♡Master List ~ Day Thirteen: Seonghwa {Deepthroating} ~ Day Fifteen: Wooyoung & Yeosang {Cuckolding}
San was not a scaredy-cat. He wasn’t. He simply scared easily. That didn’t mean he was scared of anything. It just meant that his instincts were preparing him. He was a highly evolved human.
That’s why he didn’t understand why one minute he was in a haunted house in the middle of an amusement park, and the next minute, he was in an alternative universe. At first, he didn’t realize it. He just thought he was in a different part of the ride. But when he fully stepped into the dark room, he realized he definitely wasn’t in Kansas anymore.
San’s eyes took in the room. It was rafted like it was the attic of a house. There was one large, stained window at the end of the room. A red cube was at the centre of the stained glass, the sun beaming through it, and throwing a red light on a figure before the window. San suddenly didn’t want to step further into the room.
“L-listen,” San stuttered, clearing his throat to strap steel to his spine. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. My body will protect itself. I’m not going to pay for any damages!”
The figure remained slumped over. Goosebumps covered San’s skin, which he promptly ran his hands over his biceps. “This is stupid,” San muttered to himself.
Despite his instincts screaming at him that this was a trap, San pushed forward. The closer he got to the figure doused in red light, the more his shoulders relaxed. It was just a doll. A human sized, female doll, but a doll nonetheless. Her limbs were stitched like it had been ripped and put back together. She sat against the wall, head slumped forward, legs spread out, in an off-the-shoulder top and a short skirt.
San cocked his head, inching closer. Upon closer inspection, the doll wasn’t quite doll-like. Bending over, San noted your skin, although differently hued, looked real.
San froze when he heard a creak of wood. He laughed in spite of himself. “It was just your own steps, you idiot.”
San tipped back the head of the doll and gasped. This was the most life-like doll he had ever seen. You were beautiful, in a messed up way. There was even stitching over your lips. “Wow,” San said in awe.
That’s when he saw the sign on your chest. Well--a piece of paper pinned to you. Through your skin. It said “play with me”.
San scrunched up his face in confusion. “That’s not creepy,” he tsked.
Then he heard another creak. But he hadn't moved this time.
San whipped around. “Look, whoever you are, it isn’t a good idea to scare me. Just--just reveal yourself already.”
An eerie giggle filled the air, causing San to jump in the air in reaction, shouting loudly.
No matter where San looked, his head turning this way and that, he could not discern anyone else other than the doll in front of him.
“Why don’t you play with her?” A soft, lilting voice whispered into his ear.
But when San turned around, there was no one there.
“I d-don’t play with dolls,” San squeaked.
“No?” The same voice teased from the shadows. “She’s much better than a blow-up doll.”
A blush peppered San’s nose and cheeks. “I would never--that’s--!” San stammered in embarrassment.
“It’s the only way you’ll wake her,” the voice encouraged.
“That’s it, I’m getting out of here,” San declared.
But how? There was no door. Just an empty room with stained glass, a doll, and a voice.
“Come on,” the voice cajoled. “Wake her up. She wants you to play with her, I can promise you that.”
“If I--” San cleared his throat after the crack in it. “If I play with her, will you let me leave?”
“If you wake her up, you’ll get exactly what you want,” the voice agreed.
San pursed his lips to the side in determination and went straight for your breasts. He gasped at how soft they were. They weighed nicely in his hands. He molded them against his palms and let out a soft moan. Then he immediately shook his head. He was not going to get turned on by this.
“Do you like your titties played with too?” The voice whispered. San felt a brush of something against his nipples, which tightened immediately in response.
“Don’t!” San whined.
“So sensitive,” the voice teased. “What do you think will happen if you pull her shirt down and put your mouth around one of her pert nipples?”
San scoffed. “It’s a doll, what are you--” After angrily yanking down the doll’s shirt, San eyes widened, seeing your tight nipples. “What the hell?”
Without any further thought, San knelt in between your legs, held one of your breasts in one hand, and encompassed your nipple around. His eyes looked up, but your eyes were still closed. You didn’t make a noise. Of course you didn’t. You were a doll! But San made a noise because a rough tongue licked his nipple. San yelped, falling backward on his butt and he slapped a hand over his tit.
“Stop that!” San yelled.
“But you like it,” The voice tempted.
“Th-that’s besides the point!” San protested.
“Do more,” The voice pushed.
“This is ridiculous,” San muttered. Shame and embarrassment fueled his hard on, which only made him more angry at the situation. “I’ll show you ‘play with her’.”
San flipped up your short skirt, and with one hand on your shoulder, shoved his other hand between your legs. “What the fuck?” San said as he found wetness where your pussy was.
“My turn,” the voice giggled, pressing against San’s puckered hole through his shorts.
San swung his arm behind him but connected with only air. That felt good. A little too good. “Why are you doing this?” He growled.
“We’re dolls,” the voice said with a dash of sadness and a whole dollop of madness. “What do you think happens to us if no one plays with us?”
“Show yourself!” San demanded, standing up. “I’m tired of this.”
“Oh, you’re no fun.”
Suddenly, another doll appeared out of the shadows. His short red hair matched the doll against the window. His skin was also mis-matched, and he looked stitched together. The male doll had stitches along his lips, too, but it appeared as if he had ripped them apart. The stitches continued past the tips of his lips, making x’s along his cheeks. This doll was just as creepy--and beautiful--as the female one.
“Kim Hongjoong, at your service, Master.” Hongjoong pressed his arm against his stomach and bowed.
“Master?” San said.
Hongjoong cocked his head. “That’s why you’re here. You’re our new Master. But first you have to wake up my partner.”
San’s gaze jerked back to you. You were still sitting there, devoid of any life, tits and cunt on display. “This is so fucked up,” San reiterated.
“You will play with us, won’t you?” Hongjoong smoothed his hands over San’s loose, white, buttoned up shirt. He pouted prettily. “We’ve been abandoned for so long. And you’re such a handsome Master.”
“I--” San’s breath caught in his throat. Hongjoon’s eyes were mismatched, adding to his eerie but beautiful appearance. “Will you touch me the same way I touch her?”
Hongjoong nodded eagerly. “Of course. We’re a matched pair. You take pleasure from her and I give it to you.” The male doll moved away from San and came to stand by you. “I miss you,” he whispered, leaning down and kissing your pliant mouth.
San felt himself stiffen even further in his pants. He was a gentleman, he swore, but there was something really hot about this.
Saliva strung between you and Hongjoong’s mouth as he released you from his kiss. “I’ve tried to wake her myself, of course, but only our Master has that ability.”
San shuddered lightly. Had Hongjoong played with your body in an attempt to get you to wake up. Did he pump his--San shook his head. He didn’t know what side of reality he was in right now.
Hesitantly, San stepped towards you and Hongjoong. “I guess I could try again,” San said hesitantly.
“Would you?” Hongjoong clapped in excitement. “It’s been so long since we’ve played!”
Biting down on his generous lip, San moved with his ass up in the air and his head between your splayed out legs once again. Everything played out as a mirror image. San licked your cunt, Hongjoong took San’s cock in his mouth. When San stuck a finger in your cunt, Hongjoong did the same to San’s puckered hole. When San pushed his tongue into your wet hole, Hongjoong licked San’s rim. San was a panting mess, experimenting with your pretty cunt and Hongjoong’s eager mouth and fingers.
“I…” San’s eyes lost focus, unable to balance giving pleasure and receiving it himself.
“Do you want to come, Master?” Hongjoong prompted San. “I can help you, but you have to make her come, pretty please, with an orgasm on top? I’ll be so sad if you come in my mouth and my partner doesn’t wake up. She deserves an orgasm too!”
“Fine!” San rasped.
Pursing his lips, San sucked down on your hooded clit, plying it with everything he had, pushing two fingers against your g-spot. A shudder travelled through your body, your pussy clenched around San’s fingers and you let out an adorable sigh.
San had about two seconds to absorb this before Hongjoong sucked down on his cockhead, pressed two of his own fingers against San’s prostate, and had his Master coming down his throat. San let out a lusty groan, finding his own orgasm after gifting one to you. His cheek rested against your bare thigh, and closed his eyes in post-coital bliss.
A light, feminine giggle interrupted San’s comedown. Hands card through his hair in thanks. “Master, you woke me!”
San attempted to find his tongue in his mouth. “I…did you like it?” was all he could manage.
“Of course, Master. I loved it,” you proclaimed.
“Good, good,” San smacked his lips.
“I helped,” Hongjoong added unhelpfully.
“Joong!” You cried out.
After hearing a few wet noises, San opened his eyes before getting hard again. There was Hongjoong, kissing you enthusiastically, and you were kissing him back with the same fervor. Hongjoong cupped one of your breasts, and you did the same. The both of you exchanged moans at the pleasure. When you both rubbed each other’s nipples, San decided it was time to sit up.
“So…?” San said lamely.
You and Hongjoong broke your kiss, pressing your cheeks together as you both turned your heads to gaze directly at San with matching sultry smiles. However, neither of you paused playing with each other’s bodies.
“Do you want to watch us, Master?” You asked.
“Or do you want to be between us again?” Hongjoong offered.
San was about to respond before he realized he was drooling. He wiped it up with the back of his hand and then spoke. “Can I watch?”
Hongjoong, and you giggled in unison. “Whatever you desire, Master.”
Master List ~ Day Thirteen: Seonghwa {Deepthroating} ~ Day Fifteen: Wooyoung & Yeosang {Cuckolding}
◇Pairing: Kang Yeosang x Reader (f) x Jung Wooyoung
◇Genre: smut
◇Au: medieval, historical, royal
◇Trope: king/queen/jester
◇Rating: 18+, Minors Do Not Interact
◇Word Count: 2,250
◇Warnings: cuckolding, degradation kink, voyeurism, fingering, finger sucking, slight mxm, sex with no protection
◇Master List ~ Day Fourteen: San & Hongjoong {Dubcon} ~ Day Sixteen: Jongho {Hate Fucking}
You nervously adjusted your sleeping gown as Yeosang strode in. He wasn't even clothed indecently, but it was the air of casualness that had you avert your eyes. His shirt was undone, and his hair somewhat mussed. You shouldn't be seeing another man in this state before bed.
“Darling.” Wooyoung placed his hand over yours, curling his fingers until they intersected yours. “It's okay.”
“Wooyoung, it's really not,” You whispered.
“Aren't I to be a part of this conversation too?”
You squeaked when Yeosang’s deep voice sounded a little too close for comfort. You clung to Wooyoung’s chest upon viewing Yeosang bent over to speak near your ear. You could almost see his navel, the view down his shirt unobstructed-- “I can't do this,” you pleaded with your husband.
Wooyoung charmingly curled his free hand against your jaw. “Darling, please. If you can’t do it for good of the kingdom, do it for me.”
Wooyoung was barren. He had known when he had taken the throne that he would never have a child. But he became king because the alternative was a cousin who was worse than a tyrannical child with mood swings. For the sake of the kingdom, he had suggested that you bear a child with another man. Someone who would keep your secrets for the rest of his life. Enter Yeosang, the court jester, and Wooyoung’s best friend.
It’s not that you didn’t want to… with Yeosang… your insides curled. It was that this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. You were only to be intimate with your husband. And now…
“I think she believes the more she says no, the more you’ll believe that she doesn’t want to do it,” Yeosang observed with a stoic face.
“Yeosang, you’re not helping things,” Wooyoung scolded his oldest friend.
“Well, if you continue to coddle her like that, you will remain childless,” Yeosang pointed out. “It’s not like I was dying to come here,” he said quietly.
Your spine straightened in insult. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You demanded, pushing away from Wooyoung.
Yeosang allowed his eyes to travel up and down your body, meeting your gaze at last. “You haven’t exactly been on my list of ladies of the court to seduce.”
You rolled your eyes. Yeosang, the court jester who could strip someone with words but also make an entire room of nobles laugh, was known to use his bedroom arts to the satisfaction of his master. Where Wooyoung pointed, Yeosang cajoled or scorned. They were a pair, those two.
You turned your head stubbornly away from Yeosang and back to Wooyoung. “See? Why did you suggest this? You should have just grabbed a random prisoner and sentenced them to death afterward.”
Now, it was Yeosang’s turn to be insulted. “You’d rather fuck a random, dirty, probably-missing-teeth prisoner than me?”
Wooyoung rubbed his temples. “The both of you. Please stop.”
You put your hands on your hips. “In fact, I believe I just might. Imagine him kissing my feet and thanking his lucky stars he got the chance to fuck the queen.”
Yeosang looked at you like you thought very highly of himself. “He would be lucky to fuck you? Do you know how I have to fight off men and women every time I try to sleep in my own bed? And even then, someone still tries to sneak in!”
“Enough!” Wooyoung bellowed. “At this point, I’d rather abdicate and suffer my cousin on the throne than listen to you two anymore.”
Yeosang’s strong, unflinching face faltered. “Wooyoung, no, you can’t.”
“Oh, Woo,” You sighed.
Wooyoung’s arms were crossed over his chest as you ran your hand fondly through his hair. “I’m sorry. I know how difficult this must be for you.” Yeosang laughed derisively behind you, and you whipped your head around to glare at him. “Why must you be insufferable all the damnable time?”
“Because, you’re so wrong, it’s laughable,” Yeosang pointed out.
You frown down at your husband. “What is he talking about?”
Wooyoung’s lips were in a flat line and he avoided your gaze. “I have the faintest idea, darling.”
Your hands tightened in Wooyoung’s hair. “Wooyoung,” you said his name in warning.
Wooyoung folded like a stripling tree in a strong storm. “Alright, what Yeosang said has some merit to it.”
“As in?” You pushed.
“I might be a little bit--just a little bit mind you!--excited to watch Yeosang take you in our bed.” Wooyoung’s eyes peeked at you to gauge your reaction.
You blinked down at your husband. It’s not like he didn’t manage to surprise you every now and again. A random gesture to show he still loved you as much as the day you were betrothed. Or a kiss that led to other bedroom activities. But this…
“You’re going to stay and watch?” You said instead.
Yeosang let out a belly laugh, curling his arms around his stomach and laughing so hard that by the time he was done, he was wiping tears from his eyes. “Oh, I needed that.”
Wooyoung glared under his eyebrows at his best friend. “You didn’t have to laugh that hard.”
The court jester meandered to the side table that held liquor and poured himself a drink. It wasn’t until he had taken several gulps of the amber liquid, some of it streaming down the sides of his face and he had to wipe it away with his shirt, that he finally deigned to answer. “If a jester can’t laugh at his king, what kind of life is he leading?”
Wooyoung ignored Yeosang for the moment. “Come to bed, darling.”
You moved into your marriage bed, focusing on your husband. “I don’t understand,” you voiced your worries.
“It’s not that hard to understand,” Yeosang interrupted, standing at the foot of your bed now. “Wooyoung enjoys the denial, sweetheart.”
You froze at the pet name. Since when did that happen? Wooyoung lifted your hand and kissed the back of it. “He’s right. So don’t you worry about me, okay?”
You nodded resolutely and then swallowed loudly as Yeosang ditched his shirt by pulling it over his head with one hand. You wouldn’t allow yourself to see his naked chest.
Yeosang scoffed. “You already oogled me when I bent over earlier.” Speaking to your husband, he said, “How do you deal with her?”
“She’s a mewling kitten for me,” Wooyoung bragged, shrugging his shoulders.
“Wooyoung!” You shouted, feeling your face heat up in embarrassment. “There’s no need to tell him that.”
“Oh, but there is,” Yeosang argued while he climbed onto the bed. “Is there a purring cat under the hissing hellcat?”
“I have no idea what you are speaking o--!” You squealed as Yeosang gripped your ankle and yanked you down the bed--away from your husband.
“Just what exactly do you do to her to get her mewling?” Yeosang asked your husband, but his eyes were locked onto your visage.
“Well, truth be told, she loves my face buried between her thighs,” Wooyoung admitted.
You pressed your hands to your face. “I truly cannot do this, please, just get the kitchen to prepare me a sleeping draught and complete this without me.”
Yeosang’s hands on your ankles tickled up your calves. “Although that would be fun, and we can certainly try this again when this first time doesn’t hold--” Doing this again?! “--for now, I’m going to need you to be present, or Wooyoung won’t enjoy himself, sweetheart.”
“...Wooyoung…” you pleaded. “Save me!”
“Wooyoung, save me!” Yeosang mocked you. “Please, Wooyoung is already helpless, look at him.”
True to Yeosang’s words, Wooyoung was already a goner. Yeosang was barely touching you and already he looked a little glassy-eyed and his cock stirred in his loose pants.
“Woo…” you said helplessly.
Yeosang chuckled. “The only thing that’s going to help the both of you right now is by my strong strokes against your slippery walls.”
Wooyoung moaned softly. “She’s so wet when I slip inside of her.”
Yeosang blew a raspberry. “I bet it doesn’t take much for you to slip inside of her.”
Wooyoung let out a whine. “Don’t be mean!” And moved his hands to his cock that was pressing up against his pants now.
“Let’s see what I’m working with here,” Yeosang muttered, ignoring Wooyoung.
Yeosang raised your sleeping gown slowly, revealing your cunt. The jester settled his body against your side and gently stroked your hair there. “Pretty,” he cooed.
You were struggling. Yeosang’s feather-light touches were enticing. They weren’t anything like Wooyoung’s intentional pressing of the pad of his fingers against your clit, just how you preferred. When your hips cocked upwards, seeking more, Yeosang chuckled. He glanced up to Wooyoung. “Shall I stoke the embers of your wife’s pretty cunt?”
Wooyoung groaned, eyes rolling into the back of his head at the words. Yeosang did so, tracing every fold and crease there, working you up even more. Once his fingers dipped into your slit, you moaned softly. Yeosang was quick to coat his fingers with your slick and then made work of your cunt, stretching you with two fingers.
“You need the prep work, if I’m being honest. I’ve jumped in enough streams with Wooyoung to know he’s a joke compared to me,” Yeosang huskily spoke into your ear but loud enough that Wooyoung could still hear.
You were a mess by now if you were being honest. You weren’t used to this much foreplay in your marriage bed. It’s not that Wooyoung was bad at it, but neither of you was patient enough for this. But Yeosang had built a career around build up, and he was living up to his name.
“I…I wanna…!” You pleaded for your first climax and Yeosang immediately removed his fingers from inside of you.
He left your side completely to push his fingers into Wooyoung’s mouth. You watched as his eyes closed, and he sucked down on them like they were a lifeline. “That’s the most you’re going to get of your wife this eve, so enjoy.” Yeosang watched with dark eyes as his king sucked your slick from his digits.
Once Yeosang was satisfied that Wooyoung had licked his fingers clean, he moved back to the apex of your thighs. He pushed his pants down to his thighs and his thick cock sprung from the confines. He was…
“That…” Your mouth went dry.
“I should have used more than two fingers but I was worried I would break your highness’s pretty cunt,” Yeosang said.
Like you had mentioned, depending on Yeosang’s intentions, he could cut you down with his tongue.
“But don’t you worry, I’ve worked you up enough. You should be fine.” Yeosang’s thick cockhead nudged your wet cunt and then he had to thrust in, inch by inch, before he was all the way inside of you.
“Fuck her good, Yeosang,” Wooyoung murmured, probably out of his mind with delirium by now.
“Aye, your highness,” Yeosang said dryly. “I’ll do my best.” Then his sharp gaze focused on you. “Try not to enjoy it too much, hmm? We don’t want Wooyoung trying to compete with me because he’ll fail epically.”
