered, the words finally landing with the weight of lead. It wasnât a joke anymore. âYouâve been standing here for two minutes, and your chest hasnât moved once.â
âI already told you,â he said, his voice quiet, devoid of the defensive edge it had earlier. âI donât... I donât need to. Itâs a habit I keep up so people donât stare at me, but right now... Iâm a bit overwhelmed.â
You dropped the butter knife onto the coffee table. The clack of metal on wood sounded deafening. You walked a slow circle around him, your eyes scanning him with a new, terrifying clarity. You saw the way the lamplight hit his skinâit didnât look like skin, really. It looked like fine porcelain, translucent and bloodless. You remembered every time his hand had brushed yours over a coffee cup, and how youâd just thought he had poor circulation. âSo when you said your eyes hurt in the sun...â you started, your voice trailing off as you pieced the weeks together.
âThey really do,â he interrupted, his gaze following you with a slow, heavy tilt of his head. âItâs like someone is stabbing a needle into my brain.â
âAnd the mixed signals?â You stopped in front of him, close enough to feel the wall of cold air radiating from his body. âAll those times youâd lean in and then practically jump back like Iâd burned you? Was thatââ
âI was hungry,â he blurted out, then immediately looked horrified, his face twisting into a grimace of pure, awkward shame. âNo, waitâthat came out wrong. I wasnât... I didnât want to eat you. I mean, I did, but notâGod, this is why I didnât say anything! Iâm terrible at this.â He dragged a hand through his hair, the first truly human-looking gesture heâd made since entering. âI have a crush on you,â he continued, the words tumbling out in a rush, messy and unpolished. âA massive, terrifying crush. And Iâve never had one on a human before. I didnât know how to handle the fact that I wanted to kiss you and also, simultaneously, my instincts were telling me that your carotid artery was exceptionally vibrant.â
âMy carotid artery? That is the least romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.â
âI know!â he groaned, finally moving from his spot to pace the small rug. âIâm a disaster. I spent three nights practicing how to ask you to the movies without sounding like a predator, and then I realised the movie was a matinee and Iâd just spend the whole time squinting and smelling the popcorn I donât like! So I just... I didnât ask you. I thought it was better if you just thought I was a jerk.â
âYou went with âvampireâ instead of âjerkâ?â You sat down on the edge of the couch, your legs feeling a bit like jelly. The reality was sinking inâthe person youâd been falling for was a literal myth, a creature of the night who was currently pouting because he found human dating mechanics too difficult. âYou have a total martyr complex, you know that? You decided to suffer in silence and let me feel like I was crazy because you were afraid youâd... what? Bite me?â
âI donât trust myself,â he said softly, stopping his pacing to look at you. The vulnerability in his expression was devastating. He looked like he was waiting for you to scream, to throw him out, to realise he was a monster. âIâve spent a long time being very careful. Being alone is easy. Being with you is... itâs a constant test. And Iâm so tired of failing it.â
You looked at him and saw the awkward, silent boy youâd been meeting for weeks, just with a much darker secret. He wasnât a legend. He was just Yunho, and he was terrified of hurting you. âWell,â you said, your voice shaking just a little as you gestured to the empty spot on the couch next to you. âYouâre already in the house. And Iâm pretty sure youâre not going to eat me tonight. So... sit down. Stop being a martyr for five minutes and just be my friend. Or whatever this is.â
He hesitated, his eyes flicking to the door and then back to you. âAre you sure? I can leave. I can go back to Busan and work in real estate with my brother. You donât have toââ
âYunho,â you interrupted, a small, weary smile tugging at your lips. âSit. Down. Before I get the garlic again.â
He sat. It wasnât a smooth, relaxed sink into the cushions; it was a rigid, mechanical descent, his body hovering an inch above the fabric for a second before he finally let his weight settle. He looked like he was sitting on a bench made of high explosives rather than a budget-friendly IKEA sofa. âYouâre supposed to be screaming,â he gripped his knees, his knuckles whiteâor rather, whiter than usual. âYouâre supposed to be halfway down the stairs calling a priest or... or a Van Helsing. Why are you just standing there looking at me like Iâm a science project?â
âBecause the âscience projectâ currently looks like heâs about to have a panic attack, and Iâm pretty sure dead hearts donât do that,â you said, crossing your arms. The initial terror had settled into a strange, buzzing adrenaline. âBesides, Iâve seen you try to use a self-checkout machine. Youâre not exactly the King of the Damned.â
âThat machine was rigged!â he snapped, his eyes flashing a brief, startling gold before fading back to dark brown. He caught the change and immediately looked away, shamed. âSee? That. Right there. Iâm a predator. Iâve lived through three different wars and I couldââ
âYou could what? Drain me of blood?â you interrupted, moving closer. You watched him flinch, his whole body tensing as you sat on the opposite end of the couch. âLetâs get to the important part, Yun. You just admitted, in the middle of a very dramatic, very weird confession, that youâve had a crush on me for weeks.â
Yunhoâs ears turned a faint, dusty sort of grey-pinkâthe closest he probably got to blushing. âThatâs what youâre focusing on? I just told you Iâm a literal monster, and youâreâyouâre asking about my dating preferences?â
âYes! Because the âmonsterâ part explains why your hands are cold, but the âcrushâ part doesnât explain why youâve been acting like a total jerk!â You leaned in, invading his personal space, watching the way he leaned back until he was practically horizontal against the armrest. âSo, letâs be clear. You like me. Like, âI want to take you out on actual dates and hold your hand without worrying about your pulseâ like me?â
âI think about holding your hand every five seconds,â he whispered, the honesty sounding like it was being pulled out of him. âAnd it terrifies me. Because if I stop thinking about it, if I let myself just... be with you, I might forget to be careful. I mightâI donât know, I might accidentally crush your bones because I donât know my own strength when Iâm happy.â
You felt a sharp tug at your heart, the kind that was definitely too warm for the creature sitting across from you. âYouâre such a martyr. Youâve spent our entire âfriendshipâ trying to protect me from yourself, havenât you? Thatâs why you always walked me to my door and then disappeared like a ghost.â
âI didnât want to be another thing that hurt you,â he finally looked at you, and the raw vulnerability there was so human it made the vampire thing feel like a footnote. âIâm not a good person to love. Iâm a dead end. Literally.â
âWell, luckily for you, Iâm the one who gets to decide whoâs a âdead endâ or not,â you said, moving even closer until your knee brushed his. He looked like he wanted to bolt through the ceiling. âSo, what are we now? Are we still âjust friendsâ who ignore the fact that you want to bite my neck and I want to kiss you? Or are we actually doing this?â
âDoing what?â he repeated, his eyes wide. âYou want toâwith a guy who has to drink blood to stay somewhat sane? I donât even have a pulse!â
You reached out, and this time, you didnât hesitate. You took his hand. It was cold, yes, like a river stone in winter, but it was steady. âStop looking for reasons to run away. Youâre not that scary.â
âI am scary,â he insisted, though he didnât pull his hand away. Instead, his fingers tentatively curled around yours, his grip so light it was almost non-existent. âIâm a nightmare. Iâm the thing under the bed.â
âYouâre the thing that brings me my favourite coffee and listens to me complain about my boss for three hours,â you countered, squeezing his hand. âSo, answer the question.â
Yunho looked down at your joined hands, his chest finally hitching in a simulated breath. He looked back at you, a slow, shy smileâthe one that always made your heart do a stupid little flipâcreeping across his face. âIâd like to... do this,â he said, the word sounding foreign and precious on his tongue. âIf youâre sure youâre okay with... all of this.â
âIâm sure,â you said, leaning in until your forehead rested against his. The coldness was there, but so was he. âBut Iâm still making fun of the âStefanâ thing. Thatâs never going away.â
âI really don't know who that is,â he groaned, his shoulders finally dropping as he let out a long, silent puff of air. âBut I have a feeling Iâm going to hear a lot about him.â
âYou actually don't know who Stefan Salvatore is?â The shift in your tone was so sudden it made Yunhoâs head snap up. He looked at you, bewildered, as the heavy, romantic tension evaporated, replaced by a look of genuine, wide-eyed horror on your face. You werenât scared anymore; you were offended.
