My writing is all fictional and does not represent any of the named people in any way, shape or form.
All works and writing is done by me, and I do not use AI at any point in my writing.
'92 born, non-binary (they/them), STAY, super novice writer. I'm constantly changing my username lol. I go by Corpse online. I do listen to other K-Pop groups but write only for Stray Kids.
Links -> My favorite fragments of the internet // A03
Hi, I promise im still alive. Im still working on some stories, kinda hopping between some. I've been dealing with a lot still since my father's passing in December, so that's a big part of the hiatus. I promise I'll he back with some new stuff asap
A quiet morning is interrupted by a summons that forces you and your mates to face the reality of your bond in front of the council. What follows shifts everything, changing how the pack sees you and where you stand among them. By the end, there’s no more uncertainty—what you have is real, and it holds.
MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS, DNI
Werewolf!MinSung x Human!AFAB Reader, Poly relationship, SMUT, Alpha/pack dynamics, Breeding talk/future pregnancy mention (no actual pregnancy), Emotional intimacy and aftercare, Slow-burn payoff, Mild angst with comfort
My writing is all fictional and does not represent any of the named people in any way, shape or form. All works and writing is done by me, and I do not use AI at any point in my writing.
dividers made by @cafekitsune
The morning began like any other. You woke between them—Minho curled at your front, arm slung over your waist, and Jisung pressed against your back, his breath warm where it touched the nape of your neck. Their body heat wrapped around you, and the bond lingered just beneath your skin, low and steady like a song that hadn’t finished playing.
For a moment, everything went quiet, like the world outside hadn’t quite returned yet. Then a knock sounded at the door, calm and unhurried, three careful taps spaced just right. Minho’s eyes opened at once, already alert, and Jisung shifted behind you, still heavy with sleep, until the same knock came again, identical and deliberate enough to pull him fully awake.
Minho muttered under his breath. “Shit.”
He was already sliding out of bed, pulling on sweatpants and heading for the door.
You sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “What is it?”
“Council messenger…” he said, not even looking back. “No one else knocks like that.”
Jisung groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Seriously? Can’t even let her have breakfast first?”
Minho opened the door just enough to grab the envelope waiting in the frame. No words were exchanged. Only the quiet sound of footsteps fading back down the hall. He closed the door and returned to the bedroom, his face unreadable.
Jisung sat up beside you, his hand sliding over your thigh as Minho dropped the envelope onto the blanket between you.
Thick parchment. Wax seal. The silver crest of the council pressed into its surface.
Your stomach tightened. You stared at it for a second before reaching out. Both hands. Steady fingers. You broke the seal and unfolded the letter. It was short.
By order of the Council, you are hereby summoned for confirmation of bond integrity and spiritual compatibility. One (1) human female. Two (2) alpha-bonded mates. Date of summoning: Wednesday, 8 a.m. Sirius Holdings headquarters, High Chamber.
No greetings. No explanation. Just an order.
“Wednesday…” you said quietly, eyes still on the letter.
Jisung leaned forward with a low sigh. “That’s fast. They’re nervous.”
“They’re curious.” Minho said, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “The Blood Moon lit something up. A bond like this…they probably haven’t seen it in a century. If ever.”
You ran your fingers along the edge of the paper. “They’re going to try to break it.”
Minho sat beside you, gently taking the letter from your hands. “They’ll test it. Push you. See if it holds.”
You glanced between them. “And if I fail?”
“You won’t.” Minho said, steady and certain. “You’re already holding it. That’s all the proof they need.”
Jisung’s hand moved up your back, warm and reassuring. “We know what we’re walking into. We go together. We don’t flinch.”
You swallowed. “And if they say no? If they try to undo it?”
“They can’t undo a moon-bond.” Minho told you. “They might bluff. Try to scare us. But that’s all it is—noise.”
You let out a breath, leaning into him. His scent wrapped around you, grounding. “So what do we do until then?”
“Keep you steady.” Jisung said, pressing his chin lightly to your shoulder.
“Keep you fed.” Minho added, brushing a kiss against your temple. “And thoroughly fucked.”
That pulled a soft laugh out of you, even with the ache still tight in your chest. You could already feel it—the bond reacting, humming deeper under your skin like it knew eyes were on you now. The council’s interest would tug at it, stretch it, see how far it reached. But it wasn’t just yours anymore. And when Wednesday came, no matter what they said, you weren’t going in alone.
——
Wednesday — The High Chamber
The room was carved from stone, filled with quiet tension. You stood at the center, boots planted on bare rock, the air cooler than expected despite the warmth radiating from the lamps above. Seven council members sat in a crescent, all wolves—older, battle-worn, their eyes sharp with years of command. Silver hair, old scars, and expressions that had long since forgotten softness.
Minho stood to your right, Jisung to your left. Both were dressed in black—no insignia except the silver rings around their necks, symbols of rank, not ego. They didn’t stand there for show. This wasn’t politics. It was instinct. It was protection. It was claim.
They didn’t need to touch you. The bond did that already—quiet and constant, thrumming in your chest like a second heartbeat.
The woman seated in the center of the council leaned forward. Her voice was clipped, practiced. “Y/n L/n. You’ve entered into a confirmed moon-bond with not one, but two alphas. As a human.”
You met her gaze. “I have.”
“You’re aware this has never happened before.”
“I am.”
“There is no dormant wolf in your blood. No bite. No infection.”
“No.” You said. “There isn’t.”
“And yet the bond snapped into place under the Blood Moon. You carry both bonds.”
Your hands stayed still at your sides, even as your stomach turned. “Yes.”
A quiet stir passed through the rest of the council. Not denial. Just the weight of something new. Unexplained.
One of them—a man with a jagged scar across his temple—leaned forward, squinting at you. “Did you want this? Were you coerced?”
“No.” You said firmly. “They were honest with me. I understood what it meant. I chose it before it ever settled.”
Minho’s voice was calm, but certain. “She chose us.”
Jisung nodded. “Long before the bond claimed her.”
The scarred man let out a low grunt. “A human can choose sex. Even loyalty. But a moon-bond isn’t made from choice. It’s instinct. It either takes—or it tears.”
You still didn’t flinch.
“I didn’t break.” You said quietly.
“No.” The woman replied, fingers steepled in front of her. “But you still might.”
Something shifted in the room then. Not magic—just instinct. Deep and old. A pressure that settled over the space like a warning.
“Step into the circle.” She said.
Your eyes dropped to the shallow ring etched into the stone floor in front of you. It wasn’t ceremonial. It was a test—used for centuries to measure the strength of a bond. The deeper it pushed, the harder the bond resisted. The more it fought interference, the more unshakable it proved to be.
You stepped in without hesitating, aware of Minho and Jisung stopping just short of the edge behind you. Even without looking, you could feel their attention on you, steady and intense. The moment your boots crossed the line, something shifted inside your chest, a sudden weight pressing in from the inside out.
It wasn’t sharp enough to hurt, but it was strong enough to steal your breath. The bond reacted instantly, rising up in response like it recognized the tension before you did. Your shoulders tightened, your hands curled at your sides, and you had to steady yourself as the feeling settled deep and heavy beneath your ribs.
“She’s reacting.” Someone said from the council line.
“Not resisting.” Another corrected. “She’s holding.”
“Activate second tether.” The lead councilwoman instructed.
Minho stepped forward. You didn’t have to look. The second he moved, the bond pulled taut—his presence crashing into your system with weight and warmth. You felt it like gravity, sudden and whole. Your knees buckled slightly, but you held your ground.
Then Jisung stepped in. And everything snapped into place. The bond lit up—bright, consuming. Not pain. Not even strain. Just something older than language locking tight between the three of you.
Your mouth parted, breath hitching as heat rolled through you. The air thickened. Your heart pounded once. Then again. Then a third time, each beat echoing through your body like the strike of a drum.
And then—it stopped. You were still shaking. Your skin was damp with sweat. But you were standing. And the bond held firm. The council didn’t speak right away.
Then the lead woman gave a single nod. “Confirmed.”
Another voice followed. “Stable.”
After a pause, a third spoke, “Unprecedented.”
Minho stepped into the circle and caught you before your legs gave out. His arms wrapped around your waist, steady and sure, pulling you against him. Jisung was there a moment later, slipping his hand into yours without a word.
You didn’t cry, but your throat tightened with the weight of it all—what you’d just proven, what you’d just survived.
“You may leave.” The councilwoman said.
But the older man with the scar leaned forward, voice rough and low. “You’ve stepped into something we can’t predict. You’re human. That bond is going to change you. It already has.”
You met his gaze and nodded. “I know.”
There was no further protest. No argument. They could smell it now—Minho’s scent, Jisung’s, carried in the heat of your skin. The bond was settled, unmistakable. You weren’t just claimed. You were their match. Their equal. Their moon-chosen. And not even the Council could deny that anymore.
——
The door had barely clicked shut before Minho turned the lock and pressed his forehead to it, letting out a breath like he hadn’t really exhaled all day.
Jisung brushed past him into the apartment, tugging off his jacket and tossing it over the back of the couch with a little more force than necessary. You stood just inside the entryway, sleeves still tugged down over your hands, heart still pounding in your chest.
No one spoke at first. You leaned back against the wall and closed your eyes.
The air was warm and familiar. The scent of them clung to everything—cedar, pine, warmth. Home. For the first time since stepping into that chamber, your shoulders started to drop.
Minho didn’t say anything as he crossed the room. He just cupped your face in both hands, holding you like he needed to feel you breathing to believe it.
“You did it…” he said, quiet and hoarse.
You looked up at him. “We did.”
Behind you, Jisung let out something between a laugh and a shaky breath. He stepped in close, wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his face against your shoulder.
“You didn’t even flinch.” He said softly. “I felt the bond trying to knock us all off our feet. And you stayed standing.”
“I thought I might throw up.” You admitted.
Minho huffed, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Would’ve made a statement.”
“But I didn’t.” You said. “I held it.”
“You carried it.” Minho murmured.
Jisung pressed a kiss to the back of your neck, warm and reassuring. “We knew you would.”
Minho kissed your forehead and didn’t pull away for a long moment. “They saw it. They felt it. It’s real—and now they can’t deny it.”
You wrapped your arms around both of them and finally let yourself breathe deep—smoke and salt and forest warmth.
Your mates. Your bond. Your pack.
You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that—pressed between them, held like something precious. Minutes passed. Maybe longer.
Eventually, Jisung coaxed you toward the couch, his hand gentle at your back. Minho poured you a glass of water, then draped a blanket over your legs once you were settled. You curled up between them, your side tucked under Minho’s arm, your legs stretched across Jisung’s lap. Neither of them let go.
The bond still buzzed softly under your skin. Not sharp or overwhelming—just there. Steady. Settling. No one rushed to speak. You just sat together, breathing each other in, letting the silence hold you.
After a while, Minho broke it. “They’re going to talk.”
Jisung let out a breath. “They’re probably already talking. Whole pack’ll know by morning.”
You looked at them both. “Does it change anything?”
Minho’s fingers threaded into your hair, slow and soothing. “Only for the ones who didn’t believe it was real.”
Minho met your eyes. “You stood in front of the council with two bonded alphas. You held that bond through a test designed to break it.”
Jisung gave a lopsided grin. “You made them flinch. All of them.”
That pulled a small laugh from you, though it faded just as quickly. “So…what now?”
Minho leaned in and kissed your temple. “Now we rest.”
Jisung tugged the blanket higher, settling it over your knees. “And tomorrow, we find out just how loud the pack can be.”
By the time you stepped into the compound the next morning, word had already made its way through. There hadn’t been a formal announcement. No broadcast. No memo from the Council.
But that didn’t matter. Wolves didn’t need to be told when something shifted. They felt it—in the air, in the ground beneath their feet, in the weight of a bond that had finally settled. It didn’t roar. It didn’t burn. It simply landed, like a final note after a long, unfinished song. The balance had shifted. The bond had held.
You walked through the doors with Minho on one side and Jisung on the other. Minho’s coat was black as ever, his shoulders square, jaw tense. Jisung was dressed more casually, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hands tucked into his pockets. He looked relaxed, but there was nothing soft in the way he moved. He was watching everything.
And you—wrapped in soft blue, scarf pulled close around your neck—felt the echo of last night still humming beneath your ribs. The Council had confirmed it. The pack could feel it.
No one said anything at first. But they looked. You felt the weight of it in every glance. Not suspicion. Not challenge. Just quiet understanding. The kind of knowing that passed between wolves without a word.
The bond was real. The moon had chosen. Minho’s hand rested lightly at the small of your back. Jisung’s fingers brushed yours as you walked. Neither of them touched you like they were making a point.
The bond spoke louder than any display could. Wolves had names for it in the old language—scent-thick, soul-heavy. A truth you could feel in your bones. In the blood. In the way the air shifted when you walked by.
Some glanced up and looked away just as fast. Some stared, confused. A few held your gaze longer than they should have, like they wanted to find a lie and came up empty. But none of them spoke against it. Not out loud.
You passed one of the betas in the common hall, someone who had worked with Minho for years. He slowed mid-step when your scent reached him, his gaze flicking from you to Jisung, then to Minho, and back again. There was no surprise in his expression and no hint of judgment, only a quiet understanding that settled in as he took it in.
“They said it happened under the Blood Moon.” he said, more observation than question. “That’s when it clicked.”
Minho nodded. “It did.”
The Beta frowned slightly, thoughtful. “So…you didn’t choose her. She didn’t choose you.”
“No.” Jisung said. “The moon chose us.”
There was a pause. Then the Beta nodded once and moved on. No fanfare. No questions. Just quiet acceptance—something instinctual that would carry beyond this hallway, whispered through Packlines and retold in low voices for years to come.
They would talk. They’d wonder how a human could carry two alpha bonds without breaking. Some would argue you weren’t just human at all. That maybe there was something hidden in your blood. A latent gene. A buried legacy. A mistake the moon would one day correct.
But none of those voices would speak loudly. Because the Council had seen it. They’d felt the bond take root. They’d watched as you stood in the circle and didn’t fall. You hadn’t just survived it. You’d held.
——
The moon hung full and pale above the compound—high and heavy, casting a silver glow that made every breath feel deeper, every thought a little harder to hide.
It had been weeks since the Council confirmed the bond. Weeks since you stood in that chamber between Minho and Jisung with the weight of the tether pressing hard against your ribs—and held your ground. Since then, things had mostly settled. Mostly.
Some wolves went quiet around you. Some watched like they were waiting for you to crack open. Others kept their distance—not out of respect, but confusion. Like they weren’t sure where you belonged anymore. Not human. Not wolf. Something in between, rewritten by the bond they couldn't understand.
Minho had warned you this would happen. Jisung had made a game of it, whispering wagers on who would be the first to gawk at you in the hallway.
You tried to carry on like before. Calm. Steady. Unbothered. But tonight wasn’t made for quiet. Tonight, nothing would be left unspoken.
The atrium had been cleared for the full moon gathering. The skylights were pulled wide open to let the moonlight pour in, casting soft, silvery lines across the floor. In the center, the ceremonial ring waited—etched deep into marble, the place where ranks were named, challenged, confirmed.
The moonlight caught on the stone like it was listening. You stood just beyond the threshold, surrounded by the familiar warmth of your mates. Minho to your right, adjusting the collar of his jacket. He wasn’t nervous, just sharpened—focused in that way he got when facing something important.
Jisung stood to your left. He bumped his fingers against yours once, then again, before sliding his hand fully into your grip and giving it a quiet squeeze.
“You ready?” Jisung murmured beside you.
“No.” you whispered.
He gave a small smile. “Good. Neither are they.”
Minho looked over at the two of you. “It’s time.”
A deep, resonant horn cut through the atrium, the sound rolling up through the floors above before fading into silence. The quiet that followed barely had time to settle before footsteps began to echo in its place.
They came slowly at first. Then more. Dozens of pack members moving in from every direction, from every hallway and stairwell, until the space began to fill like a tide rising. No one spoke. But every gaze found you.
Minho and Jisung stepped forward first, crossing into the ceremonial circle. The Pack parted without hesitation. You followed, heart pounding hard enough to feel in your teeth.
The second your foot crossed into the ring, something shifted. The pressure hit all at once.
It wasn’t magic, but it was real—old and instinctive. The kind of knowing that didn’t need explaining. The bond moved with you, responding to the attention like a tide pulled by the moon. You could feel it thrumming beneath your skin. Minho’s steadiness. Jisung’s heat. And your own presence linking them both—anchoring, holding.
Chan stepped forward from the Elders’ arc at the back of the room, gaze calm and deliberate. His eyes landed on you first. Then Minho. Then Jisung. There was no surprise on his face. Only certainty.
“Three weeks ago,” he began, voice even but strong, “the Council confirmed a bond this Pack hasn’t seen in generations.”
He looked out over the crowd.
“A human.” He said. “Two alphas. One tether.”
The reaction was immediate—quiet murmurs, shifting weight, heads tilting toward one another. Not shock. Just acknowledgment. Everyone already knew. This was just the moment it became law.
“Tonight, the Pack bears witness.”
He faced you fully.
“Y/n L/n.” He said, voice clear. “You carry the bond of Lee Minho and Han Jisung, recognized alphas of the STAY Pack. Do you stand by that bond—in mind, in body, and in instinct?”
You met his gaze. “I do.”
Chan turned to Minho. “Lee Minho. Do you accept Y/n as mate and moon-bound, joined to you by instinct beyond your will?”
“I do.”
Then to Jisung. “Han Jisung?”
“I do.”
Chan nodded once, solemn and sure, before turning back to the Pack.
“You’ve felt the bond.” Chan said. “You’ve seen it confirmed. Tonight, we don’t challenge it. We don’t question it. We accept what the moon has already made clear.”
The words landed heavy—not with resistance, but with weight. Like something important had finally clicked into place.
Chan stepped back. And then, slowly, the wolves began to bow. Not in perfect unison. Not with fanfare. Just one by one, in quiet, rippling waves—hands pressed over hearts, heads bowed low in acknowledgment. Some of the younger wolves looked stunned. Others just watched you like they were still trying to understand what this meant. But no one spoke against it. No one turned away. The bond had settled. And the Pack was following.
Minho reached for your hand, lifting it with quiet care. Jisung moved closer, his palm resting at the small of your back, steady and warm. You didn’t feel like you were above them. You didn’t feel beneath them either. You just felt like you belonged. Seen. Chosen. Held.
And standing there under the full moon, surrounded by the people who had once doubted you—you didn’t feel like just a human anymore. You felt like theirs.
——
The cabin sat halfway up the mountain, tucked between tall pines and stretches of stone, with nothing around for miles. No meetings. No council summons. No interruptions. Just four weeks carved out of the year and claimed for the three of you—Minho, Jisung, and you.
No noise. No distractions. Just time.
It was late morning when you finally stirred. Sunlight slipped through the curtains, warm and soft across the bed. The blankets were tangled low around your hips, and Minho was already awake beside you—bare-chested, golden eyes half-lidded, his thumb lazily brushing along your thigh.
“Still alive?” He murmured.
You grunted. Behind you, Jisung shifted with a sleepy stretch, his body still pressed close, arm draped over your waist. His hair was a mess, his breath slow and even. He let out a low growl against your back as he pulled you closer between them.
“You wore her out.” He muttered.
Minho smirked without looking away from you. “You helped.”
“You started it.”
“She was asking for it.”
“I was asleep.” You mumbled, cracking one eye open.
Minho’s hand slid a little higher. “Not when you started grinding in your sleep, sweetheart.”
Jisung pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “We were just being helpful. Making your dream come true.”
You flushed—and yelped when his teeth grazed your neck, just shy of where his mark pulsed under your skin.
It always pulsed out here. Back in the city, it was manageable. The bond stayed quiet. Contained. But not here. Not with nothing else around. Out here, it bloomed—sharp, sweet, and impossible to ignore.
Minho leaned in, voice soft. “You remember what day it is?”
“Tuesday?” You guessed.
He chuckled. “Our third Tuesday. Week two of the trip.”
“Which means,” Jisung hummed, “you promised to let both of us keep you in bed all day.”
You raised an eyebrow. “I did not—”
“You did too.” Minho cut in, mouth curving.
“You moaned it,” Jisung added, nudging his leg between your thighs, “when Minho had you bent over the counter and I was in your mouth. Don’t pretend you forgot.”
Your face burned. You knew it wasn't true, but you didn’t get the chance to reply. Minho rolled you onto your back, slow and sure, dragging his mouth along your jaw as Jisung kissed his way down your ribs. Their hands followed, warm and familiar, relearning every inch of you like they hadn’t already spent half the night doing the same. They didn’t rush. They never did. Not here. Not when time felt like it had stopped just for them to touch you.
And you—already loose, already aching—gave in without hesitation. Because no matter how many times it happened, it was never enough. The bond didn’t quiet until both of them were inside you. Until you were full—again and again—until the world narrowed to heat and breath and the sound of your name on their tongues.
Minho pushed in first, thick and slow, making your whole body tighten around him. Jisung just watched. His hand curled around himself, eyes fixed on you—hungry and patient—waiting for his turn.
“Let’s take it slow today.” Minho murmured, his mouth brushing your ear.
But even as he said it, his hips pressed deeper, unhurried but unmistakably deliberate.
When Jisung knelt beside you on the bed and leaned in to kiss your flushed cheek, his voice warm and amused as he whispered, “Don’t worry, baby. We’ve got all month,” you knew slow was never really an option.
Not out here. Not alone. Not when there was nothing to pull them back from you. They weren’t just insatiable. They were starved. And you were theirs.
Minho kissed you through it, his mouth steady and grounding as pleasure overtook you. He murmured soft praise against your lips while your body tightened around him, your orgasm cresting hot and breathless, leaving you dizzy and shaking beneath him.
“Just like that, sweetheart.” He whispered, even as his own voice wavered. “You look so pretty when you come.”
You moaned into his mouth, fingers digging into the sheets as your body trembled. Minho groaned low in his chest, his control slipping just enough that he pulled back with a sharp breath, easing out before he lost himself.
“Not yet…” he muttered, his cock sliding free, still hard and slick, a thin thread stretching between you before it broke.
You barely had time to feel the absence before Jisung was there. His breath brushed your spine as his hands guided you onto all fours, knees sinking into the mattress, elbows bending as your cheek pressed into the pillows. His fingers spread you open, slow and appreciative, tracing the mess you were already in.
“You’re dripping.” He groaned softly. “Fuck, you’re unreal.”
Minho shifted in front of you, kneeling close, one hand stroking himself while the other brushed your cheek with surprising tenderness. “Come here, sweetheart.”
You didn’t hesitate. The moment your lips closed around him, Jisung pressed in from behind—deep and sure, the stretch making you gasp around Minho as he filled you in one smooth thrust, hips settling flush against yours.
“Shit.” Jisung growled, hands gripping your waist as he began to move, setting a rhythm that was anything but gentle. “You’re always so tight after Minho.”
And you were—open, aching, and completely undone between them.
Minho groaned, his fingers sliding into your hair as he guided your movements, his voice low and full of praise. “That’s it…just like that, baby. You’re so good with your mouth, so fucking good.”
Behind you, Jisung thrust harder, each deep stroke jolting you forward until Minho had to steady you with a hand under your jaw. His other hand brushed gently over your cheek as he rolled his hips, fucking into your mouth slowly, letting you breathe between strokes.
“Messy…” Jisung panted, breath catching on each word. “So messy like this. Gonna make her fall apart again.”
Your moan hummed around Minho’s cock, soft and broken, your eyes fluttering shut as pleasure bloomed sharp and hot. Jisung hit that spot again, relentless and precise, while Minho pressed deeper into your mouth, groaning when your lips tightened around him.
“Sweet girl…” Minho murmured, tucking your hair behind your ear with a tenderness that made your chest ache. “You’re doing so good for us.”
Jisung’s rhythm grew rougher, deeper. Every thrust pushed you forward, and Minho caught your jaw again, holding you steady. You could feel everything, Minho’s warmth in your mouth, Jisung driving into you from behind, their voices grounding you between them.
“Feel her…” Jisung breathed, voice rough and low. “She’s soaked—fuck, look at her.”
You whimpered around Minho’s cock when Jisung changed his angle, hitting that spot again—harder, deeper—until a soft cry broke loose from your throat. He leaned over your back, his mouth brushing your ear.
“She wants it.” He whispered. “Wants to be full. Wants to be ours.”
Minho’s voice dropped lower. “You do, don’t you, baby? You want us to fill you up. Keep you warm. Keep you dripping with us.”
You moaned in answer, the sound barely more than a breath, and Minho stroked your cheek with his thumb, soft and steady.
“Want us to take turns,” he continued quietly, “until your whole body’s shaking. Until you can’t think about anything but the way we feel inside you. Our scent all over you. In you.”
Jisung’s hand slid across your belly, firm and careful as he pulled you back against him. His next thrust was slower, more controlled, like he was savoring every second.
“She’s close…” he murmured.
“Good.” Minho said. “Let her come just like this. Remind her what it means to be taken care of.”
The pressure inside you snapped all at once, a sharp, full release that made your thighs tremble and your breath catch. You cried out, mouth going slack around Minho as your body pulsed hard around Jisung.
Jisung moaned as he came, hips stuttering, pushing deep as heat spilled inside you. He kissed the curve of your back as he slowed, his voice soft now. “So fucking good like this.”
Minho slipped free of your mouth carefully, his hand still holding your jaw as he tilted your face up.
“Think you can give us one more, sweetheart?” He asked, voice quiet.
You nodded, dazed, chest still rising and falling with each breath.
He kissed your temple. “Good girl.”
Jisung eased out of you slowly, staying close so you didn’t lose your balance. Minho’s hands stayed firm at your hips, keeping you steady where you already were. When you shifted like you might reach for him, he stopped you gently, his touch warm and sure.
“Stay right there.” He said softly, brushing his hand down your thigh. “Hands and knees. I want to see you like this.”
Your body responded without hesitation, staying right where Minho had kept you. Your spine arched naturally under his hands, hips lifted, muscles still trembling. Minho let out a soft groan behind you at the sight of you like that, flushed and unsteady, skin still slick, dripping with the last of Jisung’s release.
He slid into you slow. The stretch drew a gasp from your lips, a tremble that rolled through your limbs as he sank deep, filling you completely until his hips met yours.
“Look at you…” he murmured, voice thick. His rhythm started slow, deep and steady. “Already so full…and still taking more.”
Jisung knelt in front of you, one hand gently brushing your cheek. His eyes searched yours, warm and focused. “You like that, don’t you?” He whispered. “Want to keep us in you…full and soft and messy. Just like this.”
You nodded, dazed and aching in all the best ways. Jisung leaned in and kissed your forehead.
“We’ve got you.” He said. “You don’t have to hold anything. We’ll take care of you. Always.”
Minho groaned low, his pace quickening, the sound of his hips meeting yours sharp and sure. There was something deeper in the way he moved now—like the bond was in his blood, in his breath, in every motion that pushed you closer to the edge again.
“You’re ours.” He whispered. “One day…” He thrust deeper, voice catching. “One day we’ll keep it in you for real. Watch you swell with our pup.”
Your whole body shuddered. The image buried itself in your mind, warm and overwhelming.
“When you ask for it.” Jisung said, his mouth brushing your temple. “We’ll give you everything. Just say the word.”
But in the way they touched you, in how they held you between them and kissed every inch of you, moving like they already understood needs you hadn’t even put into words, you realized you already had everything.
—
The day stretched on until the sun dipped behind the trees, shadows settling long and soft across the forest. The light faded into gold, then blue, then indigo. Quiet rolled over the mountains like a blanket, broken only by the low ripple of water and the easy sound of laughter.
Steam curled up around your shoulders as you eased into the hot spring behind the cabin. Smooth stone cradled your back. Moss softened the edges. The water was warm, the kind that soothed aches and melted everything down to calm. You let yourself sink into it, sighing as Minho pulled you closer against his chest.
Jisung lounged across from you, arms spread lazily over the rocks. His gaze traced over you with an easy smile. “You look wrecked.” He said.