Yeosang began a game of pulling out slowly and then thrusting in so sharply that you lost your breath every time. It was a build-up again, anticipation swimming in your veins as he pulled out, and then a guttural noise you didn’t even recognize came out of your mouth as he thrusted into you fast and deep.
“That’s it, sweetheart, take me just like that. You’re doing so well. Who knew you were built to take me? I would have thought that you’d have fallen apart quickly. Seems like Wooyoung does know how to pick his wife well. I wonder how well you’d sing for me if I woke you up with my tongue in your cunt, hmm? Or perhaps you’d attempt to stay quiet with your husband sleeping soundly beside you. Wooyoung would be so sad to miss out on me eating your cunt out like it was a delicious pastry but I think he would love the idea of me sneaking into your bed even more. Do you know how happy he is right now? Not only are you saving the kingdom but you’re also helping his dreams come true. What--a--good--wife--you--are!”
His physical build-up didn’t compare to his verbal one. With the last syllable, he sent you both over the edge. His loud groan fell in symphony with your high cry as you at last found your climax. His hips pressed hard against yours as the last of his seed entered you.
You yelped as the jester removed himself from you quickly, if only to lift your ass so that your chin was pressed against your chest, with your lower body high in the air.
“This helps, I’ve been told, by the midwife,” Yeosang informed you, eyes gentle now.
“Oh my God,” Wooyoung came himself, hand rough on his cock, not bothering to hide his pleasure at watching his jester fuck his queen.
You couldn't help but sigh. “Couldn’t you have been even a little bit jealous?” You protested.
Yeosang patted your thigh, using his body to keep you propped up. “Don’t worry, that comes for the third round when he thinks you’re comfortable enough.”
“Excuse me!?” You said with all the royal rage you could manage, but the two men in your bed simply laughed together, and you realized that no one was joking.
Master List ~ Day Fourteen: San & Hongjoong {Dubcon} ~ Day Sixteen: Jongho {Hate Fucking}
Summary: Your life was perfect. You had the perfect fiance, the perfect house and the perfect ring on your finger. The only thing that wasn't perfect …. were the memories you lost years ago and the fact your parents won't talk about it.
Pairing: Yoongi x F. Reader
Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt-Comfort, Smut
Warnings: Memory Loss, Swearing, Blood Mention, Unprotected Sex, Mention Of Car Accident, Mention Of Drunk Driver. Will add as I go…
"The secret, Y/N, is respect," Jin says, wielding a wooden spoon. He taps it sharply against the rim of a massive copper pan. "You cannot rush the garlic. If you burn the garlic, you have insulted the dish. If you insult the dish, you have insulted me. And frankly, neither of us wants to live with that kind of negative energy."
You lean your hip against his immaculate marble island, a glass of white wine held between your fingers, watching him with an amused grin.
"I'm not rushing it," you defend yourself, taking a small sip of your wine. "I was just asking if we should turn the burner down. I've seen the video of you almost burning the dorm down."
Jin gasps, a hand flying to his chest in offense.
"Turn it down? This is medium-low, Y/N. It is a gentle simmer. Look at these shallots. They are translucent. They are crying out for the seafood, but we must wait for the exact moment of peak fragrance." He dramatically closes his eyes, inhaling the steam rising from the pan. "AND….We don't talk about that video! Ah. There it is. The symphony begins."
He moves with a fluid, effortless grace, dumping a large bowl of freshly cleaned clams and mussels into the pan. They hit the hot butter with a loud, violent sizzle, a cloud of steam billowing up toward the range hood.
"Now," Jin says, capping the pan with a heavy lid and turning to you with a wide, satisfied smile. "We let the steam do the heavy lifting for exactly four minutes. Do not touch it. Do not look at it. If you look at it, the heat escapes, and the clams get stubborn. What kind of food did you cook back at home?"
“We didn't really cook,” you answer. “We ordered out most nights.”
Jin gasps loudly. He drops his wooden spoon onto a ceramic rest with a dramatic clack that echoes through the pristine kitchen.
"Ordered out? Most nights?!" He looks at you in shock. He grips the edge of the marble island, leaning in looking at you seriously. "Y/N! A kitchen is a sanctuary. It is a stage! It is meant to be lived in, fought in, and absolutely covered well-executed sauce!"
He waves a hand dismissively in the air, his voice rising into an indignant squeak.
"And this... this Corbyn person hated a dirty kitchen? What kind of man fears a little splatter? You cannot make an omelet without breaking eggs, and you certainly cannot live a joyful life without having to scrub a frying pan at least once a day!" He exclaims.
"He just... preferred things orderly. If a single drop of marinara hit the backsplash, it was a whole ordeal. It just became easier to open an app and let someone else do the dishes." You offer a sheepish smile, swirling the remaining white wine in your glass.
"Tragic. Utterly tragic," Jin mutters, though the theatrical anger is already softening into something much more gentle. He checks his watch, his internal culinary clock ticking down the final seconds for the shellfish. "To live in fear of a mess is to live in fear of flavor. Look at your hands from the other day. Yura told us you were practically a charcoal statue! Did you die? No. You survived. The kitchen is no different."
He steps back to the stove, gripping the handle of the heavy lid.
"And besides... if you never get the kitchen dirty, it means you never get to do this." He smiles.
With a grand, sweeping motion, he lifts the lid. A magnificent, billowing cloud of garlic, white wine, and ocean-rich steam erupts into the space, instantly making your mouth water. The clams and mussels have opened perfectly, yawning wide to reveal plump, tender centers swimming in a shimmering, buttery broth.
"See?" Jin beams, his chest puffing out with pride as he grabs a handful of freshly chopped parsley and showers it over the pan like confetti. "Chaos yields perfection. Now, go grab the toasted sourdough from the oven. Let's see if we can break you of another bad habit."
He slides two wide, shallow bowls onto the island, his eyes crinkling into a warm, supportive crinkle.
"In this house, Y/N, we make a mess. And we enjoy every single bite of it." He nods. “Aaannd…. in this house we are also nosy.”
Jin's eyes go to your left hand where the thin silver band with the dark stone sits on your middle finger.
“What?” You question.
"I know your date with Yoongi went well," he says softly. "But..."
He pauses, the dramatic, theatrical chef completely vanishing. In his place is the friend who watches over everyone with a quiet, protective intensity. He sets the tongs down, his eyes locked on the thin silver band catching the light of the kitchen.
"I know what that ring meant to the both of you," Jin continues. He leans his forearms against the cool marble, looking at you with a gaze that is entirely stripped of jokes. "And because I love you both, I have to say this. Don't get his hopes up if you aren't certain, Y/N. Especially since you're not ready for the weight of what that ring actually carries."
The warmth of the steam between you suddenly feels heavy and extra warm.
"Yoongi... he wears his heart behind a steel vault, but you have always had the combination," Jin says gently, his eyes softening as he notices you instinctively tracing the dark stone with your thumb. "When you disappeared, a part of him just shut down. Seeing you wear that ring again? To him, it will look like a promise. It will look like a path back to exactly how things used to be."
He reaches across the island, his warm, solid hand briefly covering yours, stopping your nervous fidgeting.
"But you don't remember 'how things used to be' yet. And that is okay," Jin reassures you, giving your hand a light, supportive squeeze before drawing back to give you space. "You are allowed to just go on dates. You are allowed to move at a snail's pace. But that ring carries history you're still trying to piece together. Just... be careful with his heart while you're figuring out your own. He will wait a lifetime for you, but the suspense might actually kill him."
A small, bittersweet smile tugs at Jin's lips, breaking the heavy tension just enough for you to breathe. He taps the edge of your wine glass with his fingernail, a soft clink echoing between you.
"Now, retrieve the sourdough before it turns into the charcoal you modeled the other day," he orders, his tone shifting back to its familiar, lighthearted warmth. "The broth is perfect, the chef is hungry, and we have a lot of mess left to make.
Before you can even reach for the oven mitts, the front door flies open. The quiet, aromatic sanctuary Jin had so carefully constructed is instantly wrecked by a tidal wave of footsteps on the floor, overlapping voices, and the unmistakable, chaotic energy of a family arriving in full force.
"Is the food done! I'm hungry!" Taehyung’s voice echoes down the hall first. He catches sight of the marble island and drops his keys with a dramatic clatter. "Jin! Tell me the sea creatures are ready!"
"Wow. It smells like heaven in here." Jimin says right behind him.
"Hey, watch the elbows!" Namjoon grunts, navigating the doorway while trying to balance a giant cardboard box full of old vinyl records he must have dragged along from somewhere. He sets it precariously near the dining table, giving you a warm, dimpled smile. "Hey, Y/N. Don't let Jin boss you around too much."
"Excuse me! I am culturing her!" Jin defends himself, waving his wooden spoon at the incoming horde. "And who invited you all? This was a private masterclass! A culinary sanctuary! Look at you, tracking the outside world into my kitchen!"
"Oh, shut up, Jin, we brought dessert," Yura’s voice cuts through the noise and immediately slides into the space next to you at the island. But she isn't alone. Jungkook is attached to her hip, his arm wrapped firmly around her waist, his chin practically resting on her shoulder as he eyes the steaming pan of clams.
"Hey, Y/N. Tell me he made the garlic bread. If there's no garlic bread, Yura's going to make me drive to the bakery and I've been driving all day." Jungkook looks up, flashing you a massive grin.
"We're married, Jungkook, not glued at the hip, move your big head," Yura teases, though she leans back into his chest affectionately, reaching out to steal a sip of your white wine. She winks at you. "How's the brain-breaking going? Still got charcoal under your fingernails?"
"Washed most of it off," you laugh, the warmth of the room instantly bubbling up in your chest.
Yoongi walks into the kitchen. He doesn't make a loud entrance like the others. He just slips into the room, his dark eyes instantly scanning the chaos until they land on you. Your breath catches for a fraction of a second. The memory of the stone alcove, the scuffed headphones, and the quiet, deliberate pressure of his lips against yours on Saturday rushes back.
Yoongi steps closer to the island, stopping just a foot away from you. There's a subtle, careful hesitation in his posture. A quiet, mutual awareness that things have changed between you. He gives you a small, private nod, his eyes softening.
"Hey," he says.
"Hey," you reply softly, offering a tentative smile.
Your stomach does a nervous flip under Yoongi's gaze. Instinctively, your fingers find the familiar shape of the silver band on your middle finger. You twist it around your knuckle, the dark stone catching the light as it spins.
Yoongi’s eyes follow the movement.
The moment his gaze lands on the jewelry, he freezes. The subtle, relaxed warmth in his posture completely vanishes. His dark eyes zero in on the ring…the engagement ring he had chosen for you, the one you practically snatched from him.
You can see the gears turning in Yoongi's head. The different emotions cross his eyes. He doesn't say a word. He doesn't even breathe. He just stares at your hand, his jaw tightening slightly. The weight of it feels massive, exactly like Jin said it would.
"Is it... is it okay if I wear it?" You ask softly, trying not to draw attention to the two of you.
The question is timid, almost fragile. You want him to know you aren't trying to force a memory that isn't there yet, but you also want him to know that you want this…this connection, this piece of him…close to you.
Yoongi’s eyes slowly snap back up to yours. The raw vulnerability flashing across his face is staggering, but he forces a slow, deep exhale through his nose, purposefully relaxing his shoulders. A tiny, incredibly gentle smile tugs at the corner of his lips, erasing the sudden tension.
"Yeah," he murmurs, his voice a low, rough rumble that carries a depth of emotion that makes your chest ache. He steps just an inch closer, his eyes locked on yours. "Yeah, Y/N. It looks perfect exactly where it is."
"Min Yoongi!" Jin shouts from the stove, aggressively dishing out mounds of steaming pasta into wide bowls. "Instead of giving Y/N lovey dovey eyes, why don't you be useful? Get the sourdough out of the oven before it turns into charcoal!"
"I've got it," Yoongi says quickly, his hand moving to guide you out of Jin's immediate splash zone. His fingers briefly brush against the small of your back.
"Alright, clear the table!" Hobi cheers, appearing out of nowhere with a stack of cloth napkins, practically vibrating with hunger. "The feast has arrived! Move the records, Namjoon, or they're getting marinara on them!"
The kitchen erupts into a flurry of moving chairs, clinking silverware, and the collective, ravenous appetite of a group that clearly eats together often. You and Yoongi work side by side in a quiet, synchronized rhythm, transferring the hot bread to a cutting board, your shoulders brushing occasionally in the narrow space. It's careful, and it's a little delicate, but as you look around the loud, messy room, the hesitation starts to feel less like fear and more like anticipation.
The table is a magnificent, chaotic battleground of passing plates, clanking silverware, and overlapping voices. Jin’s "tragedy of a clean kitchen" has officially commenced, and nobody is holding back.
"Pass the clams, Namjoon…no, the other left!"
"Jungkook, if you eat the last piece of sourdough before I even get a bite, our marriage vows are legally null and void." Yura groans.
You laugh, taking a bite of the perfectly tender seafood, the rich, buttery white wine broth exploding with flavor. Yoongi is sitting right next to you, his thigh occasionally brushing against yours beneath the crowded table. He isn't talking much, content to quietly eat his pasta, but every time you reach for your wine or laugh at one of Jimin’s jokes, you can feel his eyes on you.
"So, Y/N," Yura says, leaning across the table and wiping a stray drop of sauce from the corner of her mouth. "I was looking up some stuff this morning and I stumbled across this watercolor class. It focuses on landscapes and blending techniques."
"Watercolor?" You blink, a sudden, familiar spark igniting in your chest.
"Yeah. I think the charcoal might have been a little too much to get you back into the swing of things," Yura continues, her eyes bright with encouragement. "But watercolor is gentler. It's all about letting the water do the work, building layers. I remember you used to say it was the easiest medium for you to lose yourself in. I thought... maybe it would feel easy now, too. A good way to just play around without any pressure."
"Actually, that sounds really amazing," you murmur, genuinely intrigued. The thought of vibrant pigments bleeding into wet paper feels like a comforting, distant song you almost know the words to. “I feel like….”
Directly right across from you, Taehyung lets out a frustrated, deeply pathetic whine. He is currently engaged in a losing battle with a particularly stubborn, tightly sealed mussel. His bottom lip is poked out, his knuckles white as he tries to pry the shell apart with his bare fingers. His grip slips, nearly sending a spray of broth directly into Jimin's face.
"Taehyung, stop wrestling with the seafood," Jin snaps.
"It won't open!" Taehyung groans, his oversized cardigan sleeves dipping dangerously close to his pasta bowl. "It's locking me out! It's a vault!"
Without even breaking eye contact with Yura, completely untethered from the conscious thought of what you are doing, your hands move on instinct.
"....I wouldn't need such a heavy hand," you finish your sentence smoothly.
In one fluid, seamless motion, you reach across the small gap between your placemats. Your left hand grabs Taehyung’s wrist to stabilize his slippery fingers, while your right hand slides an empty half-shell from your own plate right into the tiny crevice of his stubborn mussel. With a quick, practiced twist of your wrist, you use the shell as a lever.
Pop.
The stubborn mussel springs wide open, revealing the plump center. You slide your hands back to your own glass of wine, picking it up and taking a casual sip.
"Anyway, Yura, send me the link to the class. I'd love to look at it." You smile at her.
Yura doesn't answer.
In fact, nobody answers.
The clinking of forks against ceramic abruptly dies. The loud, boisterous chewing halts. The chaotic symphony of the dinner table is instantly sucked out of the room, replaced by a sudden, heavy, dead silence.
You freeze. Your wine glass halfway to your lips.
Slowly, you look around the table.
Taehyung is staring down at his perfectly opened mussel, his mouth slightly agape, his fingers still hovering in the air exactly where you had held his wrist. Next to him, Jimin’s fork is suspended halfway to his mouth. Jungkook has stopped chewing entirely, a piece of sourdough gripped in his hand, his eyes wide as he looks from Taehyung’s plate to you.
Even Jin has gone completely still, a serving spoon hovering over the pasta bowl.
Next to you, you feel Yoongi go rigid. His breath hitches, a sharp, quiet intake of air that cuts through the silence. You look at them, your heart suddenly hammering against your ribs as a cold prickle of self-consciousness washes over you.
"What?" You ask, your voice sounding small in the quiet room. "Did I... did I do something wrong?"
"No," Taehyung whispers, his voice unusually soft. He looks up at you, his large eyes shifting from a state of shock into something deeply vulnerable, almost fragile. "You... you always used to do that. Whenever I got a stubborn one. You wouldn't even look."
A wave of dizzying realization hits you. You hadn't thought about it. Your body had just known. Muscle memory, deep and buried, had bypassed your broken recollections and simply executed a routine you had performed dozens of times before. Namjoon clears his throat, his expression a mixture of profound awe and a quiet, aching sadness.
"Exactly like that," he echoes softly. "You’d keep talking to whoever, pop it open, and carry on."
"Your hands remember." Yura’s eyes are bright with unshed tears, a trembling but massive smile breaking across her face. She reaches across the tabletop, covering your hand with hers.
The heavy tension in the room breaks, dissolving not into sadness, but into a collective, warm burst of emotion.
"That was amazing," Jimin breathes, finally dropping his fork and shaking his head. "For a second, I thought I was having a hallucination. It was like a ghost just walked into the room and opened a shellfish."
"A ghost with excellent technique," Jin chimed in, though his voice was rougher than usual as he aggressively blinked away moisture. He pointed his wooden spoon at Taehyung. "See? That is what I mean by respect! Y/N has the touch!"
"I'm keeping this shell forever," Taehyung declares, holding up the empty half-shell you had used as a tool like it was a holy relic.
"Don't put garbage in your pocket, Taehyung," Jungkook groans, though he's smiling widely now, shoving the rest of his bread into his mouth.
The table instantly explodes back into motion, the sudden burst of noise a relief against the heavy silence that had just gripped the room. Taehyung carefully sets his holy relic shell next to his water glass with a stubborn, defensive glare at Jungkook, while Jin begins aggressively shoveling more clams onto everyone’s plates as if a surplus of seafood could heal a timeline.
"Eat, eat!" Jin demands, his ears slightly pink. "The emotional shock has burned through your calories. We need sustenance!"
Everyone descends back into their normal chaos, Jimin trying to steal a noodle from Namjoon, Yura enthusiastically texting you the watercolor link under the table. You feel the tight knot of panic in your chest slowly begin to unwind. Your hands are still trembling slightly against the stem of your wine glass. You look down at your fingers. They knew exactly what to do.
"Hey."
The murmur is right at your ear, so low it’s meant only for you.
You look over. Yoongi has shifted in his chair, turning his body slightly toward yours. The rigid tension you felt in him a moment ago has melted, replaced by an intensity in his dark eyes that makes your breath hitch all over again. He isn't looking at the table. He's looking entirely at you, his features soft, a quiet, fierce pride radiating from him.
Slowly, beneath the edge of the crowded table, his hand slides over yours. His palm is warm and slightly calloused. Instead of just a fleeting brush, his fingers slide between yours, locking his hand with yours in a firm. His fingers brushing against the ring sitting on your middle finger. It's hidden from the rest of the room.
"You okay?" He asks softly.
"Yeah," you breathe, a genuine smile finally breaking through your shock. "Yeah. It was just... weird. Like my brain got bypassed."
"Your brain tries too hard sometimes," Yoongi says, his mouth twitching into that faint, knowing gummy smile you’re quickly realizing is your favorite sight in the world. He squeezes your hand again, leaning in just a fraction closer. "Your heart and your hands have a better memory than you give them credit for. Trust them."
Before you can answer, a heavy piece of sourdough lands with a soft thud directly into Yoongi’s pasta bowl, splashing a drop of buttery broth onto his thumb.