âIâshould I?â he asked, his voice small and genuinely concerned. âIs he⌠is he a local celebrity? Did I miss something?â
âSomething? Yunho, heâs an icon! Heâs the sensitive vampire with the hero hair!â You scrambled off the couch, paced to your TV stand, and then turned back to him, pointing a finger dramatically. âAnd youâre literally doing his whole bit! The âIâm a monsterâ speech? The âI canât be near youâ dramatic pouting? You are a walking trope, and you donât even know the source material!â
Yunho blinked, looking deeply insulted. âI am not pouting. I am experiencing an existential crisis regarding my predatory nature and its proximity to the person I care about.â
âThat is literally the definition of pouting in the vampire world!â you shrieked, a giggle bubbling up that you couldnât suppress. You felt a hysterical wave of excitement wash over you. âOh my god, this is incredible. Youâre a vampire who is culturally illiterate. We have so much work to do! Do you have a daylight ring? Please tell me you have a piece of vintage jewellery that lets you walk to the grocery store at noon.â
âI told you, I donât sparkle and I lost my a ring,â he groaned, burying his face in his hands. âSo during sunny days I just get a really bad migraine and my skin feels like itâs being poked with hot needles. Itâs a biological sensitivity, not a magical curse.â
âWhatever, weâre calling it a daylight sensitivity,â you sat back down, much closer this time, leaning into his cold side without a second thought. âWait. Can you do the thing? The eye thing? Do they go all veiny and scary when youâre hungry? Can you run really fast? Like, if I forget my phone at a cafe, can you zoom there and back in four seconds?â
Yunho peeked through his fingers, looking at you with a mix of affection and utter disbelief. âYouâre⌠youâre fangirling. I just admitted Iâm an undead creature who lives on blood, and youâre treating me like aâa marvel of modern convenience?â
âItâs cool, Yunho! Itâs objectively cool!â You grabbed his arm, shaking it. âThink about the possibilities! No more waiting in traffic! You can carry all the groceries in one trip!â
âIâm glad my curse is so âconvenientâ for your shopping trips,â he muttered, though the corners of his mouth were twitching. He looked down at where you were clutching his arm, his expression softening. The fear that had been radiating off him for the last hour was finally starting to melt. âAnd no, Iâm not zooming anywhere. Itâs exhausting. Itâs like sprinting a marathon in five seconds. Iâd rather just⌠walk. With you.â
âUgh, so Stefan,â you teased, nudging his shoulder with yours. âTotal hero hair energy. We are starting a marathon tomorrow! Eight seasons! You need to learn the rules of your own people.â
âI have my own rules,â he said softly, his dark eyes locking onto yours. He reached out, his cold thumb grazing your jawline with a tenderness that made your breath hitchânot out of fear, but because he was finally here. âRule number one: no biting the girlfriend. Rule number two: try to survive her taste in television.â The word hung in the air, vibrating with more electricity than any of the supernatural talk that had preceded it. You froze, your head still resting against his shoulder, but your eyes went wide, staring at a very specific, very un-dusted corner of your bookshelf.
âThe what?â you squeaked, your voice jumping an entire octave. You pulled back just enough to look at him, and for the first time tonight, Yunho looked truly, devastatingly caught. If he were human, heâd be a deep shade of crimson; as it was, he just looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. He didnât pull his hand away from your face, but his fingers twitched against your skin.
âI... did I say that out loud?â he stammered, his eyes darting toward the ceiling as if looking for an escape route that didnât involve a door he couldnât pass through.
âYou very much did,â you said, a slow, triumphant grin spreading across your face. The anger from the alleyway was a distant memory, replaced by the chaos of the moment. ââNo biting the girlfriend.â Thatâs a very specific title. A very official, non-ambiguous, âwe-are-definitely-datingâ title.â
âI was getting ahead of myself,â he muttered, finally dropping his hand and looking at his knees. He looked so small for a guy who was technically an apex predator. âThe logic was... if Iâm staying, and youâre not screaming, and weâre doing the TV marathon... I just assumed the role was open. I didnât mean toââ
âNo, no, donât you dare backtrack now!â you laughed, poking him in the ribs. He jumped, a surprised, huffing sound escaping him. âYou canât drop the âG-wordâ and then try to hide behind your existential dread. Is that what we are? Am I the girlfriend? Because five minutes ago you were telling me to never call you again.â
âI never told you not to call me,â he protested, finally looking back at you, his expression softening into something incredibly sweet and painfully awkward. âYou told me not to call you. I was just... I was going to mope in my apartment for a few decades and wait for the regret to subside.â
âA few decades? God, youâre dramatic,â you teased, reaching out to grab the lapels of his coat, pulling him a few inches closer. âBut seriously. Say it again. Without the âno bitingâ part.â
Yunho swallowed hard. He looked at your mouth, then back to your eyes, his gaze heavy and dark. The vampire part of himâthe stillness, the intensityâmerged with the boyfriend part in a way that made your heart do a frantic dance. âYouâre my girlfriend. If youâll have a guy whoâs basically a high-maintenance houseplant that only drinks O-plus.â
âIâve had worse boyfriends,â you shrugged, though your heart was hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. âOne of them didnât even have the decency to be immortal, he didnât even have a job. At least youâre... interesting.â
âInteresting,â he repeated, a genuine smile breaking through his nerves. âI can work with interesting.â
âGood,â you said, leaning in until your noses brushed. The coldness of him wasnât a barrier anymore. âNow, as your official girlfriend, I have my first executive order: we are going to the kitchen, I am making a grilled cheese, and you are going to sit there and tell me exactly how youâve managed to live years without seeing a single episode of The Vampire Diaries. Itâs a literal hate crime.â
âCan I at least hold your hand while you do it?â
âAlways,â you whispered, tugging him toward the kitchen. âBut if you start brooding while Iâm flipping the bread, Iâm calling you Stefan for the rest of the night.â
âI still donât know who that is!â he called out, his laughterâshort, rare, and musicalâfollowing you into the warmth of the kitchen.
ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââThe grilled cheese sat forgotten on its plate, the cheese cooling. The kitchen was quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the frantic, erratic thrumming of your own heartâa sound that, apparently, was currently a drum solo in Yunhoâs ears. You were leaning against the counter, and Yunho was standing directly in front of you. He had finally shed his coat, revealing a simple black sweater that made his skin look like polished cream. Up close, without the barrier of the âfriendâ label, the air between you felt charged that it made the small hairs on your arms stand up.
âYouâre staring again.â
âYouâre hard not to stare at,â you countered, your breath hitching. âEspecially now that I know youâre not just moody, youâre actually a legend.â
Yunho let out a soft, huffing soundâalmost a laugh, but more of a surrender. He reached out, his movements slow and deliberate, and tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His fingers were freezing, but the gesture was so tender it made your toes curl against the linoleum. He lingered there, his thumb grazing your temple, his gaze dropping to your lips with a hunger that was finally, terrifyingly honest. âCan I?â he whispered.
âIf you ask one more time, I'm revoking your invitation.â
He didnât wait. He leaned in, and when his lips met yours, it wasnât like anything youâd ever felt. There was no warmth, no soft puff of breath against your cheek, just a firm, cool pressure. It was shocking, then intoxicating. You reached up, your hands finding the back of his neck, pulling him closer, desperate to share your heat with him. Yunhoâs grip on your waist tightened. His strength was startling. Emboldened by the contact, you let your hands slide down his back, tugging him flush against you. You wanted moreâmore of this strange, chilly friction, more of the way he seemed to melt into you despite himself. You tilted your head, your teeth grazing his bottom lip, and let out a small, needy whimper.
The effect was instantaneous.
Yunho tore himself away so fast he was on the other side of the kitchen island before you could even blink. He hit the opposite counter with a heavy thud, his eyes wide. âNo,â he gasped, his hands gripping the edge of the counter so hard you heard a faint crack. âNo, stop. Donâtâdonât do that.â
You stood there, breathless and flushed, your heart hammering against your ribs. âDid I... did I do something wrong?â
âYour pulse,â he rasped, his head snapping to the side as if he couldnât bear to look at you. The veins under his eyes were prominent now, dark and pulsing. âItâs too loud. When you move like that, when you... when you make that sound... itâs all I can hear. Itâs like a siren. Itâs not just a crush anymore, itâsâitâs an instinct.â He looked at you then, and the martyr complex was back in full force, mixed with desire. âI want you so much itâs actually making my teeth ache. I can feel the venom, and I wonât... I wonât hurt you.â
âIâm not afraid of you,â you said, taking a tentative step forward.
âYou should be!â he snapped, though there was no heat in it, only desperation. He held up a hand to stop you. âPlease. Just... give me a second. I need to remember how to be the guy who likes your grilled cheese and hates your TV shows. I can't be... that other thing.â The silence returned, but this time it was heavy with the reality of what he was. You saw the struggle in the way his shoulders shook, the way he was fighting his own nature just to stay in the same room as you.
âOkay,â you whispered, leaning back against the counter, giving him the space he clearly needed to not lose his mind. âOkay. We can go slow. We can go âhuman-speedâ slow.â
Yunho closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the cool surface of the fridge. âThank you,â he breathed. âAnd for the record? That was... the best kiss Iâve had in about seventy years. Even if it almost killed us both.â
âSeventy years?â you chirped, trying to break the tension with a bit of your usual bite. âWow. Iâm dating a senior citizen. Stefan would never be this dramatic about a kiss, just so you know.â
âI am going to delete that show from your Netflix account,â he muttered, though the black in his eyes was finally beginning to fade.
The tension in the kitchen didnât break so much as it dissolved, melting into a domestic, slightly ridiculous warmth. Yunho stayed by the fridge for another minute, his eyes closed, performing what looked like a very intense meditation on the concept of not being a predator. When he finally pushed away from the counter, the veins under his eyes were gone, replaced by that familiar, slightly dazed look of a man who had just survived a very confusing day at the office. He walked back to you, stopping a respectable three feet away, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as if to keep them from misbehaving. âOkay,â his voice was finally steady. âThe grilled cheese is cold. Iâve ruined the mood. And Iâm fairly certain I cracked your countertop. I should... I should probably fix that.â
âForget the counter,â you said, reaching out and grabbing his hand, pulling him back toward the living room. âYouâre an immortal being with superhuman strength and youâre worried about a hairline fracture in my kitchen counter? Sit. We have work to do.â
You pulled him back to the living room and shoved him onto the couch. He sank into the cushions, looking utterly defeated by your enthusiasm. You grabbed the remote, hopped onto the sofa next to him, and pulled a soft, oversized throw blanket over both of your laps.