You huffed softly but didn’t bother denying it.
Minho chuckled behind you, nuzzling into your damp hair. His arms stayed firm around your waist, anchoring you there against him. “She is.”
“She loved it, though.” Jisung added. He reached forward and let his fingers drift along your thigh beneath the surface. “Didn’t you, sweetheart?”
You let out a quiet hum, pressing your cheek to Minho’s neck to hide the warmth in your face.
“I should’ve known better than to agree to a full month with both of you.” You muttered.
Minho’s laugh was low and pleased, his hands moving slow beneath the water. “You did know better.” He said. “That’s what makes it fun.”
“You talk like you're not already halfway in love with this.” Jisung said, quieter now. His fingers traced gentle circles behind your knee, barely skimming the skin.
You glanced up at him. He wasn’t teasing this time. No smirk, no grin. Just watching you with a look that said he meant every word. That he knew exactly what he was saying…and how much it mattered.
Your voice came out soft. “Maybe more than halfway.”
Minho pressed a kiss to the top of your head. You felt his smile against your hair.
“Good.”
There was no pressure, no schedule waiting, no phone buzzing in the other room. Just the sound of steam curling around the stones, the heat of the spring soaking into your bones, and the bond humming low under your skin, stronger here. Closer.
Minho’s hand drifted slowly up your torso, palm skimming the center of your chest before dipping lower again. He wasn’t rushing. Just touching. Learning you again like he hadn’t spent the entire day worshipping you already.
Jisung mirrored the motion on your leg. His fingers brushed along your thigh, light enough to tickle. He wasn’t watching your face anymore. His gaze had dipped lower, toward where Minho’s hand disappeared beneath the water.
“You’re glowing.” Jisung murmured.
“Must be the heat.” you whispered, though your breath stuttered when Minho’s fingers slipped a little lower, close but not quite there.
“Could be the bond.” Minho said, voice low against your skin. His nose brushed behind your ear. “You always light up when we’re like this.”
You smiled faintly. “Maybe it’s just you two.”
Jisung leaned forward. One hand found your ankle beneath the surface, tugging your leg gently into his lap. He kissed the inside of your shin like it was instinct, like he couldn’t help it.
“It’s all of us.” He said. “Together. That’s what does it.”
Minho’s hand kept moving—slow, patient, and so careful it made your chest ache. He wasn’t trying to push you toward anything this time. He was just touching you to remind you that you were his. That you were here. That there was nothing else but this.
And maybe, out here on the mountain, surrounded by trees and sky and nothing else, that was true. You let yourself go quiet, let your body melt between theirs. Heat lapped gently at your skin, water shifting as they adjusted around you. Fingers skimming, brushing, learning. Mouths near your throat. Praise whispered so low you could feel it more than hear it.
The stars were just beginning to break through the dark when Minho spoke again, his breath warm against your temple.
“We’re not done with you.”
Jisung’s hand tightened gently around your ankle. “But we’ll take our time.” He said. “We’ll make it count.”
You smiled without opening your eyes. Let the heat pull you under again, safe between them, weightless in the water while the night stretched quiet around the cabin.
Because here—held like this, worshipped like this—you didn’t just feel wanted.
Things between you and them start to feel more natural, like you’ve finally settled into something that was always there under the surface. The bond doesn’t just stay in private moments—it follows you into everything, changing how you feel and how the world starts to see you. By the end, it’s clear this connection isn’t temporary—it’s something real, and it’s here to stay.
MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS, DNI
Werewolf!MinSung x Human!AFAB Reader, Poly relationship, SMUT, Alpha/pack dynamics, Breeding talk/future pregnancy mention (no actual pregnancy), Emotional intimacy and aftercare, Slow-burn payoff, Mild angst with comfort
My writing is all fictional and does not represent any of the named people in any way, shape or form. All works and writing is done by me, and I do not use AI at any point in my writing.
dividers made by @cafekitsune
You could feel both of them at once—the softness of their touches, the care in the pressure of their hands. It wasn’t teasing, exactly, but it wasn’t innocent either. Not when their mouths lingered the way they did. Not when their fingers followed familiar paths across your skin, slow and deliberate, like they were learning you all over again.
And maybe they were. Like they couldn’t quite believe they were finally allowed to. Like every inch of you was something precious—new, untouched, but already known to them in a way that felt inevitable. Because this was new. They had never touched you like this before last night.
Jisung had always flirted, always pushed just close enough to make your pulse jump, but he’d never crossed the line. Not when the tension grew heavy. Not when your eyes lingered too long or your hands brushed by accident. And Minho—Minho had kept his distance entirely. His restraint had been ironclad, a careful discipline that left space even when you felt him watching. But now that restraint was gone.
Now Jisung’s hand rested low on your waist, his thumb tracing slow circles into the soft skin just above your hipbone, grounding and possessive all at once. Now Minho’s mouth pressed warm, open kisses along your ribs, like he was memorizing the taste of you, like he’d waited too long to finally be allowed this close. There were no lines between you anymore—just warmth, breath, and the steady hum of the bond beneath it all, a shared rhythm that didn’t belong to any one of you alone.
Jisung’s lips brushed your shoulder, then your neck, dragging slow and unhurried. “You don’t feel real…” he murmured, voice thick with sleep and something like awe.
Minho answered without words, his hands sliding along your side, then between your legs—not to take, just to feel. “You’re still warm.” He said quietly. “Still carrying last night with you.”
Your breath caught, your body responding before your mind could. Your legs parted slightly, instinctive and unguarded.
Jisung groaned behind you, his voice rough. “Careful. You keep moving like that and I’m not going to behave.”
Minho glanced up at you, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Maybe she wants you not to.”
“I—” The words slipped away, because the truth was already there. You did.
Not just because it felt good, but because this—this unhurried closeness, this reverent exploration—felt like something you’d been circling for months without ever touching. They had flirted. You had pretended not to want it. They had held back. You had told yourself it wasn’t allowed. And now, finally, none of you were pretending anymore. But now there was nothing standing in the way.
Jisung’s hand slid between your thighs next, his fingers brushing over you with a touch so light it made your breath hitch. He leaned close, his mouth near your ear as he murmured, “You’re still so wet for us. Even after last night.”
Minho kissed the inside of your knee and worked his way up slowly, unhurried, each press of his mouth deliberate. “She liked it.” He said softly, breath warm against your skin. “She took us so well.”
Jisung groaned, his fingers drifting lower, circling but not pushing in. “You think she wants more?”
Your hips twitched at the question, at the restraint in his touch.
“Tell us, sweetheart.” Minho said, his voice lower now, lips brushing the crease of your thigh. “We won’t rush you.”
You swallowed, your body already humming with that slow, simmering need—no sharp urgency, just warmth and want curling deeper with every breath. “I want you.” You whispered.
Jisung didn’t hesitate. He shifted behind you, lifting your thigh as he moved closer. “Let me.” He breathed, lining himself up. “I want to feel you again.”
The slow, slick press of him eased inside you inch by careful inch, drawing a groan from both of you. His arms wrapped around your waist, one palm settling over your stomach, steady and grounding as he filled you. Minho watched, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his hand stroking your thigh as Jisung rocked into you once, deep and unhurried.
“God…” Jisung muttered. “You’re even tighter than last night.”
“Because she knows we’re hers now,” Minho said quietly. He dipped down to kiss your clit just once, gentle and reverent, like a promise. “And we’re not going anywhere.”
The stretch burned in the best way. You were still sore, still sensitive, but the way they touched you—slow, patient, almost devotional—made every second feel new. Minho’s fingers slid in beside Jisung, careful as he stroked where you were stretched full. “I can’t believe we waited so long.” He murmured. “Look at how perfectly she takes you.”
Jisung groaned behind you, his hips moving in a slow, steady rhythm. “Fuck…she feels incredible.”
They weren’t in a rush. Each thrust was deep and drawn-out, rolling through you like waves, while Minho pressed warm, unhurried kisses to your thigh, your stomach, your chest. He wasn’t trying to push you too fast—he just wanted to be close. To kiss the skin he’d spent so long resisting. To feel everything he hadn’t let himself reach for until now.
Jisung’s hand slid up your body, cupping your breast with a soft touch, his thumb brushing lightly over your nipple. “You feel everything now, don’t you?” He asked, voice rough with feeling. “The bond?”
You nodded, your breath catching. “Every time you touch me.”
“Good.” Minho murmured, lifting his head to press a kiss right over your heart. “You should.”
The pressure inside you built slowly, thick and hot, curling low in your belly with every glide of Jisung’s hips. Minho leaned in again, his tongue flicking gently where your bodies met, groaning softly at the taste of you.
When it finally broke, when the heat crested and your body tensed between theirs, fluttering and trembling, you didn’t scream. You whispered their names instead, like they were the only words left to you. They kissed you then, deep and sure and steady, as if they already understood exactly what you were trying to say.
—
Warm water poured over your skin, steam curling around your shoulders as Jisung’s hands slid slowly up your thighs. Minho stood behind you, his body pressed close, one arm firm around your waist while the other adjusted the showerhead so the spray didn’t hit your face. The tiled walls caught every breath and soft sound, but nothing about it felt sharp or overwhelming. Even like this—slick with water, heat, and two alphas surrounding you—the world felt hushed and gentle.
Minho kissed your shoulder, slow and unhurried, his mouth trailing up to your neck. “You still okay?”
You nodded, already a little breathless. “Yeah.”
“You sure?” Jisung stepped closer from the front, his thumb brushing along your inner thigh. “You’re shaking.”
You laughed softly, the sound uneven but real. “I’m…overwhelmed.”
Minho smiled against your ear. “Good overwhelmed?”
You shivered. “Yeah. Really good.”
They moved with certainty now, no hesitation, no awkwardness, just smooth, practiced coordination, like the bond had settled something deep between them. Jisung slipped his hands beneath your thighs and lifted you easily, and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders without thinking. Minho moved in close again, solid and steady, his body fitting to yours as his hands spread over your hips to hold you there, anchoring you without needing anything else behind you.
“She’s already soaked.” Jisung murmured, his gaze dropping between your legs. “Still open from earlier.”
Minho’s cock brushed against you from behind, the tip dragging slowly through your slick folds, teasing without rushing. “Then she can take us again.”
Your breath caught. Jisung leaned in and kissed you deeply, thoroughly, while Minho’s fingers gently spread you open, guiding himself to your entrance. You whimpered into Jisung’s mouth as the pressure built—slow, careful, unmistakable.
Minho groaned low against your back. “So tight. Even after last night.”
Jisung smiled against your lips, voice warm and knowing. “She’s always going to be tight…” he murmured, brushing a kiss along your jaw. “Because she wants both of us. And she doesn’t like waiting.”
He wasn’t wrong. Minho pushed in deeper, slow and steady, filling you inch by inch until he was fully seated behind you. His breath hitched near your ear, warm and ragged as he held you tight, buried to the hilt.
Jisung watched your face closely, his eyes dark with something sharp and tender all at once. “You good?”
You nodded, your voice catching on the way out. “Yeah. Just…full.”
He leaned in and kissed you, soft and steady. “Let me make it better.”
Lifting your leg higher against his hip, Jisung lined himself up and began to press inside—just as slowly, careful not to rush the stretch Minho had already given you. The sensation knocked the air from your lungs. Too much and not enough, your body caught between the pressure and the way it rolled through you like a rising tide.
By the time he was fully inside you, your body was shaking. Their groans echoed softly around you, low and rough enough to vibrate through your chest. Jisung was close enough to kiss, his breath warm against your mouth, while Minho stayed solid behind you, hands firm at your hips to keep you steady. You were held between them completely, anchored and protected, even as everything inside you came undone.
Minho moved first. A shallow thrust, deliberate and slow, and the stretch made you cry out. Jisung held still, his arms steady beneath your thighs, until Minho’s pace settled into something smooth. Then he began to move too, matching him. No rush. No frantic rhythm. Just the steady, pulsing weight of both of them working in tandem, letting the pleasure swell between each breath.
“Fuck.” Minho muttered, his voice tight. “She’s clenching already.”
One of Jisung’s hands slid over your chest, thumb brushing across your nipple. “She likes this. Always has. Just didn’t say it out loud.”
“This is how she’s meant to be.” Minho groaned. “Ours.”
The word sank into you, solid and real. Yours. The bond burned brighter with it, threading between all three of you like a slow-building flame, feeding off every touch, every breath, every sound.
They moved in turns—one pulling back just enough to let the other slide in deeper. You lost track of whose groan belonged to who, couldn’t keep still between them even if you tried. Their hands held you firm, Minho steady around your hips, Jisung wrapped tight under your legs, guiding you through every shift, every thrust.
You buried your face in Jisung’s neck, breath catching as another moan escaped. “It feels—God, I feel so full. I can’t…”
“We’ve got you, sweetheart.” Minho said softly behind you, his voice steady.
“You’re doing so good, baby.” Jisung murmured, kissing the edge of your cheek, then your jaw, then your lips.
Warm water poured down your back, slipping into the places where their bodies didn’t fully cover you. Steam curled around your skin as the heat built—not just from the shower, but from them. From their hands, their breath, the way they moved around you. You could feel every inch of your body stretched between theirs, pressure curling low and tight, pleasure winding hotter with every second.
When it hit, your release wasn’t loud—it didn’t have to be. It rolled through your whole body, sharp and consuming, your legs trembling as your muscles clenched around them both. You couldn’t even speak. Just a gasp, a broken sound. And then stillness, the kind that only came after something whole and real.
Minho groaned behind you, his hips snapping forward. “That’s it, sweetheart. Just like that.”
Jisung buried his face against your shoulder, his rhythm faltering. “Fuck, you’re so good for us.”
They both followed soon after—Jisung’s forehead pressed to yours, Minho’s mouth dragging open over the back of your neck, their sounds low and wrecked as they came inside you. You felt it, the warmth of them spilling deep, a rush of heat that left you boneless and floating between them.
But they didn’t pull away. Jisung lowered your leg gently, still holding you close. Minho kissed the space between your shoulders and wrapped both arms around your waist, anchoring you.
The water kept falling, soft and constant. Steam curled around your skin, but the bond between you stayed warmer than anything else.
And in the hush that followed—in the quiet between heartbeats—you understood. You belonged to them. Both of them. Completely. Undeniably. Always.
—
The apartment smelled like garlic butter and eggs, the soft sizzle of oil filling the quiet space. Minho moved easily through your kitchen, barefoot and shirtless, looking perfectly at home—because he was. His hair was still damp from the shower, sticking up in places from where your fingers had dragged through it. Muscles shifted beneath pale skin as he leaned over the stove, stirring something in the pan with calm focus. The sound of metal scraping, the hiss of heat, and the occasional clink of utensils blended into the steady rhythm of morning after a storm.
Behind you, Jisung kept his arms wrapped tight around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder, his chest pressed firm against your back. He was warm, solid, unmoving—except for the not-so-subtle press of his cock, already hard again, resting heavy against you. Like his body had no intention of settling now that it had tasted you once.
“You’re fidgeting…” he murmured against your neck, his voice still rough with sleep and satisfaction. “You know what that does to me.”
You shifted again, deliberately, and felt him twitch beneath you.
Minho looked over from the stove, eyes flicking to where you sat in Jisung’s lap—still flushed and bare, marked in ways only the two of them could leave. His gaze darkened, mouth curving slightly. “Careful, love.” He said. “Don’t rile him up too much. We’re not done with you.”
Jisung let out a quiet groan. “Not even close.”
He adjusted beneath you, the tip of his cock brushing your entrance like your body already knew what it wanted. Maybe it did. You were still slick, still aching, and when you rolled your hips back against him, it was instinct more than thought.
“That’s it.” He whispered. “Sit down on it for me. Nice and slow.”
You lifted you hips and slowly eased down, your breath catching as he filled you again—stretching you open inch by inch. Jisung held you firm, both hands on your hips as you settled fully into his lap. There was no thrusting, no urgency—just the deep, satisfying pressure of being filled, the warmth of his cock buried deep, holding you there. It wasn’t just physical. It was possessive. Intentional. Like he needed to stay inside you just a little longer.
Minho’s spoon scraped the pan.
“Are you seriously doing this while I’m making breakfast?” He asked, too calm to be annoyed.
“You said not to tease her.” Jisung replied, grinning against your shoulder. “I’m following instructions.”
Minho sighed, but he didn’t stop cooking. “Fine. Just don’t let her come before the eggs are done.”
You let out a soft whimper without meaning to.
Jisung laughed, low and smug. “She won’t.” He murmured, hands roaming over your thighs, your belly, up to cup your breasts. “Not unless I say so.”
You melted against him, your body still buzzing from everything—heat, closeness, the slow coil of arousal winding through you all over again. The air was thick with it. Your scent. His. The quiet spice of Minho’s cologne mixing with butter and garlic.
“Fuck.” Jisung breathed, pressing his mouth to your shoulder. “You feel so fucking good. Still so warm. Still holding me so tight—I could stay right here all day.”
But your body had already started to move, hips rocking back in small, needy motions, chasing friction without even thinking about it.
He felt it and chuckled low in your ear. “Careful…” he murmured. “I could bend you over the table. Or keep you right where you are and let Minho watch.”
The gasp that slipped out of you was all the answer he needed. In one smooth movement, he lifted you and laid you across the table, plates forgotten as your cheek met the cool wood. Your legs spread instinctively, your body arching as he pushed back into you in a single, fluid thrust. The cry that tore from your throat surprised even you.
“Yeah.” Jisung growled, snapping his hips forward again. “That’s it.”
Behind you, the sounds of the kitchen slowed. The spatula stilled. The sizzle faded. Then came the quiet click of the burner shutting off.
“Breakfast can wait a moment.” Minho said.
You heard him step closer, felt the heat of him just behind Jisung. His hand slid up your back, fingers threading into your hair as he tilted your head slightly.
“Next time,” he murmured, voice rough with promise, “you’re riding me while he eats.”
You barely managed to nod before Jisung thrust into you again, harder this time, and the rest of the world slipped out of focus. They’d had you once and you knew that it was never going to be enough.
Jisung kept one hand firm on your back as he moved, slow and deep now, his rhythm deliberate and unhurried, winding tension low in your belly. His other hand slid between your legs, not rough or rushed—just steady, knowing exactly what he was doing.
“Breathe.” He whispered against your shoulder. “You’re doing so good for me.”
You tried. Really tried. His fingers found your clit and traced lazy, maddening circles, and your hips jerked back into him on instinct. He groaned softly, pushing a little deeper, coaxing you closer with every roll of his hips.
Behind you, Minho went quiet again. You caught the soft click of the burner relighting, the familiar sizzle returning as if nothing had happened at all. He was still there. Still listening. Letting Jisung take you apart while he waited.
“Come for me.” Jisung whispered, his voice low and warm. “Let me feel you, sweetheart.”
And you did—your back arched, thighs trembling, the release hitting hard and deep as your body clenched around him. The wave of it stole your breath, left you gasping as pleasure surged through you, and Jisung didn’t stop. He stayed with you, touching you gently, steadying you through every shudder and cry. You felt him groan against your skin, hips stuttering once, twice—then he came too, spilling into you with a gasp like it still undid him every time.
Still, it wasn’t enough. You stayed like that for a moment, limp in the aftermath, your body still pulsing around him. Eventually, Jisung eased out of you and helped you back into his lap. He sat again at the table, pulling you close, one hand stroking your back while the other wrapped around your thigh to keep you grounded.
“You okay?” He murmured, brushing a kiss to your temple.
You nodded, barely managing a word, melted against his chest.
“Good girl.” He said softly. “You feel so good.”
Across the room, Minho had gone quiet again. He moved easily through the kitchen, plating food with practiced hands, still shirtless, the warm glow of the morning casting light across his skin. You watched him—the smooth grace of him, the familiar strength, the quiet claim he didn’t need to speak aloud. When he finished, he brought the plates over one by one: eggs, toast, soft potatoes. He placed the third plate last, setting it in front of the chair closest to him.
But he didn’t sit. Instead, he walked over to where you and Jisung were curled together, stopping just in front of you.
“Up.” He said gently. It wasn’t an order. It was a promise.
Jisung pressed one last kiss to your shoulder and helped you rise, steadying you as you turned. Your body moved easily, drawn by instinct. You stepped into Minho’s space, and his arms came around you at once, holding you close. His scent hit you all at once—driftwood and jasmine, warm and hungry.
“You’re gonna ride me now.” He murmured, brushing your hair back from your face. “Just like I said.”
You didn’t speak as Minho guided you to the chair. He sat back and pulled you into his lap with practiced ease. Your knees bracketed his thighs as he held you there, his cock already hard against you, the heat of him pressed right where you needed it. His hands found your hips, thumbs moving in soft, steady circles.
“You sure?” Minho asked, voice low and steady. Even now, with the air thick around you, he was still careful. Still checking.
You nodded, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “Yeah.”
He kissed you—deep and slow, like he wanted to memorize the taste of you all over again. Then he guided you down, inch by inch, filling you until you were stretched and trembling, your body tightening around him as you settled fully in his lap. Your forehead dropped to his shoulder as you tried to breathe through the stretch, a quiet gasp slipping against his skin.
“Fuck…” he whispered, his breath warm at your neck. “Still so tight.”
He adjusted you slightly, shifting the chair just enough so Jisung—still seated at the other end of the table, finishing his breakfast—had a full view of your bare back and the steady way your hips started to move. The angle made you whimper.
Minho ran a hand up your spine, slow and steady. “Ride me, sweetheart.” He murmured. “Let him see how good you take it.”
So you did. It started with slow, careful rolls of your hips, the wet sound of you sliding down around him echoing quietly through the kitchen. Minho didn’t guide you—he let you move how you needed, his hands staying warm and loose at your waist as you worked yourself onto him, drawing out the rhythm little by little. His eyes never left your face.
“Just like that.” He said, his voice soft. “Take your time.”
Across the table, Jisung set down his fork. His chair scraped lightly against the floor as he leaned back, one arm hanging over the back, the other lifting his water glass in a slow sip as he watched.
“You look so fucking pretty like that.” He said, gaze fixed on you. “All full of him, moving so sweet.”
You bit your lip, thighs already starting to shake as you sank down harder, burying Minho deeper. He exhaled through clenched teeth, hips twitching once beneath you before settling again.
“Look at me.” he said.
You did. His gaze was gold-flecked and steady, locked on yours like it meant something. Like a promise.
“I’m not gonna last long if you keep clenching like that.” He said, voice rough. “But I wanna feel you come first.”
One of his hands slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit with ease. The first brush was enough to make your hips jolt, a sharp gasp slipping from you as he circled again, firm and sure.
“Minho—”
“I know.” He whispered. “I’ve got you.”
His other arm wrapped around your waist to hold you close, grounding you while you moved. Each shift of your hips sent heat curling tighter through your body, the pleasure rising fast now, thick and inevitable, like a wave you were too far into to escape.
Jisung’s voice was low and gentle. “You gonna come for him, baby?”
You nodded quickly, too overwhelmed to speak. Minho kissed you again just as your release hit, your gasp muffled against his mouth while your body clenched hard around him in deep, trembling waves.
“Fuck.” He groaned, arms tightening around you as he came, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. His breathing was rough, shaky, your name spilling from his lips in a warm, breathless rush.
Neither of you moved right away. You stayed wrapped around him, your bodies pressed close, the quiet settling over you like a soft blanket. Everything felt warm, anchored. Safe.
Eventually, Minho pulled back just enough to see your face. He brushed a thumb under your eye, gently tucking a damp strand of hair behind your ear.
“You okay?”
You nodded, still catching your breath. “Yeah.”
From across the table, Jisung leaned back in his chair, a lazy grin on his face. “She’s better than okay.” He said. “She’s glowing.”
You let out a quiet laugh, a little unsteady but real. Minho smiled, kissing the edge of your jaw.
“Come on.” He said, still soft. “Let’s eat before we end up making a mess of breakfast.”
—
They made sure you ate afterward. Minho let you pick from his plate when your hands were still too unsteady to hold a fork. Jisung held a glass to your lips, easing the water past them with a soft murmur, his other hand resting warm on your thigh. He hummed under his breath while you drank, like you hadn’t just been shaking in his lap a few minutes earlier.
They didn’t stop touching you. Not once. Fingers tracing over your skin like they were afraid you might slip through theirs if they let go. Maybe they were right. Maybe the bond needed that kind of closeness to hold.
The rest of the day moved slowly, hazy with heat and quiet sounds. No one ever fully dressed. Sheets were abandoned somewhere on the floor. You lost track of how many times they pulled you under again.
Minho had you on the couch, his mouth between your thighs, eating you out like he could taste both of them in you. Jisung lay beside you, lips on your breasts, whispering how good you were—how good you tasted.
Later, Jisung took you slow in the shower, arms steady around you as Minho rinsed the soap from your hair and kissed your cheeks clean. They praised you like it mattered. Like every movement was sacred. And then they switched. Again.
Every time you thought your body had hit its limit, they found another way to prove you wrong. A shift in angle. A different rhythm. A new kind of hunger in their eyes that hadn’t been there before. Now that they’d had you together, touched you like that, there was no pretending it hadn’t changed something. None of you tried.
The only real pause came sometime in the afternoon. Jisung wrapped you in one of Minho’s soft robes and pulled you to the couch, curling himself around you. You ended up half-asleep with his head in your lap and his arms snug around your waist, while Minho stretched out on the rug below, chin resting on his folded hands, just watching the two of you breathe.
But night always comes. And when it did, you found yourself spread out again, between them again.
The lights were dim, the room warm, your skin still buzzing from everything that had come before. Minho moved behind you, one arm tucked beneath your ribs as he pushed deep into your ass, every thrust careful, controlled. His voice was in your ear, low and soft, full of praise.
Jisung lay under of you, his hands steady on your hips as you sank down onto him, taking him fully. Your body trembled, stretched open around both of them, but you didn’t stop. He sat up and kissed your face like he needed it—your lips, your cheeks, the corners of your eyes—like all of you was something he had to claim.
They moved in sync, guiding you between them like they’d done it forever. They hadn’t, but it wouldn’t be the last time.
“You feel that?” Jisung whispered, his breath hitching as your walls fluttered around him. “You’re so tight like this…you’ve got both of us, baby. We’re yours.”
You couldn’t answer with words. A helpless sound slipped out instead as your arms tightened around his shoulders, and Minho pressed in deeper from behind, his thrusts slow and deliberate. The sensation flooded through you, heat spreading until your whole body burned with it, every muscle aching in a way that made you cling harder.
Minho’s mouth brushed your shoulder, voice low and steady. “Look at you—taking both of us.”
That’s what finally tipped you over again—your body clenched, every nerve lit up, another orgasm pulling through you hard and fast. And even then, they didn’t stop.
Not when their own releases hit them, one after the other. Not when their hips stuttered and they spilled deep inside you, groaning low, the sound thick with satisfaction. Neither of them moved to pull out. They didn’t have to, nor did they want to.
Jisung held you close, arms snug around your waist as your body slowly went slack against him. Minho’s chest was warm at your back, his mouth pressing soft kisses to your spine, still buried deep inside you.
“You’re not going anywhere.” He murmured, voice heavy with sleep. “Not pulling out. Not letting you go.”
Jisung chuckled quietly, his hand gliding over your hip. “No cleaning. No moving. Just stay here.”
You stayed right there, caught between them, full, aching, and completely theirs. The warmth of their bodies wrapped around you. The quiet hum of the bond settling in your chest. Your skin still tingled where they touched you, still carried the weight of everything you’d shared.
There’d be time for everything else later. For now, you closed your eyes and let yourself drift. Tomorrow could wait. Tonight, you belonged right here.
——
Monday Morning
You woke to warmth again. Slow, steady heat curling low in your belly—building with every lazy thrust rocking through you.
Minho was behind you, chest snug to your back, one arm wrapped beneath your waist. His cock was already deep inside you, moving in slow, deliberate rolls that made your body shift forward with each push.