"Yoongi, stop hoarding the bread basket and pass it down!" Jungkook calls out from down the table, completely oblivious to the quiet moment he just interrupted.
Yoongi lets out a low, irritated huff, but the warmth doesn't leave his eyes. He slowly lets go of your hand, though his fingers linger against yours until the very last second. He picks up the bread basket with his other hand and glares at the youngest.
"If you drop sauce on my shirt, Jungkook, you're doing Jin's dishes alone," Yoongi warns, though there's no real bite to it.
"I'll help you do the dishes, Y/N!" Taehyung chimes in, finally eating his hard-won mussel. "Since you saved my life from starvation."
"She's a guest, you freeloaders, none of you are making her do dishes!" Jin scolds, waving a napkin.
You lean back in your chair, taking another sip of your wine, the rich flavor settling over your tongue. The noise, the bickering, the warmth of Yoongi's leg resting firmly against yours under the table. It doesn't feel like a puzzle anymore.
It just feels like home.
"I am a martyr," Jin announces to the ceiling, his voice echoing off the tile backsplash over the sound of rushing water. He aggressively attacks a copper pan with a soapy sponge, bubbles flying in every direction. "A culinary saint trapped in a house of ungrateful, lazy heathens. I feed you, I culture you, I give you the gift of my presence, and how am I repaid? Desertion!"
"Jin, I literally just offered to dry," Jimin says, leaning against the counter with a dish towel draped over his shoulder, looking thoroughly amused.
"No! Get out of my workspace!" Jin snaps, waving a sudsy hand dismissively. "Your technique is sloppy, Jimin. You leave streaks. If anyone is going to touch my fine ceramic, it will be me. But that doesn't mean you all get to sit there and watch me suffer in silence!"
"He's in his element," Yoongi murmurs near your ear.
He’s standing right next to you, helping clear the last of the empty water glasses. A faint, lingering warmth remains on your skin from where his hand had been locked with yours under the table just minutes before. He gives you a subtle, lingering look before heading toward the living room to escape the splash zone.
You chuckle, grabbing a damp cloth to wipe down the immaculate marble island. The kitchen is exactly what Jin had wanted for you earlier. There are stray flecks of parsley, a ring of white wine on a coaster, and a faint smudge of marinara near the edge where Jungkook had aggressively defended his bread territory.
As you lean over to wipe a stubborn drop of buttery broth, a deep, crackling hiss echoes from the corner of the dining room. Namjoon has finally freed his vinyl records from the cardboard box. With meticulous, surprisingly delicate care, he places a heavy black disc onto the turntable. The needle drops with a soft, warm pop, and the room is instantly filled with the smooth sound of an old-school jazz track. The tempo is slow and romantic, cutting right through the clatter of Jin's dramatic dishwashing.
"Ah, now that is a classic," Namjoon says proudly, crossing his arms and admiring the sound spinning from the speakers.
"It's too slow! It's putting me to sleep!" Taehyung complains from the couch, though he's already half-buried under a throw blanket, looking thoroughly defeated by the massive amount of carbs he just consumed.
Before you can finish wiping down your section of the island, a whirlwind of energy materializes right beside you.
"Oh, absolutely not. We are not letting the post-dinner coma win tonight," Hobi declares. He appears out of nowhere, his bright eyes locked onto yours, a brilliant, blinding smile stretching across his face.
Before you can even register the laugh bubbling up in your throat, Hobi gently but firmly plucks the damp cloth right out of your fingers, tossing it onto the counter behind you. He grabs your right hand, his grip warm and full of infectious enthusiasm, and places his other hand lightly on your waist.
"Hobi, wait, I'm supposed to be helping…" you protest, laughing as he easily steers you away from the island and into the open space between the kitchen and the dining table.
"The table can wait, Y/N. The music is calling!" He exclaims.
He doesn't drag you into some high-energy dance. Instead, he perfectly adapts to the lazy, swaying rhythm of Namjoon's record. He guides you into a smooth, effortless slow dance, stepping in time with the deep thrum of the double bass.
Hobi moves with a natural, fluid rhythm that makes it impossible not to follow him. He leads you in a slow, elegant sway, his eyes sparkling with pure mischief and joy as he exaggerates a dramatic dip that makes you gasp-laugh, gripping his shoulder for balance.
"See? Perfect form!" Hobi beams, pulling you back up seamlessly into the lazy tempo of the jazz music. "You've got the rhythm in you, Y/N. You just have to let the music do the work."
Over Hobi’s shoulder, you glance back toward the kitchen island. The chaos has shifted into a quieter, domestic rhythm. Yoongi and Yura are working side by side, completely in their own world as they pack away the leftover clams and pasta. Yura is holding open a stack of glass tupperware containers, while Yoongi uses a large metal spoon to carefully transfer the remaining food, ensuring not a single drop of the precious buttery broth is wasted.
Even from across the room, you can see the relaxed slope of Yoongi’s shoulders. He says something in a low voice that makes Yura laugh out loud, shoving his shoulder playfully. He looks up then, his dark eyes instantly cutting through the room to find you. He watches you swaying with Hobi, a soft, incredibly tender expression crossing his face that makes your heart skip a beat.
Hobi catches the direction of your gaze, a knowing, brilliant smirk spreading across his lips. He doesn't miss a single beat of the music.
"Hey, Yoongi!" Hobi calls out, his voice ringing loud and clear over the brassy hum of the turntable. "You're slacking on your boyfriend duties! Come take over before I steal your dance partner for the rest of the night!"
Yoongi freezes, a plastic container lid hovering in his hand. His ears instantly turn a bright, telling shade of pink. Yura lets out a delighted squeal, snatching the lid out of his hand and giving him a hard shove toward the dining area.
"Go! Move your feet, Min Yoongi! Don't be a coward!" She laughs.
Before you can even prepare yourself, Hobi tightens his grip on your hand just enough to guide you into a smooth, sweeping spin. The room blurs for a fraction of a second. The gleaming copper pans, Jin's soapy suds, Namjoon's dimpled grin…and then, the spin slows.
Hobi releases your hand at the perfect moment, launching you right into Yoongi’s space.
Yoongi steps forward automatically, his hands coming up on instinct to catch you. His large, warm palms settle firmly against your waist, steadying your momentum as your chest bumps lightly against his chest.
"Gotcha," Yoongi murmurs as your palms land flat against his chest.
Suddenly, the living room erupts.
"Ooooooh!" Taehyung howls from the couch, throwing off his throw blanket and sitting up straight with a massive, boxy grin. "Look at him! He's blushing!"
"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" Jimin starts chanting rhythmically, slapping his hand against the kitchen counter in time with his words. Jungkook immediately joins in, banging a spoon against an empty glass.
"Yeah, come on, we missed it the first time!" Yura shouts, cupping her hands around her mouth with zero shame. "Give the people what they want!"
"Stop peer pressuring them, you animals!" Jin yells, though he has completely stopped scrubbing his pan, leaning over the sink with a massive, expectant grin plastered across his face.
Your face flushes incredibly hot, the heat blooming from your neck all the way to the tips of your ears. You look up at Yoongi, a helpless, embarrassed laugh escaping your lips.
"They are entirely shameless," you whisper, your eyes wide.
Yoongi is looking down at you, his own face flushed a deep, beautiful crimson that stretches all the way to the back of his neck. He lets out a breathless, flustered laugh, his head dropping for a second as he tries to hide his gummy smile from the roaring crowd.
Yoongi shakes his head, his shoulders rolling with a silent, breathless laugh as the tips of his ears burn an even deeper shade of crimson. He looks out over the living room, his small, knowing gummy smile completely giving away how flustered he actually is, despite his best efforts to look unbothered.
"You guys are absolute idiots," Yoongi calls out, his voice a low, raspy drawl that barely carries over Jimin’s rhythmic kitchen counter drumming.
Before the crowd can boo him for stalling, Yoongi’s eyes flash with a sudden, playful spark. His large hands shift from your waist, one sliding smoothly down to catch your right hand while the other gives you a gentle, surprisingly firm push. With a slick, effortless flick of his wrist, he mimics Hobi's earlier move and spins you right out of his personal space, sending you sailing across the polished floor toward the dining room.
You gasp, laughing as the room blurs again, only to be stopped by a broad, solid chest.
Two muscular arms catch you instantly, wrapping around you with a secure, heavy grip that halts your momentum perfectly. You look up, blinking back your dizziness, straight into Jungkook’s massive, mischievous boyish grin. He’s still holding his spoon in one hand, but he adjusts his hold on you seamlessly, tossing the spoon onto the table behind him.
"See? I told you he’d chicken out!" Jungkook brags loudly to the room, adjusting his stance and immediately moving you into a bouncy, overly energetic box-step that has absolutely nothing to do with Namjoon’s slow jazz record. He shoots a smug, challenging look over your head at Yoongi. "I'm a way better dancer than Yoongi anyway. He’s got no upper body strength."
"I have enough strength to throw a glass tupperware at your head, Jungkook." Yoongi scoffs from the kitchen island, folding his arms across his chest.
Jungkook completely ignores the threat, his eyes crinkling with that competitive energy that usually signals impending chaos. He looks down at you, his grin widening into something deeply menacing and full of adrenaline.
"Hey, Y/N," Jungkook says, his voice dripping with absolute confidence as he takes a deeper, sturdier stance on the hardwood floor. "Watch this. I bet I can flip you right over my shoulder. We can do a full acrobatic routine right into the living room."
"No!" The entire room screams in unison.
"Jungkook, do not drop her!" Yura shrieks, abandoning the leftovers entirely and lunging forward to point a threatening finger at her husband.
"Jeon Jungkook, if you break a single piece of furniture or the guest, I'll make sure you are sleeping in the garage!" Jin bellows from the sink, waving a soapy sponge so aggressively that a sudsy bubble flies across the room and lands directly on Namjoon’s vinyl player.
"Don't do it, Y/N, he has no sense of spatial awareness!" Jimin shouts, actively jumping over the back of the couch to intervene.
You look at Jungkook, your eyes wide with absolute terror and amusement as you feel his grip tighten on your waist, his knees bending as if he’s genuinely preparing for a lifting cue.
"I'm serious, I can do it!" Jungkook protests, a look of pure, stubborn determination. He shifts his weight, his large hands anchoring firmly at your waist as if he’s genuinely timing his launch to the slow, heavy thrum of the double bass. "It's all about leverage, Y/N! Just trust me, on three…"
"If you launch her into the ceiling fan, Jungkook, I will personally dissolve our marriage," Yura warns, sprinting around the marble island to swat at his arm with a dish towel.
"Don't you dare!" You yell, laughing so hard your stomach aches as you frantically grab onto Jungkook’s solid biceps. "Jungkook, put me down! I just ate three plates of pasta!"
"Put her down!" Jin screams from the kitchen, running out with a dry tea towel to rescue Namjoon’s turntable from the flying soap suds. "Namjoon! Move the record! The child is losing his mind!"
"I'm on it, I'm on it!" Namjoon says, his dimples vanishing in a flash of pure panic as he carefully lifts the needle, cutting the smooth jazz off with a sudden, tragic skrrrt.
“What if she hits her head again!” Hobi exclaims.
“What if that's a good thing!” Taehyung smiles. “It might knock some sense into her. Why didn't we think of that before?”
Taehyung starts throwing pillows from the couch to create a makeshift landing pad, while Jimin has successfully sprinted across the room, tackling Jungkook from behind in a chaotic, full-body hug to pin his arms down.
“Down, down,” Yoongi demands, pointing his finger.
"Abort mission! Abort!" Jimin grunts, wrapping his arms around Jungkook’s neck. "He’s too strong, Namjoon, grab his legs!"
"Get off me, I was going to stick the landing!" Jungkook laughs, his deep, boisterous cackle echoing through the house as he stumbles backward under Jimin’s sudden weight, safely letting go of your waist to prevent anyone from actually falling.
You stumble back a step, breathless and giggling, only to feel a warm, steady hand immediately grip your elbow, pulling you safely out of the pile of squirming, shouting boys.
You stumble back a step, breathless and giggling, only to feel a warm, steady hand immediately grip your elbow, pulling you safely out of the pile of squirming, shouting boys.
"Come on," Yoongi’s voice mutters right next to your ear, low and laced with quiet amusement. "Before Jungkook decides you’re a human projectile again."
While Jin is busy lecturing a tangled heap of Jimin, Taehyung, and a fiercely protesting Jungkook on the living room rug, Yoongi steers you towards the front door before anyone can even notice you're gone.
"Unbelievable," Yoongi huffs, a small, soft smile playing on his lips as he guides you down the driveway. "Give them five minutes and they'll realize they lost the guest of honor."
"I think Jin is too worried about his ceiling fan to notice," you laugh.
He steps back just an inch, leaning his hip against the side of your car. He looks at you, his dark eyes softening under the amber glow of the streetlamp.
"It's like old times," he says softly, a hint of nostalgia warming his usually quiet tone. "Sneaking out of the chaos. Just you and me. It's nice."
"Even though I don't remember... it felt really nice inside. It was comfortable." You nod.
Yoongi’s expression softens even further, a look of pure, unconditional tenderness crossing his face. He steps back into your space, tilting your chin up slightly with the gentle brush of his knuckles until you're looking at him.
"You don't have to force yourself to remember," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm. He takes your hand in his. His fingers straighten the ring on your finger. "We can just make new ones."
Before you can reply, he leans in. The kiss is slow, warm, and deeply reassuring…a perfect blend of a slightly muddy past and a promised future. It tastes like the quiet safety you always seem to find whenever he’s near.
“WOOOOO! GET IT, Yoongs!”
The loud, piercing screech of a whistle shatters the romantic silence.
You both freeze, breaking the kiss to look back toward the house. The large bay window is practically overflowing. Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung are pressed flat against the glass, their faces distorted into ridiculous, teasing grins. Behind them, Jin is shaking his head but grinning, while Yura, Hobi and Namjoon are waving enthusiastically. Yoongi lets out a deep, long-suffering sigh, dropping his forehead against yours with a soft groan as you burst out laughing.
“Trust me,” he whispers. “Nothing's changed.”
Everyone eventually disappears from the window one by one, dragged away by Jin yelling something about “fingerprints on the glass” and Namjoon panicking over the vinyl still sitting unattended on the turntable.
Jungkook is the last face pressed against the window.
He gives Yoongi an exaggerated thumbs up.
Yoongi flips him off without even turning around.
Somewhere inside the house, you can still hear muffled arguing, the clatter of dishes, Taehyung loudly insisting he could have caught you if Jungkook dropped you. Yoongi shakes his head fondly.
“Idiots,” he murmurs.
But there’s no real irritation in it. Only affection. Your laughter softens into something quieter as you look at him. The soft flush still lingering across his cheeks. The way his hair falls into his eyes. The tiny crinkle near his mouth from trying not to smile too hard.
And suddenly, the ache in your chest doesn’t feel empty anymore.
It feels full.
Not with memories…not all of them, anyway.
Just... with this.
With warmth.
With garlic and jazz records and overcrowded dinner tables.
With hands reaching for yours under the noise.
With people who stayed.
“What?” He asks quietly after a moment of watching you and you shake your head slowly, smiling.
“I think…” you murmur, glancing back at the glowing house behind him, “I think I finally understand why this place feels familiar.”
“Yeah?” His eyes soften instantly.
“Because it feels like home.” You nod.
For a second, Yoongi just stares at you. His entire expression breaks open into that small, devastating gummy smile.
The one that always feels honest.
He reaches for your hand again automatically, like it belongs there, threading his fingers through yours as naturally as breathing.
“IF NOBODY HELPS ME PUT THESE LEFTOVERS AWAY I’M THROWING THEM OUT THE WINDOW!” Jin shouts from inside the house and Yoongi sighs deeply.
“You hear that?” He deadpans. “Romance is dead.”
You burst into laughter again, and this time when he smiles back, there’s no hesitation left in it at all.
Together, hand in hand, you head back toward the noise.
we met in june || choi san ⚽️ THREE - Tomato Sauce?
⚽️ pairing -> physical therapist! (f) reader x injured soccer player! San
⚽️ genre/au -> sports romance, single parent, smut, fluff, angst
⚽️ chapter summary -> San begins his recovery journey at the club's training center, and he starts to feel jealousy bubbling beneath his skin as he sees you with other members of his team. Later that day, a fiasco in his apartment stirs up feelings that you two will never forget--blurring the lines of patient and therapist.
⚽️ series warnings/tags -> 18+ MINORS DNI, unprotected sex, secret romance (kind of), single parent/divorcee reader, san is such a good father figure, injury warnings, ACL tear, emotional distress with recovery, breeding kink, bathtub sex, voyeurism, longing, forced proximity
⚽️ chapter warnings -> No serious warnings, profanity, physical therapy/injury setting, kiss scene
⚽️ chapter word count -> 4.1k words
⚽️ series word count -> 13.1k words (and counting)
A/N: If you have trouble reading about injuries and the mental/physical things that follow an injury, please be advised. This is also purely fictional, but the emotional struggle is real. I am writing this story because I am currently going through ACL recovery myself. I just wanted to note this just in case.
Today was the start of something new.
San took a careful step forward with his good leg, using his crutches to propel himself toward the entrance of the training facility. His palms were already sore from gripping the handles so tightly.
In front of him stood the place he'd spent years calling his second home. The place he longed for—ached for.
A place that somehow managed to fill him with both excitement and dread all at once.
He stood outside for another moment, taking a deep breath.
Finally, he pushed himself through the automatic doors.
Immediately, the familiar smell of disinfectant and fresh rubber flooring hit him. Somewhere deeper inside the building, weights clanged together. Music echoed faintly through the hallways. Everything sounded the same—yet, everything felt completely different.
This club was one of the best in the country. The best facilities. The best coaches. The best players. The best staff. He used to walk through these doors carrying a soccer ball under one arm, nodding at teammates as they headed toward training.
Today, well, he looked down at the brace locked around his leg. He was here for his worst nightmare.
His stomach twisted.
He wasn't here to train.
He wasn't here to practice.
Hell, he wasn't even here to work out.
He was here to learn how to walk normally again.
The thought alone made him feel sick.
—
When San finally reached the athletic training center, he paused in the doorway, His eyes slowly scanning the room.
He'd only ever been in here for a quick ankle tape before a match...or a bruised shoulder...or one of the countless little knocks that came with professional soccer—never as an actual patient.
He let out a quiet breath. Guess I'll have to get comfortable, he thought to himself.
"...Great."
"San!" A familiar voice pulled him from his thoughts.
"My god, bro!" Wooyoung called from across the room. "How are you feeling?"
San looked over.
Wooyoung sat comfortably on one of the treatment tables near the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, one leg stretched out in front of him while the other bounced lazily off the edge. His ankle was propped up, and judging by the way he looked completely relaxed, today's rehab wasn't nearly as miserable as San's was about to be.
San couldn't help smiling.
"Ah...good." He nodded once. "I'm good."
A lie, a total lie—but he'd gotten pretty good at saying it over the past couple of weeks.
He adjusted himself on his crutches, preparing to make his way over.
Then he saw you.
There you were at the end of Wooyoung’s table, sleeves rolled to your elbows, your hands working carefully around his ankle.
His steps slowed.
You looked...comfortable. Comfortable enough that he almost forgot you were working.
Wooyoung was saying something animatedly, talking with his hands like he always did.
You laughed in an unfamiliar way—not the little smile you'd occasionally given San whenever he made one of his sarcastic comments.
Your shoulders relaxed, eyes crinkling.
San realized that he had never seen this version of you before—something in his chest tightened at the sight of you and Wooyoung.
Maybe it was because he spent nearly every day with you for the past two weeks. You helped him shower, forced him to eat, listened to him complain.