âIs this necessary?â he asked, looking down at the fuzzy fleece. âI donât actually get cold, remember?â
âNo, but I do,â you countered, snuggling into his side. âAnd since youâre basically a high-end refrigerator, you need to be under the blanket so I can use you for structural support. Now, hush. Season one, episode one. Meet the Salvatores.â As the opening credits rolled, Yunho sat as stiff as a board, his eyes fixed on the screen with the intensity of a scholar studying a dead language. Every few minutes, heâd let out a small, huffy sound of disapproval.
âThat's not how it works,â he whispered when a crow appeared on screen. âWe donât control birds.â
âShh! Focus!â you nudged him.
Halfway through the episode, you felt him finally begin to relax. The rigid line of his shoulders softened, and slowlyâso slowly you almost didnât noticeâhis arm lifted, sliding behind your shoulders to pull you closer. His skin was still cold, but your own warmth was beginning to seep into him.
âHeâs very dramatic,â Yunho muttered, nodding toward Stefan on the screen. âIs that what you think I look like? Like Iâm constantly mourning my own existence?â
âAbsolutely,â you laughed, looking up at him.
Yunho looked down at you, and for the first time that night, there was no fear in his eyes. No martyr complex, no âmonsterâ talk. Just a boy who had finally found a place to land. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head. It was brief, careful, and perfectly safe. âIâm glad I told you,â he whispered, his chin resting on your hair. âEven if youâre going to spend next years making fun of me.â
âOh, I'm counting on it,â you said, closing your eyes and listening to the beautiful, eerie silence where his heartbeat should have been. âNow, be quiet. Damonâs about to show up, and youâre really going to hate his leather jacket.â
Yunho sighed, a long, contented sound that vibrated through your chest. He tightened his grip on you, tucked the blanket around your feet, and settled in. He was a vampire, and a terrible liarâbut as it turned out, he was also a pretty spectacular boyfriend.
I genuinely thought I was getting better at realizing when I'm in a hypomanic episode. But then I'm sitting here and the realization hit me and now I feel awful.
Like I don't think I said anything particularly mean but I know that I was being really apathetic.
I don't even want to get started on the anger and rage.
It's just wild that i thought I was fine and then I'm sitting here and I realize that, what I was feeling was definitely not normal for me.
genre: angst, hurt w/comfort (i'm not a monster cmon), established relationship, nonidol!au
word count: 10.7k
warnings: no use of y/n, mentions of alcohol, miscommunication (again!), possessive!wooyo, soft dom!wooyo, also whiny wooyo, pronebone!!!!!, praise kink, make up sex, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap!), p in v, mating press (kinda), multiple o's, fingering, oral, felching, breath play, spit play/spit as a means for lube, creampie, cockwarming, slight choking (?), mutual masturbation, body worship, breeding kink (mentioned like once tbh), a little bit of edging, emotional sex (he cries, her kitty did too), overstimulation / lmk if i missed any!
âââââ ââ ââ â âââââ
author's note: based on this request! i lowkey went overboard and got carried away with the makeup sex but who's going to complaing if their steak is too juicy and the lobster too buttery, yk? :p i hope you enjoy this my love @moilele <333
permanent taglist: @norixseaweed @f3mboienjoyer @liightlizard @minguxxs @mourninglizzy + if you want to be added to my taglist, let me know :))
The key turns in the lock at 1:47 AM. Youâve been staring at the clock for so long the numbers have burned into your vision, following you even when you close your eyes. The candlelight dinner you prepared hours ago has congealed on the table, the wax from the candles having melted into sad, misshapen puddles.
When Wooyoung stumbles through the door, the smell hits you firstâsharp, medicinal, unmistakably alcoholâbefore you even see his face. Heâs loosening his tie with one hand, the other gripping the doorframe for balance. He tries to toe off his shoes and only manages to get one halfway off before giving up. He lets the other one fall with a thud, then drops his battered work bag into the hallway, not caring if it blocks the door or if either of you end up tripping over it later.
âHey,â he mumbles, not quite meeting your eyes. âWhat are you doing still awake?â
You donât answer immediately. You just watch him, this man who hasnât texted you in nine hours, who left you sitting here with a heart that sank deeper into your chest with each passing minute. The silence stretches between you, taut as a wire.
âYou didnât answer your phone,â you finally say. Your voice comes out steadier than you expected, a calm that doesnât match the storm inside.
Wooyoung blinks, processing your words through the alcohol fog. âSorry, we were out at the bar. The projectâŚâ He waves his hand vaguely. âIt went really well. Everyone wasââ
âCelebrating,â you finish for him. Your eyes drift to the table behind you, the two plates still set with the meal you spent three hours preparing. The anniversary cake you ordered sits untouched in its box, the words âOne Yearâ now barely visible through the condensation thatâs gathered on the lid.
It hits you then, with a clarity that makes your stomach drop. He doesnât remember.
âLook, I know Iâm sorry that Iâm late again,â Wooyoung says, finally noticing your expression. âThings got crazy at the office. You know babe, the promotion, itâsââ
âDo you know what day it is?â you ask quietly.
He frowns, clearly trying to think through his drunken haze. âUhh Tuesday?â
The silence that follows is deafening. You watch the realization slowly dawn on his face, the way his eyes widen slightly, the way his mouth opens then closes without sound.
âShit,â he whispers. âOh fuckâŚâ
âYou forgot our anniversary.â Itâs not a question.
âI didnâtââWooyoung runs a hand through his hair, his movements still uncoordinated. âThe project deadline was today. Weâve been working toward this for weeks, you know that. And then everyone wanted to go out, and I couldnât justââ
âCouldnât just text me? Couldnât just call to say youâd be late?â Your voice rises slightly, despite your efforts to keep it steady. âI sat here for hours, Wooyoung. I thought something happened to you. I called your friends, hell I even called your office phone.â
âIâm fine,â he says, and thereâs an edge to his voice now, defensive. âIâm right here. Everythingâs fine.â
âEverything is not fine.â You stand up, needing the distance between you. âYouâve been working non-stop for weeks. You come home exhausted, barely speaking to me, and now you canât even remember our anniversary?â
Wooyoung sighs, the sound heavy with exhaustion and frustration. âIâm doing this for us, you know thatââ
âStop,â you cut him off. âStop saying that. Iâm not asking you to quit your job, Wooyoung. Iâm asking you to be present. To remember that I exist when youâre not at work.â
He looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment you see the man you fell in love withâthe one who used to notice when you changed your hair, who used to call just to hear your voice. But then his expression hardens again.
âYou donât understand the pressure Iâm under,â he says, his voice tight. âThis isnât just about me. Itâs about our future.â
âOur future?â You let out a humourless laugh. âWhat fucking future? I barely see you anymore. When was the last time we had an actual conversation that wasnât about how tired you are?â
âIâm trying to build something for us.â
âNo, youâre building something for yourself and calling it âusâ to make yourself feel better.â The words spill out before you can stop them, raw and honest in a way that makes your chest ache. âI feel like you only love me when itâs convenient for you. When you have the time and energy.â
Wooyoungâs face darkens. âThatâs not fair.â
âIsnât it?â You step closer, needing him to see, to understand. âWhen was the last time you asked how I was doing? When was the last time you noticed anything about my life that wasnât directly related to yours?â
âIâm under a lot of stress right now, baby.â
âWeâre all under stress, Wooyoung. Thatâs not an excuse to disappear on your girlfriend.â
The room falls silent. Wooyoungâs shoulders are tense, his jaw clenched. You can see the exhaustion etched into every line of his face, the dark circles under his eyes that have been there for weeks. Part of you wants to reach out, to comfort him, but the hurt is too fresh, too deep.
âIâm doing my best,â he says finally, his voice quieter now. âIâm trying to balance everything.â
âYour best isnât good enough.â The words hang in the air between you, sharp and painful. âNot when your best means I spend our anniversary wondering if youâre lying dead in a ditch somewhere because you couldnât be bothered to send a text.â
Wooyoung flinches. âThatâs notââ
âDo you have any idea what itâs like?â Your voice breaks. âTo sit here, watching the clock, imagining all the worst possible scenarios because the man I love canât remember I exist?â
âI do remember you exist,â he says, and thereâs frustration in his voice now. âI think about you all the time. Iâm doing all of this for you.â
âFor me?â You laugh, the sound hollow. âThis isnât for me, Wooyoung. I never asked for any of this. I asked for you. Not this stressed-out stranger who comes home at midnight and falls asleep on the couch.â
Heâs silent for a long moment, and you can see him struggling, the alcohol and exhaustion making it hard for him to find the right words. When he finally speaks, his voice is strained.
âMaybe this is the real me,â he says. âMaybe this is who I am now and you just donât like what you see.â
The words hit you like a physical blow. You take a step back, your breath catching in your throat. You shake your head, denying the words that came out of his mouth.
âThatâs not true,â you whisper.