And in front of you was Jisung. He was curled up close, fingers in your hair, his other hand between your thighs, spreading you gently as he lined himself up to join.
You whimpered, still half-asleep, not quite fully there—but your body welcomed them anyway.
“You with us, baby?” Jisung whispered, brushing soft kisses along your cheek, your temple.
“She’s close.” Minho muttered behind you, his voice thick with sleep. “She always is when she’s like this. Soft and warm.”
Jisung eased in slowly, carefully, pushing in beside Minho—tight and intense, the stretch enough to make your whole body jolt. You gasped, and Minho groaned low at the sensation.
“There you go.” Minho rasped, rocking forward to press even deeper. “Take it. You’re doing so good.”
And you did, filled by both of them, your body clenched around the pressure and heat, the stretch nearly unbearable, but you didn’t want them to stop. Your fingers gripped the sheets, thighs trembling as they started to move. They were off rhythm at first, then gradually found something smoother, more instinctive.
“Fuck, she’s so wet.” Jisung breathed, mouth grazing your throat.
Minho kissed the back of your neck, hips grinding slow and deep. The pleasure was all-consuming—thick and fast, leaving no space to think, only feel. You tried to speak, but every roll of their hips knocked the breath from your lungs.
Minho’s hand found your clit, circling gently. “That’s it. “Good girl. You did so well. Let go for us.”
They kissed you wherever they could—your jaw, your shoulder, the corner of your mouth—as they moved together, their cocks pressing in tandem inside you. It was filthy. Overwhelming. Beautiful.
And with every thrust, every breath, they gave you everything. Your orgasm built slowly at first, then hit all at once. Your body locked tight, back arched, a rough moan ripping from your throat as you came hard around both of them. They didn’t let up. If anything, it spurred them on.
Minho’s growl rumbled against your neck as his arms tightened around your waist. He drove deeper, grinding into the oversensitive clutch of your cunt like he needed to bury himself even further. In front of you, Jisung matched his rhythm, his grip firm on your thighs as he held you open, their cocks sliding and pressing together inside your stretched pussy.
You couldn’t stop shaking. Every breath hitched. Your voice broke in a helpless sob as your body trembled between them.
“Still so tight.” Minho panted, his voice low and fraying. “You’re holding us so good, baby. Don’t try to run now.”
Jisung pressed a kiss to your jaw, gentler, even though his voice was just as wrecked. “She’s not running. Look at her. She needs it.”
And you did. Even through the overstimulation, your hips kept moving, little, desperate rolls into their bodies, your cunt clenching hard around them again and again. Tears pricked at your eyes, but you didn’t stop reaching for more. You couldn’t.
“Fuck…” Jisung hissed as he thrust up into you, the sound wet and filthy. “She’s already close again.”
Minho's hand slid between your legs, his fingers finding your clit and circling in slow, firm strokes. “You’ve got one more for us, sweetheart. Give it to us, and we’ll fill you up.”
Your whimper turned into a gasp, then a cry. Your hips jerked forward into Jisung, back bowing into Minho’s chest, caught between them with nowhere to go.
And they still didn’t stop. They kept moving in sync. Deep, relentless thrusts that made your whole body burn. Minho's voice was a rasp against your ear. Jisung whispered praise through clenched teeth, breath catching every time you pulsed around them.
It built again, hotter, faster, more unbearable than before. And then you broke. The second orgasm hit harder than the first. Your whole body seized, legs shaking violently, pussy clenching around both cocks so tight that Jisung swore under his breath and Minho lost his rhythm for a beat.
You sobbed something—maybe a name, maybe please—but it didn’t matter. They felt every bit of it. Every pulse of your body, every shiver rolling through you. The way you clenched down around them, desperate and overwhelmed, pulling them deeper like your body never wanted to let go.
“Shit—fuck, I’m—” Jisung’s voice cracked, hips jerking up as he came hard, his cock twitching inside you, breath catching as his release hit.
Minho followed moments later. He groaned your name against your neck, sinking all the way in as he spilled into you, his grip on your waist tightening like he could hold you still, like he didn’t want to leave your body for even a second.
You were shaking, breath hitching in your chest as the weight of everything settled. Your thighs trembled. Their cum leaked around both of them, still buried deep inside you. It was messy. Hot. Too much and just right.
Jisung leaned in to kiss your chest, his mouth soft over your skin. “You okay, baby?”
Minho brushed your hair off your face and kissed the top of your spine. “Still here?”
You nodded. Barely a movement. Your eyes were glazed, your body loose and warm and spent. But a quiet smile curled at your lips.
“Good.” Minho murmured, thumb brushing your hip. “We’ve still got time before work.”
And in that moment, you knew this was how your mornings would be now. Full. Claimed. Loved, without question.
——
The elevator ride was quiet. Minho leaned against the mirrored wall, arms crossed, watching you fix your hair in the reflection. Jisung stood behind you, phone in hand, pretending to check emails—though he wasn’t really reading. Mostly, he was smiling at the faint trace of sex still clinging to your skin.
You’d tried to cover it. Thigh-high boots, pressed slacks, an oversized cream sweater soft enough to hide under but structured enough to keep things professional. The high neckline covered most of the bruises along your collarbone, and you hadn’t bothered with makeup over the bite on your shoulder. No one would see it unless you undressed.
Hopefully, no one would scent it either. But Minho had muttered the second you stepped out of the apartment.
“You’re still leaking.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.” Jisung said, tugging your waistband up a little with a grin. “It’s cute.”
You swatted him, face flushed. Minho just smirked.
—
By midday, things had finally settled. You sat at your desk in the shared consulting office, legs crossed, fingers skimming over your tablet as you worked through reports. Behind the glass partition, Minho was deep in a conference call, his voice low and even. Jisung had claimed the armchair by the window, casually eating rice and chicken from a Tupperware bowl like he hadn’t already burned through half his stamina in your bed that morning.
They both looked completely composed—professional, focused, not at all like two men who had taken turns ruining you just a few hours ago.
You, on the other hand, flinched every time you shifted in your chair. Jisung caught it right away. Of course he did.
“You okay?” He mouthed, eyebrows lifted.
You gave a small nod. He grinned and winked.
—
The first sign someone knew came when you passed Chan in the hallway outside one of the briefing rooms. You were holding a printed report, wrapped snug in your cream-colored sweater—long sleeves, high neckline, thick enough to hide just about every mark left on your body over the weekend. The bite at your shoulder and neck, the bruises pressed into your hips. All safely out of view.
But your scent—despite how long you’d spent in the shower, how thoroughly you’d scrubbed and layered on body wash—still carried traces of them. Minho. Jisung. Their bond. Their claim.
So far, no one had noticed. Or at least, no one had said anything.
Until Chan.
He was mid-step, reading something on his tablet while walking beside a new recruit. He didn’t stop immediately. Just slowed. His head lifted slightly, attention snagged on something invisible. His nostrils flared, his expression tightening like a wire pulled too fast.
You caught it in your peripheral—his stillness. His shift. But you didn’t stop. You offered the same polite nod you always did and kept walking, heat rising to your cheeks. Behind you, his voice was quiet but firm.
“Wait here.”
Then the footsteps followed.
Minho was upstairs finishing a check-in when Chan found him. The older alpha’s approach was calm, but anyone who knew him could read the edge in it. Not angry. Not aggressive. Just…focused.
Jisung was already there, leaning against the office doorframe like he’d been expecting this all day.
“You got a minute?” Chan asked, eyes on Minho.
Minho glanced at Jisung, then gave a small nod. “Yeah.”
They stepped into one of the smaller meeting rooms—glass-walled, empty. Chan closed the door behind them.
He didn’t waste time.
“I felt it lock.”
Minho’s mouth twitched. “Friday night?”
Chan nodded once. “Blood Moon hit hard. Stronger than anything I’ve felt in years.” His gaze flicked between the two of them. “I didn’t know who the third was.”
Jisung let out a quiet breath. “We’ve guessed for a while. She just…hadn’t clicked yet.”
“She bonded over the weekend?”
Minho nodded. “Friday night.”
Chan’s expression tightened. “I just passed her in the hall. She smells like a freshly marked mate.”
Neither of them answered.
“She’s human.” Chan said, disbelief edging into his tone. “You bonded with a human?”
“She didn’t fight it.” Jisung said. “The bond didn’t break. It pulled her in like it was always meant to.”
“And she understands?” Chan asked.
Minho held his gaze. “We told her everything. She chose it. She didn’t even hesitate.”
Chan’s eyebrows lifted. “She accepted both of you?”
Jisung gave a small smile. “Yeah. Fully.”
Chan turned and started to pace, just once, slow and quiet. “And no one thought to tell me?”
“We wanted the bond to settle first.” Minho said. “We needed to be sure it held.”
“You’re telling me it wasn’t just instinct? Not just a bite and a rush of heat?” Chan asked. “The moon fully bound her?”
“It flared.” Jisung said. “She took both our marks. And it stuck. She’s not just handling it, she’s grounded in it.”
Chan exhaled, hand dragging over his jaw. “I felt the third lock in…I just never imagined it would be her.”
Minho’s voice dropped lower. “We did.”
Chan let out a dry, incredulous laugh. “Y/n?”
Jisung nodded once.
Chan stared at the wall for a moment like the idea still refused to make sense. “She’s been with us two years. She’s human. She’s…normal.”
“She’s ours.” Minho said quietly.
When Chan looked at them again, something in his expression shifted. Not quite approval. But something softer. Something closer to acceptance.
“The council’s going to lose their shit.” Chan muttered.
“We’ve already claimed her.” Minho said. “The bond’s sealed. Doesn’t matter what they think.”
“They’ll want to test her.” Chan replied. “See if she can handle it. If she’s stable enough to carry a full bond.”
“She’s stronger than half the wolves I’ve met.” Jisung said without hesitation.
Chan didn’t push back. He just leaned against the edge of the table, eyes flicking between them, tired but thoughtful.
“Tell her to keep the sweater on.” He said after a beat. “At least for now.”
Minho nodded.
“And next time,” Chan added, leveling them both with a look, “maybe warn me before I catch your mate’s scent in the hallway.”
Jisung grinned. “Fair.”
Chan exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “I’m gonna need a drink.”
“Get in line.” Minho muttered.
Chan left without another word, but the edge was gone from his posture. The tension that had gripped his frame when he walked in had started to ease. He might not be ready to celebrate it—but he wasn’t fighting it anymore.
——
You noticed it the moment Chan walked by your desk. He didn’t stop. Didn’t say anything. But his eyes caught yours for a second—steady, unreadable, different. Not cold. Not accusing. Just...observant, like he was seeing something he hadn’t noticed before.
You didn’t need to ask. Minho and Jisung must have told him, or maybe he’d already figured it out and just needed confirmation. Either way, he knew now. What you didn’t know was what he planned to do about it.
The rest of the day dragged. Your body still hummed beneath your clothes, the bond low and constant in your veins like an echo of touch. They’d warned you it would be like this—that even apart, the connection wouldn’t fade. Now that it had settled, you’d feel them always. You just hadn’t expected to miss it this soon.
By late afternoon, the office had quieted and the cold had crept in. You stepped out onto the back balcony for air, clutching your half-finished coffee more for warmth than caffeine. The breeze helped, a little. Cleared your head. Let you focus on something besides the phantom pressure still curled low in your belly. The door opened behind you with a soft click.
You didn’t have to look. You knew it was him. Chan came to stand beside you, close but not touching. The silence stretched, comfortable but heavy.
“I didn’t expect it to be you.” He said eventually, voice low.
You kept your eyes on the skyline. “Neither did I.”
He let out a quiet breath, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. And for a while, that was all there was. Just the two of you standing there in the cold, watching the city fall into shadow.
“Does it hurt?”
“No.” You said. “It’s a lot sometimes. But it doesn’t hurt.”
He nodded slowly, eyes still focused somewhere out past the skyline. “You’re holding two alphas. Most wolves would have trouble handling even one.”
“I’m not most wolves.”
That made him look at you.
You softened your tone. “I don’t mean that to sound defensive. It’s just the truth.”
Chan gave a small nod. “No. You’re not like the others.”
You searched his face for something—disapproval, tension—but didn’t find it.
“You’re not angry.”
“I was.” He admitted, quiet. “For about ten seconds.”
“And then?”
“Then I remembered what it felt like.”
You blinked, unsure what he meant at first. His expression had gone distant, like he wasn’t standing next to you anymore.
“It was years ago…” he said. “The bond hit me hard—same as it did them. Sudden. Certain. Took me weeks to find her, but when I did...I knew.”
He paused. His jaw flexed, voice low.
“She was human. Quiet. Soft-spoken. Had this laugh that felt like sunlight. Like she didn’t care if the world was watching.”
You stayed silent, letting him speak.
“The council tried to stop it.” He continued. “Said it wouldn’t hold. Said I was unstable. But once they realized she was pregnant, they backed off. For a while.”
A chill slipped across your skin, slow and quiet.
“She died?” You asked quietly.
Chan nodded. “Drunk driver. She was five months along.”
You felt your chest tighten. He wasn’t breaking as he said it, but you could feel the ache buried deep beneath his calm—the kind of grief that never really leaves.
“I’m sorry…” you whispered.
“She was stronger than anyone gave her credit for.” He said. “Took the bond without fear. Took me without hesitation. And I never got the chance to prove them wrong.”
You looked at him. Really looked. “You still feel it, don’t you?”
“Not like before…” he murmured. “But yeah. The imprint’s still there. Always will be.”
For the first time, he turned to you fully—his gaze steady, thoughtful, more gentle than you expected.
“When I passed you today, I smelled it. That same kind of bond. That same impossibility.” A small smile touched his lips. “Except this time...the moon didn’t flinch.”
You drew in a slow breath, your heart full and heavy all at once.
“You chose both of them?” Chan asked, his voice quieter now.
You nodded. “With everything I had.”
His jaw tensed, then eased as he let out a long breath. You could see the shift in his posture, the way the weight started to leave his shoulders.
“I don’t know what the council’s going to say.” He admitted. “But I know what I saw.”
You looked at him, curious. “And what was that?”
He met your eyes. “I saw a woman holding two bonds like they belonged to her.” His voice dropped, rough around the edges. “And I saw what she might’ve looked like, if she’d lived.”
Your chest tightened at that—at the softness in his words, the grief that still clung quietly beneath them.
“You’re not just holding the bond.” Chan said. “You’re growing into it.”
You didn’t know how to respond. So you didn’t. You let the wind brush at your sleeves, let the silence stretch between you while the last light of the day faded.
He shifted beside you. “Keep the sweater on tomorrow. You deserve a little more peace.”
You nodded.
“And if the council comes for you—”
“I’ll handle it.” You said gently.
“I know.” He replied. “But you won’t have to do it alone.”
When he turned to go, it wasn’t as your Alpha, or as your boss. It was as someone who had carried what you now carry—someone who lost it too soon, and still remembered what it meant to hold it.
The apartment smelled like home—warm spices, garlic, a hint of citrus lingering in the air. It was the kind of scent that had settled into the place over time, woven into the laundry, the quiet mornings, the hours spent curled up under blankets. Familiar. Lived-in. Yours.
You’d barely stepped through the door when Jisung pulled you into a hug. He didn’t ask. Didn’t give you a second to settle. Just wrapped his arms around you and held tight, like he hadn’t seen you in weeks instead of a few hours. His hoodie was soft against your skin, and his scent wrapped around you like it always did—pine, warmth, a trace of honey.
“You okay?” He murmured into your hair.
You nodded and slid your arms around his waist. “Yeah.”
“Chan talked to you?”
There was no tension in his voice—just something gentle, like he’d known it was coming and had waited for you to say it first.
You leaned back enough to meet his eyes. “You knew?”
“We knew the second he pulled us into that meeting room.”
From the kitchen, Minho’s voice carried over, calm and dry. “Didn’t even shut the door that hard. That’s how I knew he wasn’t pissed.”
You turned toward the sound. He was standing at the stove, sleeves rolled up, collar loose, stirring something in a pan. He looked relaxed, but you could feel his attention on you anyway—watching, making sure you were okay.
“We figured he’d catch on eventually.” Jisung said, reaching for your hand and guiding you toward the kitchen. “Especially after the bond clicked.”
You sat down at the counter as he moved behind you, his hands settling gently on your shoulders.
“He felt it.” You said softly. “Said it hit him hard Friday night. Stronger than anything he’s felt in years.”
Minho gave a small nod. “Makes sense.”
“He didn’t know it was me.”
Jisung’s thumbs pressed into the muscles at the base of your neck, careful, grounding. “He does now.”
You let out a slow breath. “He wasn’t angry. Not really. He just…needed to see me. Ask me himself.”
Minho turned off the stove and leaned against the counter across from you, his expression unreadable. “What did he ask?”
“What it felt like. If I still felt like myself.” Your fingers curled lightly around the edge of the counter. “And if it hurt.”
“Does it?” Jisung asked, voice quieter now.
You glanced down, then looked at them both. “No. It doesn’t hurt. It just…hums. Like I’ve got a second heartbeat under my skin.”
Minho’s mouth lifted slightly, just the barest trace of a smile. “That’s the bond settling in.”
You nodded. “That’s what I told him. I said it didn’t change me. It just made me more myself.”
Jisung’s hands slowed on your shoulders, warm and steady. “What did he say to that?”
You hesitated, then answered. “He said he’d been moon-bound once too. To a human.”
That stopped them both.
“He told me the council tried to shut it down at first. But then she got pregnant, and they backed off.” You paused, voice softer now. “She didn’t make it. She died before the baby was born.”
The shift in the room was immediate. Minho stilled, gaze heavy. Jisung’s grip around your arm tightened just a little.
“He said I reminded him of her.” You said, eyes dropping. “Not because I’m human, but because I didn’t flinch. Because I didn’t run.”
Minho stepped around the counter, coming to stand in front of you. He touched your chin, gently tilting your face up until your eyes met his.
“You didn’t.” He said, quiet and sure.
You leaned into his hand. “He told me I wasn’t just surviving the bond. That I was becoming it.”
Jisung slid his arms around your waist from behind, holding you close. “You are.”
Minho leaned in and kissed you—slow, steady, more grounding than anything else. It wasn’t rushed or rough. It felt like a promise. When he pulled back, his eyes searched yours.
“Did he say what the council’s going to do?”
You nodded. “He said they’ll want to test me.”
Jisung let out a soft scoff. “Of course they will.”
“They’ll want proof.” Minho said. “Or a weakness. Something they can use.”
You hesitated, then asked quietly, “Is there one? Anything they could say that would break it?”
“No.” Minho said, firm and unwavering. “The bond’s sealed. You’re ours.”
“And they’re just gonna have to live with that.” Jisung added, wrapping his arms tighter around you. “Because we’re not going anywhere.”
You exhaled slowly, the weight of it all settling in your chest as you leaned into both of them. Minho’s hand came up to cup your cheek, while Jisung pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder.
“There was one more thing.” You murmured. “He said if they come for me…I won’t be alone.”
Jisung’s smile brushed warm against your skin. “He’s right.”
Minho nodded. “You never will be.”
In that moment, something deep inside you finally settled. The bond seemed to draw close again, surrounding you with a steady sense of safety and certainty, something solid you could lean into, something you knew would hold.
Everything between you finally clicks into place, turning all that tension into something steady and real. Being with them feels natural in a way you can’t really explain—like it was always meant to happen. By the end, there’s no confusion left, just a quiet sense of belonging with both of them.
MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS, DNI
Werewolf!MinSung x Human!AFAB Reader, Poly relationship, SMUT, Alpha/pack dynamics, Breeding talk/future pregnancy mention (no actual pregnancy), Emotional intimacy and aftercare, Slow-burn payoff, Mild angst with comfort
My writing is all fictional and does not represent any of the named people in any way, shape or form. All works and writing is done by me, and I do not use AI at any point in my writing.
dividers made by @cafekitsune
The heat in the room was almost overwhelming, thick with something deeper than lust—something primal, old enough to feel familiar in your bones. Your body trembled where you sat stretched across Minho’s lap, held steady by the firm circle of his arms around your waist. His hands pressed warm and grounding against your stomach, his thumbs moving in slow, calming strokes even as your thighs tightened with anticipation.
Jisung knelt between your legs, golden eyes blazing as he looked up at you. His lips were still slick from where he’d kissed you, from the slow, careful way he’d licked you open. Now, his hand curled gently around your knee, coaxing you to open wider for him again.
“Breathe for me, baby.” Minho murmured near your ear, his voice low and rough with affection. “We’ve got you.” He said, like it wasn’t a promise so much as a fact.
You let your head fall back against his shoulder with a soft shiver. Jisung exhaled like he was trying to center himself, like the sight of you—already trembling, already flushed—hit him somewhere deeper than hunger.
His fingers skimmed up your inner thigh, slow and coaxing, until they found the slick heat between your legs. You gasped at the contact, thighs twitching. Minho’s hands held you firm, keeping you steady, while Jisung groaned under his breath.
“She’s soaked.” He said, his voice tight with need. “Minho—fuck.”
“I know.” Minho replied, his tone strained. You could feel the tension running through him, the subtle flex of his claws where they curled protectively along your stomach. His chest vibrated against your back with a sound that was barely restrained.
Jisung’s nose brushed the crease of your thigh. “Can I, sweetheart?”
You nodded, breathless, but Minho’s fingers tipped your chin toward him until your eyes met his.
“Use your words.” He said softly, thumb tilting your chin just enough that you couldn’t look away. “He won’t touch you until you say it.”
Your voice was hoarse, but clear. “Yes. Jisung, please.”
The sound Jisung made in response was low and raw, something almost animal. He leaned in and flattened his tongue against you, licking a long, deliberate stripe up your center. The contact was hot and devastating, making your hips jerk before you could stop them. Minho held you tighter, grounding you as Jisung licked again—firm and slow—then circled his tongue around your clit with maddening precision.
Minho’s hand slid higher, palm rough as it brushed over your breast. He found your nipple and rolled it between his fingers, the stimulation sharp and direct. A moan broke from your throat before you could stop it.
“That’s it.” Minho breathed, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear. “You like that? The way he knows exactly how to touch you?”
Jisung moaned in agreement, like the praise hit him too. Then he sucked your clit into his mouth and swirled his tongue, slow and purposeful. The sensation hit hard and fast, stealing the breath right out of your lungs. Your whole body shook from the intensity of it. You gasped, unable to think, unable to do anything but feel.
You let out a broken sound, hands scrambling for something to hold onto, and Minho caught them easily, lacing his fingers through yours and guiding your hands back to rest against your stomach. His mouth brushed your ear, tongue warm against the shell of it, grounding even as it sent another shiver through you.
“So sweet…” he murmured, voice low and rough. “You taste it, don’t you, Sungie?”
Jisung pulled back just enough to answer, lips wet, eyes dark. “Like honey.” He said softly. “Like heaven. I could stay right here forever.”
Your breath broke on his name, thighs trembling as he slipped two fingers inside you without effort. You were already open for him, fluttering immediately as he curled them just right. The sensation made your back arch against Minho’s chest, your body tightening as a sharp gasp tore from you.
Minho never stopped touching you. His hand stayed warm and steady on your breasts, rolling and teasing with slow, deliberate pressure that kept you anchored through every wave that hit.
You didn’t know if it was the bond, the blood moon, or just the way they moved together around you, but it felt like too much and not enough all at once.
“Minho…Jisung…please…” you breathed, barely holding yourself together.
“I know.” Jisung said quietly. He eased his fingers out and shifted, lining himself up instead. He didn’t rush. His eyes stayed on yours, searching, waiting.
“Let me in.” He whispered, breath uneven, like he wasn’t sure he trusted himself to wait much longer.
Minho pressed a kiss to your temple. “It’s okay. Let him.”
You took a shaky breath and nodded. Jisung pushed in slowly, inch by careful inch, groaning softly as your body opened around him. The stretch made your toes curl, a sharp gasp spilling from your lips, but Minho’s hands soothed you through it, thumbs brushing beneath your ribs, keeping you steady.
When Jisung finally settled fully inside you, his forehead resting against your chest, you realized he was shaking too.
Minho’s hand slid over your hip, firm and reassuring. “You’re doing so well.” He murmured against your shoulder, his breath warm where his lips brushed your skin. His fingers traced slow, calming lines down your thigh while Jisung held himself still, fighting the urge to move too soon.
Jisung began to rock into you slow at first, almost careful. His hips rolling in a gentle rhythm that made you whimper with every glide. Your body stretched and welcomed him, your breath caught and tangled with theirs, something low and insistent pulling tight beneath your ribs.
Jisung let out a quiet moan and dipped his head, teeth grazing the skin just above your breast. It wasn't enough to hurt, just enough to make you feel it. He kissed the spot afterward, tongue warm and apologetic.
“You feel like home.” He whispered, the words breaking as his movements deepened and his restraint finally began to slip.
Behind you, Minho's hands never stayed still. One slid up along your front, his palm cupping your breast again while his thumb brushed slowly over your nipple, teasing it into a peak. The touch pulled a gasp from you, your back arching instinctively as your chest lifted into his hand—and Jisung caught the sound with his mouth, kissing you like he needed it to breathe.
“That’s it.” Minho murmured near your ear, his voice low and rough. He pinched gently, just enough to make you squirm, then soothed the sting with the soft pad of his thumb. “You take him so well.”
Jisung was shaking again, but this time it wasn’t from effort—it was from holding back. His rhythm stuttered, then picked up again, deeper now, more certain. Your body met him easily, greedily, slick and ready and completely his. The sounds that filled the room were messy and shameless—wet, desperate, undeniable. Caught between the two of them, you were surrounded by warmth and hunger, by reverence and possession.
You tipped your head back against Minho’s shoulder, and his hand gently caught your jaw. He tilted your face toward his, watching you, close enough to kiss but holding back. His golden eyes searched your expression in the moonlight, drinking in every sound, every tremble, every moan that fell from your parted lips.
Jisung’s hand found its way between you again, fingers slipping down to where you needed him most. He stroked your clit in steady circles, syncing each pass of his fingers with the push of his hips. You cried out, thighs tightening around him, the bond buzzing through every nerve like a wire pulled too tight.
“Let go.” Minho said, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. His fangs grazed your skin, just enough to make you shiver.
Jisung moved faster, pressing deeper, and everything started to unravel—your muscles tightening, breath catching, pleasure cresting hard and fast until it broke over you all at once. You came with a full-body shudder, caught between their warmth, their hands, their voices.
Jisung followed seconds later, his hips snapping once more before he buried himself deep, groaning as he spilled inside you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and held on, forehead pressed to your chest, his chest heaving as he tried to steady his breath. Neither of them moved right away.
—
Jisung eased out of you carefully, and a soft whimper escaped your lips at the sudden emptiness. He murmured something quiet, soothing, and shifted beside you. Minho moved closer without a word, gently guiding your body into Jisung’s lap. You leaned back against him, still catching your breath, and let your head rest on his shoulder.
Minho knelt between your legs, steady and calm. His hands were warm as they settled on your thighs, thumbs brushing lightly along your skin. He leaned in and kissed you, slow and deep, his mouth moving with a possessive kind of ease. His tongue slid against yours like he already knew every part of you—like he was claiming this moment with all the certainty in the world.
When he finally pulled back, it was only so he could trail kisses along your jaw and down your throat. He kept going, lower still, until he settled between your legs. The bed dipped slightly under his weight, and his hands curled under your thighs, guiding them open.
Jisung’s arms tightened around you, his voice soft against your ear. “You’re doing so well, baby.” He whispered. “Still so beautiful.”
You could feel the way his heart was still racing behind you, his body flush with yours. And then Minho’s mouth was on you—warm, sure, and slow. His tongue licked through the slick heat between your legs, tasting everything Jisung had left behind. The first swipe made your whole body jolt.
Minho didn’t stop. He moved with purpose, each slow drag of his tongue deeper and more focused than the last. It wasn’t rushed, and it wasn’t just for you. It was for him too—his way of honoring the bond, of savoring something sacred. You whimpered and clung to Jisung’s forearm, nails digging in gently as the pleasure surged again.