Yet somehow...
He'd never made you laugh like that.
His eyebrows pinched together, his face contorting in irritation before he could stop it.
You happened to glance up.
The moment your eyes landed on him, your expression brightened. "There you are." you motioned toward the empty treatment table beside Wooyoung. "Come on over."
San didn't realize how quickly he started moving until he was already halfway across the room. A little too eager.
He mentally cursed himself. Smooth, Smooth.
He carefully lowered himself onto the table beside Wooyoung, gripping the brace straps to lift his leg up manually.
He hissed quietly through his teeth, silencing the pain.
Wooyoung practically melted beneath your hands. "Ohh, That feels so good."
San looked over.
Wooyoung had actually thrown his head back against the table. A little...too dramatically—too sensually, in San's opinion.
"Seriously," he groaned. "Why are you so good at this?" He cracked one eye open to look at you. "Where have you been my whole life, baby?"
You simply smiled, completely unfazed.
Something about the way Wooyoung looked at you suddenly bothered him.
Not because he was flirting—damn, Wooyoung flirted with everyone. Probably anyone who breathed. It wasn't unusual or something super out of the ordinary.
So why...why was it bothering him now?
"I'll be right with you, San," you called over to him.
He nodded absentmindedly. Truthfully...He hadn't heard a word you'd said, his attention stayed fixated on the midfielder next to you.
On the way he leaned just a little closer whenever you spoke. The way he smiled at you. The way he lightly bumped your arm when he laughed. When you finally finished, you gave his shoulder a friendly pat.
"Alright. The soft tissue mobilization should help. If your ankle starts acting up again, come find me or one of the other therapists, okay?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Wooyoung hopped off the table. As he stood, his hand brushed against yours. It couldn't have lasted more than half a second—completely accidental.
Yet, San felt something tighten uncomfortably in his chest.
He didn't like it. Didn't know why.
Just...Didn't like it.
"See you later, dude!" Woo called to San as he slung his gym bag over one shoulder. "Once you're better, drinks are on me."
San forced a smile. "...Sounds good."
He clenched his jaw tightly as he watched him disappear through the doorway. He didn't even realize he'd been staring after him until your voice cut through his thoughts.
"Hey."
He blinked.
You were standing beside him now, chart tucked against your side.
Your eyebrows pinched together. "How are you feeling?"
He looked up at you. He didn’t say anything.
"Everything okay?" You followed his line of sight before looking back at him. "...You know he's gone, right?"
San blinked. "Hm?"
"Wooyoung."
"Oh."
A small smile tugged at your lips. "You looked like you wanted to fight him."
He let out a quiet laugh. "I don't think I'd win right now."
You looked down at his brace. "...Definitely not. Unless you used your brace as a weapon."
He scoffed.
You wheeled the stool over and sat down in front of him. "So..." you began, reaching for the straps of his brace to unlock it. "How are we feeling today?"
He shrugged. "Nervous, I guess." He looked around, running an anxious hand through his dark hair. “Worried I'm not progressing enough.”
You paused for just a second. "I know," you breathed. “But you’re on the right track. Recovery isn't linear.”
As you unlocked the brace, he glanced toward the hallway again.
"...So."
You looked up.
"So?"
"...You work with everybody here?"
You laughed. "I do now."
"You were with Woo."
"I was."
"I thought..." He stopped, hesitant.
"You thought what?"
"...Nothing."
You smiled, enjoying the expression San was making. "I want to know."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I thought he was your patient."
You smirked. "He was."
"...I thought I was your patient."
Your eyebrows lifted. "You are."
Silence followed your answer, San’s eyebrows furrowing as he bit the bottom of his lip.
"...My main patient." you added. "I was just helping another therapist for a few minutes."
His shoulders relaxed a little. "Oh."
You took a moment to study his expression—he looked relieved to hear what you said, which was confusing, to say the least.
He watched you type something into his chart.
"...Do you like working here?"
You looked up, surprised—and also easily distracted by him. "That's random," you murmured.
His expression was a look of curiosity. "I was just wondering."
You shrugged. "I do. It's different."
"...Different good?"
You shrugged. "I think so. But I do miss my old coworkers."
He smiled, happy to know something about you—but also a deep, confusing feeling took hold of him.
San watched you as you continued to evaluate him, watched you as you walked away to grab something in a cabinet across the room. He looked at you, watched you, as if no one else was in the room.
You pulled up the cords attached to the Russian stimulation unit over beside the treatment table, plugging it into the wall before peeling the backing off the adhesive electrodes.
"Alright," you said, patting his quad. "This part's going to feel weird."
San looked at the machine suspiciously, then back at you, then back to the machine. "...Weird how?"
You pondered, thinking about how to explain it. "Like…an intense grip that forces your thigh to tightly bunch up.” you paused, gently placing the electro pads on him. “It will straighten your knee for you since you can't do it on your own.”
He stared at you, sighing dramatically. "I already don't like it."
"I know." You positioned his leg on a towel roll. "I'm just trying to wake your quad back up."
"I was hoping it'd wake itself up."
You leaned over his leg, one hand steadying his thigh while the other carefully pressed the other pad into place. San stiffened underneath you, suddenly extremely aware of your scent, the lipgloss on your lips, your delicate touch.
San then watched your hands. You had small hands. Strong hands. Hands that somehow managed to hurt him and help him at the same time.
He was uncomfortably nervous under your touch. It made him both excited and terrified. Maybe it was the lack of physicality he’s had for quite some time.
As you smoothed out the pads on his legs, he noticed it.
Your left hand.
No ring.
His eyes lingered for a second longer than they probably should have.
—
You finished adjusting the last electrode before reaching over to switch off the Russian stimulation unit.
"There." You peeled the adhesive pads off his quad carefully. "How'd that feel?"
San looked down at his leg, giving his quad a little flex. "...Strange."
"That's a glowing review."
"I never said it was bad,” he teased.
"I'll take it." You smiled. "Your quad's waking up nicely. That's exactly what we wanted."
"So...good news?"
You smiled at him. "Very good news."
He couldn't help smiling a little as well. "I'll see you tomorrow?" he croaked out hesitantly.
"You'll see me tomorrow,” you laughed, turning toward the door, desperately needing to use the bathroom.
The rehab gym buzzed with activity outside the athletic training room—a few players were scattered around the weight room, music playing quietly through the speakers while one of the strength coaches counted reps across the room.
Wooyoung was standing near the cable machine, resistance band looped around his ankles as he worked through his exercises.
The second he spotted you walking out of the treatment room, he waved dramatically.
"Y/N!"
You sighed before you even reached him. "...What now?"
"I've got a question," he hollered from across the way.
"I don't like the sound of that," you mumbled, watching him drop the resistance band to make his way over to you.
"It's harmless."
You blinked. "So you say."
"So..." He grinned, leaning up against the wall next to him. "Your husband cool with you spending all day hanging around a bunch of professional soccer players?"
You laughed. "I don't have a husband."
"No?"
"No."
"Huh." He frowned dramatically. "Boyfriend?"
"No."
"Fiancé?" His tone was playful.
You shook your head. "Nope."
"So..." He pointed at you again. "You're single?"
"I am."
Wooyoung looked around the room. “So you're saying I have a chance—”
“Woo, leave the poor woman alone,” another trainer called from across the room, probably equally as irritated as you were.
Wooyoung gave you a flirtatious wink before turning back around to what he was doing, his fellow teammates giggling like little kids at the thought of you being available.
—
Back in the treatment room, San sat frozen on the edge of the table.
He hadn't meant to listen, but the entire gym had practically shouted the conversation.
Single.
The word echoed in his head.
He wasn't sure why his shoulders suddenly felt lighter, why he caught himself smiling. But before he could think too hard about it, you walked back into the room, shaking your head.
“Oh!” you raised your eyebrows. “You're still here, I thought you left.”
“I..” he gulped. “I didn't know if I was completely done.”
“My bad,” you sighed, picking up his brace and assisting him. “I went out to go to the bathroom quickly, but Wooyoung got me sidetracked.”
San peered over at you as you gently clipped his brace back on, watching you bite the inside of your cheek, noticing the hair that falls over your face, and again, the lack of a ring on your finger.
Silence settled between the two of you.
San rubbed the back of his neck. "So..."
You raised an eyebrow. "You got a lot of questions today, huh?” You leaned back against the treatment table next to his, folding your arms.
“Is…Jun...”He looked down at the floor for a second before meeting your eyes again. “Never mind, I’m sorry,” he moved to stand up. “Its not important.”
Your expression softened immediately. "What about him?"
He opened his mouth. "...I said," Never mind."
You laughed quietly. "Bring up my kid and then say 'never mind?"
He sighed through his nose. "I was just..." He scratched the back of his neck again. "You know, wondering."
"About?"
"...His dad." The words came out much quieter than he'd intended.
Your smile faded, though not completely.
“See, this is why I said never mind.” San immediately regretted asking. "I'm sorry, you don't have to answer that. I shouldn't have said anything."
You looked at him for a long moment before letting out a small breath. "No..." you said softly. "It's okay."
You shrugged one shoulder. "People usually wonder. It was never...that kind of relationship, if you know what I mean.”
San stayed quiet.
"He knows Jun exists," you continued, absentmindedly picking at your fingertips. "He just chose not to be involved."
San looked down at his brace. "...I'm sorry."
You offered him a small smile. "Don't be."
You slung your clipboard under your arm.
"I got the better end of the deal."
He looked back up. "What do you mean?"
Your smile grew—this time genuine.
"I got Jun."
—
San had barely made it back to his apartment before every muscle in his body began protesting.
His first real day back at the training center had exhausted him in ways he hadn't expected. His knee throbbed relentlessly beneath the brace, his quad twitched every few seconds thanks to the Russian stim, and the simple act of walking from the elevator to his apartment had somehow felt harder than rehab itself.
He let out a long sigh as he tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter. "...Food."
That was manageable. Probably.
He opened the refrigerator.
Half a bottle of ketchup. Expired yogurt. A suspicious-looking container of leftovers that definitely should be thrown out as soon as possible.
Luckily, when he crutched over to the pantry, he found a can of tomato sauce and pasta. Believing it was doable, he threw the ingredients underneath one arm, using one crutch to make his way back to the stove.
Twenty minutes later, he was regretting every decision he'd ever made.
Who knew making pasta required this much standing?
He balanced awkwardly on one crutch while stirring the pot with the other hand, trying not to put too much weight through his bad leg. "So far, so good..." he smirked, pleased with himself despite the occasional throb in his leg.
However, the moment of pleasure didn't last. The pot of pasta sauce began to boil over, spilling onto the burner. The sauce burned against the heat, sizzling and spritzing.
He reached to move the pot, but his crutch slipped slightly, balance completely gone. "Oh, fuck—"
The pot clattered loudly against the stove, the wooden spoon flying across the kitchen. The pan of sauce tipped and splattered all over San, the stove, and directly onto the floor.
San stared, pinching the bridge of his nose. "...You've got to be kidding me."
He carefully bent down to grab the spoon.
…Bad idea.
His knee protested immediately. "...Ow, motherfucker.”
He looked around his apartment.
Sauce on the floor…pasta boiling over. One wooden spoon halfway under the cabinet.
“I’m a fucking mess.”
—
You felt exhausted, knowing the minute you hit your couch, you would probably take the longest nap ever.
Tonight, Jun was staying at your parents’ house, leaving you with some alone time other than when you are at work. You couldn't wait to spend your time taking a nap. Maybe you’d pick up a book. Maybe—no, you wanted to nap, for sure.
As you stood in front of your door rooting for your keys that were somehow in your purse but nowhere near your grasp, the thought of that nap abruptly disappeared at the sound of pots clanking down the hall, followed by a string of profanity, and the smell of something burning.
“Is that…San?” you muttered to yourself, feeling slightly hesitant. Was it him, or were you just thinking about him?
You didn't even bother unlocking your own apartment. Instead, you hurried a few steps down the hall, knocking twice against his door.
"San?"
A muffled groan answered you. "...Door's open."
You pushed it open cautiously. The room felt still, but the smell hit you first—burnt tomato sauce…
"...Oh my God." you looked at the scene in front of you. It looked like a tornado had ripped through the room—red sauce streaked across the stovetop. The pot had somehow ended up crooked on the burner, pasta water bubbling over the sides. The wooden spoon sat abandoned beneath the cabinets.
And in the middle of it all...
San.
Tomato sauce covered the front of his black t-shirt, splattered across one shoulder, his forearm, and somehow even his cheek. He stood frozen on his crutches, staring at the disaster like if he looked long enough it might clean itself up.
He slowly looked over at you. "...Hi." he muttered out awkwardly, embarrassed.
You pressed your lips together.
"What?"
"I'm just…” you bit your lip. “I’m trying really hard not to laugh."
His shoulders slumped. "...It's been a day."
The smile slipped from your face. You'd seen that look before—the look of someone who was simply...tired.
Tired of needing help. Tired of everything being harder than it used to be.
You quietly walked past him and reached over to turn off the burner. "You almost set your apartment on fire."
"I was making pasta."
"I see that," you blinked.
"It was…going well."
You glanced around the kitchen. "...At what point?"
San rubbed the back of his neck, unable to meet your gaze. "The first thirty seconds, maybe. If that."
You couldn't help but let out a little chuckle at his words—yes, was he standing in the middle of his kitchen covered in sauce? Was he utterly embarrassed? Yes. But something about the scene made your heart race for him.
Without thinking, you reached up. "Hold still," you mumbled, your thumb brushing gently across his cheek, wiping away the streak of tomato sauce.
He froze, whole body stiffening under your touch.
"There."
Neither of you moved.
Your hand lingered for a heartbeat longer than it should have, his eyes staying on yours. You peered into his irises, dark as night, and saw freckles of browns. He was beautiful.
You cleared your throat first, stepping back. "I'll...uh, I’ll get something to clean this."
You quickly moved away and grabbed a roll of paper towels from the counter, crouching to wipe up the floor.
A moment later you heard him mutter behind you. "...Seriously?"
You glanced over your shoulder.
He was tugging awkwardly at the hem of his ruined shirt with one hand while trying to keep himself balanced on his crutches. The fabric caught around his shoulders as he tried to take his shirt off. Something deep inside you fluttered, your stomach in knots at his appearance.
Without a second thought, you stepped in front of him. "Can you keep your balance for a second?" you asked him hesitantly, unable to meet his gaze.
"I…think so."
"I need you to let go of the crutch."
He listened to you without hesitation. Carefully, you slipped one arm around his waist to steady him.
His breath caught audibly, and you were certain he could hear your heart beat through your chest.
He was warm. Solid. Strong. You held your breath as you gathered the hem of his shirt, gently moving it upwards over his torso. "Arms up."
He obeyed without a word.
Slowly, you pulled the shirt over his head, careful not to catch it on his shoulders. It snagged for a second—those damn wide, sexy shoulders.
You laughed softly.
"What?" he murmured, eyes wide.
"Your shoulders."
"My...shoulders?"
"The shirt doesn't want to let go."
You finally worked the shirt free, and for just a second...you forgot to move. You'd treated professional athletes before—shirtless wasn't exactly new.
But this...This wasn't the clinic. This wasn't work.
It was just...him.
Standing in his kitchen, hair slightly messy from the shirt, a faint scar peeking along his shoulder, tomato sauce somehow still streaked across his collarbone.
You blinked, forcing yourself back to reality. "I, um..." You grabbed the dish towel from the sink and ran it under warm water. "You've still got sauce."
He looked down. "I missed some?"
"You missed...most of it."
He laughed quietly, but didn't speak. It was as if he had no clue what to say or do.
You stepped closer again, the damp towel sliding gently across his shoulder, his collarbone.
His breathing slowed.
Neither of you spoke. The apartment suddenly felt impossibly quiet. You lifted your gaze, and he was already looking at you.
The towel slipped from your fingers and landed softly on the floor, your bare hand pressing against his chest. You swallowed hard, fighting all the terrible, horny ass thoughts that were spinning through your mind, but it seemed like he had other plans.
His hand came up hesitantly, brushing a loose strand of hair back behind your ear.
His eyes were intoxicating, exhilaration dripping from his expression. Your ears rang with temptation, heat sparking throughout your body. For a second, you were just a woman in a man’s apartment. For a second, you were just…someone who deserved a life of love.
"I..." he murmured, letting out an awkward laugh. He smelled like a mixture of tomato sauce and vanilla, his lips wet from licking them. “Fuck, please forgive me.”
He leaned in, and suddenly, his lips met yours in a soft, hesitant kiss.
Gentle. Questioning. You let your heart choose over your head in the moment, offering a kiss back, your hand finding the back of his head as he kissed you. His lips were soft. Gentle. Obsessive. You felt your body pulse under his touch, his hands finding the small of your back.
The kiss began to get more desperate—his hand gripped the back of your head, his body falling into yours as he lost balance. He left out a breath of air as he parted his lips against yours, and you couldn't help yourself. Your hands ran down his bare, muscular back, his hot breath tickling your face as he stuck his tongue in your mouth. Whole body chills took over as he pushed you into the kitchen counter, your back hitting the granite countertop, his hand gripping your hair.
But the minute you felt his lower half press against you, reality rushed in.
Your eyes widened as you pulled away. "...San."
His expression fell immediately. He hobbled away, shocked at his actions. "I'm…Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry."
"No..."you took two hurried steps backward.
"Y/N—"
You grabbed your bag from the counter, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. "I should go."
"You don't have to—"
He stopped mid sentence as he noticed your frantic movements, grabbing his crutches to steady himself.
You reached the door before looking back one last time. "I'll...see you tomorrow, San." you swallowed hard. “Let’s just…uh, this never happened, okay?”
Then you were gone.
The apartment fell silent again.
San stood in the middle of his disaster in a kitchen, shirtless, surrounded by tomato sauce and paper towels.
After a long moment, he looked down at the mess.
"...Guess the pasta wasn't the biggest disaster tonight."
Pairing: CEO!YoongiXFem!Reader feat. Jungkook, and Jin
Intro chapter: here
Genera: smut w plot
Summary: You take a temporary position working as the assistant of the company ceo who is cold and brutal. Over time, his demeanor begins to eat at you and you push back, something he isn’t used to. How will he react and how will he choose to put you in your place?
Unsure how many more parts at this time, just going w the flow!
Content Warning: eventual smut. Cursing. Angst. Tension. Yoongi is cold af in this and very much as asshole. Man-handling. Yelling. Tension.
Tag List for Surviving Mr. Min: @bb3armira @non-return @fauxontherun @notsooperfect @lofiwofi
———————————————————-
“Is the espresso shot dead? How long did you let it sit before you poured it over the ice?” You asked the barista who was neck deep in orders for the early morning rush. The lobby was filled with employees from all departments of the company trying to get their lattes and black coffees before clocking in and you were holding every single one of them up. She looked at you with eyes like daggers yet a smile was plastered on her face like the customer service pro she was trained to be.
“I can assure you ma’am, I just sat it down to grab the items for the Americano. The shot didn’t die.”
“Listen.” You huffed. “I’m not trying to make your life even worse right now but I’ll be in deep shit if I take my boss an Americano with bitter-ass espresso. Trust me. He’s a real piece of fucking work.”
“I understand. But we are very busy and I assure you-“
“You don’t understand. It’s the boss. As in, the big boss.” You told her, your eyes wide with desperation as you silently begged the company barista to understand what you were saying without outright saying his name.
“Are you buying for the ceo?” She asked you with her voice low enough for only you two to hear, her facade dropping slightly and slight terror in the back of her tone.
“Yes.” You nodded. “Mr. Min.”