âIsnât it?â Wooyoungâs voice rises, matching your earlier statement, fuelled by frustration and alcohol. âBecause it seems like nothing I do is ever good enough for you. Iâm either working too much or not making enough money or not paying enough attentionââ
âIâve never said that.â
âYou donât have to say it. I can see it in your face every time I come home late. Every time Iâm too tired to talk.â He runs his hand through his hair again, the gesture agitated. âMaybe you should just find someone who can give you what you want, since apparently I canât.â
The silence that follows is absolute. You stare at him, unable to believe the words that just came out of his mouth. Wooyoung looks just as shocked as you feel, his eyes widening as he realizes what heâs said.
âWait⌠shit no thatâs not what I meantâŚâ he starts, but you cut him off.
âYou want me to leave?â Your voice is barely audible.
âNo, I didnât meanâŚâ Wooyoung takes a step toward you, but you back away. âIâm sorry, Iâm drunk and exhausted and I didnâtââ
âYou meant it,â you say. Thereâs no anger in your voice now, just a deep, bone-weary sadness. âMaybe not all of it, but part of it.â
He doesnât deny it. The silence stretches between you, filled with everything thatâs been left unsaid for weeks.
âI need to be alone,â you say, your voice barely above a whisper. The words hang between you, a barrier neither of you has the strength to cross. âI canât do this right now.â
Wooyoung opens his mouth to respond, but youâre already moving, already turning away from the wreckage of your anniversary night. You donât look back as you walk down the hallway to your bedroomâthe bedroom that was supposed to be shared, not a place of retreat. The door clicks shut behind you with a finality that makes your chest ache.
In the darkness of your room, you press your back against the door and slide down until youâre sitting on the floor. Your shoulders shake with silent sobs you refuse to let him hear. The anniversary card youâd written him earlier sits on your nightstand, the words inside now feeling hollow and foolish.
Time passes. You donât know how long you sit there, but eventually, you stand on trembling legs and change into your sleep clothes. The bed feels too big, too empty. You lie on your side, staring at the empty space where Wooyoung should be, and wait for sleep that doesnât come. An hour passes. Maybe two. Your anger has cooled to a dull ache in your chest, but sleep still eludes you. Finally, you slip out of bed, needing water, needing to move.
The living room is dark except for the faint glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds. And there he isâWooyoung, slumped on the couch, still in his work clothes, one arm thrown over his eyes. Even in the dim light, you can see the tear tracks on his face, the dark stain on the cushion beneath his cheek.
Your heart constricts. Despite everythingâdespite the anger, despite the hurtâyou still love him. You still care.
You move silently to the kitchen, filling a glass with water and grabbing the bottle of aspirin from the cabinet. Your movements are careful, deliberate, as you place them on the coffee table beside him. You donât wake him. You donât say a word.
Instead, you stand there for a moment, watching the rise and fall of his chest. Even in sleep, his face is troubled, his brow furrowed. You want to smooth the lines away, to tell him everything will be okay. But you canât. Not yet.
So you do the only thing you can. You take care of him, silently, the way youâve always done. Because even when he forgets, even when heâs lost in his own world of stress and ambition, you remember. You remember the man you fell in love with, the one whoâs still in there somewhere, buried under exhaustion and pressure.
You pull the throw blanket from the back of the couch and drape it carefully over him. Your fingers brush against his hair, just once, so lightly he doesnât stir.
Then you turn and walk away, back to the bedroom that feels emptier than it should. You climb into bed alone, the space beside you cold and untouched. You wonder if this is how relationships begin to breakânot through lack of love, but through all the ways people fail to hold onto each other when life becomes too heavy. Sleep comes eventually, but itâs fitful, troubled by dreams of a future that feels increasingly uncertain.
ââââââââââââââââââ
Wooyoung wakes slowly to the dull throb of a splitting headache and a sharp ache running down his neck. The couch digs painfully into his back, one arm numb from the awkward angle heâd fallen asleep in. For a few disoriented seconds, he just stares at the ceiling, blinking against the pale morning light filtering through the apartment. Then last night hits him all at once. The argument. Your tears. The look on your face when he realized what day it was.
With a quiet groan, he pushes himself upright, rubbing a hand over his face. Thatâs when he notices the blanket draped carefully over him. The glass of water sitting on the coffee table beside two aspirin. His chest tightens. You took care of him anyway. Even after everything.
Wooyoung stares at the medicine for a long moment before letting out a weak, humourless laugh under his breath. âFuck,â he mutters hoarsely, guilt crawling up his throat.Â
He swallows the aspirin dry before forcing himself to stand, exhaustion still heavy in his limbs. The apartment is quiet as he makes his way toward the bedroom, each step slower than the last, like heâs afraid of what heâll find on the other side of the door. He eases it open carefully. Youâre asleep, curled toward his side of the bed even though it stayed empty all night. In the soft morning light, he notices the tear tracks dried against your cheeks immediately, and something inside him caves in at the sight. His own eyes still burn from last night, raw and swollen in a way he knows mirrors yours. For a moment, he just stands there in silence, looking at you. At the woman who still tucked a blanket around him after he forgot about your anniversary. After he hurt you. Wooyoung closes his eyes briefly, jaw tightening.
He closes the door to your shared bedroom and makes his way to the kitchen. He quietly reaches for his phone and silences the alarm for work before typing out a lengthy message to his boss with determined fingers. Nothing at work feels more important than this anymore.
Your eyes open to the empty space beside you, the pillow still perfectly fluffed, untouched. Of course heâs already gone. The realization settles in your chest like a stone. You lie there for a moment, the events of last night crashing back with brutal clarity. The forgotten anniversary. The heartbreak that ensued. The fight. The words that canât be unsaid. You press the heels of your hands against your eyes, forcing the tears to remain at bay.
Then you hear itâthe soft clink of dishes from the kitchen.
Your heart stutters. You freeze, listening. There it is againâthe unmistakable sound of someone moving around in the kitchen. The one that should be empty right now. Panic rises in your throat. Heâs still here. Wooyoung is still here, and you have no idea what to say to him after everything that happened. After everything you both said.
You sit up slowly, your body heavy with emotional exhaustion. The floor is cold beneath your feet as you pad toward the bedroom door. Your hand hesitates on the doorknob. What will you see when you open it? Will he be packing his things? Will he be waiting to tell you itâs over?
The door creaks as you pull it open. The hallway seems longer than usual as you make your way toward the kitchen. With each step, your anxiety grows, a tight knot in your chest that makes it hard to breathe.
And then you see him.
Wooyoung stands at the counter, his back to you. Heâs still wearing the same clothes from last night, rumpled and wrinkled. His hair is a mess, sticking up at odd angles. He moves slowly, methodically, as if each action requires immense concentration.
âArenât you going to work?â The words slip out before you can stop them, your voice hoarse from crying.
Wooyoung turns, and the sight of him makes your breath catch. His eyes are bloodshot, his face pale. He looks like he hasnât slept at all, like heâs been carrying the weight of your argument with him through the long night.
âI told them I wasnât coming in today or for the rest of the week,â he says simply.
The words hang in the air between you. You stare at him, trying to process what this means. Wooyoung never calls in. Heâs the type who goes to work with a fever of 102, who works through weekends and holidays without complaint.
âWhat? Why?â you ask, the question barely audible.
Wooyoung sets down the cup heâs been holding. His knuckles turned white as he gripped onto the glass tighter. âI already lost enough time with you yesterday. Iâm not about to just leave you here alone, again.â
The simplicity of his words hits you like a physical blow. You lean against the doorframe, suddenly weak. The kitchen table is setâtwo plates, two mugs, the breakfast you used to make together on weekend mornings. The silence that follows is thick with everything left unsaid. You watch as he turns back to the counter, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion. Thereâs a vulnerability in his posture you havenât seen in monthsâthe confident, ambitious man youâve been watching slip away replaced by someone unsure, someone hurting.
âIâm sorry,â he says finally, still facing away from you. âFor everything I said last night. For making you feel like you donât matter to me.â He turns to face you, and the raw emotion in his eyes makes your chest ache. âYou matter more than anything, and Iâve been acting like you donât.â
You want to go to him, to bridge the distance between you, but your feet feel rooted to the spot. âAnd the rest?â you ask. âWhat you said about me finding someone else?â
Wooyoungâs face crumples. âI didnât mean any of that stupid shit. I was an idiot and said the most hurtful thing I could think of because I was angry at myself, not at you. What I said to you was inexcusable.â He runs a hand through his hair, the gesture agitated. âI was so terrified of failing you that I ended up failing you anyway.â
The truth of his words settles over you. You step into the kitchen, moving toward him slowly, giving him the chance to retreat if he wants to. He doesnât.
âI donât want someone else,â you say quietly. âI want you. Not the version of you thatâs so caught up in work he forgets we exist. That I exist.â
Wooyoungâs eyes filled with tears. âIâve been so focused on building a future for us that I forgot to be present in our now.â He takes a step toward you. âIâm so sorry. I donât expect you to forgive me right away or ever butâGod, I fucked up so bad.â
You look at the breakfast heâs preparedâeggs perfectly set, toast golden, the smell of coffee already doing something to the tension in your shoulders. Heâs always been a better cook than you. Youâd forgotten that, somehow, in the wreckage of last night.