“She’s so sweet like this.” Minho murmured against your skin, his breath hot and voice thick. “So fucking good.”
Jisung kissed your temple. “She didn’t miss a single beat.”
Minho groaned softly and gave one more slow lick, eyes half-lidded as he watched your reaction. You were trembling by the time he finally pulled away, thighs quivering, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.
He didn’t say anything. He just looked up, meeting Jisung’s gaze over your shoulder. Nothing was said aloud, but the look that passed between them was enough—full of trust, promise, and something deeper. Something that didn’t need words.
Jisung pressed a soft kiss to the side of your neck, his fingers trailing lazily along your sides. He wasn’t in any rush. His hands had already explored every inch of your skin, but now they moved with quiet affection—cupping your breasts, rolling your nipples gently between his fingers just to hear that gasp he loved. His mouth followed the path of his hands, brushing kisses across your shoulder, along your throat, and up to the corner of your jaw.
Minho was kneeling in front of you, eyes steady as he watched. One of his hands stroked up your inner thigh, slow and deliberate, while the other anchored your hips in place. His gaze was fixed on your face, on the way your breath hitched and your hips rolled back into Jisung’s lap like your body already knew what it needed.
“I’m going to take you now.” Minho said quietly. His voice was low and full of weight, like a promise.
You nodded, breath catching, and didn’t look away as he shifted forward. Jisung kept you steady from behind, his thighs cradling yours, arms wrapped securely around your torso. There was no hesitation in the way they held you, no doubt. Just warmth and the kind of certainty that left no room for fear.
Minho’s cock slid forward, brushing against your entrance, and for a second, he just breathed. You were already soaked from everything that came before, your body ready. When he finally pushed inside, it was slow and careful—each inch a stretch that made you whimper. The resistance was brief, your body giving way to him easily, like it had been waiting. You both gasped at the same time.
Jisung’s grip around you tightened, his hands steadying you as Minho sank deeper, hips rocking with precise control until he was fully seated inside you. The stretch felt new—thicker, deeper—and the press of Jisung’s chest at your back only heightened the heat curling in your core.
“So good…” Jisung murmured into your ear, voice thick and reverent. “Fuck.” He breathed. “You feel unreal.”
Minho’s eyes never left yours. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
You shook your head, words lost to the feeling of him, the slow drag, the way he filled you so completely. Your fingers clutched at Jisung’s forearms, anchoring yourself there as your whole body trembled with sensation.
Minho held still for a breath, his palms smoothing up your sides, grounding you both. When he finally spoke again, it was barely above a whisper.
“This…this is everything.”
You didn’t know who said it. Maybe it was you. Maybe it was him. Maybe both. Minho started to move, slowly at first. His hips rolled in tight, steady thrusts, hitting deep each time and grinding into you with devastating precision. Heat bloomed low in your body, sharp and demanding, tightening with every slow roll of his hips.
Jisung’s mouth hovered at your shoulder, then your ear, his voice low and warm as he whispered to you. His praise came soft and steady, and his hand slid between your legs like it had always belonged there, fingers finding your clit easily and circling in perfect rhythm with Minho’s thrusts.
“You’re doing so good.” He murmured, lips brushing your skin. “Taking him so well. Let go for us, baby.”
Minho’s pace shifted. Each thrust came harder now, his breath catching every time he sank deeper, the sound of it thick with need. You could hear how much he was holding back—how tightly he gripped the edge of control, trying not to fall over it too soon.
But you didn’t want restraint. Not from him. Not now. You reached up, arms curling around Jisung’s neck for balance as you moved with Minho, pushing back into each stroke, matching him, needing him. Jisung moaned behind you, kissing along your temple and jaw, letting you set the pace, letting you feel everything.
“Fuck—” Minho’s voice broke, rough and raw. His hands tightened on your hips, fingers digging in just enough to make you shiver. He drove into you harder now, the slick drag of your bodies filling the room with a rhythm so intimate it felt sacred. Every stroke was smooth and deep, your breath catching with each one.
The sound of skin against skin filled the room, steady and unrelenting. Heat pooled low in your belly, the tension winding tighter and tighter until it felt unbearable. Minho leaned in, his hand settling over your lower abdomen, right where he was buried deep inside you.
“Come for me.” He said, his voice rough and sure. “Now.”
The command tipped you over the edge. You broke with a cry, your body clenching hard around him as pleasure tore through you. Jisung held you close, murmuring your name over and over like it was something sacred, while Minho kept moving, pushing you through every wave as his own control finally shattered. His hips stuttered, then snapped forward one last time as he came with a sharp, feral sound, burying himself fully as his release spilled inside you. His hands shook where they gripped your skin.
Something snapped into place inside you—sudden, grounding, impossible to ignore. When Minho finally sagged forward, his forehead resting against your shoulder, and Jisung pressed another soft kiss to the back of your neck, everything eased. The heat settled. The tension released.
Three heartbeats fell into the same rhythm. You were theirs, and they were yours. The moon had made its choice. And this time, none of you fought it.
—
Minho’s hands stayed firm on your hips, steady and grounding as he held you exactly where he wanted you. Behind you, Jisung cradled your body, his thighs bracketing yours, his chest pressed flush to your back. His arms circled your waist in a hold that felt both gentle and claiming, and you could feel his heartbeat racing through every point of contact.
You were still stretched around Minho, full from where he’d settled deep inside you, your legs parted as he knelt between them. The angle left you open and aching, every nerve alive with the crackle of the bond moving through you.
Minho paused for a moment, like he was taking it all in. One hand slid down to cradle your thigh while the other traced slowly up your stomach, cupping your breast. His thumb brushed your nipple, teasing it into a peak, and his eyes burned with something raw and reverent all at once. Behind you, Jisung followed the line of your neck with his nose, his breath hot against your skin. One of his hands rested over your belly where it met Minho’s, while the other slipped between your thighs, touching you in slow, deliberate circles.
When Minho finally moved again, it was unhurried but sure. He drew back slowly and then pressed in again with controlled precision, the stretch pulling a soft sound from your throat as your spine arched back into Jisung’s chest. Jisung soothed you with a kiss just below your ear, his fingers never stopping, never letting you lose yourself completely.
The three of you fell into rhythm together, breath and movement aligning without effort. Minho thrust deep, rolling his hips and finding that place inside you that made your legs tremble. Jisung’s fingers followed his pace, each touch building on the last until the sensation was almost overwhelming. You were pinned perfectly between them, surrounded by heat and pressure, every nerve lit up and singing.
Minho groaned softly, the sound low and unrestrained. “You feel unreal like this.” He murmured, his breath brushing your lips before he kissed you—slow and claiming, his mouth moving with quiet certainty.
Jisung pressed closer from behind, his arms tightening around your waist as his lips traced your shoulder and your neck. “She was made for us.” He whispered, the words warm against your ear.
Minho’s movements slowed, but they didn’t stop. Each thrust stayed deep and rolling, filling you completely every time he pressed forward. With every stroke, the bond reacted, tightening and pulsing like it had a will of its own. It didn’t feel complete yet, and it didn’t let them forget that. It carried a steady insistence, like it was waiting for everything to finally line up the way it was meant to.
Minho’s hand slid between your legs, thumb brushing over your clit in steady time with the movement of his hips. Your body trembled under the sensation, stretched and full, your breath caught between the pull of two heartbeats. Jisung’s hand covered Minho’s, guiding the motion with quiet certainty, their touches synced and deliberate in a way that felt reverent rather than rushed.
“I need—” You gasped, not even sure how to finish the thought.
“We know.” Jisung murmured, nuzzling into the curve of your neck. “We’ve got you.”
Minho eased back slowly until only the tip of his cock remained inside you. “Ready, baby?” He asked, voice low and steady.
You nodded, dazed, barely able to track the movement as they shifted you in Jisung’s lap. Minho stayed in front of you while Jisung guided himself in from behind. As they both filled you at once, the stretch pulled a sound from your throat and made your body arch on instinct, the sensation overwhelming as you were taken completely.
When Jisung finally settled inside you, his breath shuddered against your back and the bond flared all at once—sharp and electric, almost too much to take in. You were held between them, barely able to move or breathe, and somehow, in the middle of it all, you’d never felt safer.
Minho kissed you then, slow and grounding, while Jisung pressed his face into your shoulder. Both of them groaned softly, like the weight of you around them was something they’d been waiting for.
They moved together after that, unhurried and deliberate, every motion careful and full of intention. Minho’s lips brushed yours again, warm and open, his breath hitching each time your body tightened around him. He stayed close, chest pressed to yours, forehead resting at your temple when he wasn’t kissing you deep and slow. His hands cradled your thighs, thumbs tracing steady circles as he rocked into you, hips rolling in a rhythm that made your breath stutter and your body melt between them.
Behind you, Jisung’s arms tightened around your waist, holding you steady as his body pressed close from behind—his chest hot against your back, his breath warm at your ear. He moved carefully with Minho, his hips following just after Minho’s retreated, the rhythm between them deliberate and consuming, leaving no space for anything but the three of you.
Your head tipped back onto Jisung’s shoulder, eyes fluttering as pleasure traced a slow, electric path down your spine. His nose brushed your jaw as he spoke, voice rough and low. “You’re taking us so well…” he murmured. “Just like that. That’s it.”
Minho kissed along your cheek and mouth, then down your neck to your collarbone, never breaking his rhythm. “Perfect.” He breathed, the word sounding almost wrecked. “You’re so perfect like this.”
Jisung’s hands slid higher, cupping your breasts, his thumbs circling your nipples as he whispered against your ear, “Made for us.”
You weren’t sure whose voice broke first—yours or theirs. Maybe all three. It didn’t matter.
Their movements stayed slow but deep, the rhythm loosening as restraint gave way to need. Jisung’s hips faltered, a tremor running through his thighs behind you. Minho’s breath hitched, his grip tightening at your waist. You clung to them both, fingers digging into Minho’s shoulders as your body began to shake, your head falling back against Jisung again.
The bond surged, thick and burning beneath your ribs. Something ancient stirred, alive and electric, as if it had been waiting for this moment all along.
Jisung’s teeth grazed your shoulder. “Can I?”
Minho stilled, breath uneven, his golden eyes locking with yours. “Only if she says yes.”
You nodded, breathless, tilting your head without thinking, and Minho’s mouth was already there. His bite met your neck just as Jisung’s teeth sank into your shoulder, the sensations colliding and ripping through you all at once. The bond snapped tight, power surging hot and blinding as the world tipped, broke, and then pulled itself back together around you. You cried out, clinging to them as everything broke apart and settled again.
Jisung moaned against your skin, pressing deeper. “She’s ours.”
Minho kissed along your jaw and mouth, his voice shaking as he whispered, “Finally.”
The moment should have eased into something softer—into slow kisses, shared breaths, the quiet after everything that had already been given. But it didn’t. The bond was awake now, fully alive, and it wanted more.
Jisung rolled his hips again, slow and deliberate, pressing deep just as Minho drew back. Minho’s chest slid against yours, slick with heat, his mouth parting at your throat as your body jolted from the sensation. You hadn’t stopped responding to them—not for a second. Every breath, every small movement pulled more feeling through you, raw and electric.
“Still with us?” Minho asked, his voice hoarse.
You tried to nod, but the movement drew another shallow thrust from Jisung, firm enough to steal your breath.
“She’s squeezing so hard.” Jisung groaned, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.
Minho answered with a low sound in his chest, wrecked and possessive. “I know.”
They didn’t give you time to recover. You were already shaking, already pushed past where you thought the edge was, and they carried you further anyway.
Minho picked up the pace first, his movements shallow but sharp, dragging over the spot that made your thighs twitch. Jisung matched him easily, keeping time until there was no clear separation between one motion and the next, only constant pressure, heat, and fullness.
Their hands never stopped. Minho held you wherever he could, at your hips, your waist, your thighs, keeping you steady while Jisung’s arms tightened around your middle. His hands slid up again to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until your body jerked helplessly between them.
The sound that left you barely sounded human, broken and breathless. Both of them groaned at once.
“That’s it.” Jisung rasped. “Let go again.”
Minho leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. “We’ve got you.”
You broke again with Minho’s mouth warm at your throat and Jisung’s hand moving between your legs, fingers circling with practiced pressure. Your cry caught halfway out, breath stuttering as the release tore through you—deep and relentless, pulling wave after wave from muscles already trembling and spent. They didn’t stop.
Minho swore under his breath, his voice rough and unsteady. “She’s still—fuck, she’s still shaking.”
Jisung answered with a low moan, slowing his movements, pressing deeper as if he wanted to feel every tremor pass through you. “She can take it.” He murmured, reverent and undone. “She’s so good for us.”
Minho kissed you again, messy and desperate, his mouth claiming yours as he held you through the aftershocks. His tongue slid against yours like he couldn’t get enough, like the bond was still hungry and he was right there with it. You wanted it. You wanted more.
Their rhythm shifted after that, losing its careful edge and giving way to instinct. Hands tightened, breath turned rough and uneven, and the sounds they made were raw and unfiltered. Held firmly between them, every nerve lit and buzzing, you felt completely consumed.
The third climax tore through you with no warning. Your head fell back, your mouth opening on a broken cry as your body clenched hard around them. The bond flared behind your ribs, bright and blinding, like something bright and sudden tearing through you all at once.
Minho’s voice cracked when he said your name. Jisung followed with a sharp groan, his hips snapping forward as he came deep inside you, the warmth only intensifying the way your body kept pulsing around him. Minho wasn’t far behind. One more desperate thrust, then he gasped against your mouth, arms trembling as he gave in, his forehead pressing to yours like it was the only thing keeping him anchored.
Then everything went quiet. There was nothing left but breathing. The slow return of awareness. The feel of their bodies still wrapped around you, the heat and sweat, the way your legs trembled and they held you steady like letting go wasn’t an option.
Because now it wasn’t. The bond settled between the three of you, no longer demanding or restless, just there—soft, steady, and impossible to ignore. It felt settled—quiet in a way that didn’t need words, something that belonged to all of you.
It was yours.
—
The room was warm with the mingled scent of all three of you—sweat, skin, salt, and something richer beneath it all. The bond, newly settled and quietly alive under your skin, glowed like embers after a fire, no longer raging but impossible to miss.
You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, suspended between them. Your breath came in uneven pulls, your legs still trembling, your body wrung out and heavy. Everything ached, but it was the kind of ache that felt earned, the aftermath of being held and undone and put back together with care.
Minho was the first to move. He did it slowly, deliberately, careful not to jostle you as he pressed a long kiss to your forehead. His thumb traced your cheek, gentle and grounding.
“Hey.” He murmured. “You with us?”
You blinked, sluggish but aware, and nodded.
Jisung’s arms tightened around you from behind, his mouth brushing your neck as he smiled softly. “She’s exhausted.” He said, fond and reverent. “You did so good, baby.” He murmured, still a little breathless.
They eased out of you with practiced care, moving slowly enough that it barely startled your oversensitive body. Even so, you whimpered at the sudden emptiness, every nerve still lit and tender, from the lingering pulse between your thighs to the warmth left behind by the bite marks at your neck and shoulder.
Minho was there immediately, hands steady on your hips, murmuring soft reassurances as he kissed down your chest, like he didn’t want you to feel the loss at all. Jisung pressed a kiss near the mark on your shoulder. “We’ve got you now. Just rest.”
They moved together easily, like they didn’t need to check in anymore. Minho slipped from the room and returned moments later with a warm cloth and a towel. Jisung shifted you gently in his lap, tucking a cushion beneath your hips and murmuring quiet praise—how beautiful you were, how proud he felt, how lucky they both were.
“Open your legs, sweetheart.” Minho said softly. “I’ll take care of you.”
You did, barely keeping your eyes open, trusting him without question. His touch was impossibly gentle as he cleaned you, careful and thorough, treating you like something precious rather than fragile.
Jisung’s hand rested over your heart as he held you. “I can feel the bond now.” He whispered. “It’s calm. Steady. Feels like home.”
Minho glanced up at you, his expression softened, eyes still faintly gold. “You feel different already.” He said quietly. His thumb brushed your inner thigh, lingering there. “You’re glowing.”
They finished cleaning you slowly, unhurried, their touches easing from careful to affectionate as they wiped you down and kissed every mark they’d left behind. When they were done with you, they turned that same gentleness on each other, moving with the quiet familiarity of two people who already knew how to read every shift in breath and muscle.
Jisung’s claim mark on your shoulder was still raw, his teeth having just barely broken the skin—enough for the bond to take, enough to linger. Minho kissed around it as he dabbed a healing balm over the mark with a soft cloth, and you whimpered at the care he took, at the quiet reverence in every gentle touch.
Minho’s mark at your neck was deeper. Jisung tended to that one, murmuring apologies and praise with every gentle touch. “Mine now.” He whispered as he kissed beneath your jaw. “Ours.”
Eventually, they settled you beneath the covers, Minho lying in front of you while Jisung curled in behind, pulling you between them as if the thought of space was unbearable. Their hands rested easily on your stomach, your hip, your thigh. Their touches claimed without needing to prove it. You were held, cherished, anchored.
“You feel like us now.” Minho murmured against your temple. “Like you were always meant to be here.”
Jisung pressed his forehead to the back of your head. “No more holding back.”
The bond pulsed in time with your heartbeat, steady and warm, something solid and unshakable. You let out a slow, shaky breath as your eyes drifted closed, though neither of them moved toward sleep yet.
Minho’s fingers traced up your ribs, light as air. “We should’ve done this a long time ago.” He said quietly. “Should’ve marked you the first time you looked at us like you already belonged with us.”
“I would’ve torn anyone apart who tried to stop it.” Jisung added from behind you, his voice low and fond against your nape.
You startled slightly when Minho dipped his head to kiss the side of your throat just beneath the mark. Then another kiss, lower this time, and another where your collarbone met your shoulder. You shifted, heavy with exhaustion, but his mouth followed you without urgency, without demand.
He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t trying to start anything again. He was putting you back together.
Jisung’s hand slid over your waist, steadying you, while his other found your wrist and laced your fingers together. Minho pressed one more slow kiss to your collarbone and whispered, “I want to learn every part of you like this. Until there’s no doubt where you belong.”
You shivered at the certainty in his voice, at the way he spoke like your body was something sacred, something worth knowing by heart.
Jisung leaned down to kiss beneath your ear, then along your jaw. “Not just because of the bond,” he whispered, “but because we love you.”
Your breath caught in your chest. Minho’s lips traced a slow path down your chest, finding your sternum, then the gentle dip between your breasts. His hand cupped one of them with careful intention, holding it gently as he pressed a kiss to the top, then the side, then beneath it. Every touch was deliberate and unhurried, his mouth warm and soft against your skin.
Behind you, Jisung shifted, lifting your arm just enough to kiss the side of your breast where it curved into your ribs. He murmured something that sounded like “perfect” against your skin, then kissed the same spot again, lingering as if he wanted the moment to settle into him.
Minho’s mouth moved higher once more, brushing along your collarbone. This time his teeth grazed your skin lightly—not a bite, just enough pressure to leave a faint flush behind when he pulled away. A mark that would darken later.
“Need them to see.” He said quietly, meeting your eyes. “That you’re claimed in more ways than one.”
You let out a breath, chest tightening. “You’re ridiculous.”
Jisung smiled against your shoulder. “And completely yours.”
They moved together after that, mouths and hands working in easy harmony, leaving soft kisses and hickeys along your neck, across your chest, down your stomach, then back up again. There was no rush, no end they were chasing—just skin against skin, warmth, and the steady thrum of the bond beneath it all, steady enough that you didn’t have to think about it.
It wasn’t arousing so much as grounding. A ritual. A promise made without words. Here. You are here. With us.
Eventually, Minho settled back beside you, pressing one last kiss just above your navel before resting his head against your ribs. Jisung curled in behind you again, his arm wrapping securely around your middle, breath slow and even.
You didn’t need to say anything. Their marks were already speaking for you, singing the truth into your skin.
——
You woke slowly to warmth. Bodies curved around yours, breath soft against your skin, the kind of quiet that only exists in the first hours after dawn. Soft sunlight filtered through the curtains, and the sheets were tangled and warm beneath you, still carrying the faint scent of sweat, salt, and something deeper—older. The bond.
Minho was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes. He lay on his side facing you, head propped on his arm, watching you wake. There was no smirk, no teasing edge—just that rare, gentle look he saved for moments like this, as if seeing you like this steadied him.
“Hey.” He said, his voice rough with sleep.
You blinked and smiled faintly. “Hi.”
His hand lifted to your face, knuckles brushing your cheek before he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You okay?”
Behind you, Jisung shifted, his arm still wrapped around your waist, fingers spread like he hadn’t loosened his hold once during the night.
You nodded, your voice still hoarse. “Sore.”
Minho’s mouth curved into a small smile. “The good kind?”
You huffed softly. “You know it is.”
Jisung made a sleepy sound and pressed closer, nuzzling into your shoulder. “What time is it?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Minho murmured, leaning in to kiss your temple. “It’s the weekend. No pack meetings. No deadlines. Just us.”
The thought settled over you like another blanket—warm and reassuring. No alarms. No obligations. Just the three of you, alone, with time to let the bond breathe and settle, humming quietly between you like a second heartbeat.
You stretched carefully, wincing at the ache in your hips and thighs.
Jisung kissed the back of your shoulder. “Sorry…” he murmured, half-asleep. “We might’ve gotten a little greedy.”
Minho raised an eyebrow. “We?”
“You were the one calling her perfect while you tried to fuck the soul out of her.” Jisung muttered into your skin.
Minho shrugged, unapologetic. “She is perfect.”
Heat crept up your neck. “You’re both insufferable.”
Minho leaned in and kissed you—slow and lazy, all warmth and affection. “You love it.”
You sighed into the kiss, smiling. You really did.
Jisung’s fingers slid slowly up your waist, his palm settling just beneath your breast. He wasn’t groping, just holding you there, grounding himself in the contact. “The bond feels…different this morning.” He murmured, nuzzling closer.
“Settled.” Minho said. “Like it’s not asking for anything anymore. It’s just there.”
You let out a slow breath. That was exactly it. Present. Not overwhelming like the night before, not sharp or demanding. Just constant and steady, like a pulse you didn’t have to think about to feel. Like breathing.
You could sense them through it—each of them, distinct and intertwined. Jisung felt warm and familiar, bright in a way that reminded you of sunlight spilling through a favorite window. Minho was quieter but deeper, a low, steady pull, like the ocean humming beneath a cliff.
“You’re thinking pretty hard.” Jisung said softly.
“I’m still getting used to it.” you admitted. “It’s a lot.”
Minho leaned in and pressed a kiss to your chest, right over your heart. “We’ve got time.”
“Yeah.” Jisung added with a faint grin. “The whole weekend. We can figure it out between naps and orgasms.”
You laughed into the pillow, the sound soft and fond, and both of them smiled at it.
“You’re awful.” You said.
“And yet,” Minho said with a smirk, “you keep letting us sleep in your bed.”
You rolled your eyes, smiling anyway. “In my bed, in my body, and apparently in my soul.”
Jisung laughed softly. “And under your skin.” He added. “Pretty literally, at this point.”
He traced the fading mark on your shoulder where he’d bitten you. It was already healing, but the bruise lingered faintly, a quiet reminder. Minho mirrored the gesture, brushing his thumb over the side of your throat where his own mark remained.
“You’re ours.” Minho said softly.
You swallowed, but you didn’t pull away. “I know.”
The quiet that followed felt safe, unhurried. Then Jisung shifted slightly, his knee sliding between yours, his lips brushing your shoulder again—lower this time.
“I’m not trying to start anything.” He said lightly. “I swear.”
You hummed softly, eyes drifting shut. “But?”
“But I like kissing you here.” Jisung whispered, pressing his lips to the top of your spine, right where your back curved inward. “And here.”
His mouth followed the line down, unhurried, affectionate.
“And definitely here…” he added, kissing the space between your shoulder blades, then a little lower.
Minho laughed against your chest, the sound warm and helpless. “Jisung, I swear—”
“I’m not trying to rile her up.” Jisung said, completely unrepentant. “She smells like honey and driftwood and…comfort. I just want to be close to it.”
You reached back without looking, found his hand, and laced your fingers together.
“I want you close too.”
Minho sighed, but there was no real objection in it. He leaned down to kiss the swell of your breast, then moved his mouth lower, tugging the sheet down just enough to press a kiss to your ribs.
You felt them both—soft hands, lingering mouths, touches that weren’t quite teasing but definitely not innocent either. Their fingers followed familiar paths over your skin, slow and deliberate, like they were learning you all over again. Or reclaiming you.
Because things hadn’t always felt like this. Not in this moment—right now everything was warm and easy and whole—but before. After they became moon-bound, something between the three of you had shifted. Not in obvious ways. Jisung still joked at your desk, still leaned too close during briefings, still called you “sweetheart” in that voice that made your stomach flip. But the warmth outside of work—the casual affection, the way you used to curl up between them on the couch without thinking, the nights you fell asleep there and woke up to shared coffee the next morning—had quietly faded.
Minho had always been more guarded, slower to reach out, but even that distance had grown. He stopped inviting you over for late dinners. He didn’t knock on your door after night patrols just to drop off leftovers. His scent disappeared from your apartment. And Jisung, for all his charm, stopped calling past midnight just to ask if you were still awake.
You hadn’t known when it happened. Only that it had. Until now. They never explained it. They didn’t have to. You understood, even if it still ached. They were adjusting—to each other, to the bond that had settled between them and changed the shape of their world. Moon-bound alphas were rare, and the weight of it showed in everything they did. Their energy tightened, their focus narrowed, their dynamic turned inward and magnetic.
You didn’t resent them for it. You tried not to, anyway. But the absence still settled in your chest like a bruise you couldn’t quite stop pressing on.
You missed them. You missed the way Jisung used to sprawl across your bed without knocking, all limbs and laughter. You missed the way Minho would roll his eyes and still show up with your favorite snacks tucked under his arm. You missed how easily they used to reach for you, how natural it felt—no hesitation, no second-guessing.
And now—now they were everywhere. Now Jisung’s hand curled at your waist, warm and possessive, his thumb tracing slow, reverent circles into your skin like he was grounding himself there. Now Minho’s mouth followed the curve of your ribs, pressing one unhurried kiss after another, as if he were mapping you again, committing you to memory. They touched you like the distance hadn’t been a choice, like it had been something they’d endured rather than wanted.
And you didn’t doubt anymore. You weren’t reaching across silence or wondering if you’d imagined the closeness that once existed between the three of you. You weren’t questioning whether their bond had erased you from the picture.
Because now Jisung kissed the underside of your breast like it was familiar, like it had always belonged under his mouth.
Because now Minho’s teeth grazed your hipbone—not to mark, just to feel you, to feel the way your body reacted to him, to something deeper than heat. Want. Recognition.
Because now you were wrapped in them the same way they were wrapped in each other, held without reservation.
And the quiet that settled around you wasn’t empty this time. It didn’t ache. It was the quiet of belonging. Of finally being exactly where you were meant to be.
On the day of the blood moon, the tension finally peaks, and the whole place feels off in a way you can’t ignore. You try to keep things normal, but something deeper starts to shift around you—and inside you. By the end of the night, everything changes.
MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS, DNI
Werewolf!MinSung x Human!AFAB Reader, Poly relationship, SMUT, Alpha/pack dynamics, Breeding talk/future pregnancy mention (no actual pregnancy), Emotional intimacy and aftercare, Slow-burn payoff, Mild angst with comfort
My writing is all fictional and does not represent any of the named people in any way, shape or form. All works and writing is done by me, and I do not use AI at any point in my writing.
dividers made by @cafekitsune
Day of the Blood Moon
You felt it the moment you walked into the office that morning. Something had shifted overnight. There was pressure in the air, dense and humming. A low energy curled beneath your skin, impossible to name but just as impossible to ignore.