“My coworker spelled his name wrong once on his cup and an hour later she was walked out and fired.” She whispered, eyes drifting from you for a minute as she relived the memory.
“So you understand why this is important?”
“I’ll pre-make the cup of ice water for his Americano and re-brew the espresso shots.” She nodded once, finally understanding my irritating persistence for perfection and poured the liquid of the first drink down the sink. “This would have cost you and me our heads.”
“Thank you.” You smiled and waited as patiently as your anxiety would allow for her to remake the perfect Americano. A few moments later you were rushing as quick as your heels would allow to the elevators, cup of coffee and straw in your hand clutched tight like your life depended on it. You crowded inside with everybody else and tapped your foot impatiently as you waited for the doors to open on each floor. The journey to the top seemed almost never ending. You anxiously checked and rechecked the time on your phone as minutes flew by until you reached your floor. You jogged down the tiled hall until you reached halfway down, taking a deep breath to steady yourself and straighten your clothing, before calmly walking down the rest of the walkway to Mr. Min’s office.
You knocked twice then entered, just like he had instructed, and forced a smile as you walked in with his perfect iced Americano. He glanced up at you once and then at the drink before looking away again, focusing on his work. He tapped the wood of his desk three times with his fingers to let you know where to put the cup and you placed it gently, wishing you could slam it down hard and splash the dark liquid all over his rude face and designer suit.
“I had them remake the shots and watched them pour it right after to make sure they weren’t old. It shouldn’t be bitter.” You told him the story of your efforts but you got nothing but a small little hum of acknowledgment. Mr. Min reached out and took a sip of the coffee and placed it back down again while you stood there waiting.
“It’s a bit watered down. You took too long to bring it up. Some of the ice melted.”
You wanted to scream at him. Rip his throat out. Who the fuck did he think he is? Who the fuck did he think you were? Superwoman? You stood there glaring at him as he watched the screen where he was studying some sort of report. A graph with numbers too small for you to see where you stood.
“I came as fast as I could given the circumstances.” You told him, your voice a bit too flat to be considered lighthearted. The CEO tensed at his seat, pushing his tongue in his cheek and looking up at you. You held his eye contact fearlessly and continued. “Most of the company is starting their day right now. So the majority of the employees were there ordering-“
“Why are you boring me with this?” He cut you off, his voice stern and curt.
“I’m not trying to bore you. I’m trying to explain why it took so long for me to bring you the coffee.” You huffed, not backing down from him. “I made sure was as perfect as it could be, by the way. It doesn’t help that there’s only one elevator that goes to this floor and everybody decided to take it at the same time.”
Mr. Min huffed out a sigh and continued to stare at you, words failing him. You crossed your arms and looked right back, eyes flickering down to the coffee you had jumped hurdles to get for him. You watched as the condensation dripped down on the freshly polished wood which only made you even more irritated.
“It will continue to get watered down if you don’t drink it.” You mutter under your breath which made Min Yoongi snag the cup off the surface and take another drink.
“Thank you for the coffee.” He finally told you, eyes staring daggers into you but choosing to stay silent regarding your forwardness. You nodded once and turned to leave quickly while you were still with a job but was stopped before you could reach the handle. “Wait.”
“Yes, Mr. Min?” You mumbled, slowly turning around to look at him again. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you waited for him to let you have it. Instead, he opened one of the drawers of his desk and pulled out a folder, opening it and placing a document on his desk along with a pen.
“I need you to read this and sign if you agree to it.” He said, clearing his throat once as if he felt a bit awkward. “It’s a contract outlining specific parts of your temporarily employment. I know we talked about day to day stuff but there’s other things involved like potentially picking up my dry cleaning and having to take it to my house. Making sure you know you’ll be responsible for any damages or stolen property if found liable. Disclosure about company access to cameras and your company issued phone and computer. A strict anti-fraternization policy. And a portion that is a NDA. Non Disclosure Agreement. You won’t be able to discuss the work you do here with anybody. Including those you’re close to in the company.”
Anti-fraternization? The nerve of this guy to think anyone directly employed by him would want to fuck him. You could hardly stand being in the same room with the guy for more than 2 minutes let alone imagine being intimate. Could he be intimate with somebody? Maybe not. Maybe that’s why he was so horrible. He hadn’t gotten laid in a while. A long while.
“Seems pretty straight forward.” You mumbled, walking over and grabbing the pen to sign your name.
“You’re not going to read it thoroughly?” He asked surprised.
“No.” You rolled your eyes and looked up at him. “This is temporary. I plan to clock in and clock out. Do whatever you need me to do when you ask me to do it. I don’t plan to talk to anyone about it, even Namjoon, which I think you’re hinting at. And I already assumed my company devices would be monitored. Going to your house to drop off dry cleaning is a bit strange though. But, for the pay, I’ll do whatever you want.”
He was speechless again, using his hand to gesture you to continue and you signed your life away. He took the document back from you and put it back in his desk for safe keeping. At least until he saw his layers next.
“Is there anything else?” You asked him, hoping you would finally be set free for the day.
“I-uh, sent over my schedule for the week to get you started. All schedules after that you will be responsible for keeping track of and documenting. Your company card is in the drawer of your desk. Don’t lose it and save all receipts. Only use it for company purchases, of course.” He told you, shaking his head as if to shake out the stupidity of a previous employee who probably didn’t think to follow these rules. “I have a luncheon at 1:00 this afternoon with the heads of the Japan branch, Jeon Jungkook and Kim Seokjin. I’ll email over their preferred food options. And mine-“
“Steak. Medium rare. No sides.” You told him while smirking.
“Yes.” It was his turn to roll his eyes now. “You can go back to your desk now.”
“Yes, sir.” You said overly sweetly and slipped out of the room just in time to hear the notification for his email to you.
Kim Seokjin liked fresh sashimi and Jeon Jungkook liked steak or fresh pasta, the word ‘fresh’ in italics for emphasis for both suggestions. You groaned a bit trying to figure out how you could keep sashimi cold while also grabbing hot steak and pasta but started your search for the perfect restaurants. Luckily you found some not far from each other a few miles away due to your work building being conveniently placed in the middle of the busy city where everything was.
One Italian restaurant was world-renowned for their homemade pasta, a 10oz ribeye steak on their menu as well. It was perfect. Not as easy to find was the fresh sashimi you had to research for, the restaurant only making itself known to you by searching the ‘street view’ on google while figuring out directions for the Italian restaurant. Exclusive, private, and hard to get into according to multiple google searches and Reddit posts.
“Hello, thank you for calling Kizuna. How may I help you?” The female voice on the other end greeted you on the phone.
“Um, hi. I’m calling in hopes I can place a pick up order at 12:30pm this afternoon?” You asked her, your voice high pitched and unrecognizable to yourself.
“I’m so sorry ma’am but we don’t offer carry out. We only offer dine-in.” She apologized but you could almost hear her rolling her eyes on the other end behind her customer service voice. “I can make you a reservation? Our next opening is… four months from now on the 7th.”
Your jaw dropped, completely shocked and you started to nervously tap your foot as you thought about what else you could do. Where you could go. Instead, you made sure to exercise all your options. And, in this case, names.
“I’m sorry, I have to apologize. I forgot to mention this is for a very important.. client. Would that change anything?” You asked her with your voice hopeful. You heard her sigh on the other end before answering.
“Is that so? And what is the name of this person?”
“Min Yoongi. CEO of GeniusLab INC.”
There was silence on the other end for a moment before a bit of rustling then, moments later, another person was on the other end.
“Hello, this is Marcus, the owner of Kizuna. I am told you’re calling to place an order for the Min Yoongi?” The excitement in his voice made you irritated but you forced yourself to smile through the receiver.
“Yes. The very one. I can bring his business card for proof if you’d like.”
“No, no! I- we believe you. I just wanted to make sure my hostess wasn’t hearing things. Anything you like! I can get him in today-“ He stuttered.
“Oh? She must not have told you we aren’t looking to dine in today. We’re looking to have your food at one of his luncheons. Is it possible to get the food to go?” You pressed him.
“I see.. oh. I’m sorry. We just don’t offer-“
“Ah, okay. Mr. Min will be very disappointed.” You sighed dramatically for extra effect. “He was really hoping to try your famous sashimi. Maybe next time, if he still wants to come that is..”
“We will make it work! I’ll- I’ll send my staff to go get a cooler right away for the transit. You said sashimi? What kind? Oh, I’ll just do a whole platter of all we have to offer. Yes! That’s what I’ll do..” Marcus started to mutter to himself while you smiled, knowing you were going to knock this luncheon out of the park.
————————————-
A few hours later you were in the conference room setting up the plates of food. The sashimi for Mr. Kim was still cold, decorated beautifully on the plates they gave you in wrapped in cellophane. Real glass plates! They told you it was an honor for Mr. Min to take them which made you want to smash them on the floor. Especially when they insisted to comp you the entire meal.
“Just seeing the company card is enough payment for us!” The manager told you, his excitement making you nauseous as he handed you over $200 worth of premium seafood.
You sat Yoongi’s steak at the head of the table, still hot and pouring juices. It looked sad on the plate with nothing accompanying it. And finally, for Mr. Jeon, you couldn’t decide what to get so, you got him both. A giant, juicy, steak and a fresh bowl of carbonara pasta that was still steaming. You placed down rolled fabric napkins and utensils and poured them ice water in overly fancy glasses. As you were finishing up, the door opened and Mr. Min, along with the two other men, walked inside and you had to stop yourself from dropping your jaw on the floor.
“Ah! Hello. Who is this?” The tall one with kind eyes and very outgoing personality greeted you, his face was model-like with hair styled in an almost boyish bowl cut. Mr. Min looked at you with squinted eyes, obviously upset you were still in the room when they got in but you ignored him and extended your hand out to shake the gentleman’s hand.
“Hello, I’m y/n. I’m Mr. Min’s new assistant.” You introduced yourself pleasantly. You heard the CEO mumble the word ‘temporary’ which had your smile tightening on your face but both guests seem to ignore him.
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Kim Seokjin, one of the chairman’s and managers of the Japan branch. And this is my co-chair, Jeon Jungkook.”
You turned to shake the others hand and was almost knocked to your feet by his tattooed knuckles and very obvious arm of sleeved tattoos that was cut off by a way-too-tight button up that had its sleeves rolled to his elbows. When you eyes met his he smirked at you, obviously catching you checking him out, and you smiled back sheepishly.
“It’s nice to meet you. I like your outfit.” He told you, his voice almost gravely as his eyes raked you up and down. Thank god you chose to wear the too short skirt.
“If we’re finished with the formalities I’d like to start our meeting-“
“Ah, Min. This was supposed to be a luncheon. Let’s eat first.” Mr. Kim told him casually, patting him on the shoulder and walking over to the table. “Sashimi! Amazing. Where did you get this from?”
“I got it from Kizuna.” You told him and watched as his eyes lit up.
“Kizuna? Isn’t that place super exclusive?” Mr. Jeon asked in surprise.
“Yes. Very.” You giggled. “It was like pulling teeth trying to get them to do the order for me but, I never settle for anything less than the best.”
“And how did you manage to do that?” Mr. Min asked you in a low voice. You weren’t sure if it was approval or skepticism.
“I may have name-dropped you.” You shrugged and the two others laughed.
“Sometimes it really does come down to who you know.” Mr. Jeon told you and took a look at his plate. “Carbonara is one of my favorites. How did you know? And you got me a steak as well?”
“I did my best guess. I find most decent people like a good carbonara. But, if you found yourself to be non-decent, I had a steak as a backup.” You joked flirtatiously which had Mr. Jeon rightfully blushing while Mr. Min was seething in the corner.
“Only a steak for you again Min? Don’t you want some variety?” Seokjin asked after taking a bite of one of his pieces of fish. The CEO grumbled and didn’t reply, cutting into the meat and making sure it was cooked to temp. Thankfully he had no complaints.
About the steak.
“Where is the wine?” He asked you with irritation settled deep in his tone.
“I’m sorry? I wasn’t aware wine was requested.” You felt yourself go a bit clammy, your heart picking up pace.
“How are we supposed to enjoy our food without a wine pairing?” He looked at you with angry eyes and the other two men shared a glance before Seokjin came to your rescue.
“Min! Give her a break. She’s new, right?” He said lightheartedly and turned to you. “When did you start this position?”
“This morning.” You mumbled.
“Min, come on.” Jungkook groaned. “You’re being too hard on the girl.”
You didn’t know what was making you more nervous. The fact that Mr. Min’s expression did not change and now his designer shoe was tapping against the floors in irritation, or the fact that these two men were pushing him in your favor.
“Thank you for the food.” He finally told you in a monotone voice. “You may be excused now.”
“Next time I’ll make sure you all have a wine pairing. I apologize for the mistake.” You said so low it was almost not audible.
“That’s quite alright. I need to cut back on drinking anyways, I’m too old to be having a glass at every meal.” Seokjin smiled and put you at ease then turned back to Mr. Min who hadn’t taken a single bite from his plate. “So, let’s talk business then shall we?”
“I thought you wanted to eat.” He snapped.
“We can eat and talk! We’re friends here. We can look past talking with our mouths full.” He said, taking another bite of his food before continuing. “So, these products we’re developing are quite something but how do we market them?”
You took that as your chance to exit and slipped out the door quietly while your pulse thrummed loudly in your ears. You took a shaky deep breath to try and calm yourself and headed back to your desk to work on organizing Mr. Mins upcoming weekly affairs. The CEO had finished with his luncheon not long after and came trudging into his office, slamming the door behind him. You rolled your eyes, ignoring him, and tried carrying on with your day. Time passed quickly as you locked in to your work and soon it was time to go and grab his 3:00 coffee.
“Mr. Min?” You called through the door and knocked twice before entering but found he was not at his desk like usual. Instead, he was brooding off to the side while staring aimlessly out of the window.
‘Dramatic fucker.’ You thought to yourself and placed the coffee on his desk. You turned to walk away as you tried to make your exit without any interaction but unfortunately, the efforts failed.
“Never embarrass me at my own company, in front of my colleagues, ever again.” He told you with a stern voice, still looking out the window.
“Embarrass you?” You stopped dead in your tracks and turned around to gape at him. “And how exactly did I do that? By bringing the perfect meal? Because I forgot the wine you failed to mention I needed?”
“You came into that conference room completely unprepared and made a scene!” He finally turned to look at you, his teeth gritted as he raised his voice. “Flirting with my fucking branch managers and bragging about name dropping me? Do you have no shame?”
“Flirting?” You threw your head back and laughed and slowly walked in his direction as you verbally fought back. “Please. I was just being polite. I know you’re not familiar with the concept but it works. And name dropping is the only way I got the perfect meal for Mr. Kim-“
Mr. Min suddenly turned to you and charged, making you back up into his wooden desk. His hand grabbed your chin and lifted it to his face to look at him while the other landed on the wood next to you. His body pressed you hard against the sturdy piece of furniture and the hand holding your chin brought your face mere inches from his. You tried to move your head but it was no use, his hold was too firm.
“Why must you challenge me in everything?” He growled at you and you felt frozen, eye wide as you took in how close he was. You swear he could probably hear your heart start to beat quicker. “Has nobody taught you manners? Maybe I should.”
You don’t know what it was. Maybe it was just being so close to the man and being reminded how undeniably hot he really was face to face. Maybe it was the way he was man-handling you, regardless of the fact it was absolutely out of line. You didn’t have time in the moment to analyze why the tension suddenly seemed a bit too hot. All you could focus on was his lips and how close they suddenly were to you. The feeling of his warm breath against your face that smelled of mint gum.
“Then teach me.” You whispered to him while looking up through your lashes, his breath catching in his throat at your words and seemingly bringing him back to reality. He pushed away from you and released your jaw from his large hand and stepped back quickly. Both of you stared at each other in a bit of shock, taking shallow breaths to steady yourselves from the hot moment. For once, you saw a man that always looked cold and strong suddenly look terrified.
“Mr. Min, you don’t have to-“
“Get out of the office and go home.” He told you suddenly, squaring his shoulders and composing himself.
“What? I don’t understand.” Your brows pushed together in confusion as you straightened out your work clothes. “It okay. We can talk about-“
“I said get the fuck out of my office and go home!” His voice echoed through the office, making you flinch. Without warning or ability to control it, you felt tears well up in your eyes and your throat start to get tight. “Go home and work the rest of your shift remotely. Now.”
Mr. Min stepped away and sat back down at his desk without another word while you stayed frozen in shock. It took a moment for you to move and feeling the tears start to stream down your cheeks quickly made you realize you had moments to get out before you broke down.
“Yes, sir.” You whispered, your throat aching from trying to hold back a sob. Without looking back at him once more, you walked quickly out of the room slamming the door shut behind. With shaky hands you gathered your purse off your chair and ran, leaving your work phone and laptop behind.
‘I’m sorry Namjoon.’ You thought to yourself as you finally let yourself start to cry as the doors to the elevator closed behind you. There was no way you could return tomorrow, not after this.
summary: she was a one night stand until he saved her life now they’re bound for eternity
warning: dom yunho, sub reader, oral, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, spitting, choking, squirting, breeding, creampie, mentions of death
genre: dark romance, supernatural, smut
pairing: prince of hell yunho x afab human reader
word count: 6.1k
chp 2
masterlist
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The apartment door practically slammed open. The hinges creaking loudly in the old exterior as rain poured outside and thunderous booms echoed as flashes of lightning decorated the sky. It was as if mother nature herself was lashing out at what was happening.
“Fuck…” His lips moved to her neck as tossed his jacket off and lifted her, pinning her to the wall. “I need to taste you.” Normally, Yunho wouldn’t beg. Being a 400 year old demon prince, he’s used to getting what he wanted but something about her…. he’d drop to his knees if he had to. “No one is stopping you.” She smirked and a deep, primal growl rumbled from Yunho’s chest the second those words left her lips and his grip on her thighs tightened, fingers digging into her thighs as he pulled her harder against him. “Where’s your bedroom?” he demanded, voice low and rough like gravel dragged over silk.
“Down the hall… across from the bathroom,” she breathed, barely finishing before he was already moving. He carried her like she weighed nothing, long strides eating up the distance while she stayed pressed to his chest and her legs locked around his waist. The door to her bedroom swung open with a kick and he dropped her onto the mattress and started following her down immediately to claim her mouth again in a bruising kiss as his hands worked fast but deliberately to yank the ripped jean shorts down her legs and tossing them aside before he peeled the black tank top she had on upward, exposing smooth skin inch by inch. The bra came next, unclasped with a flick of his fingers, not that she could see that, and dragged it down her arms.
Yunho didn’t rush the reveal. He lowered his mouth to her breasts, kissing the swell of each one before his tongue dragged slow, wet circles around her nipples. He sucked one between his lips, teeth grazing just enough to make her arch, then switched to the other, nipping and leaving faint red marks that would darken later as his hands slid under her, lifting her body higher up the bed until her head rested against the pillows. “Ride me,” he growled, the command vibrating through the air between them and in one swift motion he hooked his fingers into her panties and stripped them off before dragging her forward until her thighs straddled his face.
He held her there with an iron grip on her hips, mouth opening wide to devour her pussy. His tongue thrust deep inside her without warning, fucking into her with wet, obscene sounds while he growled against her. “Fuck, this pussy… best I’ve ever tasted,” he rasped between licks, the words carrying centuries of experience she couldn’t possibly understand. He sucked her clit, tongue flicking rapidly until her thighs shook and she came hard on his face but Yunho didn’t let her lift off. He kept her pinned, licking every drop clean with long, slow strokes until she whimpered from oversensitivity. Only then did he release her, pulling her down his body while his mouth trailed kisses across her stomach and sides.