âCome here,â you say softly.
He crosses the kitchen in three quick strides, and then his arms are around you, holding you so tightly itâs almost painful. You can feel him trembling, feel the way his heart hammers against your cheek. Your face tucks just under his chin, and you feel the warm wetness of tears landing soft in your hair.
âI love you,â he whispers, the words muffled against your hair. âI love you so much, and Iâm so sorry I made you doubt that.â
You hold him just as tightly, your own tears spilling over. âI love you too,â you mumble against his chest. âDonât shut me out like that again, You know Iâm always here for you.â
Wooyoung pulls back, his hands coming up to cradle your face. His thumbs brush away your tears with a gentleness that makes your heart ache. âI know,â he says. âIâll do better for you. For us. Today, tomorrow, and however long as it takes.â
He leans forward and presses his forehead against yours. âCan I show you something?â You nod.
âI got you something,â he says. âI remembered that I had a whole elaborate plan to give this to you.â He exhales, something between a laugh and a sob. âThen I got the promotion news and I justâI let that take over everything. Your gift has been sitting in my bag for two weeks while I was out celebrating myself.â He shakes his head. âI made our anniversary about me. Iâm such an idiot.â
âYeah, the biggest idiot of all time.â
He lets out a small chuckle, a hint of guilt and sadness follow the hollow laugh. A flicker of something hopeful crosses his exhausted face. âCan I still give it to you?â
You look up at him. âOf course.â
Wooyoungâs face lights up with a small, tentative smile. He takes your hand and leads you to the living room. You both sink into the couch where he spent the night, your shoulders touching. His work bag sits on the floor beside it. He reaches down and pulls out a small velvet box.
Your breath catches.
âItâs not what you think,â he says quickly, seeing your expression. âNot yet, anyway.â He opens the box to reveal a delicate silver bracelet, with a small charm hanging from itâa tiny compass.
âItâs so you always find your way back to me,â he explains, his voice soft. âEven when Iâm being a complete dumbass.â
You look from the bracelet to his face, seeing the hope and fear mingled in his eyes. This is what you fell in love withânot the ambitious, driven man who works too much, but this man whoâs vulnerable enough to admit when heâs wrong, whoâs brave enough to try to fix what heâs broken.
âItâs beautiful,â you say, holding out your wrist.
As Wooyoung fastens the bracelet with trembling fingers, you realize that healing wonât happen overnight. There will be more conversations, more difficult moments as you both learn to balance his career with your relationship. But as his hand finds yours, the bracelet cool against your skin, you know youâre willing to try.
Because some things are worth fighting for. Some people are worth the struggle. And this manâflawed and imperfect but trying, always tryingâis one of them.
âI should have called,â he says finally, his voice quiet in the morning stillness. âI should have texted. I kept thinking about it, but then someone would pull me into another conversation, and Iâd get distracted, and then...â He trails off, shaking his head. âThatâs no excuse.â
âNo, itâs not,â you agree, but thereâs no anger in your voice now. Just bone-deep weariness.
Wooyoungâs shoulders slump. He looks smaller somehow, diminished by his own guilt. âIâve been so focused on proving myself at work that I forgot to be present here. With you.â His eyes find yours, red-rimmed and sincere. âIâm drowning, and instead of asking for help, Iâve been pulling you under with me.â
Your chest tightens at his words. Youâve been so wrapped up in your own hurt that you havenât fully considered his perspective. âWhy didnât you tell me you were struggling?â you ask softly.
He lets out a shaky breath. âBecause I was supposed to be the strong one. The one who had it all figured out.â His voice cracks. âI didnât want you to see how overwhelmed I was. How scared I am that I wonât be enough.â
The admission hangs in the air between you. You reach for his hand, your fingers hesitantly brushing against his. He turns his palm up, letting you take it.
âIâm sorry too,â you say, your voice barely above a whisper. âFor being so accusatory last night. For making you doubt that your best wasnât enough. And for dismissing the fact that you work so immensely hard to provide for us.â
Wooyoung looks up, surprise evident in his eyes.
âI was angry,â you continue, âbut I was also terrified. Every time you came home late without calling, I imagined the worst. And then Iâd feel so stupid when you finally texted, like I was being dramatic or clingy.â
âYouâre not,â he says firmly. âYou were right to be worried. Iâve been a completely inconsiderate asshole.â
You squeeze his hand. âAnd I said things I didnât mean. About you not loving me.â The words are hard to say, hard to admit. âI know thatâs not true. I just... I missed you. I missed us.â
A tear slips down Wooyoungâs cheek. âIâve missed us too,â he admits. âIâve been so caught up in work that I forgot how to be a person. How to be your person.â
You shift closer to him on the couch, the gap between you narrowing. Your free hand reaches up to brush away his tear, your touch tentative, questioning. He leans into it, his eyes closing briefly.
âIâm going to do better,â he promises. âIâve already talked to my boss about setting better boundaries. About leaving work at a reasonable hour, about not checking emails at home.â He opens his eyes, looking at you with such intensity it makes your breath catch. âYou deserve more than the scraps of time and attention Iâve been giving you.â
âWhat if you canât?â you ask, voicing the fear thatâs been haunting you. âWhat if work pulls you back in?â
Wooyoungâs expression turns determined. âThen Iâll walk away. Find something else. Because nothing is worth losing you over.â He brings your joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. âNothing.â
Your vision blurs with fresh tears. âI donât want you to give up your career for me.â
âIâm not,â he assures you. âIâm choosing our relationship. Choosing you. The career is just a job. I can be replaced at any given moment but you? Youâre my whole life. Youâre irreplaceable.â
The words wash over you, healing some of the hurt thatâs been festering. You move closer still, until your knees are touching, until you can feel the warmth of him beside you.
âI love you,â you say simply. âEven when youâre being an idiot and forgetting our anniversary.â
A watery laugh escapes him. âI love you too. Iâm your idiot, though.â
Your hand finds its way to his face, cupping his cheek. His stubble is rough against your palm, grounding you in this moment. He turns his head slightly, pressing a kiss to your palm, his eyes never leaving yours.
âCan I kiss you?â he asks, his voice raw with emotion.
You nod, unable to form words around the lump in your throat.
Wooyoung leans forward slowly, giving you time to pull away if you want to. You donât. When his lips meet yours, itâs like coming home after a long journey. Thereâs relief in the touch, and longing, and a deep, abiding affection that transcends the hurt of the past weeks.
âIâm sorry,â he whispers against your lips. âIâm so sorry.â
His kisses move to your cheek, to the corner of your eye where tears still linger. âIâll do better,â he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.
You tilt your head, giving him access to your neck, where he presses soft, apologetic kisses. âI know you will,â you whisper, your fingers tangling in his hair.Â
Wooyoung pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours. âI donât deserve you,â he says. âBut Iâm going to spend every day trying to be worthy of you.â
You shake your head. âYou already are. You just got lost for a while.â
He pulls you into his arms, holding you against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, steady and strong beneath your ear. His hand strokes your hair, gentle and soothing.
âI was so scared,â you admit, the words muffled against his shirt. âThat we were falling apart, and I didnât know how to stop it.â
His arms tighten around you. âWeâre not falling apart,â he promises. âWeâre just... learning how to be together in a new way. With new challenges.â
You look up at him, seeing the determination in his eyes. âTogether,â you repeat. âThatâs the important part.â
Wooyoung nods, pressing another kiss to your forehead. âTogether. Always.â
The breakfast he made sits forgotten on the table, growing cold. But you donât mind. There will be other breakfasts, other mornings. Right now, all that matters is thisâthe two of you, holding onto each other, finding your way back to what matters most.
âI think,â Wooyoung says after a while, his voice soft with sleepiness and emotion, âthat since i took a few days off we could spend more time together. Just us. No work, no distractions.â
You raise an eyebrow. âYou? Taking time off? Who are you and what have you done with my workaholic boyfriend?â
He laughs, the sound warming you from the inside out. âIâve been replaced by someone with better priorities.â His expression turns serious. âI mean it, though. We need this. I need this. To remember that I have a lot of making up to do.â
The idea is tempting. âAnd how would you do that, hm?â
âI could think of one way right now,â he murmurs, his voice dropping to a low, intimate timbre that sends a shiver down your spine.
Before you can respond, Wooyoung stands and scoops you into his arms, his movements surprisingly fluid despite his exhaustion. You gasp, instinctively wrapping your arms around his neck as he carries you toward your bedroomâyour shared bedroom thatâs been missing his presence for far too long.
âWooyoung,â you breathe, your heart racing as he pushes the door open with his foot. âPut me down! I couldâve walked to the bedroom too, idiot.â
âSorry princess. I couldn't help myself,â he says, his eyes dark with desire as he lays you gently on the bed.
He climbs onto the bed beside you, his weight making the mattress dip. For a moment, he just looks at you, his expression a mixture of reverence and hunger that makes your breath catch.
âMissed you,â he whispers, his hand coming up to trace the line of your jaw. âSo much.â
You reach for him, pulling him down into a kiss thatâs deeper than before, more urgent. His lips move against yours with a desperation that speaks volumes about the distance thatâs grown between you. You can taste the salt of dried tears on his skin, feel the slight tremble in his hands as they slide down to your waist.