The wolves were on edge.
The usual rhythm of the Seoul office—where dominance and routine lived in careful balance—had broken down overnight. Everyone still showed up. Typed. Sorted. Scheduled. But the air had changed. Thicker. Sharper. Like the building was holding its breath.
You didn’t need a calendar to know what day it was. The blood moon was here. You could see it in the way the pack moved.
Chan was the calmest you’d ever seen him—silent, grounded, but carrying the kind of stillness that only came from holding back something enormous. He barely spoke, but he didn’t have to. His presence alone kept the younger wolves from unraveling completely.
Hyunjin couldn’t sit still. He barely made it to his desk before he was up again, wandering through storage rooms that had nothing in them. At one point, Jeongin reached out and grabbed him by the back of the collar, just to stop him long enough to breathe.
Seungmin cursed at the printer. Loudly. Repeatedly.
And Jisung—
Jisung was trying.
He cracked jokes. Danced his way down the hall. Dropped a muffin on Minho’s desk and called it “a peace offering for crimes not yet committed.”
But the smile didn’t last. Not really. Minho didn’t say much at all. You only caught glimpses of him throughout the day—moving through rooms, watching everything. Tension radiated off him, and every time he passed too close, your skin responded. Not with fear. Not even discomfort. Something else.
It had been months since their bond had sealed—since they’d disappeared for a week and come back different. Settled. There was no more hesitation in how they looked at each other, no more playful boundary-pushing. Whatever had burned between them before had settled into something solid.
They were mated. That part was clear. But what had changed, more than anything, was the space they left around you.
“Humans out by three.” Chan called from the front office. “No exceptions.”
You glanced at the clock, surprised. It wasn’t even noon yet.
Felix groaned from his desk beside yours. “Are you kidding? I just started a report.”
“You can finish it not here.” Seungmin snapped from across the room.
Changbin walked in from the finance wing, raising an eyebrow. “Seungmin, it’s not even noon.”
“Yeah, and it feels like midnight.” Seungmin muttered, scrubbing a hand through his hair.
Changbin rested a hand on Felix’s shoulder. “You heading out soon?”
Felix sighed. “Yeah. Blood moon protocol.”
You started packing up slowly, not ready to leave but not about to push your luck. You knew better. When the blood moon rose, the wolves wouldn’t quite be themselves. The pack trusted you, sure—but instinct didn’t follow company policy.
Felix stepped over, badge still clipped to his belt, his usual smile dulled with concern. “I’ll walk you out. You know how it gets this close to moonrise.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You’re security, not my bodyguard.”
“Yeah, but I am the prettiest one here.” He said, tossing you a wink. “Consider it a professional courtesy.”
Changbin joined him, sliding an arm around his waist with a grin. “You’re barely prettier than me.”
“Rude.” Felix said. “But accurate.”
You rolled your eyes but smiled, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I’m good, guys. It’s not my first rodeo.”
Just as you turned toward the elevators, Jisung stepped into your path. He didn’t speak right away. He just looked at you, eyes scanning your face like he needed to commit it to memory.
“You okay?” You asked, keeping your voice low.
He gave a short nod, then hesitated. “It’s…loud.”
You didn’t ask what he meant. You already knew.
“I’m heading out.” You said, keeping your voice as steady as you could. “Unless you’re planning to stop me.”
Jisung smirked. “Tempting.”
He was trying to sound like himself. You could see it in the curve of his mouth, the tilt of his head. But something was off. His energy felt coiled, too sharp around the edges. His fingers kept flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them, and his pupils looked darker than they should have in the light.
“Be safe tonight.” You said gently.
“You too.” He replied, his voice a little rougher than usual.
The elevator dinged behind you. As the doors slid open, he added, “Will you text me when you get home?”
You hesitated, then nodded. Behind Jisung, Minho stood in the conference room, arms crossed, watching through the glass. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything—just kept his eyes on you. He always did.
You stepped into the elevator. Jisung stayed where he was. Even after the doors closed, you could still feel both of them.
—
By mid-afternoon, the office was nearly empty—right on schedule. The scent of the humans still lingered in the halls, faint and fading, slowly giving way to something sharper. The moon hadn’t even reached the horizon yet, but the wolves were already starting to feel it.
Jisung paced the length of the conference room, too restless to sit. His hands kept clenching and releasing at his sides, energy sparking under his skin like it was looking for somewhere to go.
“It’s too quiet now.” He muttered.
Minho didn’t look up from where he sat on the far couch. “You say that every month.”
“Because it is.” Jisung rubbed a hand down his face. “They’re gone, right? Felix, Y/n, Changbin?”
“Yes.” Minho said, voice flat. “They left together. Changbin finished his department checks early.”
“And you made sure?”
Minho’s eyes lifted, meeting his. There was something sharp in the look—something that didn’t need words.
“I watched her leave.”
Jisung didn’t have to ask who he meant. Minho had watched you go the way he always did—like he was afraid he wouldn’t get another chance. That look had stayed with Jisung ever since, clinging to the edges of their bond. And the ache had only gotten worse.
They were mated now, bound to each other in a way that was steady and undeniable. And yet the sense of something missing hadn’t faded. They couldn’t say with certainty that it was you, but the thought had taken root all the same—and neither of them had tried very hard to push it away.
Jisung dropped into the nearest chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, head down. “It’s like she’s right there, but not. Like we’re missing a scent we can’t follow, or a sound we’re not hearing.”
Minho didn’t answer. It wasn’t that he disagreed—he just didn’t trust himself to say it out loud without unraveling something he wasn’t ready to touch.
As the blood moon crept closer, you’d started to feel a little farther away. Or maybe it only felt that way because they were the ones hesitating, careful with their words, careful with you. Neither of them wanted to admit the fear sitting underneath it all—that the bond might never settle, that the space they felt might not be yours to fill after all.
A chime echoed faintly from the hallway—probably a late staff member, or one of Chan’s patrols doing a final sweep before nightfall.
Minho stood up suddenly. “Come on.”
Jisung looked up, confused. “Where?”
“Home. We’re not staying here tonight.”
“Chan said—”
“Chan’s not our keeper.” Minho said, his voice low and firm, laced with a dominance he rarely used but never needed to repeat. “He knows what this night does to us. We need to be somewhere safe.”
Jisung didn’t argue. He followed.
Their apartment was dark when they stepped inside. Neither of them reached for the lights. The moon was starting to rise.
Jisung shrugged off his jacket and dropped it over the back of the couch. “It feels worse this time.”
“It is.” Minho said quietly, locking the door behind them.
The air around them felt wrong, thick in a way that made it hard to fully relax. There was a restless tension sitting low in their stomachs, not sharp enough to hurt but constant enough to notice, like something just under the surface that refused to settle.
Their bond was still there, steady and familiar, something solid between them. But even that felt slightly off lately. It didn’t feel broken. It just felt like it was waiting for something neither of them could quite name.
Jisung walked into the kitchen, poured a glass of water, then immediately set it down without drinking. “I hate this.”
Minho leaned back against the wall, arms folded across his chest. “We knew it wouldn’t settle until the bond was whole.”
“Yeah…” Jisung muttered, eyes flicking toward the window. “But I didn’t think the blood moon would hurt.”
The sky outside had shifted to a deep, burning red. Clouds dragged across it in slow, streaked lines, the kind that looked too heavy to move. By now, the pack would be gathering—howling, eating, testing each other’s strength under the rising moon.
Minho felt it in his body first, that restless pull tightening through his muscles, the instinct to move, to run, to be out there with the others. It sat in his bones, familiar and hard to ignore.
But he stayed. The part of him that mattered—the part tied to something deeper than instinct—kept him rooted where he was, beside Jisung. And no matter how steady their bond felt, there was still that quiet absence between them, the one neither of them had been able to shake.
“It’s like breathing with one lung.” Jisung said quietly. “We’re alive. But it’s not enough.”
Minho turned his head, watching the blood moon’s light stretch across the floor.
“It won’t be long now.” he murmured.
He wasn’t sure whether he meant the night itself or the bond finally settling into place the way it was supposed to. It could have been both. Whatever it was, he could feel it coming, and they still had one pack meeting to survive before anything changed.
They’d head to the pack house once the moon climbed higher, but for now, all they could do was sit with it and hope it didn’t break them first.
——
By nightfall, the pack house was alive. Energy moved through the space like a pulse—slow at first, then steady, growing stronger as the moon rose. The air felt dense with instinct and moonlight, thick enough to touch.
Wolves filled the halls, filtering in from every part of the territory. Betas and omegas brushed shoulders in passing, exchanging quiet greetings, sharing the same restless anticipation that came with nights like this.
Every full moon brought the pack together. But a blood moon was different. Rarer. Stronger. It made the air crackle.
Inside the dining hall, the long oak table was covered in food. Bowls of venison stew. Roasted vegetables. Thick bread still warm from the oven. Wine and water set out alongside heavy trays of fruit and perfectly rare meat. The room buzzed with quiet laughter, the clink of cutlery, and the scent of pack thick in the air.
Minho and Jisung arrived together. It had been months since they sealed their bond, but something about tonight made their connection feel sharper. They moved in sync, steps matching, presence aligned. The bond between them burned low and steady—amplified by the blood moon climbing above the trees. It wasn’t painful, but it was heavy. Persistent.
Chan met them at the threshold, clasping Minho’s arm in greeting. “Glad you came early.”
“You knew we would.” Jisung said, his voice quiet but steady.
Seungmin, already at the table, lifted two fingers in a silent hello. Jeongin passed by carrying a tray from the kitchen, Hyunjin right behind him, both of them laughing at something no one else had heard.
The house felt right—full, alive, grounded in the familiar rhythm of pack. But as Minho and Jisung moved deeper inside, surrounded by familiar scents and voices, neither could shake the feeling that something essential was still missing. Just out of reach.
Dinner passed in a warm blur of conversation and movement. The betas swapped stories from patrol. The omegas talked about the shift in the seasons, what would need preparing, what might come next. The alphas spoke in lower voices, trading quiet updates about boundary lines and territory shifts.
Minho and Jisung sat side by side, mostly silent. Their movements stayed in sync—small glances, shared pauses—but their attention drifted again and again toward the windows. The moon was nearly full.
After the last of the plates had been cleared and the room had settled into the quiet hum of a full house, Chan stood at the head of the table.
“It’s time.” He said.
The pack began filing out into the clearing behind the house. Torches lit the outer edges of the space, swaying in the wind. Beyond them, the forest pressed close, dark and still. And overhead, in the open sky, the blood moon hung heavy—deep red and burning at the edges.
Wolves didn’t shift on blood moon nights. Not unless they were called to. This wasn’t about the body. It was about the bond. The spirit of the pack.
Next to him, Jisung exhaled slowly—one long breath pulled tight with control. Minho could feel it too, the pressure that had been building in his chest all night. It wasn’t pain. But it was close. It was wanting.
Chan stepped into the center of the clearing. His voice was steady, strong, but not raised. “We gather tonight not only to honor tradition, but to recognize what binds us to one another. You are not just your roles. You are pack. You are moonbound.”
Around him, heads lifted and attention locked in. No one howled—they didn’t need to. They just listened.
Minho had stopped really listening. Chan was still talking, but something in the space between his words caught, shifted, and before Minho could fully understand why, his hand shot out and wrapped around Jisung’s arm. His grip was firm, almost urgent.
Jisung sucked in a breath, startled, his eyes snapping to Minho’s face. The bond between them flared instantly, hot and alive, pounding through both of them like a second pulse. But it didn’t settle the way it usually did. It didn’t stay contained between their chests.
It stretched. The pull went past them this time, reaching outward toward something—or someone—they hadn’t quite held yet.
It felt like a second tether snapping into place—raw and searing, but unmistakably familiar. Jisung staggered back half a step, eyes wide. “Did you—?”
Minho couldn’t answer. His jaw locked as his pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out everything else. This wasn’t like their first bond. That had been warm and instinctive, something that settled gently into place. This felt different. Final. Like a missing piece sliding into the exact space it had always belonged, locking the whole thing together.
And it didn’t come from anywhere inside the clearing. It came from outside. From her.
Minho reached for Jisung without thinking, and the second their fingers intertwined, the bond flared again—stronger this time, threading outward instead of inward. It wasn’t just the two of them anymore. It never had been.
There were three.
There was nothing visible to mark it, nothing anyone could point to or name, but they felt it all the same. It sparked through bone and breath, pulling tight where it mattered, stitching something ancient and unmovable into place. It was real. It was alive.
The connection settled between them like a perfect shape finally completed, tension resolving the instant it locked. Jisung sucked in a shaky breath, the edge of his canines flashing before he caught himself. Minho’s grip tightened, steady and unyielding, anchoring them both.
Across the clearing, Chan felt it happen. He was still speaking, his voice calm and measured for the gathered pack, but his gaze snapped toward them mid-sentence, drawn without hesitation. His breath caught, instinct rising sharp and immediate in his chest.
This wasn’t just heightened blood moon energy. This wasn’t a bond strengthening under pressure. This was completion.
The air itself seemed to react, charged and electric, crackling with the kind of tension that came before a storm finally broke. Chan stopped speaking mid-sentence.
Chan didn’t answer. His attention was fixed on Minho and Jisung. They stood too still, bodies locked in a kind of rigid awareness that only came when a wolf was holding itself back from bolting.
Jisung’s phone buzzed. He flinched, fumbling to pull it from his pocket, breath still uneven, heart pounding hard enough to hurt. Minho leaned in automatically, reading over his shoulder.
1 New Message.
[Y/n]
I need help. I can’t breathe.
I think I’m having a panic attack. I don’t know what’s wrong.
Jisung froze. A low growl slipped from Minho’s chest, instinctive and unrestrained.
Something inside both of them tightened hard—not pain, not quite, but a sharp urgency that pulled at their ribs like a wire drawn too tight. They didn’t understand it. They didn’t have words for it. They just knew they had to move.
Chan stepped toward them, his expression sharpening. “What is it?”
Jisung couldn’t answer. The words wouldn’t come. Minho lifted his head—and that was when Chan saw it.
Both of their eyes had gone bright, burning yellow. Their hands were clenched into fists, claws half-extended, breath coming shallow and fast. Their teeth showed behind parted lips, not in threat, but in something closer to fear. Protection.
Chan’s jaw tightened. “Is it her?”
They didn’t answer right away. It wasn’t reluctance so much as uncertainty; neither of them had the words for what was happening. All they knew was the feeling—something off, something pulling at them, something that felt important in a way they couldn’t ignore.
Chan stepped aside without hesitation. “Then go,” he said. “Whoever she is, she needs you.”
Minho was already moving. Jisung followed immediately, phone still clenched in one hand, the other flexing as his claws began to show, ready for anything that got in their way.
Chan turned back to the pack. “They’ll return when the moon calls them. Let them go.”
He spoke like it was an order, but his gaze softened as he watched them disappear into the night. Because he understood.
He knew what it meant to feel something larger than instinct, to belong to someone before you had the words for it. The blood moon burned overhead.
And far from the clearing, the one who completed them was curled on her bedroom floor, struggling to remember how to breathe.
——
The night had been quiet when you got home—too quiet. Even the city, normally full of distant traffic and late-night movement, felt muted. Like the whole world was holding its breath.
Earlier that afternoon, Chan had made the call: all humans were to leave the Seoul Pack’s corporate building early. No exceptions. No lingering. The blood moon was too close, and the tension was already too high.
Felix and Changbin had walked you out themselves, both quiet but clearly on edge. Changbin, always a little more serious this time of the month, kept glancing toward the elevators like he expected a fight to break out at any second. Felix stayed closer than usual, fingers tapping nervously against his phone the whole ride down.
“You good?” He asked when they reached the front door of your building.
“I’m fine.” You told them—and for the most part, you meant it.
You waved them off with a smile, promised to stay inside and keep the door locked. They didn’t argue. Just nodded and left, clearly relieved to be heading back to their own place.
Your apartment greeted you the way it always did—soft lighting, neatly folded blankets, and the faint scent of citrus from the candle you always lit after work. You dropped your keys in the tray by the door, kicked off your shoes, and tried not to think about how strange everything had felt at the office.
You reheated leftovers—just rice and kimchi stew—and sat at the kitchen counter to eat, your legs swinging gently from the barstool. Nothing about the night stood out. Nothing unusual and nothing dramatic.
After dinner, you washed your dishes, brushed your teeth, and changed into pajamas—soft shorts and an oversized sleep shirt slipping off one shoulder. Everything about it was routine.
The windows were cracked open just enough to let in the night air. It was warm and thick, carrying the scent of the changing season. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.
Probably not a dog but probably one of the wolves. You didn’t go to the window, but you saw the moonlight stretch across the floor. It slipped through the blinds in long, red bands.
The blood moon had risen.
The light from the moon cast rust-colored shadows across your room, catching on the edges of your nightstand, your mirror, the curve of your arm. It looked strange—unsettling, almost—but there was a quiet kind of beauty in it too. You watched it for a while through the slats of your blinds.
Just a moon, you told yourself. A big, red moon. Nothing more. But something felt off.
You turned off the overhead light and climbed into bed, trying to settle. The hum of traffic below filled the room, steady and familiar. The sheets were cool against your skin, and your body was tired in that soft, end-of-day way.
Everything should have felt normal. But it didn’t. It started with a flutter in your chest. Small at first, like a skipped heartbeat. You shifted on the pillow, tried to breathe through it.
Then it tightened. Your breath caught—just enough to notice. You sat up slowly, frowning. The room hadn’t changed. Nothing looked different. The moonlight still stretched across the floor in long red streaks, staining everything it touched. But the air felt wrong. Still. Heavy.
You tried to take a deeper breath. It came out shallow. Uneven. Your hand went to your chest. Your fingers were shaking.
No.
No, not this. Not now.
You hadn’t had a panic attack in years—not since high school. Not since those nights you’d wake up gasping from dreams you couldn’t remember, heart racing like it didn’t belong to you.
This was like that.
Only worse.
The pressure wrapped around your lungs like hands closing in. Like something was pulling at you from the inside. Your heart pounded—too fast, too hard, too loud—and your breath couldn’t seem to catch up.
You pushed the blanket away and slid out of bed, barely making it to the floor before your knees gave out. You pressed your back to the dresser, trying to stay upright, but everything was spinning.
And then the tears came. Quick. Unwelcome. Out of nowhere. You buried your face in your hands and tried to remember how to breathe.
Your phone was on the edge of the bed—close, but not close enough. You stared at it, body frozen, thoughts tangled.
You didn’t know what had set it off. There hadn’t been a moment of panic. No flash of fear. No memory that crept up from nowhere.
Just heat. A pull. Something moving through your body that didn’t feel like yours. Whatever it was, it didn’t make sense—but your brain reacted anyway, flipping every internal switch, flooding you with alarm.
You pushed yourself upright, unsteady, and reached for the bed. Your fingers slipped once, then again, before you managed to grab the phone.
Your hands shook as you unlocked it. You didn’t overthink it—just typed as quickly as you could.
[Y/n]
I need help. I can’t breathe.
I think I’m having a panic attack. I don’t know what’s wrong.
You hit send, then curled up on the floor, arms wrapped tight around yourself, waiting for something—anything—to stop it from getting worse.
——
The drive to your apartment passed in a blur. Minho barely remembered getting behind the wheel. Jisung sat tense and silent in the passenger seat, his knee bouncing with nervous energy—the kind that usually came right before a shift. Neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to. The same thought looped through both of their minds like static: something’s wrong.
The blood moon hung low above the skyline, casting rust-colored light over the streets. Every traffic signal felt too bright. Every sound hit too sharp. And the closer they got, the more the pressure built in their chests.
They could feel you now—like a signal in the dark. But it wasn’t warm. It wasn’t steady. It was frayed. Disoriented. Afraid.
When Minho pulled up to your building, he didn’t even try to park properly. Jisung was already out of the car before the engine fully stopped. Neither of them waited for the elevator. They took the stairs two at a time, hearts racing in sync with something they couldn’t name.
Minho fumbled the key at the door, hands too tight, breath too fast. The lock clicked open into a dark, quiet apartment.
Too quiet.
Your scent hit first—familiar and soft, jasmine and the kind of warmth that felt like home. But underneath it was something sharper. Sour.
Fear.
They stepped inside slowly, every movement careful. Jisung’s claws had already slipped out. Minho’s eyes were wide, glowing faintly gold in the low light.
The stillness stretched until they passed the kitchen—then they heard it. A breath, unsteady. Another, worse. Minho froze. Jisung tilted his head toward the sound, then took off down the hallway.
You were on the floor near your bed, curled on your side with your knees tucked in. Your shirt was bunched in your fists. You were shaking. Your breaths came in short, shallow gasps that weren’t reaching deep enough.
Panic.
Minho dropped to his knees beside you without saying a word. Jisung hovered close, one hand braced on the wall like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
“Y/n.” Minho said gently, keeping his distance for now. “You’re okay. We’re here.”
Your eyes moved but didn’t focus. Glassy, overwhelmed, searching for something you couldn’t find.
Jisung reached for your hand, slow and careful, like any sudden movement might scatter you further. “Breathe with me, sweetheart. Just follow my voice, okay?”
You didn’t answer, but your lashes fluttered. A flicker.
Minho’s hand found your back, steady and warm. “We’ve got you.” He said, voice low and sure.
Something shifted in the air between you. The bond—quiet until now—stirred. It wasn’t heat, not exactly. It was older than that. Deeper. A pull that wasn’t physical, but still made your skin feel warmer, like something unseen had closed the last distance between you.
Minho inhaled sharply. Jisung made a soft sound in the back of his throat, part relief, part disbelief.
They felt it. Clear and absolute. The bond had locked into place.
Final.
Minho’s eyes glowed fully gold. Jisung shivered, claws twitching as the weight of it settled around them like gravity finding its center.
You didn’t feel the bond in the same way—not yet. But their presence wrapped around you like a safety net. It helped. Bit by bit, your breathing slowed. The pressure in your chest began to ease.
Minho gathered you into his arms, protective and close, anchoring you against him. Jisung shifted in behind you, surrounding you in warmth, scent, and steady hands.
They didn’t say anything, because there was nothing left to explain. The bond between you settled into place, steady and sure, and your body finally eased enough to draw a full breath without fighting it.
None of you knew what would come next—only that something had shifted, something real had begun. And whatever the moon had seen in you, it hadn’t let go.
—
You didn’t really sleep. Neither did they. Minho stayed curled around you, his body relaxed but alert, like some part of him couldn’t shut off. Jisung’s breath stayed steady against the back of your neck, warm and grounding, even when your thoughts weren’t.
The hours passed slowly, but none of you moved.
Held between them, the panic never fully disappeared—it faded to a low hum instead of a storm. The bond helped. It threaded through your nerves like silk, soft and steady, but your body still felt too full of tension, too wired with something you couldn’t name.
You weren’t supposed to feel this. You weren’t supposed to have it.
Minho and Jisung didn’t speak. The moonlight kept bleeding in through the curtains, deep red and unflinching, as if it knew something the rest of you hadn’t caught up to yet.
This shouldn’t have happened. The laws were clear. Wolves bonded with wolves. A bond with a human wasn’t just unheard of—it was forbidden. Impossible.
But here you were, and the moon didn’t care. It was real. It had already made its choice.
Minho’s fingers brushed along your arm—barely there—before settling again. Jisung’s hand rested lightly at your waist, like if he moved too much, the whole moment might fall apart.
You didn’t say anything either. Because really, what was there to say? They were already mated. You were human. And still, some part of you wanted to stay exactly where you were—tucked between them, breathing like you belonged.
Eventually, your breathing steadied enough for them to move. Minho pressed a quiet kiss to your temple, then sat up slowly, careful not to disturb you more than necessary. Jisung stayed where he was, eyes still on your face, watching every shift in your expression.
“She’s not completely calm.” He said softly, his voice rough from strain.
Minho nodded. “She’s better, though.”
You stirred at the loss of warmth and blinked up at them, groggy and confused.
“Hey.” Jisung said gently, brushing his hand along your hairline. “You with us?”
You gave a small nod, throat dry. “What…happened to me?”
Minho met your eyes, quiet but sure. “It wasn’t just a panic attack.”
The words sat heavy between you. You didn’t ask anything else. You didn’t have to. Your fingers curled into the blanket, and you exhaled slowly, the beat of your heart shifting—not fear this time. Something else. Something that felt like recognition.
“Can I stay like this a little longer?” You asked, barely louder than a whisper.
Jisung didn’t hesitate. “As long as you need.”
Minho sat at the edge of the bed, shoulders straight, gaze unfocused. “The pack won’t understand.”
Jisung’s hand slipped under yours. “Then let them try explaining it to the moon.”
Whatever came next, they’d face it together. The rules didn’t matter anymore. The bond was real. It was already part of you, of them. And nothing was going to undo it.
—
The room still held the weight of everything that had happened. Even hours later—after the panic had passed, after your breathing had evened out and the tears had stopped—the air felt charged. The bond hadn’t faded. It lingered, quiet but undeniable, humming beneath the surface of everything.
Minho sat at the edge of your bed, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze steady but unreadable. Jisung stood by the window, arms crossed, but his eyes hadn’t left you once. They hadn’t stepped away from you since they arrived, not even for a second. And now, as the silence stretched deeper, something unspoken began to shift. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t confusion. It was choice.
Minho spoke first, his voice low. “We’ve never seen this happen with a human before. We don’t know what comes next.”
You sat up a little straighter, pulling the blanket tighter around you, your fingers knotting in the fabric.
Jisung pushed away from the wall and stepped closer. “But we know what it means when it happens between us. When the bond formed tonight, it hit hard. It still burns. And to settle it…to ground it the way it’s supposed to be…”
He hesitated, and it was Minho who finished the thought. “It has to be sealed.”
Your stomach flipped. “You mean…”
“Mating.” Minho said, meeting your eyes directly. “Marking.”
You swallowed. “And you need my consent.”
Jisung didn’t miss a beat. “Always.”
Minho nodded. “This only happens if you say yes. If you want it. If you want us.”
You looked at both of them—Jisung with his hopeful nervousness, Minho with his careful stillness—and something deep inside you shifted. Like something had been waiting all this time to finally fall into place. You let out a slow breath.
“I want this.” You said softly. “I want you.”
Jisung’s shoulders dropped, like he’d been holding his breath the entire time. Minho’s jaw tensed—not with hesitation, but with the effort it took to stay calm.
The bond stirred again, warm and steady, waiting. Minho leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away—but you didn’t. His hand brushed your cheek, fingers sliding gently into your hair. Jisung came to your other side, his hands settling at your waist, grounding you with his touch.
“Tell us to stop.” Minho murmured, his voice close, his breath brushing your lips. “Any time.”
You didn’t say a word. When they kissed you—Minho first, then Jisung—it didn’t feel like the start of something new. It felt like something finally coming back to you. Like returning to a place your body had been waiting for.
The bond had waited long enough. Tonight, it would settle.
The moment their mouths left yours, the air in the room shifted—charged, electric, like the moment just before a storm breaks. You didn’t even have time to exhale before Jisung leaned in again, eyes glowing, pupils wide with heat. His kiss was deeper this time, hungry but tender, as if trying to memorize everything—every sound you made, every soft hitch in your breath.
Behind you, Minho’s hand curled around your waist, his touch steady and warm. You felt his fingers slide beneath the hem of your shirt, slow and unhurried, easing it over your head before tossing it aside. Jisung’s mouth drifted lower, pressing to the curve of your neck, his tongue brushing over the quick pulse beating just beneath your skin.
Minho took over from there, kissing your jaw, then lower, tasting along your collarbone with quiet reverence. The soft sounds that slipped from them—sighs, low groans, the catch of breath—only fed the heat blooming across your skin.
Their hands moved over you in sync, like they already knew every place that needed attention. Minho shifted behind you, pulling you gently against his chest. His arms wrapped around you, hands cupping your breasts with care and intent. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, slow and teasing, coaxing each one to a soft peak with every pass.