He sat up just long enough to yank his shirt over his head, then shoved his pants and underwear down, kicking his shoes off in the process and let her look. Her eyes dropped immediately to his dick, thick, heavy, and already leaking at the tip. It twitched under her gaze, veins prominent along the length. She reached for him without thinking, sliding off the bed to kneel between his legs, reaching and wrapping her hand around the base, stroking upward in a slow glide before her tongue followed the same path, licking from balls to tip with deliberate patience.
She barely had time to open her mouth before Yunho’s hand caught her jaw. “Open,” he ordered and she obeyed, watching as he leaned down and spat directly onto her tongue and watching her swallow the offering before he released her and she dove back in, lips stretching around his dick as she took him deeper, pulling off only to drag her tongue over his balls, sucking one gently before returning to fuck her own mouth on him. Spit ran down her chin, the wet sounds filling the room along with his low groans but just as his breathing grew ragged, Yunho pulled her off by the hair.
He dragged her back onto the bed, kissing her hard while his hand slipped between her legs. One finger pushed inside her soaked pussy, curling against her walls. “So fucking wet… all for me.” He pulled his finger free and held it up between them and she leaned in without hesitation, sucking it clean making Yunho’s grin sharpen. “Good girl.” She kissed him again, desperate now. “I need you inside me.” Another growl tore from his throat before he flipped her onto her stomach, one hand running down the length of her spine before gripping her ass hard enough to leave prints.
His dick slid between her cheeks, dragging slowly, then lower to tease her clit with the head. Then without further warning he thrusted in deep in one smooth stroke, burying himself to the hilt making her cry out, fingers clawing at the sheets as her walls stretched around him, clenching tight as Yunho moaned low, hips already rolling. “Fucking made for me,” he hissed, starting slow and deep before gradually increasing the pace. Her begging came soon after, broken pleas, “harder….. please…. faster…” and he gave it to her, pounding into her with bruising force, the bed frame slamming against the wall in rhythm with his thrusts.
One hand fisted in her hair, yanking her upright against his chest and he held her there, fucking up into her relentlessly while his free hand slid around to rub her clit. The orgasm hit her hard making her shake violently, screaming as she squirted around him. But once again Yunho didn’t stop. He kept driving into her through the aftershocks until a second rushed climax tore through her, leaving her limp and gasping. He eased her down onto the mattress, pulling out only to flip her onto her back, eyes raking over her flushed body, settling on her soaked pussy. His thumb brushed gently over her swollen clit. “Can you still keep going?”
Breathless, she met his gaze. “If you don’t get back inside me and come… you can go to hell.” Yunho’s grin widened, dark amusement flickering in his eyes. She had no idea how literal that statement was. He spread her thighs wide, tapping his dick against her sensitive clit a few times. “Knock knock,” he teased, voice dripping with heat before he sank back inside her in one long thrust and her legs wrapped around his waist instantly, pulling him deeper.
He moved slower at first, savoring the tight heat of her and the way her walls clenched him, one hand sliding up to wrap around her throat and her own hands followed, gripping his wrist as he began pounding into her again. She squirted again, the wet gush soaking his him and the sheets beneath them making Yunho groan in approval, hips never faltering. “I’m gonna have to have you again… and again… and again… fuck…” He was pussy drunk, completely addicted to the way she clenched around him, to every sound she made. How she begged him to come inside her, voice hoarse and desperate making Yunho tighten his fingers just slightly around her throat. “Yeah? You want me to breed you? Ruin you for anyone else?”
He released her neck and folded her legs back into a deep mating press, folding her nearly in half. The new angle let him drive even deeper, pounding into her with brutal precision and all she could do was whimper his name, overwhelmed and crying from the intensity as her final orgasm crashed through her just as Yunho buried himself to the hilt and came hard, flooding her with him and stayed locked inside her through every pulse, grinding deep until he was empty.
When he finally collapsed beside her, both of them were breathless, bodies slick with sweat as she curled into his chest without thinking and he pulled her closer, already feeling the hunger stir again despite the exhaustion. They were ruined completely, thoroughly and already wanting more.
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Monday arrived wrapped in a deceptively perfect California afternoon. The storm that had rattled Los Angeles for two nights and had vanished without a trace, leaving behind endless blue skies and sunlight that bounced off the glass towers downtown. Traffic crawled below in its usual symphony of impatient horns, helicopters drifting lazily overhead chasing whatever celebrity scandal had become today’s headline, and somewhere down on Sunset Boulevard, people carried on as though the world had never stopped spinning.
From the floor to ceiling windows of a luxury penthouse overlooking the city, Yunho watched it all in silence. He’d owned the apartment for nearly seventy years. Before that, it had belonged to another building entirely. Before that, there had been nothing but empty hills. He’d watched Los Angeles grow upward one decade at a time until the skyline barely resembled the city he’d first wandered into centuries ago.
His fingers rested loosely around a crystal glass filled with whiskey, though he’d barely touched it. The amber liquid caught the afternoon light as he leaned one shoulder against the window, silver hair falling across his forehead. He looked every bit the successful businessman any human would expect to find living in a place like this. Only the faint pulse of infernal magic humming beneath his skin betrayed what he truly was.
His thoughts, much to his irritation, had wandered somewhere else entirely however. A tiny apartment. Rain hammering against old windows. A woman with absolutely no sense of self preservation. He could still hear her voice after she’d told him to go to hell if he didn’t get back inside her and the corner of his mouth twitched upward despite himself. “Ironic,” he muttered beneath his breath. Four hundred years. Thousands of faces. Kings. Queens. Artists. Warriors. Lovers whose names had long since been forgotten by history. Yet somehow… the woman who worked nights at a club in Los Angeles had managed to occupy more of his thoughts in forty eight hours than most people had in decades.
Ridiculous.
He pushed away from the window, draining the rest of the whiskey before setting the glass on the marble counter. He should’ve gone back already. There wasn’t any reason to remain on Earth. Not really…….
a familiar ripple rolled through the room, invisible to any human eye as the air bent inward as though reality itself had exhaled. Yunho didn’t bother turning around. Instead he sighed. “Let me guess…” he said dryly. “Dad thinks I’ve been up here too long again?”
A soft chuckle answered him. “You always know it’s me.”
Yunho finally looked over his shoulder to the demon standing in the middle of the penthouse as though he’d always belonged there. Seonghwa. Unlike Yunho, Seonghwa made no effort to pretend humanity fascinated him. Everything about him carried quiet refinement. His black coat fell perfectly over tailored clothes, not a wrinkle to be found, and his posture remained impossibly straight. There was an ageless elegance to him, the kind earned only after centuries of existing. Six hundred years had sanded away any impulsiveness he might’ve once possessed, leaving behind someone whose calm could make even the oldest demons uncomfortable. He was one of the few beings Lucifer trusted without reservation. Which, in Hell, was saying something.
Yunho folded his arms across his chest. “So?”
“So…” Seonghwa replied with the ghost of a smile, “Lucifer doesn’t particularly care how long you’ve been on Earth.”
“He doesn’t?”
“No.”
“Huh.”
“He does, however, require your assistance.”
“There it is.”
Seonghwa ignored the comment with practiced ease. “There’s a man in Laguna Beach.” Yunho groaned before Seonghwa had even finished. “No.”
“Yes.”
“I literally know what you’re about to say.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“He wants fame.”
“He does.”
“He thinks selling his soul is easier than developing talent.”
“He does.”
Yunho pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hate these.” Seonghwa’s lips threatened another smile. “I know.”
“They’re always the same.”
“They usually are.”
“They never ask for something interesting.”
Seonghwa tilted his head slightly. “What would you consider interesting?” Yunho walked toward the kitchen, opening the refrigerator more out of habit than necessity before closing it again. “I don’t know. World peace. The cure for cancer. Maybe someone wants to become the greatest violinist in history.”
“And instead?”
“They want followers.”
“Millions of them.”
“They want money.”
“Lots of it.”
“They want everyone to love them.”
“And nobody ever specifies why.”
Seonghwa gave a single approving nod. “You’ve conducted enough bargains.”
“I’ve conducted too many.” Silence settled between them for a moment before Yunho glanced toward the skyline again. “What’s his name?” Seonghwa reached into the inner pocket of his coat and withdrew a small leather bound book. Not paper. Human skin. The pages turned on their own before stopping halfway through and he glanced down briefly. “Ethan Holloway.” Yunho sighed as Seonghwa started reading. “Twenty seven. Aspiring musician. Convinced social media algorithms are personally conspiring against him.” Yunho looked at him flatly. “You’re making that last part up.”
“I wish I were.”
A reluctant laugh escaped Yunho before he shook his head. “And what exactly does his infernal majesty need from me? Surely someone this… uninspired could be handled by a lesser collector.”
“He requested you.”
That made Yunho pause. “He… requested me?”
“He specifically asked for the Prince of Hell.”
Now that was unusual. Humans almost never knew enough to make requests like that. Yunho’s expression sharpened ever so slightly. “Why?” Seonghwa closed the ledger. “Because he believes the Devil’s son grants better bargains. And because the internet has become… surprisingly creative.”
Yunho stared at him. “You’re telling me conspiracy forums have reached Hell.”
“They’ve reached everyone.”
For the first time that afternoon, genuine amusement lit Yunho’s face. “That’s unfortunate.”
“It truly is.”
Yunho slipped on a black jacket draped over the back of a chair, adjusting the cuffs with practiced ease. “Fine.” His keys disappeared into his pocket. “I’ll meet our future celebrity.” Seonghwa gave a single nod before adding, almost casually, “And afterward…”
“Hm?”
“Lucifer would like you to return home.”
Yunho hesitated only briefly before looking toward the glittering city stretched beneath the afternoon sun. Something in his chest resisted the idea. He couldn’t explain why. It wasn’t duty keeping him here. It wasn’t curiosity. At least… that’s what he kept telling himself as his gaze drifted, unbidden, toward the neighborhood where one very ordinary woman would probably be getting ready for another shift at the club in a few hours and frowned. “Yeah,” he murmured quietly, more to himself than Seonghwa. “Afterward.”
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Lunch with Tiffany was never cheap. That was the first thought that crossed Y/N’s mind as she stepped out onto the rooftop terrace overlooking downtown Los Angeles, one hand shielding her eyes from the bright October sun while the hostess led them toward a table near the glass railing. Six months ago, she’d have talked Tiffany out of it entirely. Today, she’d stopped trying. Tiffany had expensive taste, an appreciation for rooftop restaurants with menus that didn’t list prices until the bill came, and an irritating habit of insisting she was treating whenever Y/N complained.
The city stretched endlessly beyond them, sunlight glinting off skyscrapers that seemed close enough to touch. Down below, traffic crawled through the streets in familiar LA fashion, horns occasionally drifting upward on the warm breeze. It was almost impossible to believe that for two nights rain had flooded the streets and thunder had rattled windows hard enough to wake half the city. Y/N slid into her chair and opened the menu for all of three seconds before immediately closing it again. “Every single time you bring me somewhere like this,” she muttered, setting it back on the table, “I become painfully aware that we do the exact same job and somehow have wildly different bank accounts.”
Tiffany didn’t even bother looking up from across from her as she adjusted the oversized sunglasses resting on top of her red hair. “The difference is I don’t buy coffee every morning.” No. The difference was her daddy was a big time lawyer and gave her money whenever she wanted.
“I buy one coffee.”
“You buy three coffees.”
“They’re emotional support coffees.”
“They’re financial mistakes.”
“They’re necessities.”
“They’re why you’re still living in that shoebox apartment.”
Y/N clicked her tongue. “I liked you better five minutes ago.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Fair.”
The server appeared to take their drink orders before disappearing again, leaving the two women alone beneath the shade of a cream colored umbrella. For a few minutes the conversation stayed comfortably ordinary, bouncing from work gossip to complaints about Saturday night’s crowd at the club. They laughed about one of the bartenders nearly dropping an entire tray of drinks on a bachelor party, rolled their eyes over a regular customer who’d once again insisted he knew the owner and briefly debated whether the new DJ had somehow managed to make every song sound exactly the same.
Then Tiffany’s expression changed. It was subtle. One eyebrow lifted and her smile turned knowing as she folded her hands together on the table and looked directly at Y/N. “So…” Y/N sighed before Tiffany had even finished the word. “No.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”
“I do.”
“You don’t.”
“I absolutely do.”
Tiffany leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Then answer it.”
“I’m not answering a question you haven’t asked.”
“You’ve been brushing it off for two days.”
Y/N reached for the glass of water the server had just set down, taking a long drink that accomplished absolutely nothing except delaying the inevitable. “I haven’t been brushing anything off.”
“You disappeared Saturday night.”
“I left.”
“You left,” Tiffany repeated slowly, “with the hot blonde.” Y/N stared into her water for another second before finally letting out an exaggerated sigh. “His name was Yunho.” Tiffany blinked once. Then twice. Then pointed a finger across the table like she’d just solved the easiest mystery of her life. “You slut.” Y/N rolled her eyes so hard it almost hurt. “Oh, please.”
“You fucked him.”
Y/N opened her mouth to deny it but instead she bit down on her bottom lip and the corners of her mouth betrayed her almost immediately, a grin creeping across her face despite every attempt to suppress it making Tiffany’s eyes widen. “Oh.” Y/N looked away toward the skyline, shaking her head to herself. “Oh,” Tiffany repeated, this time with enough realization in her voice to make Y/N laugh quietly under her breath as Tiffany gasped dramatically, one hand flying to her chest. “Oh… he gave you the good dick.”
Y/N nearly choked on her water. “Oh my God,” she hissed between laughs, looking around to make sure nobody nearby had heard. “Would you keep your voice down?”
“I knew it.”
“You knew nothing.”
“I know that smile.”
“There is no smile.”
“There is a massive smile.”
Y/N rubbed a hand over her face, trying unsuccessfully to wipe the amusement away. “You’re insufferable.”
“I’m right.”
“You’re annoying.”
“I’m still right.”
Y/N let out another sigh, this one quieter, before resting her elbows on the table. “It wasn’t supposed to be… memorable.”
“But?”
“But…” A small laugh escaped her. “He was…” She searched for the word. “Different.” Tiffany didn’t interrupt this time. “He actually listened when I talked. Like… genuinely listened. Didn’t spend the whole night trying to impress me. Didn’t brag about himself. Didn’t act like buying me a drink meant I owed him something.” She absentmindedly traced the condensation on her water glass with her fingertip. “We just… talked.”
“And then?”
“And then we went back to my place.”
Tiffany nodded knowingly. “And?”
Y/N shook her head with a quiet groan. “And now I can’t stop comparing him to every other guy I’ve ever slept with, which is incredibly inconvenient.” A laugh burst out of Tiffany before she reached across the table and patted Y/N’s hand. “Honey…”
“What?”
“I don’t think your problem is that the sex was good.”
Y/N frowned.
“I think your problem is that you actually liked him.”
Y/N immediately scoffed. “No.”
“No?”
“It was one night.”
“But?”
“There isn’t a but.”
Tiffany simply gave her a look and Y/N held it for exactly three seconds before looking away toward the skyline again. “He is probably the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” she admitted under her breath and hesitating a moment before admitting. “And definitely the best sex I’ve ever had.” Tiffany leaned back in her chair wearing the most self satisfied grin imaginable. “I knew it.”
“I hate that you knew it.”
“No,” Tiffany said with a laugh as their lunch finally arrived, setting steaming plates between them. “You hate that some ridiculously gorgeous stranger walked into your life for one night… and somehow ruined every man who comes after him.”
Y/N reached for a fry, pointing it accusingly across the table. “I am never telling you anything again.”
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
The black charger purred to a stop, the engine falling quiet beneath the distant chorus of traffic and the occasional impatient blare of a horn. Yunho stepped out a second later, shutting the driver’s door with a soft click before adjusting the cuff of his black jacket. The afternoon sun hung high overhead, warming the sidewalks just enough to erase any lingering memories of the storm. His day had been, thankfully, uneventful. As expected. Ethan Holloway had proven to be every bit the cliché Seonghwa had promised.
The aspiring musician had answered the knock on his apartment door with bloodshot eyes, two days’ worth of stubble, and the unmistakable scent of desperation clinging to him stronger than cheap whiskey ever could. Yunho hadn’t even bothered pretending to be human for long. One moment he’d been standing in the cramped Laguna Beach apartment. The next… his body dissolved into a swirling cloud of black smoke that rolled across the living room floor like ink spilled into water before reforming directly behind the stunned man again. The glamour had slipped just enough. The polished black horns curling from either side of his head, eyes black. A smile that was just a little too sharp. Humans always believed in the impossible right before they signed their souls away.
The contract had appeared between his fingers with a flick of his wrist and Ethan had barely read a single sentence. “You’ll make me famous?”
“I will.”
“Worldwide?”
“If that’s what you desire.”
“And all I have to do is sign?”
Yunho had smiled. “Everyone always asks that question after they’ve already decided.” The pen touched the paper and infernal ink spread across the page. The bargain sealed itself with a pulse of crimson light before vanishing into black embers. Another soul accounted for. Another lifetime traded for a dream. Yunho had offered a polite nod, dissolved once more into smoke, and reappeared beside his car overlooking downtown Los Angeles before Ethan had even realized he’d forgotten to ask what happened when his time eventually ran out.
People rarely cared about consequences while they still believed they had decades left to worry about them. Now he intended to reward himself. He glanced across the street toward the restaurant, a faint smile tugging at one corner of his mouth as he slipped his keys into his pocket and stepped away from his car, waiting at the crosswalk as the pedestrian signal remained stubbornly red. Then… he felt it. Not heard. Not saw. Felt. Ancient magic brushing against his senses like the first cold breeze before a winter storm.
Yunho’s smile faded as he slowly turned his head and saw standing perfectly still on the sidewalk directly outside the restaurant was a woman dressed in robes darker than midnight itself. No human acknowledged her existence. People walked around her without realizing they were doing it. A businessman passed so close his shoulder should’ve collided with hers, yet somehow drifted harmlessly aside at the last possible second as though reality itself refused to allow contact. Her hands rested calmly before her. Her hood was lowered with dark hair framing a face that looked neither young nor old. At her side rested the long obsidian handle of a scythe.
A Reaper.
Yunho exhaled through his nose. “Well.” The Reaper’s eyes shifted toward him with no surprise in them. Only recognition as Yunho shoved both hands into the pockets of his coat before glancing toward the restaurant, then back at her, a snort escaping him. “Please tell me this place isn’t going to burn down.” The Reaper remained silent. “At least not until I get my order,” he continued with a dramatic sigh. “They have my favorite fries here.”
The reaper remained silent until, almost imperceptibly, one corner of her mouth twitched. Not quite a smile but more…. the acknowledgment of a joke she’d heard from him a hundred times before. “You always make light of it.”
“I’ve had four centuries to work on my material.”
“And it hasn’t improved.”
“Ouch.” The pedestrian light changed and people urged into the crosswalk around them. Neither immortal moved as Yunho tilted his head slightly. “So…”
“So.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re standing outside a restaurant in the middle of the afternoon.”
“I am.”
“Which means somebody inside has an appointment.”
“Yes.”
“Soon?”
She nodded once and Yunho sighed again, this time with genuine disappointment. “Damn.” His stomach chose that exact moment to remind him why he’d stopped in the first place and he looked longingly toward the restaurant. “Any chance I can still grab the fries first?”
“No.”
“Cruel.”
“It’s my profession.”
“I thought your profession was escorting souls.”
“I can do both.”
Yunho clicked his tongue. “I liked you better three hundred years ago.”
“You’ve never liked me.”