You fist your hands in the crisp fabric of his shirt. The buttons press sharp and insistent against your chest, and you tug at them, desperate, fumbling until the first one gives. He groans, shifting so he can help, pulling away just enough to make quick work of the rest. The shirt falls open, exposing him to the morning light, the edges of his collarbone flushed and vulnerable.
Your breath hitchesâyouâd forgotten, somehow, how beautiful he is like this. His body is lean but not slight, muscle hugging bone and sinew in all the right places. You drag your hand along the inside of his forearm, tracing the thick black lines of the rose inked from his wrist to the curve before his elbow. You glide over the leaves and thorns, half-expecting the tattoo to prickle beneath your touch. He shudders, eyes hooded, drinking in the sight of you devouring him.
You slide your palm up, across his biceps, his shoulderâmapping every inch, reacquainting yourself with the geography of him. His chest heaves, the faint dusting of hair there rising as you scrape your nails down to his abs. You canât help but smile a little at how his stomach tenses, how he jerks when you reach the sensitive dip above his hips. He grabs your hand, bringing it to his mouth, kissing each knuckle in apology and in thanks. Heâs trembling with wanting, with relief, and you want to swallow it whole.
You pull him closer, reaching up to slide the shirt off his shoulders. It pools at his elbows, then falls away, leaving him naked from the waist up. He presses you into the mattress, his lips everywhere at onceâyour jaw, your neck, the hollow at your collarbone. His hands are greedy, slipping under your shirt, seeking skin, worshipping you as if youâre the only thing in the world that makes sense.
Wooyoungâs fingers curl into the soft cotton of your sleep shirt as though heâs gathering every ounce of courage in his body to peel away not only the fabric but the distance heâs put between you. The morning light filters through gauzy curtains, illuminating the swirl of dust motes in the air and casting a gentle glow over your skin. He pauses, breath catching as he drinks you inâevery freckle on your shoulder, every rise and fall of your chestâbefore tugging the shirt up and over your head in one smooth, practiced motion. The cool air of the room grazes your bare skin, sending a shiver through you as the light catches the gentle pebbling of your nipples and the subtle flex of your stomach muscles.
He chases away the chill, warm palms gliding up your sides, fingertips tracing the lines of your ribs, thumbs circling the soft shadows beneath your breasts as if to reassure himself that you are realâsolid and here.
âW-Wooyoung,â you breathe out, barely more than a tremor in the air, but it hits him like a bullet: his gaze snaps up, blown wide and hungry, jaw tensing so hard you can see the cords in his neck stand out.
âHmm?â
He sounds dazed, already gone for you. He searches your face for a clue, a hint of what you want, even as his hands keep movingâroaming your waist, palming the flare of your hips, stroking reverent up and down your spine. You shudder, skin prickling everywhere he touches. Then, with a slow, deliberate shift, you arch your back and hook your thumbs into the waistband of your underwearâyour last layerâand drag them down, inch by inch, teasing yourself as much as him. You kick them off, letting them flutter to the floor, and stretch out on your stomach, arms reaching above your head, pressing your cheek into the pillow. You tilt your hips up, highlighting the bare swell of your ass, lush and expectant, every inch of you primed for him. The effect is instantaneous. He groans, low and feral in the back of his throat, his cock straining visibly against the thin grey of his sweats.
âWhat are you doing, baby?â he chokes, voice ragged, eyes glued to the sight of you so shamelessly presenting for him.Â
You glance back lazily over your shoulder, lips parted, smile hazy and filthy. âLay on top of me.â Your voice drips with need, teasing, coaxing, as your ass shifts again, the jiggle intentional, sinful.
His adam's apple bobs, eyes glued to the way youâre presenting yourself to him, pussy glistening and waiting. He sits frozen for a second, maybe trying to get his breath back, maybe just marvelling at how good you look, spread out and waiting.
âBet."
Then heâs on you, crawling up the bed with a focused intent that sends another thrill through you. âUp,â he murmurs, tapping your hip. You lift obediently and he slides a pillow beneath you, angling your hips up off the mattress before he kneels behind you, pushes your thighs apart with strong hands, trapping your legs beneath his as he blankets your body. His heat, heavy and suffocating in the best way, seeps into your skin. Your cheek sinks into the sheets; you can smell your own slick in the air, feel the pulse of anticipation between your thighs. He leans in, lips skimming up your spine, worshipping every vertebrae, every goosebump and dimple, before he settles his weight against your back, pinning you down and making you feel tiny beneath him.
You canât help it: you reach back, grab at the waistband of his slacks, desperate to feel more of him. Your fingers brush the rigid outline of his cock and he shudders, hips jerking, the tip already wetting a dark stain into the fabric. He lets you tug down his pants, lifting his hips just enough to help you get them over his ass, down his thighs, clumsy and urgent. As soon as theyâre off, he kicks them away, a brief chill racing up your legs before he covers you again, hotter and needier than before. Youâre both tremblingâmaybe from nerves, maybe from how badly you need each other.Â
âPlease,â he moans, the word nearly a whimper, as you wrap your hand around the bulge beneath his boxers, feeling him throb in your grip. Heâs so hard it almost hurts, and when you pull the waistband down and finally set him free, he gasps, forehead dropping onto your shoulder. His cock springs out, thick and flushed, the head angry red and already leaking.
âJesus,â you hear yourself say, voice thick with awe. âSomeoneâs a little eager.â He laughs, shaky, like heâll fall apart if he doesnât.
âYou have no fucking idea.â
His hand traces your thigh, kneading your flesh, fingers digging in with just enough pressure to bruise. You feel how much he needs you in every trembling touch. He cups your ass, squeezing and spreading, and then lets his hand drift lower, fingers ghosting along your slit. Youâre soakedâembarrassingly soâand he groans when he feels it, slicking his fingers through you, teasing your entrance with featherlight touches. Your hips buck back, desperate for more, but he holds you firmly in place, taking his time, savoring the way you writhe under him.
âAre you gonna make me beg?â you pant, rutting against his hand.
He presses a kiss to your shoulder blade, voice thick and broken. âI want to hear you say you need me.â
âYou already know I do.âÂ
âSay it anyway.â His tongue flicks your earlobe, his words vibrating in your chest.
âI need you, Wooyoung. Please.â
The words tumble out, more desperate than you mean them to, but you donât care. You want himâneed himâso bad itâs physically painful. He lines himself up at your entrance, the heat of his cock a brand against your skin. But he doesnât push inânot yet. He grinds the tip against your folds, smearing his precum through your wetness, teasing you with shallow thrusts that never quite give you what you want. You sob into the pillow, body arching, entirely at his mercy.
âGod, look at you,â he whispers. âYouâre so perfect. Fuck, I donât deserve you.â
âYes you do.â The words are a gasp, but you mean them. Even after everything, you want to give him this.
You want to give him everything.
Heâs shaking, whole body vibrating with the effort of holding back, not just rutting into you like an animal. âIs this okay?â he asks, voice so weighted with emotion it almost makes you cry. âTell me you want this. Tell me you want me.â
âI want you,â you say, âI always want you. I want you right now, more than anything.â
He lets out a choked breath, as if youâve released him from a terrible spell. âFuck, yes.â He buries his face in the curve of your neck, breath hot and ragged. You feel the tip of his cock press against your entrance, stretching you slowly, inch by inch as he slides in.
The stretch is sweet, burning, perfect. You moan, the sound loud and raw, echoing off the walls of your shared bedroom. He fills you up, deeper than you remember, and it feels like coming home after a long, cold exile. You clench around him, savouring the drag, the friction, the pulse of his heartbeat through the thickness of his cock. He starts to move, slow at first, drawing out each withdrawal and thrust so you feel every centimetre, every ridge and vein. His hands on your waist are trembling, sometimes gripping too hard and then letting go, as if heâs afraid to hurt you, afraid to let go of this moment. You arch your back, pushing yourself up into him, greedy for more.
âHarder,â you urge. âFuck me harder."
He whimpers, hips stuttering, and then sets a punishing pace, hips snapping forward to drive into you with every ounce of pent up longing heâs been carrying. The mattress creaks, the headboard smacks the wall. Heâs so big, so deep, so desperate, and you love it.
âDonât⌠fuckâ say that shit,â he whines, his voice cracking. âYâfeel so good, so fucking tight.â
You arch back, meeting his thrusts, loving the way he loses control. His need for you is unfiltered, all-consuming, and you drink it like oxygen. He sets a rhythm, fast and merciless, hips slamming into you so hard it feels like a punishment, but you crave it, need it, want him to fuck you so hard you forget the argument and only memorise the feeling of him inside you. The slapping sound of skin on skin is obscene, even over the creaking of the bed and your shared moans, but you donât care, donât care if the whole apartment building hears you. Wooyoung is not gentle, not now; heâs desperate, driven by weeks of withheld affection, of loneliness and longing. He covers you, bites your shoulder, fucks you like itâs the last time, every thrust a plea for forgiveness and a pledge of eternity.
He leans more of his weight into you, his hand snaking around to your front, fingers seeking your clit. The first touch is electricâyou jerk, stars bursting behind your eyes. He circles your clit with the pad of his finger, fast and hard, no finesse, just pure need to make you cum.