You gasped, breath catching, and Jisung groaned quietly at the sound.
He knelt between your thighs without breaking eye contact, and when his hands slid your shorts and underwear down your legs, the rush of cool air made you shiver. He leaned in close, lips ghosting over your inner thigh, leaving warm kisses behind.
“You smell so fucking good, baby…” he said, voice gone rough with want. “Like us.”
And when his mouth finally found you, nothing else mattered.
Minho kissed the back of your neck, his lips brushing warm over your skin before his teeth grazed gently, just enough to make you shiver. His fingers moved over your breasts with practiced ease—rolling, tugging, then soothing in slow circles that kept you teetering right on the edge. You arched between them, tension curling low in your belly.
Then Jisung’s tongue found you, and the sound that left your throat was raw and immediate.
He was slow about it. Every stroke deliberate, controlled, like he wanted to draw out every reaction your body had to give. When he circled his tongue around your cunt, precise and patient, your hips bucked instinctively—but Minho was ready for that. His arm tightened around you, holding you steady against his chest, and a low rumble vibrated through him.
“Easy.” He murmured into your ear. “Let him take care of you.”
Jisung’s hands slipped beneath your thighs, keeping you open for him as he settled in deeper. When his mouth closed around your clit and he started to suck, gently at first, your vision blurred. Light sparked behind your eyes, and your breath caught hard in your chest.
Minho’s hand came up to your mouth, his fingers tracing your lips softly. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart.” He said, voice low and tender. “You look so beautiful like this.”
You whimpered, helpless against the onslaught—Minho behind you, warm and steady, his hands coaxing every nerve awake, and Jisung between your legs, tongue working with growing urgency. Every flick, every groan, every soft word tangled together and pushed you over the edge. You came with a full-body tremble, your thighs shaking in Jisung’s grip.
But he didn’t stop. Not right away. He kept going, gentler now, working you through it until your body went limp against Minho and you were gasping against his shoulder, breathless and undone.
Only then did Jisung lift his head. His chin was slick, eyes bright, mouth swollen, and his expression…it wasn’t cocky or smug. It was reverent. Like he’d just touched something sacred.
Minho turned your face toward him and kissed you—slow, steady, careful. Just enough to bring you back down, to remind you where you were. With them. Safe.
You didn’t know how long the moment lasted. Just that when he finally pulled away, something deeper settled between the three of you. The bond thudded under your skin like a heartbeat.
As the blood moon gets closer, the tension in the office starts to creep in, leaving everyone a little on edge. You try to go about your day like normal, but something about the energy around you—especially with Minho and Jisung—feels off. And the closer it gets, the harder it is to shake.
MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS, DNI
Werewolf!MinSung x Human!AFAB Reader, Poly relationship, SMUT, Alpha/pack dynamics, Breeding talk/future pregnancy mention (no actual pregnancy), Emotional intimacy and aftercare, Slow-burn payoff, Mild angst with comfort.
My writing is all fictional and does not represent any of the named people in any way, shape or form. All works and writing is done by me, and I do not use AI at any point in my writing.
dividers made by @cafekitsune
The office was already alive with activity when you stepped off the elevator, but it wasn’t the usual Monday energy. It felt tense, like the air was holding its breath. Too quiet in some places, too sharp in others. The overhead lights buzzed faintly, and the air conditioning felt a little too cold—like the walls were holding something in.
You hadn’t even made it to your desk yet, but the difference was clear. The wolves felt on edge.
It started subtly last week. Minho’s eyes following anyone who stood too long near your workspace. Jisung’s constant foot tapping, his smile never quite reaching his eyes. Now, it was more obvious. Something was building. Not just the usual restlessness before a full moon—this felt worse.
The Blood Moon was coming. You didn’t need to be a wolf to feel it.
“Morning.” A voice said behind you.
You turned to find Felix approaching, looking sleep-deprived but still somehow cheerful, balancing two coffees in one hand with his laptop bag slung haphazardly over his shoulder. His shirt was half-untucked, hair still damp like he’d rushed out after a shower.
“You okay?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.
He handed you one of the coffees like it was a peace offering. “Changbin snored like a dying tractor last night. I swear it shook the floor.”
You laughed. “He’s human though, right? Shouldn’t he be immune to all this lunar drama?”
Felix sighed and brushed a hand through his wet hair. “I think he’s experiencing sympathy restlessness. Or maybe just side effects of his seventh midnight snack. Honestly, I stopped keeping track.”
You took a sip of coffee and glanced toward the main floor. Desks were filling up slowly, conversations low and clipped. The wolves moved differently today—more focused, more deliberate. Their footsteps were a little too quiet. Their stares lasted a beat too long.
Felix followed your gaze and nodded. “Blood Moon’s about a week out. It throws off control, especially for younger wolves. Makes instincts hit harder.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
He shrugged. “Wolves. Books. Reddit. Probably a mix.”
You took a sip of coffee and made your way to your desk. The moment you sat down, that familiar weight settled over you again—heavy and not yours to carry, but somehow it still clung to your shoulders like a coat you couldn’t shrug off.
Minho showed up about twenty minutes later. He didn’t say a word at first—just dropped a folder on your desk and gave a quick nod. He looked more rumpled than usual: sleeves pushed up, collar unbuttoned, like even the aggressively cold air conditioning wasn’t enough.
“Morning.” You said.
His eyes met yours briefly. “Morning.”
He paused. Didn’t move.
“You alright?”
He hesitated before nodding once. “Just…weird energy in the building today.”
“Yeah. I felt it too.”
Minho’s gaze lingered, then dropped to the folder. “Routine check on transport contracts. Flag anything that looks off.”
“Got it.”
He turned to go just as Jisung walked in—too fast, like something was nipping at his heels. He tossed his bag onto your spare chair and flashed a crooked grin. It didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Good morning, beautiful.”
“Morning, liar.”
He let out a strained laugh. “Damn. Harsh.”
“You sleep last night?”
“Define ‘sleep’.” He muttered, already leaning halfway over your desk. “Did you miss me over the weekend?”
“Didn’t think about you once.”
“Ouch. You wound me.”
“You’ll survive.”
Jisung stayed leaning a little too long. You caught the crease forming between his brows, the way his jaw tightened like he was holding something in.
You tapped his forehead with your pen. “You’re buzzing again.”
“Minho says I vibrate at the frequency of chaos.”
Minho had paused a few steps away but didn’t bother turning around. His voice came low and even. “Because you do.”
Jisung grinned. “See?”
But even that smile felt off—too practiced, a little too sharp around the edges. The rest of the day dragged in fits and starts.
Emails. Reports. Voices just a little louder than they needed to be. Conversations ending in furrowed brows and clipped goodbyes. At one point, Hyunjin snapped at a junior assistant over a jammed printer. Chan didn’t say anything—just passed by, raised a brow, and kept walking. It was enough. That look alone had enough weight to make even the most high-strung alpha think twice.
Felix stopped by around lunch to return a flash drive. He leaned in close and whispered, “You feel it too?”
“Like I’m walking through static.”
“Changbin’s talking about sleeping in the guest room until the moon passes. Said I kicked him. Twice.”
You let out a quiet laugh. “Maybe he earned it.”
“Maybe I’m just turning into a wolf by association.”
“You’d be a menace.”
He smirked. “You’d love it.”
The air only got heavier as the afternoon wore on. By three o’clock, even Minho had given up pretending he wasn’t pacing. You watched him from your desk as he walked from the copy room to the far end of the floor and back again, shoulders tight, jaw set.
Jisung had disappeared into a conference room for nearly an hour. When he came back out, his hair was a mess, and his scowl didn’t last more than a second, quickly swapped for a grin the moment he saw you. But it didn’t quite meet his eyes.
You didn’t say anything, but you noticed. The glances. The way their eyes kept flicking toward you like you were the only steady thing in the room. Like just being near you made it a little easier to breathe.
Maybe that’s why they hovered. Maybe that’s why they never wandered too far.
It wasn’t until nearly five that Chan stepped out of his glass office in the corner. His face was set, unreadable. He moved through the open floor at an unhurried pace, pausing first to say something low to Hyunjin, then to Seungmin, who looked about ready to strangle the coffee machine.
He came to you last. Stopped beside your desk. His eyes scanned your face, like he was checking on something.
“You doing okay?”
You blinked. “Me?”
He nodded once. “Everyone’s feeling the moon.”
“I’m not—”
“But you feel it.” He said gently.
You hesitated, then gave a quiet, “Yeah.”
Chan glanced toward the far side of the room, where Minho and Jisung were sitting, speaking in hushed tones. “It’s only going to get worse this week.”
“I’ll manage.”
“I know you will.”
You tipped your head at him. “But?”
He gave you a small smile. “But maybe give them space if they start acting off.”
You followed his line of sight. Jisung was rubbing the back of his neck, clearly drained. Minho’s leg wouldn’t stop bouncing, his whole body drawn tight like a wire.
“They already are.”
Chan let out a quiet breath that sounded almost like a laugh. “Just…don’t take it personally.”
You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you didn’t.
By six, most of the wolves had already cleared out—whether they were told to or just following instinct. The building emptied quicker than usual, leaving only a few lights still glowing across the floor.
You stayed behind, finishing the last of the numbers, your fingers moving quietly over the keyboard. The soft glow of your screen lit up the space around you.
“Hey.”
Jisung’s voice, softer than usual. You looked up to see both of them standing there. Jisung had his hands tucked in his pockets. Minho stood with his arms crossed, shoulders drawn tight.
“You guys heading out?” You asked.
“Yeah.” Minho said. “Didn’t want to leave without checking in.”
You offered a faint smile. “I’m fine.”
Jisung stepped a little closer. “If things get weird this week…you can text. Or call. Or just show up.”
“Show up where?”
He shrugged. “Pack house. Our place. Anywhere.”
You gave a small nod. “Thanks.”
They didn’t move right away. Minho’s gaze held yours, like he was trying to read something in your expression. Jisung looked like he already knew whatever he was hoping to find wasn’t there—but he was still waiting, just in case.
After a few seconds, they turned and walked out. You stayed, the quiet settling in again, deeper now. The office felt heavier with no one else in it. Still. Dim.
One week until the blood moon.
And whatever it would bring.
——
The office was nearly silent by the time you shut down your computer. Outside, the sun had been gone for hours. The city lights glittered through the tall windows, scattered like constellations across the skyline. Most of the pack had cleared out long ago—driven by instinct, orders, or just that restless pull to be somewhere they could breathe a little deeper, stretch their claws without consequence.
You stood and stretched, working the stiffness from your spine, trying to shake off the last threads of the day. The full moon was still a week out, but you could already feel it—tugging at the edges. In the way people spoke. In how the air felt inside the building. In yourself.
Your phone buzzed.
[Felix]
“I’m downstairs. Don’t make me come up.”
You smiled, rolling your eyes as you grabbed your bag. He was waiting at the security desk when you got there, leaning casually against the marble counter. His hair was a little windblown, his jacket unzipped like he hadn’t really felt the chill.
He wasn’t a wolf—not even a little—but he was just as stubborn as any of them. The second he decided he was driving you home all week, that had been the end of the discussion.
“Ready?” He asked.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Nope.” He said cheerfully, already steering you toward the elevator. “Bin’s orders.”
You blinked. “Changbin told you to babysit me?”
“He said, and I quote, ‘If she thinks she’s walking alone during blood moon week, she’s lost her entire human mind.’”
You laughed, probably too loud for how quiet the lobby was. “He’s so dramatic.”
Felix shrugged. “He loves you. He worries.”
The elevator ride down was quiet. When the doors opened to the underground garage, the air shifted. It was colder down here. Heavier, like it was holding its breath. You hesitated for just a second.
Felix caught it. He nudged your elbow gently. “You okay?”
You nodded. “Yeah. Just…weird vibes.”
“Weird week.” He agreed.
The drive home started out quiet. Traffic was light, and Felix had a soft synth-pop playlist playing low through the speakers—just enough sound to fill the silence without pushing it away completely. Outside, the city blurred by in streaks of amber and blue. Familiar, but distant.
You kept your eyes on the window, not really watching anything. Just sitting with whatever was stirring under your skin. It wasn’t fear exactly. Not dread either. More like a pressure that hadn’t found its shape yet. Like something was coming, but it hadn’t told you what it was. It pulsed in your chest—tight and hard to ignore.
Felix glanced over. “You’re quiet.”
“Just tired.”
“You sure?”
You hesitated. “Do you ever feel like…something’s about to happen, but you don’t know what?”
He tapped his fingers lightly on the steering wheel. “Like a good thing? Or a bad thing?”
“I don’t know,” you said. “Just…big.”
He looked at you for a beat, expression softening. “It’s probably the wolves. You’ve been around them more lately. Bond energy sticks sometimes.”
You frowned. “Sticks?”
“Kind of like secondhand smoke.” He explained. “If a bond’s strong enough, and the emotions are heavy, it can rub off on people nearby. Especially if you’re close to them. And you are. They’re always around you.”
You looked back out the window, heart thudding a little harder than before. “Yeah.”
The rest of the drive was quiet. When Felix pulled up in front of your building, he didn’t shift the car into park. Just leaned slightly toward you, his voice softer now.
“You want me to walk you in?”
You shook your head. “I’ll be alright.”
“You’ll text me?”
“Of course.”
He looked like he had more to say, but let it go. Just nodded once. “Okay. Sleep well, yeah?”
You reached over and gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “Thanks, Lix.”
The apartment was quiet when you walked in. Dark. Still. You dropped your keys in the bowl by the door and leaned back against it, eyes closing for a moment as the silence wrapped around you. It wasn’t peaceful. Just heavy.
You pushed off the door and moved through your usual routine—kicked off your shoes, poured yourself a glass of water, checked your phone. Nothing urgent. Nothing strange.
And yet, that feeling lingered. That slow, steady pressure under your skin. Like something was building inside you without a name.
You changed into pajamas and curled up on the couch, flipping through channels until something forgettable started playing in the background. You weren’t really watching. Just trying to anchor yourself in something that felt normal.
You didn’t know what you were waiting for. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. You tried not to notice the way your chest tightened whenever moonlight spilled through the window. Tried not to focus on the uneasy weight sitting low in your stomach, or the way your skin prickled sometimes like it was reacting to a shift in the air that hadn’t happened yet.
It wasn’t Minho and Jisung. That’s what you told yourself. They were bonded. Mated. Tied together in a way you didn’t belong to. You were close—friends, maybe more—but you weren’t part of that. You would’ve felt it if you were. Right?
The strange pull in your chest, the ache behind your ribs—it was probably just the pack. The moon. The tension crawling through the building all week. Being around that much wolf energy had to leave some kind of mark, even on someone like you.
Still human. A little more tuned-in than most, maybe. Sensitive. But still human. You wrapped the blanket tighter around your body. Your eyes drifted back to the window.
When sleep finally came, it brought strange dreams—full of silver light, moving shadows, and two voices calling your name. Soft enough to miss. Loud enough to stay with you.
——
The next morning came too soon. You woke before your alarm, staring up at the ceiling with your chest already tight, like something had settled there overnight. You didn’t remember dreaming—just hours of restless, shallow sleep that left you more exhausted than when you’d closed your eyes.
Outside, the sun was still dragging itself over the skyline as you moved through your routine. Nothing felt quite right. The shower was too hot. The toothpaste too sharp. Even the quiet in your apartment felt too loud.
By the time you got to the office, the world felt tilted. The elevators were silent in a way that made your ears ring. The lobby lights felt harsh, clinical. And everything inside you buzzed like static.
Sirius Holdings hummed with its usual controlled energy, but the wolves made it feel different now. Impossible to ignore. The tension you’d felt last week was still there—worse now. Tighter. Like something under the surface had finally started to shift.
The moment you stepped out onto your floor, it hit you like a pressure wave. Hyunjin rounded a corner too fast and nearly ran into you. He looked flushed, like he’d been running—or fighting something invisible. Gold bled into his eyes, bright and impossible to miss. He didn’t stop. Didn’t apologize. Just kept walking. You stood there for a second, unmoving, while a heavy knot settled in your gut.
At your desk, a post-it note waited for you in Jisung’s messy handwriting:
Coffee? Before Minho starts micromanaging everyone’s soul? — Jisung
You let out a quiet breath—maybe a laugh—and grabbed your badge.
The break room was already crowded when you walked in. Mostly wolves. A few betas clutching their coffee like lifelines. One or two omegas, quiet and tense, eyes sharp even when unfocused. Their shoulders looked how you felt.
Jisung was at the counter, sleeves pushed up, fiddling with the coffee machine like it had insulted his mother.
He looked up the second you stepped into the room, like he’d been expecting you. Not because he’d seen you, but because he’d sensed you there first. That was the only way it made sense.
His eyes met yours, and something in his posture eased. Just a little. Like whatever weight he’d been carrying finally let him breathe again.
You raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got a lot of human friends. That’s not exactly high praise.”
He grinned. “You’re the favorite. It’s a title, not a competition.”
You took the mug and wrapped your hands around it, grateful for the warmth. “Blood moon’s already messing with you, huh?”
He gave a half-smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Everyone’s a little wound up this week. Comes with the territory.”
You took a sip. “Then it’s gonna be a long one.”
“Yeah. Probably.”
Minho walked in a few seconds later, calm and collected as always—but something was different. His jaw looked tight. Shoulders a little too stiff. Like his control had turned into armor.
His gaze moved from Jisung to you, then held for a beat too long. “Morning.”
His voice was smooth. Controlled. But his eyes didn’t move.
“Morning.” You said, trying to keep your tone light—like your heart hadn’t just skipped, stumbled, and thrown itself sideways.
Minho’s eyes dropped to the mug in your hands, then flicked to Jisung. “She got yours?”
You rolled your eyes. “That’s because you dump half a bottle of vanilla in it.”
“Exactly.” Jisung said. “The perfect amount.”
Minho’s mouth twitched at the corner, a flicker of a smile that didn’t quite make it. He stepped in just close enough to reach past you for a spoon, fingers brushing yours in the process. It was quick. Casual. Like it didn’t mean anything, but your skin lit up anyway.
You stepped back and cleared your throat. “I should…check emails.”
Neither of them stopped you, and they didn’t need to. When you sat back down at your desk, you could still feel their attention on you, heavy and unspoken. Whatever had settled in your chest the night before hadn’t eased at all—it had only sunk deeper, quieter, and harder to ignore.
On the far side of the floor, Felix leaned against the partition between desks, arms crossed, eyes narrowed as he watched the exchange.
“They’re acting weirder than usual.” He said under his breath.
Changbin, sitting nearby with a tablet in hand, glanced up. “Who?”
“Minho and Jisung. You seriously don’t see it?”
This time, Changbin did look. He watched as Jisung lingered in the hallway long after you were gone. Watched the way Minho’s gaze stayed fixed on him, following every small movement like it meant something.
Changbin made a face. “Okay…yeah. That’s new.”
Felix shifted his weight, still watching. “You think Y/n notices?”
Changbin raised an eyebrow. “She’d have to be blind not to.”
Seungmin walked past behind them, a folder tucked under his arm. He didn’t look up, but his voice was dry and precise. “If the wolves don’t snap soon, the walls might.”
“No pressure.” Changbin muttered.
No one could see the moon from inside the glass tower, not from that high up. But everyone felt it. Even you.
——
The tension hadn’t left the building since the moment Minho stepped out of the elevator that morning. It clung to the halls of Sirius Holdings like a low fog—hard to see, harder to ignore.
Every breath tasted off. Every sound grated. Every movement around him felt like a disruption. The wolves were restless. Omegas kept their heads down, uneasy. Betas were short-tempered, snapping over printer queues and scheduling errors. Even the humans seemed skittish.
And Minho? Minho felt like he was coming apart from the inside.
“You’re going to break your pen.” Jisung said quietly beside him.
Minho looked down. The pen in his hand was bent clean in half. He sighed through his nose and tossed the pieces into the trash.
“That’s the second one this week.” Jisung added, voice casual but carrying a tension of its own. Minho didn’t answer.
They stood together in their office, shoulder to shoulder, facing the wide window that looked out over the city. The morning light cast everything in a soft, golden wash—but it didn’t touch the agitation in Minho’s chest.
The bond had changed everything. And now it was pulling at him. Stretching too far. Tugging against something he couldn’t reach.
It felt like pressure behind his ribs, sharp and constant. Like a presence just out of reach.
He could feel Jisung beside him like a second pulse—every mood swing, every flicker of thought, every ripple of instinct that moved too close to the surface. In the beginning, it had been too much. But the chaos faded quickly, settling into something familiar. Stabilizing.
Jisung wasn’t what made him restless. It was the absence instead—the sense that the bond hadn’t finished settling, that something essential was still missing. The feeling had been needling at him for days now, quiet but relentless, and it was driving him steadily, irreversibly insane.
Minho turned away from the window and rubbed his hands over his face. “Did you sleep?”
Jisung let out a groan and dropped into the guest chair with a sigh. “Barely. I kept waking up like I’d forgotten something.” He glanced up. “You?”
“Same.”
Silence settled between them.
Jisung started tapping his foot against the edge of the desk, restless. “Chan said it’s going to get worse the closer we get to the blood moon.”
“It already is.”
They both looked up when the air shifted—familiar, warm, unmistakably human.
You walked past the open door with a tablet in hand, your focus locked straight ahead. You didn’t glance their way, just moved down the hallway like you had a dozen things on your mind.
Minho felt something tighten in his chest. He couldn’t explain it, not really. You didn’t smell like the bond. Didn’t tug at him the way Jisung did. Didn’t show any signs of it.
But every time you passed, that low, restless hum inside him paused. Just for a moment. Like it was listening.
“She’s fine.” Jisung said quietly.
Minho looked over at him. Jisung didn’t smile. He just looked tired.
“I know.” Minho said. But he didn’t believe it.
Jisung leaned his head back against the chair, eyes on the ceiling. “What if we’re wrong? What if she’s not—”
“Don’t.” Minho said, too fast, too sharp. He shut his eyes and tried again, his voice lower. “Don’t.”
Jisung didn’t push. They sat in silence, listening to the office around them—phones ringing, keyboards clicking, people moving with the false calm of routine.
Downstairs, the omegas were restless, tension humming just beneath their skin. Upstairs, the betas were shorter with each other than usual, irritation flaring over things that normally wouldn’t matter. The humans moved through it all unaware, untouched by bonds or moons or the quiet shifts that came with them, going about their day as if nothing had changed.
But the blood moon was only six days away, and the bond had started to stir—whether their third understood it yet or not.
—
The sun had already dipped below the skyline by the time either of them noticed how late it was.
Minho locked the front door behind them with a quiet sigh, the soft click echoing in the stillness of the apartment. Jisung didn’t move at first. He stood just inside, arms loose at his sides, scanning the familiar space like something might have shifted while they were gone.
Nothing there had.
But they had.
Minho kicked off his shoes, dropped his keys in the bowl by the entry table, and walked into the living room. The apartment was spotless—of course it was—but the air felt different. He could feel the bond in it now, not just between them, but in the walls, in the quiet.
He dropped onto the couch, head tipping back against the cushion, one arm draped over the backrest. Jisung followed a moment later. He shrugged out of his coat and sat beside him—not close enough to touch, but not far either.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then Jisung said, “I dreamed about her again.”
Minho turned his head, meeting his eyes. “The same dream?”
Jisung nodded. “She’s in the woods this time. Same scent. Same feeling. But I never see her face.”
Minho closed his eyes. “It’s not fair.”
“That we found each other?” Jisung asked quietly. “Or that we haven’t found her yet?”
“Both.”
Jisung didn’t respond. They stayed there in silence, the bond between them steady and quiet, like a second heartbeat just beneath the surface. Being together helped—it steadied them—but it also made the missing piece feel more obvious, more present. The absence wasn’t fading. It was growing harder to ignore.
Minho opened his eyes and tilted his head. “Come here.”
Jisung hesitated, just for a second. Then he shifted closer until their knees touched and Minho’s arm could rest comfortably across his shoulders.
“We’re going to lose our minds if we just sit in this all night.” Minho said quietly.
Jisung looked at him. “So what do you want to do?”
Minho thought about it for a moment. “Cook.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. You chop, I’ll stir. We won’t think.”
Jisung let out a soft laugh and rested his head against Minho’s shoulder. “You really know how to romance a guy.”
“Shut up.”
But he was smiling.
The kitchen filled with the scent of garlic and butter, onions sizzling in the pan as Jisung chopped vegetables at the counter. The rhythm of it—the clink of the knife, the soft sizzle of oil—was grounding.
They moved in sync. They always had. Sometimes that scared Minho. How natural it had become.
Jisung handed him a bowl of chopped scallions without being asked. Minho tossed them into the pan and stirred them in. Neither of them said anything for a while.
As the food started to come together, Jisung leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms.
“I think she’s starting to feel it.”
Minho paused, keeping his eyes on the pan. “You think so?”
“She’s restless. I can smell it on her. She’s tired. She fidgets. Her heart speeds up when we’re close.”
Minho kept stirring. “Could just be the moon. It’s heavy right now, even for humans.”
Jisung looked at him. “You don’t believe that.”
Minho didn’t respond. Because he didn’t. They carried their plates to the couch and sat down, closer this time. Jisung leaned into Minho’s side, and Minho let him. The food helped. So did the quiet closeness. But neither of them said what they were really thinking.
What if they were wrong? What if they weren’t? What if it was her—and she never felt it?
Minho’s hand brushed lightly over Jisung’s as the last bit of light from the window spilled across the floor. Jisung turned his hand over and threaded their fingers together without a word.
“We’re not going to break.” He said softly.
Minho nodded, but stayed quiet.
Outside, the wind moved through the trees. Inside, the bond wrapped a little tighter around them—steady and unrelenting. And at the center of it all, still out of reach, was the space only she could fill.
—
They ended up in Minho’s room without really talking about it. Jisung had stayed over more times than he could count, but tonight felt different. The air was heavier. The bond between them buzzed just under the surface, no longer content to stay quiet.
Minho sat at the edge of the bed, pulling off his socks in silence. The soft rustle of fabric against skin was the only sound in the room. Jisung leaned against the doorway, watching the way Minho’s back rose and fell, muscles shifting under the silver light spilling in from the window.
“You coming to bed, or are you just going to stare all night?” Minho asked, voice dry but low.
Jisung pushed off the frame, tugging his hoodie over his head and letting it drop behind him. “Not my fault you look like that in moonlight.”
Minho didn’t laugh, not really, but the corner of his mouth twitched as he stood and turned to face him. Their eyes met, and that was all it took.
Jisung stepped in, placing a hand flat on Minho’s chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath his palm. It wasn’t racing—but it was strong. Loud.
Minho’s hands found Jisung’s hips and pulled him close until their bodies lined up, until breath mingled and the space between them disappeared. They didn’t kiss right away. They just stood there, close enough to feel the heat off each other, to breathe in the moment.
Minho leaned in and kissed him. It started slow—just a gentle press of lips, familiar and grounding—but it deepened quickly. Tongues slid together, hands gripped tighter, hips moved closer. Jisung’s fingers curled around Minho’s waist, pulling him in like he couldn’t get close enough. Minho let out a quiet sound into the kiss, guiding them back toward the bed.
Clothes came off in pieces. Shirts tossed aside, jeans pushed down without care. There was no time for order, only touch—hands on skin, mouths trailing heat, the rush of contact too much and not enough at once.
Minho pushed Jisung back onto the mattress, climbing over him with calm, deliberate control. He lowered his head to kiss along Jisung’s jaw, down his throat, tracing the dip of his collarbone with tongue and breath. He nipped, then soothed, working his way down slowly.
Jisung’s back arched as he gasped, especially when Minho’s teeth grazed the side of his neck.
“Minho—” he whispered, voice already fraying.
Minho didn’t stop. “Tell me if you want to stop.” He murmured against his skin.
“I’ll bite you if you do.” Jisung groaned.