“I tolerated you more enthusiastically.”
For the first time, something resembling amusement flickered across the reaper’s otherwise unreadable face before it vanished almost immediately and her gaze drifted toward the restaurant entrance. Yunho followed it, though from where he stood all he could see was the steady stream of patrons coming and going beneath the awning. Then the first tremor. It was so slight that most people mistook it for a passing truck but Yunho didn’t.
The vibration rolled beneath his polished shoes like something enormous had shifted beneath the earth itself. The pavement quivered once, barely enough to ripple the puddle collected near the curb after the storm, before settling again into uneasy stillness as his head lifted. But the reaper didn’t move. She simply watched the restaurant with the same unreadable expression she’d worn since he’d arrived. “That wasn’t normal,” Yunho murmured.
“It has begun.”
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
Three floors above the street, Y/N and Tiffany had just stepped away from their table. Lunch was over, the bill reluctantly paid after Y/N spent a solid minute complaining about the price of fries that somehow cost eighteen dollars. “I’m telling you,” she muttered as they crossed the rooftop patio toward the stairwell. “If somebody serves me ketchup in a porcelain bowl one more time, I’m starting a riot.” Tiffany laughed, nudging her shoulder. “You still ate all the fries.”
“They were really good.”
“They always are.”
Y/N pulled open the heavy stairwell door, the cool concrete replacing the warmth of the rooftop as they began making their way down. They’d barely reached the first landing when the second tremor hit and the entire stairwell lurched sideways with a deafening groan of twisting steel. “What the….” The lights flickered violently and concrete dust rained from the ceiling as a deep, thunderous rumble rolled through the building, growing louder by the second.
The handrail shook beneath Y/N’s grip then everything began moving. The floor. The walls. The stairs. The entire building swayed with terrifying force as people screamed. “It’s an earthquake!” someone yelled somewhere below and Y/N’s eyes widened. “Tiff!”
“I’m here!”
She grabbed Tiffany’s wrist without thinking. “We have to get out. Now!” The two women stumbled down the stairs together as the building bucked beneath them. Every step became a fight for balance. Somewhere above them, glass exploded and the sound echoed through the stairwell as a woman cried and someone else shouted for their child.
The shaking only intensified as they burst through the second floor exit into the restaurant below and into complete chaos. Tables overturned. Wine bottles shattered across the floor. Ceiling lights swung wildly overhead as people shoved toward every visible exit, trampling chairs beneath their feet in blind panic. “This way!” Y/N shouted over the noise, still pulling Tiffany behind her as another violent jolt ripped through the structure making a support beam overhead crack with a sound like a gunshot.
The floor dipped beneath their feet as a section of reinforcement steel tore free from the ceiling, driven downward with horrifying force. Y/N barely registered the movement. One second Tiffany was beside her. The next….. the beam crashed between them and the impact threw Y/N backward as splintered wood and concrete erupted through the dining room. “Tiffany!” Her voice caught in her throat because the steel had struck Tiffany before either of them could react.
For one impossible, frozen heartbeat, neither woman moved. Y/N simply stared as her mind refused to understand what her eyes were seeing. “Tiff…” Another explosion of cracking concrete ripped through the floor beneath her feet and the building groaned. The sound finally snapped her back to herself. “No…” The section of floor beneath Tiffany began collapsing inward and Y/N stumbled forward. “Tiffany!”
Another violent shake sent a rain of glass cascading from every remaining window as the room tilted and the floor split open. Survival took over and Y/N stumbled backward just as the ground where she’d been standing disappeared into darkness. She turned and ran. Not because she wanted to. But because there was nothing else she could do. She reached the massive floor to ceiling windows overlooking the street below, desperately searching for any way out.
The city had become complete pandemonium. Cars sat at impossible angles. Traffic lights swung overhead. People flooded the sidewalks. The pavement rippled beneath the city as skyscrapers swayed against the skyline and windows burst outward. People poured from surrounding buildings as Yunho’s gaze shot upward back to the restaurant. The glass facade reflected the chaos until…..
Y/N.
His stomach dropped. “No.” Beside him, the Reaper finally spoke, voice remaining calm despite the world collapsing around them. “Should a demon preserve that which fate has harvested… the savior shall forever carry the burden of the saved.”
Yunho’s jaw tightened. “I know.” The words came out through clenched teeth. He knew every syllable. Every consequence. He knew exactly what would happen as above them, the building gave one final, deafening groan before the entire western side began folding inward and Y/N disappeared behind a wall of collapsing concrete.
Yunho moved. His body dissolved into a violent cloud of black smoke that tore across the street faster than the eye could follow. The glamour shattered. Silver hair whipped around glossy black horns as infernal shadows exploded through the collapsing floors and he reformed inside the dying building. Concrete rained around him and steel screamed as the floor vanished beneath his feet. Then he saw her, stood frozen, trapped between the collapsing wall and the shattered windows, staring at him in complete disbelief. There was no time. He crossed the distance in a heartbeat, wrapping one arm around her waist and pulled her tightly against his chest.
Then everything disappeared into darkness. The building collapsed. Thousands of tons of steel and concrete crashed into themselves in an earth shaking roar, swallowing the restaurant in a cloud of dust that rolled through downtown like a tidal wave as half a block away, black smoke erupted from empty air and Yunho and Y/N stumbled onto the cracked pavement together.
Y/N’s knees nearly gave out as she clutched at the front of his jacket, coughing through the dust, every breath shaking. For several long seconds she couldn’t process what had just happened. The screams. The collapse. Tiffany. Then she looked up. Really looked and he breath caught. “Yunho?” He didn’t answer. His gaze had already lifted beyond her shoulder….
The reaper still stood untouched by dust. Untouched by chaos as she inclined her head once. “The Covenant has witnessed.”
Yunho shut his eyes and his shoulders sagged with the weight of four centuries pressing down all at once. “Fuck.” Dust rolled through the ruined street in suffocating waves, swallowing the afternoon sunlight until everything looked washed in gray. Sirens had already begun somewhere in the distance, their cries growing louder with every passing second, while the screams of survivors echoed from every direction and Y/N still clutched the front of Yunho’s jacket with trembling fingers. “Yunho?” His attention remained fixed on the reaper. The Covenant had witnessed. Four hundred years. Four hundred years of never once crossing the line. Gone. Just like that.
A sharp hiss escaped Y/N. “Ow…” She released his jacket, grabbing at her left wrist as a searing heat exploded beneath her skin. It wasn’t the sting of a cut or the ache of a bruise. It was deeper. Like molten metal had been poured directly into her veins. “What the fuck…”
Yunho’s head snapped down. “No…” The word barely left his lips before he felt it too. Not pain. Recognition. The inside of his own wrist ignited with the same infernal heat as Y/N cried out, staring in disbelief as impossibly thin black lines began spreading beneath her skin. They branched outward like living ink, twisting and weaving together with unsettling precision. But the lines didn’t stop. They curved. Folded. Connected. Until an elegant symbol slowly revealed itself.
A single black horn.
Its shape unmistakably echoed the royal horns now curling from either side of Yunho’s head. It sat over the pulse of her wrist as though it had always belonged there. “No…” Yunho whispered again as his own wrist burned brighter. He looked down just in time to watch another design emerge beneath his own skin. Not a horn. A feather. Long. Elegant. Its delicate barbs etched in the same flowing black lines that formed Y/N’s mark.
Human.
Demon.
The symbols stared back at one another from opposite wrists like two halves of the same ancient promise. Then came the runes. They spiraled outward around each mark in perfect circles, ancient infernal script carving itself into flesh with molten golden light as Y/N watched in horror. “What… what language is that?” Yunho couldn’t answer. Because he could read every word. Every single one. By blood preserved… Another rune burned itself into place. By fate denied… More appeared. Two souls… The circle completed itself.
…bound beyond death.
The final rune flared so brightly it forced both of them to shield their eyes and for one blinding heartbeat, the symbols glowed like liquid gold before the infernal script dissolved. The light vanished beneath their skin, leaving behind only the completed marks, matte black, as though they’d been tattooed there years ago. Silence enveloped them. Even the sounds of the collapsing city seemed impossibly distant as Y/N slowly lowered her wrist, staring first at the strange black horn etched over her pulse… then at Yunho.
Really looking at him for the first time since he’d pulled her from the collapsing building and her eyes traveled upward. Past the silver hair she’d spent two days thinking about. Past the face she’d convinced herself she’d never see again. Until they stopped on the glossy black horns rising from his head and her breathing caught.
She looked from the horns… to the mark on her wrist and back again. “What the hell is going on?”
Yunho didn’t answer at first. His gaze remained fixed on the horn branded into her skin, the reality of what he’d done settling over him with crushing finality. The reaper’s form was already beginning to dissolve into drifting ash, her duty complete. And before the last trace of her disappeared, Yunho heard the faint whisper of robes carried on the wind. Then… nothing. Only then did Yunho let out a slow, weary breath as his eyes finally lifted to meet Y/N’s. “The keyword…” he said quietly, a humorless smile touching the corner of his mouth despite everything….
Summary: You’re in Paris with your boyfriend for the first time for one of his fashion events. You’ve been so overwhelmed with everything, that you decided to stay in your hotel room. While scrolling social media and seeing all the hot photos of your man, you decide a little ‘self-care’ time is in order. But you just can’t cum, so you call your boyfriend for help.
Pairings: established idol!Hyunjin x fem!Reader; Bang Chan x fem!Reader; Chan x fem!Reader x Hyunjin
Warnings: oral sex (All receiving), unprotected piv, overstimulation (fem receiving), multiple orgasms (all), anal sex mention (m receiving), sex pictures and videos (not shown, just described), brief discussion of rope bondage, cum eating and swapping, pet names (baby and sweet girl mostly)
WC: 4k
A/N: I know Hyunjin wasn’t at fashion week for Dior and that Fendi is Italian so why would Chan be in Paris, but I don’t care. Logic has very little place here, it’s just an excuse to write Red Lights duo, hotel smut. Also, if anyone has any recommendations for other Hyunchan x reader fics, please drop the link for me.
Masterlist
“Baby, can you leave?” you huffed into the phone.
“Not yet. What’s wrong, sweet girl?”
“Pent up, can’t cum. I keep getting close but….” You trailed off with a whine, fingers moving frantically.
“Oh, my poor baby,” he teased, though you could hear his desire. “I can’t get out of here yet though. Contract…. Baby, do you trust me?”
“Course I do.”
“Good girl. I’m gonna make a call, you wait right there.” You let your phone drop as he hung up.
You really hoped he was calling someone to get out of his contracted time. You’d come with him to Paris for fashion week and the associated events like tonight’s. You didn’t really care what you were doing, just that you got to spend more time with your man and that he looked so good while you were together. You’d even been dressed in Dior for yesterday’s event. But tonight you’d been people’d out, not wanting to attend another party with more people you didn’t know. He’d understood and so you’d stayed behind in the hotel room while he went downstairs to the event space in the hotel where tonight’s festivities were happening. But then pictures of him had begun appearing online from tonight’s event and well, you just couldn’t help yourself.
The problem was, now you couldn’t actually get off. You’d been teetering at the edge of an orgasm for a stupidly long time, too frustrated to actually give up knowing you were too edgy to get any rest. If you’d brought one of your vibrators this wouldn’t have been an issue, but it’s not like you thought you were going to need one.
Then the door to your hotel room opened. Hopeful, you leaned up, but it was Chan with his phone in hand. In your current state, you’d forgotten he was also in Paris for similar reasons. You scrambled for the blanket when Hyunjin’s voice rang out from Chan’s phone.
“Don’t baby. He’s here to help.”
“Hyune?”
“It’s me.” Chan turned his phone so you could see your boyfriend on video call. “You’ll let Channie help you out, right?” It was something the two of you had talked about many times – bringing Chan into your bedroom. You’d just always kinda assumed Hyunjin would be in the room too. But one look at Chan – blown pupils, color rising in his cheeks, cock already tenting his sweatpants – and you couldn’t stop the whine that tore out of you. “That’s it, sweet girl.”
The pride in Hyunjin’s voice had you clenching around nothing as Chan moved closer, fingers trailing from your ankle, to your inner thigh. He set his phone against the lamp on the bedside table, making sure the camera was facing the two of you and that you could see Hyunjin.
“Okay?” he asked softly, both men chuckling as you nodded frantically. Chan lifted your soaked fingers in his left hand to suck them clean while the fingers of his right moved swiftly to replace yours. You cried out at his touch – fingers thicker than your boyfriend’s, touch slightly hesitant. “Beautiful,” he grinned after taking your fingers out of his mouth and pressing your hand to his chest.
“Just wait until she cums. She’s gorgeous.” You could feel that elusive edge getting closer while Chan hovered over you, fingers reaching deeper than you could on your own, thrusts steadier and more powerful than your own. He added his thumb against your clit and – finally – you broke, fingers twisting in his tank top, back arching, cunt clenching as you finally tumbled over that edge. “Good girl,” Hyune praised from the phone. “Look at you, sweetheart. So good for Channie, hm?”
You sagged against the bed as Chan’s fingers slowed and he gently pulled out of you. “Gorgeous,” he said with a dimpled grin.
“Baby?”
“Hm?” you turned to Chan’s phone and your boyfriend’s face.
“I think it’s only fair since Channie helped you get off that you help him too, huh? That you let him use that pretty body to get off.”
“Would you like that, Hyune? Like the idea of one of your best friend using me while you’re stuck at your boring fashion party? Pounding in my cunt? Would you like it if I let him cum inside me?” He groaned, head dropping forward. You chuckled, “Okay, baby. You have fun.” You reached over and hung up the video call before he could respond.
Then Chan was on you. He leaned over you, a hand on either side of your head, caging you against your hotel bed. “You sure?” he asked, voice soft.
“Absolutely,” you said with a grin, reaching forward to smooth your hands up under his black tank top.
You and Hyunjin had talked about it many times, usually when he was balls deep inside you, wondering how Chan would fuck either or both of you. You were a little well, not quite disappointed but close enough, that you were going to learn that answer without Hyunjin. Not that that was enough to stop you.
The tank top was off and thrown somewhere in the room, then Chan was sliding a hand around the back of your head, hauling you up, and kissing you like he had a right to claim you. You clutched at his shoulders, giving yourself over to him, desperate despite your recent orgasm.
While his lips trailed down your neck, your hands trailed down his chest, lightly scratching just to feel him hiss against your skin. Bracing a hand on his chest, you pushed just a little and he immediately backed off. Which sent twin bolts of lust and affection through you. You didn’t give him a chance to ask what was wrong before you were scrambling off the bed, kneeling between it and him.
He groaned above you, one hand dropping to the top of your head before sliding into your hair. His sweatpants came off quickly, the band catching just slightly on his hard cock, before you had them pushed to his ankles. The lack of any kind of underwear didn’t surprise you.
He wasn’t as long as Hyunjin, but was definitely thicker. You couldn’t wait to taste him. You opened your mouth wide as his free hand came down and wrapped around the base of his cock. He groaned lightly, seeing the almost-desperate way you were looking up at him with your tongue lolled out, not-actually-patiently waiting for him. He tapped the head of the cock against your tongue a couple times, teasing you with the barest taste of him, before slowly sliding into your waiting mouth. He hesitated when you gagged a little as his head scraped against the roof of your mouth, but you just relaxed further onto your heels, breathing slowly through your nose as you worked to calm your gag reflex.
“Goddamn, baby,” Chan huffed out, holding still for a few seconds once your nose was pressed against his pelvis. Carefully, trying not to trigger your gag reflex again, Chan pulled out of your mouth and built to a steady, easy rhythm. His now free hand came down to cup your jaw, both hands holding your head steady as he used your mouth. You relaxed fully and let him, more turned on than you’d ever be able to express as this man who wasn’t your boyfriend used you so perfectly, your moans muffled by his cock.
Unexpectedly, he stopped moving, balls pressed against your chin and leaned to the side, pushing you back slightly as he did, before straightening you both up with his phone in his hand. “Hyune deserves to see how pretty you look, don’t you think?” You couldn’t actually answer with his cock buried in your throat, but he must’ve seen your agreement in your eyes because he snapped a photo and, presumably, sent it to your boyfriend.
You knew he took a few more photos and sent them, but couldn’t be bothered to care. Besides, Hyunjin took photos of the two of you all the time, and you knew he’d love these ones from Chan – eyes teary, face reddening a little, Chan’s hand buried in your hair.
You could feel Chan getting closer in the way he twitched in your mouth and in the way his thrusts started to lose rhythm. You hollowed your cheeks, pressing your tongue tight against the underside of his cock, moaning around him when his grip on your hair tightened.
With no warning, he yanked out of your mouth and stroked himself over you once – twice – and spilled all over your tits with a moan. Your chest heaved as you worked to catch your breath and he took a short video clip. He hauled you up onto his lap as he dropped onto the hotel bed and you watched the text he sent your boyfriend. Thought she’d look amazing covered in my cum. I was right.
You chuckled breathlessly, tucking yourself against his chest, head on his shoulder. You were caught between relaxing and wanting more – still incredibly turned on but Chan’s fingers were rubbing soothing circles against your low back. You almost didn’t care which he decided on.
Then he gripped your thighs and tossed you back onto the bed, swiftly moving to hover over you. “Think he’d mind if I mark you up a little?” he asked, voice low, nose trailing up the side of your neck near your ear.
“Please,” you demanded, threading your fingers into the hair on the back of his head and hooking one foot behind his thigh. He chuckled low, breath hot against your neck. He pressed wet, open mouthed kisses down the line of your throat before stopping where your neck and shoulder met and sinking his teeth into the sensitive flesh there. He echoed your moan before continuing down your body, leaving a haphazard trail of love bites as he went.
You hadn’t been paying attention to his phone until you saw him holding it up and snapping a quick picture of the marks he’d left behind. Then he settled himself between your thighs, dropping the phone beside you and hooking your thighs over his shoulders.
“Fuck,” you groaned out, hand shooting back to his hair as he pressed open-mouthed kisses against your core. You felt him chuckle against you. You scrambled for the phone, managing to snap a picture of Chan looking up at you as he licked a stripe over you. He paused just long enough for you to send it before diving in, eating you out with a single-minded focus, phone dropped and completely forgotten.
His lips and tongue were confident, but exploratory. Teasing licks to see what you respond to, mouth covering as much of your cunt as he physically could just to see the way you arched into his touch. You crossed your ankles behind his back, his fingers digging into your upper thighs, and gave yourself over to the feeling of his mouth and tongue.
The tip of his tongue flicked over your clit, then he shifted so he could fuck his tongue into you while his nose rubbed against your clit. He turned his head slightly and bit your upper thigh gently, sucking another bruise against your skin, then turned back and sucked your clit into mouth.
He kept going, giving you just enough to build you up, only to change it up when he decided you were getting to close to another orgasm. At the same time, he seemed to be fueled by every little sound he pulled from you. You could feel his muscles bunching in his back with each moan or whine.
“Tease,” you whined out finally, digging your heels into his back.
He chuckled against you. “Can’t help it. Sound so pretty for me. Like to take you to the recording studio and use your sounds in our next track. Think he’d let me?” He didn’t give you a chance to answer, sucking your clit back into his mouth and pressing his tongue against the sensitive little nub.
Your fingers tightened in his hair, gripping hard enough to have him moaning against you as he finally fully focused on making you cum, tongue flicking over your clit and building you higher and higher until finally you crested over that edge, whining out his name and squeezing your thighs around his head.