In a cruel twist of fate, his hips slow suddenlyâthe rhythm of his hips bullying yours breaking. You whimper at the loss, your body clenching around him, so desperate for more. But he pulls out completely, leaving you empty, aching.
âLook at me,â he demands, voice rough with need.
You crane your neck back over your shoulder, cheek still pressed into the sheets, and find him watching you with that dark intensity that makes your breath catch. His cock glistens with your combined wetness, the head swollen and flushed as he drags it slowly up and down your entrance, the angle making you feel every torturous inch of the teaseâjust enough pressure to feel but not enough to satisfy.
âPlease,â you gasp, hips tipping higher.
His lips curl into a wicked smile from somewhere above and behind you. âNot yet.â He circles your clit with his slick tip before sliding back down. Your thighs tremble against the pillow he placed under your hips.
âSpit,â he commands, reaching his palm around to your mouth.
You obey without hesitation, gathering saliva that he uses to coat himself again, the wet sound obscene in the quiet room. He returns to his maddening teasing, the new slickness making his cock glide effortlessly against your swollen flesh.
âGood fucking girl,â he groans, the words punched out between ragged breaths. âLook at youâtaking everything I give you.â
Youâre beyond words now, reduced to desperate sounds as he continues his exquisite torture. When you canât stand it anymore, you reach behind your body, guiding him back to where you need him most. He lets you, but only for a moment. With a growl that vibrates through your chest, he pushes your hand away and positions himself again, his eyes locked on to the way your body is so responsive to his. Then he leans down, lips pressing soft and slow into your shoulder, and you feel his breath warm against the curve of your neck
âPrincessâ he whispers, voice cracking open at the edges, his cock still dragging slowly and torturous against your entrance. âYou can forgive me right? ShitâŚYou can forgive your Wooyo right?â
âYes,â you gasp, hips rolling back into him helplessly. âYes, yessâfuck, I f-forgive you⌠Wooyoung, I need you so bad, please!"
Something breaks in his expressionâall restraint shattering. He thrusts forward in one powerful motion, burying himself to the hilt with a sound that borders on a sob, hands clutching your hipsâhis grip bruising but full of desperate love. âGod, you feel so good,â he croaks. âI missed this. I missed you. I missed you so fucking much.â
The force of it knocks the wind out of you, the fullness so shocking you can only moan, the sound muffled by the pillow but loud enough for him to hearâmaybe for the neighbours to hear too. He doesnât care. Neither do you.
The words degenerate into a string of curses and pleas, all dignity and composure long abandoned. Youâre reduced to this: the shudder of your hips, the filthy slickness on your thighs, the way you beg for him with every inch of your body.
Heâs lost to it now, rutting into you with a violence born of weeksâmonthsâof wanting, of regret, of all the shit heâs made you both suffer through in his absence. Every motion is a contradiction, a punishment and an apology, as he fucks you harder than he ever has, hips snapping so fast you barely have time to catch your breath between thrusts. His hands are everywhereâgripping your hips, yanking you back onto him, fisting in your hair, ghosting along your ribs and then down to your clit. His fingers rub you with the same desperate rhythm as his cock, no finesse, just pure, animal drive to make you cum first, to make you remember what you are together.
He doesnât say a word at first, just grunts and breathes your name into your hair like a prayer. But when you look back at him, head turned over your shoulder, you see his face twisted in something rawer than lust. Love. His eyes are wet. He thrusts in, deeper, grinding the head of his cock against the spot inside you that makes your vision white out at the edges.
âGod, I missed you,â he whines, the words hitching on the upstroke. âI missed you, princess, Iâm sorry, Iâm so fucking sorryââ He laces his apology into every movement, every thrust, trying to convince you with the force of his body how much he means it. âNo one else can have you, fuck, never anyone else, not ever, you hear me?â His hips stutter, losing rhythm, and you know heâs close, so close, but he wonât let himself finish until you do.
He snakes his hand around your throat, the gentlest squeeze, just enough to remind you whoâs in control. The pressure is perfect; you arch into it, into him, hips rocking back greedily to milk every inch of his cock. He bends over you, mouth against your ear, breath hot and frantic:
âCum for me, princess. Wanna feel you cum all over me.â
And you do, splintering apart around him, pleasure ripping through you so hard it borders on pain. You scream, you swear, you claw at the sheets, and he fucks you through it, pace relentless, never slowing, never breaking.
Heâs shaking above you, groaning your name, his hand still tangled in your hair as he thrusts a few more desperate times and then comes, deep inside you, with a guttural wail. The heat of his release is almost shocking, the way he fills you leaving no doubt that heâs yours, utterly and absolutely. He stays pressed to you, sweat-slicked and trembling, for long, silent seconds, his cock twitching with aftershocks, his breath turning softer, steadier. You can feel his heart thumping against your back, the wild rhythm slowly synchronizing with yours.
He never lets you go, not even as he softens inside you. He just wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck. You canât move, can barely breathe, but the only thing you want is to stay like this foreverâhis weight, his warmth, his love, every bit of him pressed into you until you forget where you end and he begins. Heâs the apology and the forgiveness, the punishment and the reward, and you take every last bit of him, all over again, until neither of you has anything left to give.
Youâre both gasping, boneless, ruined, but itâs the best kind of ruinedâlike youâve been put back together again, better than you were before. He kisses your neck, soft now, lazy, like he canât help himself, and when he finally pulls out, both of you whimper at the loss.
You shift, rolling onto your side, facing him. His face is dampâsweat, tears, who even knowsâbut his eyes are clear and bright as he looks at you. He traces your jaw with a shaking finger.
âYouâre so fucking perfect,â he breathes, voice hoarse, âand Iâm never letting you go, you got that?â
You laugh, delirious, and pull him close, your lips finding his in a kiss thatâs slow and deep, the kind that says I forgive you, I want you, Iâll never be done with you. He sighs into it, like heâs waited a lifetime for this, like heâs never tasted anything sweeter.
And then his hand is between your legs again, gentle now, and you realize heâs not done with you yet. Not even close.
But you werenât done with him either.
âWait,â you mumble against his lips, pulling back just enough to see his eyes. âLet me watch you.â
Wooyoungâs brow furrows, a question forming in his gaze. You slide your hand down his chest, over the damp skin, until your fingers wrap around his still-sensitive cock. He hisses, body tensing at your touch.
âWanna see you touch yourself,â you clarify, your voice dropping to a husky whisper.
Understanding dawns across his face, followed by a slow, wicked smile that makes your stomach flip. âYeah?â he asks, already shifting position. âYou want to watch me jerk off, baby? Naughty girl.â
You nod, your own hand moving between your legs as you settle back against the pillows. Wooyoung sits up, kneeling between your spread thighs, his eyes never leaving yours as he wraps his hand around his length. Heâs already hardening again, his cock responding eagerly to your gaze. You watch, transfixed, as his fingers begin to move, a slow, deliberate stroke from base to tip that makes his breath catch.
âFuck,â he groans, his head falling back slightly. âPlay with yourself too, princess.â
Youâre touching yourself now, circling your clit with teasing pressure, your other hand squeezing your breast. The sight of him pleasuring himself while watching you is intoxicatingâhis muscles flexing, his lips parted, his eyes dark with desire.
âShow meâŚshit," you urge, your voice barely audible. âShow me what you think about when Iâm not around to suck you dry.â
He moans, his pace quickening. âIâm always thinking about you, â he admits, his voice rough. âAbout your pretty mouth, your perfect tits, the way you feel when Iâm inside you.â His hand moves faster now, his breathing growing ragged. âI think about making you cumâfuck, l-love thinking about watching you fall apart because of me.â
Your fingers move faster, matching his rhythm, the sight of him pleasuring himself pushing you closer to the edge. The room fills with the wet sounds of your mutual pleasure, your soft gasps mingling with his deeper groans.
âIâm câclose,â you pant, your hips rising off the bed. âBaby, Iâm so fucking close.â
âMe too,â he gasps, his hand moving furiously over his cock. âGod, the way youâre touching yourselfâfuck, I canâtâ"
âSo fucking good⌠haahââ you whimper. âCum with me.â
His eyes lock with yours, and you see the same desperation, the same need reflected back at you. Your fingers move faster, your thumb circling your clit with just the right pressure as you watch his hand fly over his length, his body tense with impending release.
âWooyoung,â you cry out as the first wave hits you, your body arching off the bed.
âOh god, yes youâre so hot fuuuck,â he groans, his release spurting hot across your stomach as he watches you come undone.
Youâre both panting, chests heaving as sweat trickles down your bodies and Wooyoungâs cum glistens wet and hot across your stomachâbut even as you come down, the air between you only grows thicker. His eyes linger on your face, hungry and soft all at once, and you know before he says a word that he isnât finished with you yet. He swipes his thumb through his mess, smearing it across your skin, and then lifts his hand to your lips.
âOpen,â he murmurs, voice already roughening around the edges, and you open obediently, tongue laving over his skin, savouring the salt and the faint sweetness of him.