Minho smiled at that, then moved lower, kissing over Jisung’s chest, his ribs, and the soft line of his stomach. Every press of his mouth felt intentional—measured and steady, almost reverent. Jisung’s breath caught as Minho’s hands settled at his hips, firm and grounding, thumbs rubbing slow circles into his skin.
He dipped lower, mouth tracing just above the waistband of Jisung’s boxers, his breath warm against sensitive skin. Jisung tensed, every muscle drawn tight with anticipation.
Minho slid Jisung’s boxers off his hips and finally took his cock into his mouth. Jisung’s hand flew to the back of Minho’s neck—not to guide, just to hold. To stay connected.
Minho was slow and steady, his mouth hot, his rhythm unhurried. Every motion was controlled, every flick of his tongue designed to pull Jisung closer to the edge. He didn’t rush. He didn’t tease. He built the tension with sharp precision, feeding off every sound Jisung made, every twitch of his hips.
Jisung groaned, low and broken, his fingers curling tighter against Minho’s neck. His hips jerked once, but Minho’s grip at his waist held him firm, anchoring him with the right amount of pressure.
There was hunger in the way Minho moved, but it never spilled over. He kept it contained—focused, intentional. The kind of focus that made it unbearable in the best way.
“God—Minho—” Jisung breathed, his voice shaking.
Minho didn’t respond. He didn’t slow. He just took him deeper, letting his breath catch and release in time with his motions, like the bond itself was pulsing between them—low, electric, and alive.
The sounds filling the room were soft but raw: the quiet drag of breath, the wet sounds of Minho’s mouth, the steady stream of curses falling from Jisung’s lips.
When it finally hit, it hit hard. Jisung’s body arched as his orgasm swept through him, everything pulling tight before it broke apart—his hands clutching, his voice catching, his breath stuttering out in waves.
Minho didn’t pull away right away. He eased the pace, then finally let go, pressing a kiss just above Jisung’s hip before moving back up to him.
He caught Jisung’s mouth in a soft, open kiss, letting him taste himself. The kiss was lazy and warm, Minho’s lips still wet, breathing still unsteady.
Jisung pulled him closer, arms wrapping around Minho’s shoulders as he caught his breath. “You’re dangerous.” He murmured.
Minho smiled against his lips. “Only for you.”
They shifted without speaking, Minho settling between Jisung’s thighs until their bodies lined up naturally, like they’d done this a hundred times before. He pressed his hips forward, the press of his cock against Jisung was hot and slick. The sound Jisung made was low and unguarded. It wasn’t frantic or rushed. It was deep and steady, driven by need that came wrapped in trust, by a bond that lived in muscle and bone.
Jisung’s nails dug into Minho’s back as their rhythm built, breath falling into sync with their heartbeat, heat rising between them. They moved together easily, like they knew where the other would be before it happened, every gasp and broken sound part of the same unspoken language.
Minho’s breathing turned uneven against Jisung’s neck as he pressed closer, the room dim except for the moonlight tracing their bodies where the blankets had been kicked aside. The sheets whispered beneath them, the only sound besides their shared pulse. The bond thrummed low and steady—not demanding, just present, a quiet reminder of what they were to each other. Chosen. Grounded. Sacred, even unfinished.
Jisung clung tighter, heels hooking behind Minho’s thighs to keep him close. “Don’t stop.” He breathed, voice rough and honest. “Minho—don’t—”
“I’m here.” Minho whispered, the words carrying weight. “I’ve got you.”
He cradled Jisung’s jaw and kissed him slowly, mouths open, tongues sliding together with deliberate care. Jisung melted into it, a low groan slipping free as his hands traced down Minho’s back, gripping slick skin, always reaching for more.
When Minho shifted his weight and changed the angle, Jisung whimpered at how right it felt, how deeply it settled into him. The bond tightened between them, warm and taut, threading through them like a line pulled snug, holding them exactly where they belonged.
They didn’t speak after that. Only the sounds filled the space—shallow breaths, the soft thump of the headboard against the wall, the creak of the mattress under their weight. Jisung’s voice cracked every time Minho pushed in deep and slow. Minho’s name kept slipping from his mouth like it was the only thing he could hold on to.
It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t rough. But it was everything. Minho’s rhythm started to falter, hips stuttering, breath growing heavier with every thrust. He buried his face in the curve of Jisung’s neck, groaning low as the tension finally broke. Jisung clung to him, arms tight around his shoulders, grounding them both.
They came together—quiet, breathless, undone. Neither of them moved for a long while. They just lay there, breathing through the aftershocks.
The bond settled with them, easing from that sharp, aching pull into something softer. Still present. Still real. But quieter now—like the warmth that lingers after a fire’s gone out.
Minho eventually rolled to the side, but didn’t go far. One arm stayed wrapped across Jisung’s waist, his hand resting lightly over his stomach. Their legs stayed tangled beneath the blankets, skin flushed, the occasional shiver still passing between them like a leftover spark.
Jisung turned his head and met Minho’s eyes already watching him.
“That helped.” He whispered, voice rough but soft.
Minho nodded. “Yeah.”
Neither of them smiled. Even wrapped up in each other—sated, warm, quiet—they could still feel what was missing. That space between them. The third pull. The thread left untied.
Jisung reached for Minho’s hand under the blanket and laced their fingers together.
“We’ll find her.”
Minho gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “We already did.”
Moonlight shifted across the sheets, and the bond between them held steady. For now, it was enough.
——
Y/n — That Same Night
The apartment was still warm when you got home. Quiet, in the way city apartments could be at night—where silence didn’t feel lonely until you had time to notice it.
Felix had insisted on walking you up, throwing out a joke about stalking werewolves and sketchy elevators that made you laugh. You’d hugged him, thanked him for staying, and let the door click shut behind you.
Dinner was just reheated leftovers. You took a shower, pulled on soft pajamas, checked your phone. On the surface, it was an ordinary night. But it didn’t feel that way.
You couldn’t explain it. Not the pressure building behind your eyes, or the vague itch under your skin, or the way your body felt hyperaware—too sensitive, too tuned in, like you were waiting for something you couldn’t name.
You told yourself it was the moon. Spending this much time around wolves, maybe it rubbed off. The full moon always made them restless. You saw it in the way Minho’s jaw clenched when someone walked too close. In the way Jisung laughed louder, touched more, like he had too much energy and nowhere to put it.
You weren’t like them. You knew that, and you knew you weren’t supposed to feel things the way they did. But as the apartment settled into silence, it became harder to ignore the fact that you did anyway.
Maybe it was the long day catching up to you, or maybe it was just the quiet pressing in too close. When you finally lay down, your body curled tight beneath the sheets, limbs tangled like you were trying to hold onto something you couldn’t quite name.
Your fingers drifted over your stomach without much thought, just looking for comfort. Something to ground you. But the touch didn’t stay idle for long.
Your breath caught as your hand slipped lower. Warmth bloomed under your skin. You didn’t think much—just followed the pull of sensation. The thrum between your legs. The ache that had settled there with no clear reason.
You let yourself sink into it, let the tension build slowly. Your hips began to shift, mouth parting against the sheets as your body responded like it had been waiting all along.
And just when it started to crest—when your breath stuttered and your hand moved with more purpose—their faces slipped into your thoughts.
Minho—sharp, composed, always holding something back. The way he stood a little too close when you spoke. The way his eyes lingered longer than they should have.
Jisung—warm and impulsive, all quick grins and easy charm. The kind of smile that looked careless, until it wasn’t.
Your fingers hesitated for a moment. A flicker of guilt rose in your chest. They were bonded. Mated. But the thought didn’t go away.
You could feel them under your skin now—the memory of Jisung’s hand brushing yours in passing, the sound of Minho’s voice low beside your ear during meetings, the way your name shifted when either of them said it like it meant something more.
You hadn’t planned to think of them. But your body didn’t seem to care. And when you finally came, pulled from you by your own hand—it was their names that pressed at the edge of your mind.
You lay still after, skin flushed, breath shallow, the ache in your chest twisting tighter. You didn’t know when it had started to change. When they stopped feeling like just coworkers. Just friends. When it started to sting, watching them leave the office together. When it started to feel like something inside you was missing—something you had no right to want.
Because they already had each other.
And you were just…
You sighed and rolled onto your side, the sheets damp and tangled around your legs. A sliver of moonlight stretched across the floor, pale against your skin.
You pressed your forehead into the pillow, your heart still racing, trying to slow. You told yourself it was nothing. That you were just tired. Just restless.
After Mated is done posting, im going to take another small hiatus. I'm trying to rework some stories again, like The Storm King's Bride, as im not happy with them.
I'll be back with some new stories that hopefully you'll all enjoy.
Thank you so much for your continued support, and i hope to see you all when I come back :)
Three months later, you’ve fallen into an easy routine with Minho and Jisung, used to having them around in a way that just feels normal now. But after their time away, something between them is different—quieter, deeper—and it shifts the dynamic in a way you can’t ignore. And without meaning to, you start to feel the space it creates.
MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS, DNI
Werewolf!MinSung x Human!AFAB Reader, Poly relationship, SMUT, Alpha/pack dynamics, Breeding talk/future pregnancy mention (no actual pregnancy), Emotional intimacy and aftercare, Slow-burn payoff, Mild angst with comfort
My writing is all fictional and does not represent any of the named people in any way, shape or form. All works and writing is done by me, and I do not use AI at any point in my writing.
dividers made by @cafekitsune
Three months later, you were used to having them around more often. Minho and Jisung—constant, familiar, always nearby—had quietly woven themselves into the rhythm of your days. Mornings started with Jisung singing off-key in the breakroom and Minho watching from across the conference table with that unreadable expression of his.
Lunch usually meant shared leftovers and playful arguments about whose meal prep was better. In the evenings, they both somehow ended up by the elevators at the same time, falling into step on either side of you like it was the most natural thing in the world to walk you out.
Somewhere along the way, that became your normal.
And maybe that was why you noticed it almost immediately.
You couldn’t quite put your finger on it—not right away. It wasn’t that they were close. They’d always been close, like brothers, like rivals, like wolves circling the same fire. But now the space between them felt quieter, more deliberate than before.
They moved together differently. Their conversations had taken on a new rhythm. They still bickered, still teased, but sometimes they didn’t need to speak at all. There were long silences between them now—comfortable ones—like they already knew what the other was thinking.
Minho had softened a little, especially around Jisung. And Jisung…he still flirted with anyone who smiled at him, but there was something steadier in the way he looked at Minho. Something quieter. Like respect. Like care. Like something new had taken root between them, and neither of them was in a rush to name it.
You weren’t sure what it meant—not until one quiet Wednesday, when you happened to pass the strategy room and caught the tail end of a conversation between them and Chan.
“…just need the week cleared.” Minho was saying. “No meetings. No reports. Nothing urgent.”
You stayed longer than you should’ve. Just outside the door, binder in hand, pretending to check your notes. When Jisung opened it, he found you standing there with your expression carefully neutral.
“Hey, angel.” He said, voice lighter than the moment called for. “Need something?”
You held up the binder. “Inventory audit.”
Minho took it from you with a quiet thanks. He didn’t meet your eyes.
That afternoon, a single folder appeared on the corner of your desk.
You weren’t technically supposed to see it—not directly—but supervisors often shared updates with consulting staff when it affected scheduling. This one didn’t have any fanfare. Just two forms tucked neatly inside:
Minho Lee – Annual Leave – 7 days
Han Jisung – Annual Leave – 7 days
Reason: Private pack business
At the bottom, scribbled in Jisung’s handwriting:
Don’t cause too much trouble while we’re gone. Unless it’s fun. Then take pictures.
You read it twice, then quietly filed it into your "Internal Notices" folder.
—
By Friday, word had spread fast.
Felix leaned across your desk with all the subtlety of a kid trying to sneak into a magic show. “So,” he whispered, eyes wide, “did you hear?”
You didn’t look up from your screen. “Hear what?”
“Minho and Jisung.”
“I know they’re taking time off.”
“Yeah, but do you know why they’re taking time off?” He asked, lowering his voice like the walls might be listening. “The pack knows. Everyone knows.”
You finally glanced at him. “Knows what?”
He checked the hallway, then leaned in closer. “They’re sealing it. The bond. You know…moon-bound.”
You blinked. “They’re really—?”
“Yep.” He said, clearly enjoying the drama. “They’re heading off to finalize it. Just the two of them. No pack. No phones. Just instincts, territory, and—well, you can fill in the rest.”
You tried to keep your expression neutral. “Did they tell you that?”
“No,” Felix admitted, “but it’s obvious. Everyone in the know knows. Chan signed off. Hyunjin’s been handling Minho’s review queue since Tuesday.”
You turned back to your screen. “Huh.”
Felix squinted at you. “You’re weirdly calm about this.”
“I work for a pack logistics firm.” You said. “Someone’s always taking time off for ‘private pack business.’”
“Sure, but two alphas sealing a bond? That’s not your average vacation.”
You didn’t respond.
They left without a fuss. No dramatic goodbyes. No last-minute scrambling. Just quiet. Jisung stopped by your office right before the end of the day. He was dressed down in joggers and a hoodie, a backpack slung over one shoulder. He looked more like a college student heading out for break than a division lead going off-grid.
“We’re out for the week.” He said casually.
You nodded. “I saw the notice.”
Minho joined him a moment later. True to form, he didn’t say much—just stepped forward and handed you a small envelope. Inside was a keychain from the last company retreat. A carved wolf, dark wood, worn smooth from handling.
“For luck.” Jisung said.
You looked between them. “Then good luck.”
Minho’s mouth pulled into something close to a smile. “We’ll be back.”
“I figured.”
They stayed a little longer than necessary. No reason. No words.
They lingered longer than they needed to, without saying why and without filling the space with small talk. When they finally did leave, the quiet that followed felt wrong, like something stretched too tight had finally snapped.
You couldn’t have explained it if anyone asked, but it pressed heavy in your chest all the same.
——
Monday morning returned with the usual rhythm of office life—the click of keyboards, the hiss of the espresso machine, the low hum of conversations easing back into motion after the weekend.
The difference hit you the moment you stepped onto the floor. It wasn’t in the lighting or the temperature, but in the atmosphere—something subtle, almost imperceptible, like a low vibration just under the surface. Like a vibration still humming through the walls.
Then you saw them. Minho and Jisung stood near the conference suite, side by side. Felix was talking to them, a takeout cup in one hand, gesturing lazily with the other. But it wasn’t the conversation that caught your attention—it was the way Minho stood slightly closer than he used to. The way Jisung’s hand brushed his arm mid-sentence like it was second nature. The way their eyes found each other, casually, with the ease of something familiar and practiced.
You paused, just out of sight. You knew they’d taken time off. Their week was marked on the calendar, and both had dropped their signed leave requests on your desk before they left—like they always did when it involved cross-departmental coordination. But you hadn’t expected to feel a shift. Not this clearly.
It wasn’t anything dramatic or obvious—just quiet and settled. When Jisung spotted you, his whole face lit up.
“Well, look what the moon dragged in.” He called out, already stepping away from the group to meet you halfway down the hall. “Miss me?”
“You were gone?” You said with a smile, tilting your head. “Didn’t notice.”
He draped an arm over your shoulder for a second, warm and familiar, then let go with a mock gasp. “Cold. Min, did you hear that? She’s heartless.”
Minho approached a few steps behind, coffee in hand, gaze steady as always—but softer now. There was something different in it. Something you couldn’t name yet.
“I’d say we’re surprised,” Minho said, “but she’s always like this.”
“Exactly.” Jisung sighed. “It’s part of her charm. That’s why we like her.”
“Correction.” You said, raising an eyebrow. “You like me. Minho just tolerates me.”
Minho didn’t take the bait. He sipped his coffee, then said quietly, “I don’t leave paperwork with people I don’t trust.”
You blinked. It wasn’t exactly a compliment. But it felt like one.
Jisung’s grin widened. “See? That was practically affectionate.”
You shook your head, amused, and turned toward your office. They followed without needing to be asked.
“Any disasters while we were gone?” Jisung asked, dropping into the guest chair beside your desk like he belonged there.
“Only the ones you set in motion before you left.” You said, pulling out your laptop.
Minho leaned against the wall and opened his planner. “We left you with a clean slate.”
“Sure.” You said dryly. “If you count Chan breathing down my neck and making me rewrite the entire asset audit ‘clean.’”
Jisung winced. “Oof. My bad. I owe you a muffin for that.”
“You owe me a week of muffins.”
“Wow. Harsh. Demanding. I like it.”
You smiled faintly. It was easy, settling back into the rhythm with them. Even with the subtle change in their energy—something quieter, more connected—it still felt familiar.
But you weren’t imagining it. Minho stayed a little longer than usual. Jisung sat a little closer. Their attention had always been focused when it landed on you, but now it felt like they were waiting—for you to notice, maybe. You didn’t ask what.
The rest of the day passed without much excitement. Mostly.
People came and went from your office with the usual rhythm, and Minho and Jisung went about their work like everything was business as usual. But even if no one said anything, it was obvious.
By midafternoon, Seungmin poked his head into your office.
“So…they’re officially a thing now, huh?”
You looked up. “What?”
He tilted his chin toward the hallway, leading to Minho’s office, where Jisung was currently perched on the edge of Minho’s desk, animatedly retelling some story about a logistics mix-up. Minho was watching him with the kind of quiet, steady focus that made it obvious he wasn’t really listening to the story—just to Jisung.
You glanced back at Seungmin. “They’re just close.”
“Yeah.” He said, giving you a look. “Real close.”
You didn’t say anything. Because it wasn’t your place. You were their friend. That’s what you’d always been. Even if you saw more than most. Even if your chest tightened a little when Minho’s gaze lingered too long or when Jisung leaned in just a little too close.
Even if you didn’t understand why it got to you the way it did.
—
You stayed late finishing up vendor emails, and by the time you packed up, the floor was nearly empty. Jisung was in the breakroom when you passed by, alone and humming something low and tuneful under his breath while he poured hot water over a tea bag. A few moments later, Minho showed up—like he always did, like gravity had quietly pulled him into the same orbit.
They both looked over when they noticed you walking by.
“Burning the midnight oil?” Jisung asked.
“Trying to keep the company from falling apart.” You said.
“You’re the real Alpha.” He replied, raising his mug in a half-salute.
Jisung nodded beside him. “Settled. Like something finally clicked into place.”
You nodded slowly. “Glad it went well.”
There was a brief silence.
Then Jisung asked, more softly this time, “You’d tell us if something felt…off?”
You frowned. “Off how?”
He glanced at Minho, who held his stare for a second too long.
“Never mind.” Jisung said quickly, flashing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just checking in.”
You tilted your head. “Why would anything feel off?”
“No reason.” Minho said. Too smoothly.
You looked between them, trying to read whatever they weren’t saying. Before you could ask again, a voice called from the hallway.
“Hey.” Hyunjin said, stepping into view with a stack of folders in his arms. “You guys hear the next full moon’s supposed to be a blood moon?”
Jisung perked up. “When?”
“Three months.” Hyunjin said.
Minho went still.
Jisung leaned forward. “A strong one?”
“Supposedly.” Hyunjin said. Then he was gone, disappearing down the hall like he hadn’t just dropped something heavy into the room.
You looked back at Minho and Jisung. “Is that supposed to mean something?”
Jisung grinned. “Just means the moon’s about to get real nosy.”
You didn’t laugh.
“Anything I should know?” You asked.
Minho’s voice was quiet. “Not yet.”
You didn’t know why, but those two words followed you all the way home.
Not yet.
——
It started like any other Thursday. The weather couldn’t make up its mind—caught somewhere between the last warmth of summer and the first breath of autumn. Your commute had been uneventful. The train was quieter than usual, and the sun was just sharp enough to make you squint, even with your sunglasses on. All in all, a normal morning.
You settled in at your desk with a fresh cup of coffee and a half-hearted plan to finally tackle your overflowing inbox. Around you, the building had already found its rhythm—department heads filing into early meetings, interns juggling coffee orders, the familiar churn of printers echoing from the supply room.
But something felt different.
Minho and Jisung returned from their week-long leave at the start of the week, and while you’d seen them—talked with them, even—something about today felt…off. Not in a bad way. Not exactly. More like a quiet charge in the air. A low hum of awareness. Like the space around them had shifted, and no one else had quite caught up to it yet.
You hadn’t said anything. You didn’t want to read too much into it. They were your friends. Technically your superiors, sure—but also the two people who had stood beside you through the worst policy rewrites of the year, through long nights and last-minute disasters. You’d shared inside jokes, stolen lunches, and drinks after work. You knew them.
Or at least, you liked to think you did.
They weren’t quite the same this week. Not in obvious ways. Not enough for most people to notice. But you did.
Minho had always carried himself with composure, but now there was a deeper kind of stillness to him. A quiet certainty in the way he moved, the way he spoke. His gaze lingered longer when it landed on Jisung. His voice softened slightly when they were in the same room.
Jisung was still his usual self—bold, talkative, always ready with a joke—but the constant edge of restlessness had eased. He seemed more grounded. More present. Like something in him had finally settled.
You’d seen it in how they moved around each other. The way they shared space. The way Minho’s hand brushed over Jisung’s back in passing—not casually, but instinctively. And the way Jisung leaned into the touch like it was familiar. Like it had always been that way.
It hadn’t been. Not before they left. And now—
You stopped the thought before it could go any further and turned back to your screen. You still had four flagged emails to get through, all marked urgent. It wasn’t your business.
—
By mid-morning, the office was buzzing. Word had gotten out about a potential client pitch for next week, and the operations floor was already in overdrive. You stepped away from your desk to follow up on a request from legal and ended up passing through reception, where a small stack of misrouted paperwork was waiting.
Most of it was routine—internal memos, invoice copies—but one thick envelope was labeled for Minho’s office. You picked it up without thinking, already headed toward the executive wing.
The hallway was quiet. Most people were out to lunch or buried in meetings. Your footsteps were muted by the carpet, the overhead lights hummed faintly, and the only sound came from the occasional murmur of voices behind closed doors.
As you rounded the corner, you adjusted the folder in your arms and noticed Minho’s door sitting slightly ajar—not open, not shut, just barely cracked. You hadn’t meant to pay attention, and you definitely hadn’t meant to stop, but then you heard laughter.
It was Jisung’s, low and warm and easy to recognize, followed by Minho’s voice. You couldn’t catch the words, but the tone made you hesitate. It was softer than you’d ever heard from him, stripped of the usual control.
You slowed without thinking. Just for a second. Your hand shifted, your step angled closer, and the door gave way a little more. You hadn’t meant to look, but you did—and the moment you saw inside, everything else seemed to fade out.
They were standing close—closer than you’d ever seen them before. Minho’s hand was cupped behind Jisung’s ear, his thumb moving slowly along his jaw like it was something he’d done a hundred times. Jisung looked relaxed in a way you weren’t used to seeing, eyes half-lidded, a small, easy smile on his mouth like he wasn’t thinking about anything except the person in front of him.
The kiss didn’t feel sudden. It just…happened. Minho leaned in without hesitation, and Jisung met him halfway, still smiling. It wasn’t intense or hurried—just quiet and sure of itself, like they’d done this before. That was what made it hit the hardest—it didn’t look new. It looked real.
Your shoe scraped lightly against the doorframe before you could stop it. The sound was barely there, but in the silence it carried. Minho pulled back first, eyes snapping toward the door, and Jisung turned a second later, the softness on his face giving way to surprise.
“Y/n—shit.” He said, breathless. “We didn’t hear you.”
You stood frozen in the doorway, envelope still in your hands.
“Mail.” You said, your voice steadier than you expected. You lifted the folder slightly, a half-shrug following. “It was at the front desk.”
Minho didn’t flinch. He stepped forward and opened the door wider. “Come in.”
You hesitated, then stepped inside, placing the envelope on the nearest counter before turning to face them. Jisung looked like he wanted to speak. The flustered look from moments earlier had faded into something quieter. Hesitant.
You spoke before he could. “It’s your office. You don’t owe me an explanation.”
Minho’s brow creased, just slightly. “Still—”
“It’s fine.” You said, a little too quickly. And it was. Or at least, it should’ve been.
They were bonded now, mated in the way wolves understood without needing explanation. The moon chose, and the pack adjusted around it. You had always known you weren’t part of that equation, and yet your throat felt tight as you turned to walk away.
“Thanks for bringing it.” Minho said behind you.
Jisung looked like he wanted to say something else, like he was weighing whether to reach for you again, but in the end he stayed quiet. You gave a small nod and walked out before either of them could change their minds.
The rest of the day dragged. You threw yourself into work—finalizing vendor contracts, reviewing onboarding details for next week’s hires, sending out end-of-month reminders—anything that kept your hands moving and your thoughts in order. You stayed focused, kept your tone steady, answered emails like nothing had shifted.
But the scene kept replaying anyway. Not even the kiss itself, but the space around it—the quiet between them, the ease. The way it felt like something had finally clicked into place, like they’d both let out a breath they’d been holding for years.
You weren’t jealous. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself. You were happy for them, genuinely. They deserved something solid—something that could soften Minho’s edges and give Jisung somewhere steady to land. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t feel the shift.
It wasn’t about them. It was about where you stood now. You had always slipped easily into their rhythm without needing to define it—the third chair at lunch, the steady voice when Jisung pushed too far, the reminder Minho needed when he worked himself too hard. You were their friend. That had always felt certain.
Now, you weren’t sure where you fit.
They’d never said anything. Never hinted at anything beyond friendship. Jisung flirted—he always had—but it had never crossed a line. Minho was steady and protective, but he kept his emotions close. You’d never mistaken any of it for more than care.
You knew they were bonded…but…maybe you’d been wrong. Maybe you’d wanted something that was never yours to want.
You pushed the thought aside and kept working.
When the office finally emptied out, you stayed. Not because you had too much to do—but because it was easier than walking past their desks. Easier than pretending nothing had shifted. Easier than pretending you didn’t suddenly feel out of place.
By the time you shut down your computer, the building was quiet.
And you still didn’t have an answer for why that moment—brief and unspoken—had shaken something loose inside you.
Or why it felt like something was slipping away.
Something you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding onto.
——
Minho leaned back in his chair, the soft click of the door closing behind you still echoing in his ears.
Across from him, Jisung sat forward, elbows resting on his knees, brow furrowed in thought. Neither of them spoke right away. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was full—heavy with something neither of them had the words for yet.
The kiss hadn’t lasted long. Just a moment. But it had felt right. Steadying. Like something they’d both wanted for longer than they’d let themselves admit. And you had seen it.
It wasn’t a secret. Not really. You already knew. Everyone did. The bond had been quietly acknowledged since they returned. Most of the pack had picked up on it immediately—Chan, Hyunjin, Seungmin, Jeongin. Maybe not all the humans, but the wolves knew. No one questioned it.
Except maybe you. Not out loud. Not directly. But the way your expression shifted, how you smoothed it over too quickly—the way your shoulders tensed just slightly—none of it had gone unnoticed.
“She didn’t look angry.” Jisung said quietly. “But it was like…she braced for it.”
Minho nodded. “Like she already expected it. But it still landed.”
“She knew we were bonded,” Jisung murmured. “So why did it feel like it caught her off guard?”
Minho didn’t answer right away. He pressed his fingers together, thinking. “Maybe it’s not about knowing. Maybe it’s about seeing it.”
“Or maybe,” Jisung said, his voice softer now, “she thought things wouldn’t change.”
That landed harder than either of them expected.
Minho let out a long breath. “Have they?”
Jisung looked over at him. “Not to us. But maybe to her.”
They had left as three friends and returned as something else entirely. Bonded. Mated. Bound beneath the moon in a ritual older than memory. The connection between them had settled deep, steady and anchoring, but even then it hadn’t felt entirely complete.
Sometimes the bond ached in the quiet moments between breaths, subtle enough to ignore but impossible to dismiss. It carried the sense that it was still reaching for something, still searching for the piece that hadn’t found its place yet.
“She didn’t look hurt…” Jisung said after a while. “Just…caught off guard.”