Chan didn’t give you time to get your breath back. He practically shot up from between your thighs, claiming your lips in a rough kiss, while hooking one of your legs over his hip. You felt his hand not on your thigh moving around, but were too busy fighting for some semblance of your own sanity to figure out what he was doing. Then, just as quickly, he pulled away, leaving you more breathless than you’d been.
He grinned at you, that sweet, dimple grin that was completely at odds with the current situation and the things he’d just done to your body. And you saw that he once again held his phone. He hitched your leg a little better on his hip, forcing you to tilt your hips, until he was lined up perfectly. Camera focused on, you assumed, your pussy, he slid into you nice and slow, making sure you felt every inch of him stretching you out. You moaned, head arching back, hearing his echoed moan.
Pausing to let you adjust, he sent whatever photo or video he just took, and tossed the phone beside you again.
“Look at you,” he muttered, voice soft and almost sweet as he rubbed a hand over your hip. “Stretched out and taking my cock so well, aren’t you baby?” You moaned at the praise, digging your heel into his thigh. “Oh, are you ready, hm?” he teased, though you could see by the look in his eyes that his own control was fraying. So rather than respond verbally, you rolled your hips against him. “Fuck,” he moaned, head dropping forward for just a second.
Then he grabbed you by the thighs, keeping your legs spread wide, pulled out steadily and slammed back in. He built a steady rhythm, eyes wandering from your face contorted in pleasure with your mouth hanging open with every little pleasure-filled sound being pulled from your lungs, your tits and the love bites scattered over your neck and chest, to the place where the two of you were joined.
One hand twisted into the sheets beside you, you reached up for him and were more than pleased when he immediately leaned down, claiming your lips in a sloppy kiss. You grinned internally at the moan against your lips when you tangled your fingers back into his hair and tugged.
“Christ, you’re gonna kill me,” he muttered against your lips, before pulling away and planting his hands on either side of your waist. Again, you pressed your heel to the back of his thigh. “I am not a horse,” he huffed out, though he did quickly get back to the pace he’d had before kissing you, hips snapping into yours.
It took you a second, but then you responded, “But you’d look so pretty with me riding you.”
“Oh god,” his head dropped back with a moan, just as you heard the hotel door open.
“They let you go,” you huffed out, gaze locked on your boyfriend as he stepped fully into the room. Chan startled slightly. He hadn’t heard the other man come in and didn’t have your view to see him.
“Apparently, I looked ‘rough’,” he said with finger quotes as he tugged at his expensive clothes. “Probably something to do with every new notification I got.” The words may have been meant to scold, but the tone and look in his eyes was desperation.
Chan shifted onto his heels, gripping your hips and pulling you into his lap so your back arched further. “Perfect. God, look at you pretty girl.” You moaned in response, his cock hitting deeper now as he fucked up into you.
“Yeah you are,” Hyunjin stepped up behind him. “You look so good taking Channie’s cock, baby girl.” He reached down, thumb flicking over your clit just enough to have your hips bucking, before sliding up your belly. “And his text was so right. Your tits look so good covered in his cum.” You grin dissolved into a moan as Hyunjin pinched at your nipples, completely uncaring about the cum now on his fingers. Or – you groaned as you watched him lift his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean, a sounded echoed by Chan.
Hyunjin stepped up to the side of the bed and, without needing a word, you opened your mouth, tongue lolling out over your teeth. “Good girl,” he grinned down at you, hand slipping under the back of your head to hold you the way he wanted as he slid his head against your tongue, groaning at the feeling before sinking into your mouth. You took as much of him as you possibly could in the position you were in. Not that you had much choice with your boyfriend holding your head securely and Chan still holding your hips in his lap as he pounded into you.
You reveled in it, loving to give up control to two men you trusted so much. You groaned low, eyes rolling back as they built a rhythm together, alternating their thrusts.
Then Chan shifted and you tried to peer down your body at him. You couldn’t really see him with the way Hyunjin had your head shifted, but you didn’t need to as, a few seconds after he wrapped your legs around his waist, he was leaning over you. He pressed his lips to your bottom lip, but it wasn’t a kiss he was after – not really. It was difficult to describe, like he was trying to kiss you and lick Hyunjin’s cock at the same time. You didn’t care, especially not with the low whine his actions elicited from your boyfriend, so you stopped trying to keep track of what he was doing.
You could tell Hyunjin was edging himself, could tell he was actively trying not to cum just yet. And you could figure the reason why. You knew how much he loved both edging himself and waiting until you came before he did. His free hand slid down your chest, fingers rolling your nipple between them before tugging it lightly and pulling a high pitched whine from you that the two of them could just hear, despite your mouth being thoroughly occupied.
You knew how long he’d been hard, knew he needed a release that you and Chan had both already gotten, and – perhaps most importantly – knew exactly what to do to push him over the edge. You looked up, seeking his eyes to find them already on yours. Then you moved your tongue, letting your teeth scrap over the side of his cock when he pulled out. With a sound that was half-whimper, half-groan, his hand tightened in your hair, eyes going glassy, as his cock twitched and flooded your mouth.
The second he pulled away, before you could swallow it all, Chan’s tongue was in your mouth, lips sealed over yours. Fingers were on your clit – Hyunjin’s you had to assume – and you lost the ability to track anything for just a moment as your back arched and your orgasm washed through you.
“Fuck,” Chan moaned against your jaw, hips still pistoning into you. “Feel so good when you cum ‘round me.”
Hyunjin’s fingers hadn’t left your clit, still rubbing the sensitive little nub and chuckling when your thighs started to twitch around Chan’s hips.
“Hyune, too much,” you whined through the overstimulation.
“Mm, feels incredible,” Chan countered, sliding one hand under your low back to hold you still arched and planting the other hand on the mattress beside you to prop himself up. Hyunjin’s fingers stayed on your clit, pushing you deeper into the overstimulation, until Chan’s hips stopped, pressing as deep into your cunt as he physically could, twitching violently as he came hard.
He collapsed beside you after only a moment, taking one of your legs with him and leaving you spread wide, as if open for your boyfriend’s inspection. Which is exactly what it felt like when Hyunjin took his place between your legs. He had his own phone in hand – and when had he had time to get that? – and was taking a video of his fingers teasing through your cum-soaked cunt.
“Look at you, sweet girl,” he muttered in that voice that always had you whimpering – the one that said he was not going to hold back from wrecking you even though you were already ruined for the night. “All messy with another man’s cum,” his fingers just barely dipped inside you and you were left to wonder why you already felt so wrecked when the two of you had gone for hours together many times before. Maybe it was the unintentional edging from earlier. “Look so pretty all used by Channie. But I bet you’ve got another in you for me, don’t you sweetheart?”
You nodded, despite the way your whole body felt like pudding and were rewarded with his blinding smile before he leaned down and captured your lips with his. Just as his tongue traced the seam of your lips, you felt his cock press into you. You fought to close your legs around him, but Chan still had one of your legs in his grip, holding you open.
You started to care, almost said something when Hyunjin moved away from your lips. But then he noticed and groaned, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Look at you, sweet girl. Held open for me. Didn’t even need to bring ropes, did we?”
Beside you, Chan moaned, grip tightening on your thigh. “Ropes?” he leaned in, nose ghosting over your neck. “You let him tie you up?” You could only nod, trying and failing to get words out around the constant moans Hyunjin was pulling from you. “Fuck, I gotta see that.”
“Painted her before.” Hyunjin huffed out. “Pics too.”
Chan moaned against your neck where he’d started peppering kisses along your sweaty skin. “’Course you have. Know how much you like seeing her….” He trailed off, sucking a new bruise just under your collar bone.
“Look so pretty covered in Channie’s marks, baby. Gonna make him leave new ones when we get home so I can paint ‘em.” That pulled matching moans from you and Chan. You knew – had known the whole time – that this wouldn’t be just a one-time thing. But now Chan was sure of it too.
Despite the fact that he’d just cum, you could see the effect talking about your sex lives was having on Hyunjin. You could see how close to that edge he was getting already, could feel it in the almost-desperate way his thumb found your clit, rubbing firm circles to make sure you came first. And it was more evident when he looked away from you, tipping his head back.
You took the opportunity and grabbed Chan’s arm. “Hm?”
With your free hand, you tapped the front of your own neck and gestured to Hyunjin so he wouldn’t hear you. Chan, thankfully, caught on immediately. He scrambled up behind your boyfriend, peering down at you over his shoulder as he wrapped his fingers around the front of his neck.
Hyunjin’s eyes widened almost comically wide as his orgasm surprised him and he leaned unintentionally into Chan’s hold around his neck and pressed his thumb hard against your clit, pushing you over the edge too.
When you came back to yourself, they were laying on either side of you, both breathing hard. You didn’t have the energy to move, so you didn’t despite the desire to curl into one of them.
“Next time,” Chan huffed out from beside you, “I’m fucking you too,” he reached across you to grip Hyunjin’s hip.
♡Au: horror, serial killer, this character is from the Library of Illusion series i did, for context
♡Trope: slasher boyfriend, established relationship
♡Rating: 18+, Minors Do Not Interact
♡Word Count: 2,048
♡Warnings: predator/prey, mentions of knife play (not in this fic), hide and fuck, fear kink, mentions of past murders, sex with no protection
♡Master List ~ Day Eight: Hongjoong {Pegging} ~ Day Eleven: Yeosang {Spit Kink}
Your boyfriend intertwines his fingers with yours, swinging your arms happily as you walk towards an abandoned warehouse. “This is going to be so fun, Babe,” Wooyoung says.
You press your lips inwards. You know this is going to be fun. But part of that fun is the trepidation that’s been building in your chest the moment you started driving to this remote location.
It was Wooyoung’s date idea; to go to an old warehouse and for him to pursue you in a new setting. It was all and well to chase you in his childhood house where his trophies of his kills were posed and stories created. But sometimes a girl wants to get out of the house.
When you didn't answer him, Wooyoung’s smile falters. “Right?” He shook your arm for good measure to pull your attention back to him. “Right?!”
“Mmm!” You nod in reassurance. “Of course.”
Wooyoung’s lips purse to the side of his cheek. It’s quite a cute gesture for a man who murdered. “Are you sure you want to do this? Is it because it’s at another location where you feel less safe? You know I only want to do this if you want to do this. That’s how we--”
You press a finger against Wooyoung’s mouth. “Wooyoung. We wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be here. You know the rules.”
Wooyoung readily recites the rules. “No deep cuts. Avoid the wrists and bends of your arms. I can lick the knife as long as I’m still fucking you. And you come first, then I do.”
“Exactly. If I wasn’t excited about this, how could you possibly make me come first?”
Wooyoung nods in agreement. “And mine?”
You let go of his hand and slowly started to walk backward to the gaping hole that was the entrance to the abandoned warehouse. “Try to run and hide. Try not to make a sound--”
“And if I catch you, I get to fuck you.” Wooyoung grins, a maniac gleam in his eyes. This time Wooyoung has a butterfly knife that he whips open and close easily. “That’s my favorite part.” He then blows you a kiss. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Mister Serial Killer.”
Wooyoung rolls his eyes at the formality. He prefers to hunt you as your boyfriend. But then again, the excitement of him being the unknown predator and you the potential prey was the whole reason you were here in the first place. “Go!” He shooes you.
You blow him a kiss back and then hit a dead run. The warehouse is huge, full of old machinery. You’re not sure if this was a factory once or that this is where they moved the old machinery, but everything smelled wet and rusty.
Wooyoung began to count loudly. “Three!” His loud voice carried through the rafters after you. “Fuck, this is gonna be great.”
You took stock of your potential hiding places. You couldn't pick an early one or an obvious one. So that left out the easily climbable machine and the ladder on the wall. You wove a trail that wasn’t straight further through the warehouse.
“Two! I hope you’re getting ready for me!”
Your heart is beating quickly. The excitement and adrenaline and fear all mixed together as your head whipped back and forth, desperately trying to find the perfect hiding spot. There are large old advertising boards but that’s too easy. There is a downturned dome, but by the look of the moonlight, it wasn’t easily liftable.
“One! I’m not putting my mask on this time!” Weird, he always masked up before chasing you. What changed tonight?
You loop back once you find the back of the warehouse. Racing up the other side, you find exactly what you had been looking for: a gap between machines. You slide between them, deep into the shadows.
“Little mouse, where have you gone?” Wooyoung shouts in a sing-song voice.
A shiver goes down your spine. You clamp your hand over your mouth in an attempt to hush your loud breathing. Wooyoung was a master hunter, whether it was finding your sweet body to fuck or the long list of his victims. It was games like these that seemed to satiate him so that he wasn’t actually killing. You’d gladly sacrifice your body for the sake of others.
“I hope you didn’t go up the ladder, Babe,” Wooyoung continues to speak out loud to you. “That would be a very short chase, and I don’t think you’re wet enough for that quite yet.
You can’t help but snort under your breath.
“And I know you didn’t climb up the first machine you came across. My little mouse is much too smart for that.” He really did know you inside and out.
You wiggle down, finding room to slide your knees up to your chest. Perhaps if you are smaller, you’ll be harder to see. Your heartbeat, however, isn’t slowing down.
A crash makes you yelp in fear. Wooyoung had found the advertising boards and probably put a foot through them for this exact reaction.
“I didn’t hear your squeak, little mouse, so you’re not here, hmmm?” Wooyoung’s voice was getting closer. “Am I getting closer? Is your cute little pussy getting ready for me, I wonder?”
Your lower lips are, in fact, soaked. Your barely-there skirt was simply a tease for Wooyoung. You have to focus, however.
“My little mouse found a tiny hole to squeeze into, did she?” Wooyoung’s sneakered feet sound nearby, but you don’t see anything.
Still, you hold your breath, hoping and praying he wasn’t about to find you yet.
“My knife is eager to bite into you, Babe!” Wooyoung says in a pouty voice. “Don’t you want it’s kiss?”
You, in fact, hated that damn blade. Unfortunately, you’ve been a bit conditioned by now. The shallow slice of a knife, the dripping of your blood down your skin, starts to turn you on. Your body knows if you’re getting cut, you’re going to get fucked. It was a simple fact of your life now with your serial killer boyfriend.
“It would be nice if you-- aha!” Wooyoung shouts, but then sounds disappointed. “Not here, huh? Damn, little mouse, you are getting good at this game.”
Uh oh. You had never done this before. What if Wooyoung got upset about not being able to find you? If he isn’t having fun, you might not either. Maybe you need to make a noise, or--
A hand wraps around your arm and suddenly yanks you from your hiding space. You scream in fear, being yanked out of your thoughts and spot simultaneously.
“Got you!” Wooyoung yells triumphantly.
“Oh my God, Wooyoung, you scared the shit out of me!” You shout, slapping Wooyoung’s chest. “I thought you were further away.”
Wooyoung has a very pleased smile on his face. “I did that to trick you. Worked, didn’t it?”
You laugh under your breath. “You always keep me on my toes, don’t you?”
Wooyoung’s eyes have become hooded as he pushes you against the large machine he had pulled you from. His hand presses against your chest, not to grope you, but to feel your heartbeat skittering against your ribcage. “I always want to be able to surprise you and scare you. How else are you going to get so wet?”
That same hand descends and easily reaches under your skirt to find your slickness. His eyes roll into the back of his head as he finds you eager for him. “Babe,” he moans.
“I’m ready for you, Woo,” you purr. “Where’s your knife?”
Wooyoung’s eyes widen, and he pulls back, desperately patting his pockets. First his hoodie, then his jeans, and wincing. “It must have fallen out when I was playing around with it.”
You try not to show how excited that makes you. “Can you still…?”
Wooyoung tilts his head. “You better not be asking what I think you’re asking, little mouse.”
You shrug. “You’ve never fucked me without cutting me.”
Wooyoung frowns, lips scrunching together. “That’s not true.”
“Wooyoung,” you say in a knowing voice.
“There are other ways, you know.”
You freeze, just like the mouse Wooyoung is always comparing you to. Slowly, your eyes drift upwards. “What?”
“I don’t always kill with a knife.” Wooyoung steps forward, both his hands flirting with your collarbones.
“We-we’ve never tested that, Wooyoung,” You begin to stutter.
Wooyoung’s grin gets bigger. “Does that scare you?”
“ ‘course it does!” You protest. “What if--?”
“What if I accidentally kill you?”
You shudder under Wooyoung’s touch, and he cackles. “I don’t want to fuck a dead body, Babe.”
“Lucky me,” You mutter under your breath.
Wooyoung grips your ass and maneuvers your leg to swing around his body. He grinds easily, the roughness of his jeans against your soaked folds. You cry out at the feeling, and Wooyoung smirks. “You know the rules. If I catch you, I fuck you. I don’t need the knives. They’re just the cherry on top. You know your sweet little cunt is all I need.”
You cup Wooyoung’s face fondly. “I only need your pretty dick, Woo.”
“I’m going to come in my pants if you talk like that,” Wooyoung complains.
You reach for his jeans to unbutton him and pull down the zipper. Wooyoung had gone commando, just like you, for easy access. When you bring your other leg around his body, locking at the small of his back, Wooyoung wiggles his jeans down past his ass, and guides his cock between your folds.
“I caught you,” Wooyoung groans as he pushes into you.
“Yeah,” you whine. “Now my pussy is all yours, Mister Serial Killer.”
“It’s always mine,” Wooyoung growls.
“Fuck,” You bit down on your lip as Wooyoung bottoms out. “Yeah it is.”
“No matter how many times you run, no matter how many places you hide in, I’ll always find you. I’ll always fuck you. That’s our life now.” Wooyoung always runs his mouth, no matter what he’s doing. You don’t mind, though. His dirty talk was half of the fun.
You squeeze your legs so that you can help Wooyoung fuck into you properly. “This is where I belong,” you agree.
“In a dirty warehouse, scared out of your wits end, my cock deep inside of you,” Wooyoung expands.
You wrap your arms behind Wooyoung’s neck, pulling his head closer. “Give us a kiss, Baby.”
“Do you kiss all the serial killers that fuck this sweet cunt of yours,” Wooyoung grins before pecking your lips.
“What, is there a club you plan on passing me around to?” You joke.
Except… Wooyoung doesn’t correct you.
“Uh… Wooyoung?” You swallow loudly when your words are met with silence.
“I don’t think you want the answer to that, Babe,” Wooyoung says in an eerie voice, a queer look in his eyes.
You giggle nervously, your cunt clenching around Wooyoung’s curved cock. “Very funny, Wooyoung.”
Wooyoung teasingly bites your nose, and let’s go. “I’m not joking.” Then he thrusts into you so deeply and so sharply that you start to see stars.
It’s off to the races, your heartbeat racing with your thoughts. How are you supposed to think about this serial killer club when Wooyoung’s fucking you so good.
“Now who’s the one dumb off who?” Wooyoung baits you.
“Me. Me, I’m drunk off your cock, Woo,” You pant. “Fuck me so good, oh fuck, Wooyoung, please!” Your mind shatters into a million little pieces as your climax races through you.
“That’s right,” Wooyoung says. He sounds proud but a little strained. “That’s my cock doing that to you.” His thrusts start to get a little sloppy and he looses his grip on you a little. “Dumb little cunt only knows how to come around… my… cock!”
At last, your boyfriend comes, filling you up with his cum. He slows down his speed as you both come down from your highs. He’s sweaty and panting but he’s glowing at that’s what matters the most.
“This was such a good idea,” you pant against his lips, giving him a peck.
“Sure was a good show.”
You blink slowly because you’re pretty sure that wasn’t Wooyoung’s voice. Your heart speeds up again and your cunt clenches around Wooyoung, who lets out a slow chuckle. Fear truly was your kink.
Master List ~ Day Eight: Hongjoong {Pegging} ~ Day Eleven: Yeosang {Spit Kink}
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