He watches you, transfixed, and then the hunger snaps back into focus. With a sudden, fluid motion, he grabs you by the hips and guides you onto your back, landing you with a gasp and a bounce that sends aftershocks through your spent body. For a second you just lie there, limp and loose-limbed, but Wooyoung is on you before you have time to recoverâhis mouth capturing yours in a kiss thatâs all teeth and tongue and desperate, greedy possession. He devours you, biting your lower lip so hard you nearly yelp, but then heâs soothing the sting with a velvet-soft lick, fingers already roaming, cupping your jaw, winding into your hair, squeezing the back of your neck until youâre gasping into his mouth.
âLast one baby,â he rasps, voice vibrating right against your teeth. âNeed to breed your pretty pussy one last time.â
Heâs already sliding down your body, trailing open-mouthed kisses over every inch of skinâyour throat, your collarbones, the peak of your tits. He bites down gently on your nipple, then flicks it with his tongue, the sensation sharp and electric and so fucking precise. He lavishes both breasts with attention, sucking bruises in places only he will see, then lets his tongue trace a hot, wet path down your torso.
He stops at your belly, swiping a finger through the sticky mess on your skin. âLook at you,â he says, voice thick with pride and awe, and you feel your cheeks flame even as you spread your legs wider for him.
He dips his head, lapping at where his cum has pooled in your navel, and you shiver at the lewdness of it, the way he worships every part of you. When his mouth finally moves lower, youâre already shaking with anticipation, your core clenching tight, desperate for more even though you should be wrung out.
He dives between your thighs, licks a stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit, and you nearly come off the bed from the shock of it. He laughs, low and dark, and buries his face in your cunt, eating you like a man starved. His tongue is everywhere. Circling your clit, plunging inside you, mixing slick and spit and the faint metallic taste of his own release. You fist your hands in his hair, grinding your hips against his mouth, shameless in the way you beg, âMore, more... please, fuck, donât stopââ and he doesnât.
He works you with ruthless precision, two fingers thrusting deep while his tongue flicks rapid-fire at your clit. You feel the pressure build, so much faster than before, your legs trembling, your thighs clamping tight around his head. He holds you open, arms braced under your knees, keeping you spread and helpless as he brings you right to the brink and then eases off, just enough to drive you insane. He does it again, and again, pulling you apart, making you plead for it.
âWooââ you whimper, your voice thin and shaky. âPlease, pleaseââ
He lifts his head, lips glistening, and you see the wild satisfaction in his eyes. âYouâre so fucking pretty when you beg,â he says, and the praise sends another rush of heat through your veins.
âPlease,â you say again, and this time he relents, sucking your clit into his mouth and moaning around it. The vibration hits you like a lightning strike and you come hard, arching your back, crying out his name so loud you know it will echo in your ears for days. He keeps going, licking you through it, not stopping until youâre sobbing with oversensitivity and shoving at his head to make it end.
He crawls up your body, cock already hard again as he rubs it against your thigh, your stomach, the sticky aftermath on your skin. He lines himself up at your entrance, and youâre so wet, so open for him, that he slides in with barely any resistance. The stretch still hurtsâjust a littleâand he winces with you, kissing your cheek, your ear, whispering, âShh, you can take it. Youâre so good for me.â
You rake your nails down his back, desperate to pull him deeper, and he obliges, ramming into you with a force that makes the whole bed frame rattle. This time, he doesnât pace himselfâhe fucks you with abandon, every thrust a fierce apology, a vow, a plea for forgiveness. âPretty cunt was made for me, wasn't it baby?" he growls, the words muffled against your skin, and you believe him, every time.
He shifts your legs, bends you almost in half putting you into a mean mating press, and the new angle has him thrusting right against your g-spot. You claw helplessly at his arms, nails digging crescent moons into his biceps, and he just grins, sweat beading at his hairline, loving every second of your unravelling.
"'M not going to last... I'm g'na cum holy fuck Wooyoung," you moan out, feeling yourself edging closer to your own climax.
You feel him getting closeâhis rhythm falters, his hips jerk, his breath comes in ragged gasps. He slides a hand between your bodies, thumb circling your clit, determined to take you with him.
âOh fuckâCum fâme princess, make me proud.â
And you do, the orgasm ripping through you so violently that black spots dance at the edge of your vision. You scream, you sob, you babble his name like a prayer, and he follows, spilling inside you with a strangled cry. He shoves in deep, holds you there, and then collapses, pinning you to the mattress with the full weight of his body.
You lie like that for a long, breathless moment, your bodies trembling and tangled, sweat sticking you together, his cock still throbbing inside you as he pants in your ear. For a second you think heâs fallen asleep, but then he props himself up on one elbow and looks down at you, eyes shining, lips parted as if he might start crying all over again.
He rolls you onto your side, still joined, and wraps an arm around your waist, spooning you so tight you can barely move. You reach back and stroke his hair, feeling the way his whole body melts into your touchâthe tension draining from his muscles, the way his breath evens out. The world feels impossibly far away, like itâs just the two of you floating in a bed-shaped universe, nothing but heartbeats and skin and the mess youâve made of each other.
The room falls quiet, your breathing gradually slowing in tandem. Wooyoungâs arm tightens around you, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the nape of your neck. âDonât move,â he whispers, his voice hoarse from use. âIâll be right back.â
He pulls out gently, and you whimper at the loss, feeling suddenly empty. But heâs already sliding from the bed, his naked body glistening with sweat as he pads to the bathroom. You hear water running, and then he returns with a warm washcloth in his hand.
âLet's get you cleaned up yeah?â he says, his eyes soft as he kneels beside you.
His touch is reverent as he cleans between your thighs, wiping away the evidence of your passion with gentle, circular motions. The warm cloth feels heavenly against your sensitive skin, and you sigh, your body relaxing into his care.
âBetter?â he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
You nod, too blissed-out to form words. He disappears again, returning with a glass of water that he holds to your lips. You drink greedily, not realizing how parched you were until the cool liquid slides down your throat.
âMore?â he asks, and you shake your head.
Wooyoung sets the glass aside and moves to his dresser, pulling open the bottom drawer. He rummages through it for a moment before pulling out a faded blue t-shirt that you recognize immediately. Itâs one of his oldest, the fabric soft from countless washes, the university logo barely visible anymore.
âArms up,â he murmurs, and you comply, letting him slip the oversized shirt over your head. It falls to mid-thigh, enveloping you in his scentâthat familiar mix of his cologne and something uniquely him that makes your chest ache with tenderness. He adjusts the collar, his fingers lingering at your neck, before pressing a kiss to your forehead.
âPerfect,â he whispers, his eyes warm as they take you in.
You watch as he pulls on a pair of boxers and a simple white t-shirt, his movements languid, unhurried. Thereâs something intimate about watching him dressâthe way his muscles flex beneath his skin, the casual grace of his movements. He catches you looking and says nothing, just gives you a small, tired smile before he climbs back into bed, pulling you against him. His fingers begin to trace lazy patterns on your arm, up and down, the touch so light it makes you shiver.
âI love you,â he murmurs into your hair. âI hope you know that I adore you so much.â
You turn in his arms to face him, finding his eyes in the dim light of the bedroom. Thereâs something raw and vulnerable in his gaze that makes your heart ache.
âI know,â you say, reaching up to brush his hair from his forehead. âI love you too.â
He catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. âIâm going to do better. I promise.â
âI believe you, I know you will,â you whisper, and you do.
He pulls you closer, your bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining. The bracelet he gave you catches the light, the tiny compass charm glinting. He brings your wrist up to his lips and places a kiss on the charm, a silent reminder for you thatâll heâll always be your north. No matter where you are, heâll always be there for you.
âIâve got you,â he coos, his voice dropping to that impossibly soft register he only uses in these moments. âIâm here, I'm not going anywhere.â
You hum in acknowledgment, too far gone for words. He softly chuckles at your sleepiness. His hand resumes its journey down your spine, each vertebra a landmark he maps with infinite patience. Another yawn overtakes you, your eyes watering at the corners. Wooyoung brushes away the tears with his thumb, his touch reverent.
âMy beautiful girl,â he whispers. âMy whole heart.â
A melody begins to form beneath his breathâsomething soft and wordless that you recognize from nights when sleep wouldnât come, when anxiety gripped your throat. His chest vibrates with the sound, a lullaby composed of nothing but his love for you. Your consciousness begins to drift, the edges of your thoughts blurring like watercolours on wet paper. The scent of himâclean sweat and that cologne heâs worn since the day you metâwraps around you like a second blanket.
âI love you,â he whispers, his lips brushing your temple. âHappy anniversary, my love. I promise to make every one from now on better than the last.â
The words follow you down into darkness, a tether to the world youâre leaving behind. The future for the both of you still holds challengesâhis career wonât become less demanding overnight, and youâll both need to work to maintain the balance youâre rebuilding. But as Wooyoungâs arms tighten around you, as you feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, you know youâll face those challenges together.
Because love isnât about never making mistakes. Itâs about having the courage to admit when youâre wrong, and the strength to keep trying, even when itâs hard. And as the morning light spills across the tangled sheets and your intertwined bodies, you know thatâs exactly what you haveânot a perfect love, but a real one.
Š w00yngie 2026 | do not steal, plagiarise, translate or feed my work to ai.
Thinking about taking a screenshot every time I see a man be misogynistic and then write a headcannon about how they would like to be fucked by another man ft the original comment they publicly posted.