Minho watched the sunlight inch across the floor. “Caught off guard means she felt something.”
“She always feels something,” Jisung said, his voice softer now. “She just doesn’t always let it show.”
“Then why now?”
Jisung didn’t respond. He had an answer…he just wasn’t ready to say it out loud.
Minho pushed to his feet and crossed to the window, resting his palm against the glass as he looked out over the city below.
“You think it’s her, don’t you?”
Jisung didn’t play dumb. “I don’t know if it is her.” He said quietly. “But I hope.”
Minho turned slightly, just enough to catch his expression. “She hasn’t shown any signs.”
“Neither did we, at first.”
Minho looked away again. “It’s been months.”
“She’s human.”
Those two words lingered between them, heavier than either of them wanted to admit.
It wasn’t common for the moon to bond wolves to humans, but it happened. The bond had rules, at least in theory, though they weren’t always easy to understand. Sometimes it took its time. Sometimes it waited for the right moment. And sometimes it ignored logic entirely, moving on instinct alone—on something deeper than reason.
“She saw the kiss.” Minho said quietly.
“And it changed something.” Jisung finished.
They didn’t speak after that, but the silence between them wasn’t empty. It carried weight—unspoken thoughts they both understood without needing to say them out loud. If she was the one, the bond would awaken in time. They just didn’t know when, or what it would take to spark it.
But they knew one thing for sure: They weren’t done waiting. Not yet.
——
The moon had already started to rise by the time Minho and Jisung reached the pack house. New moons always stirred something deep. The energy in the air felt old—something that hummed through the trees and settled under the skin. It made your bones feel like they remembered things your mind didn’t. The wolf inside pushed closer to the surface, restless and alert.
The pack house sat just beyond the city’s reach, tucked into the edge of the Han forest where the sky opened wide and the stars came out without a fight. The gravel crunched under their shoes as they stepped up onto the porch. The front door was already open, waiting for them.
Seungmin leaned against the frame. “You’re late.”
Jisung scrunched his face. “We’re not late. We’re perfectly on time.”
“For newly bonded wolves?” Seungmin raised an eyebrow. “You’re basically late in style.”
Minho stepped past him with a quiet grunt, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth. “We’re here now.”
Inside, the house was warm and alive with energy. You could feel the buzz of wolves readying for the new moon—feet moving quickly across the floor, voices rising and falling. Someone had pulled together long tables in the main room, candles flickering along the wooden surface. Platters of food were already filling the space—roasted meat, herbs, bread still warm from the oven. There was wine somewhere, and laughter from the back room. People moved through the house with the ease of those who belonged.
Jisung took a slow breath. “It smells like home.”
Minho nudged him with his shoulder. “You getting sentimental now?”
“It’s a new moon. I’m allowed.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m mated now.” Jisung said with mock seriousness. “I’m complex.”
At the head of the table, Chan stood with his arms folded, surveying the room. His eyes landed on them as soon as they walked in. Something shifted in his face—approval, maybe, or recognition—but he didn’t say anything at first. Just gestured for them to come over.
Seungmin veered off toward the drink table with a muttered comment about omegas hoarding the good snacks again.
Minho and Jisung made their way over to Chan. He didn’t speak right away—just looked at them both, eyes steady and sharp.
“You’re not settled.” He said finally.
Jisung blinked. “What?”
“You’re bonded. Mated. But something’s still off.”
Minho’s jaw tightened. “We’re fine.”
Chan didn’t budge. “No, you’re not.”
Jisung let out a quiet sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not between us. That part’s…solid.”
“Then what is it?” Chan asked.
Minho hesitated. “We haven’t found them yet.”
Chan’s brow lifted slightly. “Your third?”
Jisung gave a small nod. “We can feel it. The bond—it’s not complete. There’s still something missing.”
Chan exhaled, slow and measured. “I figured the moon chose three. I just thought you already knew who it was.”
“If we did,” Minho said quietly, “we wouldn’t feel this unsettled.”
Chan studied them, his expression unreadable. “It’s coming. Whatever piece you’re missing, it’ll fall into place when the timing’s right.”
Jisung glanced toward the window where moonlight had begun to spill across the floor. “We keep thinking it’s close. Like it’s circling us.”
“It probably is.” Chan said. “The moon doesn’t get it wrong. If she bonded the two of you first, it’s because you needed that foundation before she brought in the third.”
Minho folded his arms. “We just thought we’d know by now.”
“You might already,” Chan said, “but that doesn’t mean you’re ready to see it.”
Jisung frowned. “What are you saying?”
Chan looked between them. “The bond won’t complete until all three of you are ready. Maybe she’s waiting on you. Or maybe you’re the ones still catching up.”
Minho opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.
Jisung rubbed at his jaw. “So what are we supposed to do until then?”
“Stay close.” Chan said. “Be present. Listen to the bond. She’ll make herself known when the time is right.”
Just then, Seungmin returned and handed Jisung a glass of wine. “You both look like someone told you you're being sent back to basic training.”
“Feels like it.” Jisung muttered.
“Still no luck?” Seungmin asked, his voice dropping.
Minho gave a short shake of his head.
Seungmin shrugged. “Then do yourselves a favor—don’t scare her off when she finally shows up.”
Minho let out a quiet breath, maybe halfway to a laugh. Jisung didn’t say anything, just stared down into the dark red swirl of his drink.
As the night went on, the rest of the pack began to gather around the long tables. The room filled with the rich scent of grilled meat and rosemary. Candles flickered along the centerpieces, throwing soft shadows across the beams overhead.
Laughter came easily tonight. Maybe it was the relief of a long month finally behind them, or maybe it was just the pull of the new moon, making everything feel a little more alive. The air felt charged in a way only wolves understood—like the wildness beneath their skin was rising to the surface, aching for release. The pack moved in sync, each voice folding into the next, each gesture echoing a bond that ran deeper than blood.
Outside, a few younger betas had taken over the edge of the porch. They wrestled barefoot in the leaves, snapping playful snarls and shoving each other down into the dirt. One yelped dramatically as he was tackled, and the laughter that followed was loud enough to shake the rafters.
Inside, omegas floated between the kitchen and the tables, ferrying platters and teasing each other over portion sizes and favorite cuts. Their voices wove through the room like threads, bright and warm, layered with the sounds of clinking glass and the scrape of chairs.
In the corners, older wolves had settled into their usual spots. Their conversations moved slower—stories traded across generations, hands gesturing to phantom prey, wild hunts, and nights where the moon turned red. One of them laughed so hard he nearly tipped over in his chair, and the others just shook their heads, smiling like they’d heard it all before and loved every retelling.
Hyunjin was sitting on the steps outside with Jeongin, sitting against the railing, knees bumping now and then as they watched the clouds drift across the sky. Jeongin spoke quietly, his voice nearly lost to the breeze, but every so often Hyunjin let out a soft laugh—enough to show he was listening. There was an ease between them, something unhurried. Like the stillness that settles after a run.
Not far from them, Seungmin crouched beside the fire pit, lazily stirring the coals with a long stick. The embers cracked and popped in response, sending up little bursts of orange light. He didn’t glance up as a group of omegas passed behind him, laughing at some private joke, but the slight tilt of his head toward them made it clear—he was paying attention. He always did.
Inside, Minho and Jisung moved through the house in a comfortable rhythm. They mingled, shared drinks from mismatched cups, exchanged greetings and casual jabs—but they never drifted far from each other. There was a subtle tether between them, the kind that didn’t pull sharply but still held tight. It kept their movements nearly in sync, their awareness wrapped around one another without effort.
Jisung’s grin came easily. He laughed, flirted, told stories like he always had—but Minho could feel the edge beneath it. That quiet flicker of something unsettled, the same restlessness that had followed them both back from the city. And Jisung, for all his brightness, felt the heaviness in Minho too—the tightness in his shoulders, the silence that said more than any words could.
The bond had changed them. It had deepened everything, made every emotion clearer between them. But it couldn’t erase the thing they still hadn’t found. The absence neither of them could name aloud. No matter how close they stood, no matter how steady the bond felt between them—they both knew something was missing.
Across the room, Chan stood from his chair. He scanned the space like someone taking stock, not with suspicion but with care. He didn’t need to speak to command attention. A quiet nod here, a steadying hand there—his presence anchored everything. He wasn’t loud about it. He didn’t need to be.
When he made his way over to Minho, he didn’t say anything at first. He just raised his glass and tapped it gently against Minho’s. The soft clink wasn’t loud enough to turn heads, but it resonated anyway—small, grounding, familiar. Minho didn’t smile, not exactly, but the tension in his chest eased just a little.
“She’s coming.” Chan said quietly, his eyes sweeping across the candlelit room.
Minho didn’t look away from the window. His gaze stayed on the way the shadows flicked across the floor. “You’re sure?”
“I’ve never been more certain.”
The pause that followed carried weight. It settled between them, heavy with the weight of things neither of them needed to say out loud.
Behind them, the sounds of the pack filled the space. Plates clinked as food was passed down the table. Laughter broke out near the fire. Two wolves leaned in close beside the hearth, their foreheads resting together in a moment of quiet affection. Beyond the house, the trees rustled in the wind, and a lone howl echoed in the distance. It wasn’t a warning—just a reminder.
Tonight, everything should have felt complete. The pack was whole, steady, settled into itself. And yet Minho and Jisung could still feel the absence.
It lingered at the edge of their bond, subtle but constant, like a space that hadn’t been claimed yet. Not loud or urgent—just there, waiting. Something just out of reach, close enough to feel but impossible to name.
Above them, the full moon hung silent and patient. Whatever she’d chosen, she wasn’t finished yet.
——
Darkness pressed gently against the apartment windows, the new moon leaving the sky bare and the hardwood floors untouched by silver light. You hadn’t turned on the lights—not because you forgot, but because it felt wrong to break the stillness. The quiet had a weight to it tonight, something soft and sacred, and switching on a lamp felt like it would ruin it.
You sat curled on the couch, legs tucked beneath a blanket, a half-finished glass of wine sitting untouched on the coffee table. The TV played some romcom you’d seen a dozen times, the volume low enough to fade into the background. You weren’t really watching it anyway.
You felt off. Not anxious or upset—just faintly unsettled in a way you couldn’t quite name. It had started around sunset and hadn’t eased since.
You thought things would ease up after the last full moon. The office had calmed down, Minho and Jisung had taken the time off they needed, and you figured once they came back, everything would return to normal. You’d fall back into the familiar rhythm—the jokes, the banter, the quiet way you all moved around each other like it meant something.
But it didn’t go back to that. They came back different—closer, stronger. The kind of different you could feel the second they walked into the room. Their bond wasn’t subtle anymore. It wasn’t just two best friends sharing a shorthand or wolves running the same path. It was deeper now—rooted, sealed, finished. You didn’t ask about the details of the claiming. You weren’t sure you wanted to know.
You told yourself you were happy for them. And you were. But the tightness in your chest didn’t go away.
You noticed every time Jisung looked at Minho like the world could end and he wouldn’t flinch. You noticed the way Minho’s hand found Jisung’s back in the elevator, steady and familiar, like it had always belonged there.
They were mated now, bonded in a way that changed things, and you were still just their friend. So you couldn’t quite understand why it had felt like something inside you shifted the moment they came back.
You drew in a slow breath and tried to focus on the television, but whatever scene was playing blurred together, your attention slipping away from it almost immediately.
A flicker of movement pulled your attention. The little moonlight had shifted as clouds drifted past, changing the pattern of shadows across the floor. You glanced toward the window and caught your own reflection in the glass. The screen behind you gave it a faint glow, but it looked far away. Distant. A little bit hollow.
You looked…lonely. Not in a pitiful way. You were used to your own company. You liked your space, your independence. But tonight, it felt different. The quiet felt heavier. Not solitude—just absence. Like something should’ve been there, but wasn’t.
Your phone buzzed on the table. It was a message from Jisung.
[Jisung]
"Did you eat?"
A simple question. Familiar. The kind of thing he asked all the time without thinking, half out of habit, half out of care. Still, you paused before answering.
[You]
"Yeah. You?"
The reply came almost instantly:
[Jisung]
"Yeah. Pack dinner. You know how it is."
And you did. You’d never been to one, never seen it firsthand, but you’d heard the stories. The full moon nights. The way the pack came together. The closeness. The shared meals, the laughter, the warmth. The way bonds grew stronger just by being near each other. The kind of belonging that ran deeper than friendship.
You tried to picture it. What it might feel like to be chosen like that—to belong in a way that didn’t require explanation. Not just wanted. Needed.
You didn’t respond. Instead, you turned off the television and let the room fall into silence again. Outside, the clouds moved on. The moonlight returned, spilling back across the floor in soft silver.
For a moment, you felt it—a low hum beneath your skin. Not loud, not even physical, but something deep beneath the surface. Like the air shifted. Like your skin remembered something your mind didn’t. But then it passed. You blinked and it was gone.
You shook your head, picked up your empty glass, and walked into the kitchen. Told yourself it was just another quiet night. But the ache stayed in your chest. And the moonlight stretched across the floor behind you.
You’re settling into life at Sirius Holdings, learning how to move within a pack that runs on quiet authority and instinct just beneath its polished surface. Somewhere along the way, you slip into something close with Minho and Jisung—easy, familiar, and hard to define, built on routine and unspoken understanding. But as the full moon gets closer, the atmosphere shifts, and you can feel that something is changing, even if you can’t quite name what it is yet.
MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS, DNI
Werewolf!MinSung x Human!AFAB Reader, Poly relationship, SMUT, Alpha/pack dynamics, Breeding talk/future pregnancy mention (no actual pregnancy), Emotional intimacy and aftercare, Slow-burn payoff, Mild angst with comfort
My writing is all fictional and does not represent any of the named people in any way, shape or form. All works and writing is done by me, and I do not use AI at any point in my writing.
dividers made by @cafekitsune
The lobby of Sirius Holdings smelled like polished steel and old money. You’d never seen a logistics firm this pristine. The glass walls were spotless, the black tile floors gleamed, and even the receptionist looked like she belonged in a military office—pressed uniform, perfect posture. No branded hoodies. No casual Friday vibe. That was your first clue this pack didn’t operate like the others. The silence was the second.
There wasn’t any idle chatter or unnecessary movement—just the low hum of elevators, the soft click of shoes on tile, and the sense that everything ran on an invisible clock. People moved with purpose here—coordinated, careful, and always aware.
You weren’t new to supernatural consulting. But this was the first time you’d been assigned to a pack this large, this organized. A contract like this could change your entire career…if you didn’t screw it up.
Six weeks in, you were still figuring it out. The badge clipped to your blazer read External Analyst, Tier 1—a polite way of marking you as human. You’d worked with smaller packs before. This wasn’t like them. Seoul operated on structure. Clearly defined ranks. Oversight teams. Internal audits. There were rules, roles, and more red tape than you thought possible for a group that used to run on instinct and blood.
At first glance, it felt almost corporate—clean lines, controlled voices, the kind of atmosphere built on routine and quiet authority. But the illusion didn’t hold once you paid attention. The way they moved around each other was too fluid, too instinctive, and the looks they exchanged carried something far more intimate than business.
They didn’t bare their teeth in public or posture or growl. They didn’t have to. The authority here ran deeper than that. It lived in the silence. In the way conversations paused when someone higher walked in. In how no one ever had to ask who was in charge.
You were doing your best not to trip over any of it.
You were halfway through drafting a compliance revision when Han Jisung dropped into the seat across from you like he owned the place.
“Do you ever stop typing?” He asked, head tilted, eyebrow raised.
You didn’t look up. “Do you ever read the reports I send you?”
He smirked. “That’s what I keep Minho for.”
You gave him a flat look. “You’re the worst.”
“And you’re cute when you’re stressed.”
Your fingers paused over the keyboard for a split second—barely noticeable, but long enough for him to see it.
His grin widened, just a little too pleased with himself. “I’m kidding.” He said, like that would smooth it over.
It didn’t, not really, but it also wasn’t surprising. Jisung flirted with everyone. He was one of the few high-ranking alphas who didn’t act like the company ran on his blood and last name.
On days without client meetings, he showed up in hoodies, laughed too loud in the breakroom, and knocked things over in meetings more often than he’d admit. You liked him more than you meant to, which was probably part of the problem.
You tried not to think too hard about how he always seemed to end up near you.
“I brought you a drink.” He said, sliding an iced coffee across the table like it was some kind of peace offering.
“I don’t take bribes.”
“It’s not a bribe.” He said, leaning in a little. “It’s a thank-you. For dragging yourself through the soul-crushing hell that is our expansion paperwork.”
You let out a quiet sigh. “I hate that you’re charming.”
“I don’t.” He said without missing a beat. “You like me better this way.”
Unfortunately, he wasn’t wrong. You were still trying to come up with a decent comeback when the conference room door opened—and the energy in the room shifted in an instant. Lee Minho didn’t say anything when he walked in. He didn’t need to.
People moved around him like it was instinct. Even Jisung leaned back in his seat a little, his posture easing, body language softening like it always did in Minho’s presence. There was something about him that cut straight through a room. He moved with quiet precision, like every step had already been decided. He wore black like it belonged to him.
“Contract update?” He asked, eyes flicking to the folder in your hand.
“Draft three.” You said, rising from your chair as you passed it to him. “This version includes the non-territorial transit clauses and the updated human disclosure protocols.”
He took the file without touching you. His fingers brushed the edge of the paper—careful, measured, like he’d done it a thousand times before.
“Good.” He said after scanning the first page. “You’ll need to go over this with Chan this afternoon.”
“Of course.”
His eyes stayed on you for a second too long. It didn’t feel like flirtation. It felt calculated—like he was studying a move mid-game, trying to decide if it was clever or careless. You couldn’t tell if it meant approval or concern. You weren’t sure you wanted to know.
“Thanks for your time.” You said, already gathering your notes and laptop.
You didn’t see him cross the room, but when you turned, Minho was already at the door, holding it open like he’d been there the whole time. He didn’t say anything. You brushed past him, quiet, and Jisung fell in step behind you just as wordlessly.
They didn’t say a word to each other on the way out. But the second the door clicked shut, you caught the sound of Jisung’s laugh—low, amused, and edged with something that almost sounded like disbelief.
—
Your office was on the west side of the building. You’d chosen it for the morning light—and because it was exactly three steps from the kitchenette, where Felix always kept the good snacks.
Felix, the only other human on the floor, was technically in security. But you were pretty sure his job involved more than just watching camera feeds.
“You’re popular today.” He said as you walked in.
You dropped your bag on the desk. “What happened now?”
“Minho and Jisung.” He said, already grinning. “Trailing after you like two wolves following the same scent.”
You shot him a look. “Don’t start.”
“I’m just saying,” he teased, tossing a grape into his mouth, “you might want to start carrying silver.”
You groaned. “That’s not even how silver works.”
“Still,” he said, chewing slowly, “you can’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”
“They’re coworkers.”
“They’re alphas.”
“And I’m not their type.”
Felix raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”
You didn’t respond. It wasn’t that you didn’t have an answer. It just didn’t matter. This was a job. You were here to work. Even if Jisung flirted too much and Minho looked at you like he was trying to figure out what made you tick—even if your heart picked up every time either of them stood too close—you were a professional.
——
One year later.
Jisung was passed out on your office couch—shoes kicked off, hoodie pulled over his head, half a granola bar slowly melting into the crease of your throw pillow like he’d moved in without asking.
You tapped your mug against the edge of your desk. Twice.
He didn’t budge.
You tried again, louder this time. “Ji.”
Still nothing.
From the doorway, Minho’s voice drifted in. “Throw something at him.”
You didn’t look back. “You say that like it won’t end with me getting bit.”
“Good point,” he said thoughtfully. “Use a stapler. Something metal.”
“I’m not throwing a stapler at your packmate.”
“Yet.” Minho replied, stepping into the office. “Give it another quarter.”
You turned in your chair, resting your mug against your knee. Minho looked the same as always—sharp black slacks, crisp collar, tailored blazer that sat just right at the shoulders. But the constant, watchful stillness he carried in those early weeks was gone. Lately, he’d been smiling more. Not big, showy smiles—just small ones that slipped out before he could stop them. You caught them when no one else did, and every time, it felt a little personal.
You’d learned the rhythm here—the way they moved around each other, the way their connection settled into the room without effort. Wolves didn’t fake closeness, and they didn’t hand it out lightly. Bonding took time, and earning a place among them took even longer.
Somewhere along the way, you had. You didn’t feel like an outsider anymore. Not here. Not with them. You weren’t pack, not officially, but you were close enough to feel the difference—and important enough that it mattered.
Minho’s gaze slid over the office, pausing on the stack of paperwork near the side table. “You’re already working through territory transport?”
“I like to stay ahead.”
He gave you a look. “You’re a menace.”
You lifted a shoulder. “You love that about me.”
“I tolerate it.”
Jisung mumbled something into the pillow, dragging a hand over his face. “Minho,” he whined, “tell her to stop clacking around like a laptop goblin. I’m trying to rest.”
“It’s her office.” Minho said flatly. “Go to yours.”
“My couch is comfier.”
Minho glanced over at you. “Why does he even have access to your office?”
“Because,” you said sweetly, “I let him in.”
“You let him in once.”
“And now he never left.”
“I’m still here, by the way…” Jisung groaned, sitting up. His hood fell off his head, showing that his hair was now a mess, sticking out in every direction. His hoodie wrinkled and half-zipped. “You two always talk about me like I’m not in the room.”
“We’d talk like this even if you weren’t.” You said without missing a beat.
“That’s worse.”
You tossed him a bottle of water. He caught it easily, twisting off the cap and leaning forward, elbows on his knees.
“We still on for tonight?” he asked.
“Dinner?”
“Movie night.” He corrected. “Minho’s place. You, me, takeout, and Minho pretending he doesn’t care we’re eating through half his freezer.”
“I never agreed to host.” Minho said, completely deadpan.
“You never said no.”
“I’m still not saying yes.”
“You already vacuumed.” Jisung said with a grin. “I saw the vacuum lines.”
Minho sighed. “I’m going to stop letting you into my apartment.”
“You’d miss me.”
The banter had settled into something familiar by now—its own kind of rhythm. Somewhere along the way—maybe after the third fire drill at 2 a.m. or that weekend you all got snowed in at the office finishing Red Zone renewal forms—you stopped being coworkers and became something more.
There was no announcement. No conversation. You just…settled into each other’s lives.
You knew how Minho liked his coffee—black, but not too hot. You knew Jisung overloaded his schedule every week until Minho quietly deleted half of it. They knew when your concentration was slipping and when you just needed to be left alone. You knew when Jisung needed noise and when Minho needed silence.
There were inside jokes stacked between meetings. Wordless glances that said more than full sentences. You’d been to both their apartments. You held Jisung’s wrist while he got a tattoo in Hongdae. You helped Minho tape his ribs after a patrol went sideways. You’d crashed on both their couches more than once.
But for all the closeness, for all the familiarity—nothing had ever crossed the line. Not once.
Jisung still flirted, of course. It was just part of who he was—like breathing. He flirted when he was in a good mood, when he was bored, or when he wanted to make you laugh. But he never pushed. Never crossed a line. He always knew how far to take it, and he always pulled back, even when the look in his eyes suggested he wanted more.
Minho didn’t flirt. That wasn’t his style. But he always gave you the better chair in a crowded room. He kept a spare of your favorite pen in his desk and handed it over without a word when yours ran dry. He walked you to your car at the end of the day, even when it was still bright outside and the building had three guards on shift.
It wasn’t romantic. Not exactly. But it was something, and you didn’t know what to name it.
—
Later that night, you were curled up in the corner of Minho’s sectional, a blanket tucked around your legs while Jisung stretched out across the other end, feet propped on the coffee table like he owned the place.
“I’m picking the movie this time.” He announced. “No one can stop me.”
“You picked last time.” You said.
“No.” He argued, pointing a lazy finger at Minho. “Minho picked last time. He just tricked me into thinking it was my choice.”
Minho didn’t even look up. “Don’t give me that much credit.”
“I never give you enough.”
You sank deeper into the cushions, half-smiling as they kept going. Their banter faded into background noise, familiar and comforting. Your hands were wrapped around a warm mug, the scent of cinnamon and honey mixing with the soft smell of Minho’s place—bergamot, lemon balm, and something more instinctual beneath it. Woodsy, clean. Wolf.
You didn’t notice right away when Minho sat next to you. But you felt it when his arm brushed against yours. He was warm. Solid. Steady.
Jisung’s voice called across the room. “You falling asleep already?”
“No.” You murmured, though it wasn’t very convincing.
Minho glanced over, then back at the screen. “You can stay here if you want.”
You looked at him. “What about work?”
“It’s Friday.”
“I still have emails.”
He shrugged. “You always have emails.”
You hesitated for a beat, then nodded.
Jisung grinned over at you. “Look at us. So domestic.”
“Shut up.” You said, tossing a pillow at him. But you were smiling too.
——
Monday started like any other. You were three sips into your coffee, halfway through a territory traffic report, when someone knocked on your office door—then walked in without waiting.
“Technically,” you said without looking up, “that’s not how knocking works.”
“I’m allergic to patience.” Jisung replied. “And technically, your door was open.”
You glanced up. He had a smoothie in one hand, two muffins in the other, and a paper clip stuck in his hair like he’d walked through someone’s desk and never noticed.
He dropped one of the muffins onto your desk. “Bribe. For helping me with the Zone 5 expansion later.”
You narrowed your eyes at it. “This is store-bought.”
“So is love.” He said without shame.
“You’re the worst.”
“You say that, but you never turn me down.”
You didn’t. Because no matter how chaotic he was, Jisung made the job easier. Sometimes even fun.
He perched on the arm of your guest chair, already scrolling through something on his tablet while sipping his smoothie. Somehow, his multitasking never backfired. He juggled three projects at a time and still hit every deadline. He missed due dates about as often as Minho missed meetings—which was never.
“By the way,” he said, eyes still on the screen, “I heard Chan’s calling a pack dinner.”
You looked up. “Already?”
“Full moon’s this weekend.”
You blinked. “That came fast.”
“Time flies when you’re not covered in fur.”
You made a face. “Gross.”
He grinned. “I meant us, not you.”
“Still gross.”
Jisung laughed and picked up the stress ball from your desk, tossing it in the air with one hand.
“It’s been a while since the last pack dinner.” He said. “Alpha’s probably getting twitchy.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Do you get twitchy?”
“Me?” He smirked. “I’m always twitchy.”
The door opened again. This time, Minho actually knocked—once, quick and half-hearted—before stepping inside.
“You’re not working.” He said, nodding at Jisung.
“I’m mentally preparing to work.” Jisung replied.
Minho looked at you. “How long’s he been here?”
“Six minutes.”
He set a folder on your desk. “Final draft on the territorial transit approvals.”
“Thanks.” You took it, flipping through the first page. “You going to the pack dinner?”
“Of course.”
You smiled. “That’s the most social thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
Minho didn’t flinch. “Chan expects attendance. Especially from alphas.”
Jisung cut in, “Especially when one of the alphas nearly threw a guy out of a moving car during last month’s stake rotation.”
Minho didn’t look even remotely sorry. “He was stealing from the cargo line.”
“You still can’t throw people out of moving vehicles.”
“He was fine.”
You stared. “Wait. Did you actually—?”
“Yes.” Jisung said before Minho could answer.
You dropped your face into your hands. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“No you won’t.” Jisung said, grinning. “You’re writing the incident report.”
“Please don’t make me.”
“You’re the best at incident reports.” Minho said. It might’ve even been a compliment.
Might.
You blinked. “Did you just compliment me?”
Minho didn’t look up from the folder he was flipping through. “Don’t get used to it.”
You opened your mouth to respond, but Jisung beat you to it.
“He’s right, though.” He said, brushing crumbs off his hoodie. “Y/n can make even the worst decisions sound like they were part of some brilliant corporate plan.”
“That’s because most of your decisions need rewriting.” You said, giving him a pointed look.
“Not true.” He shot back. “Minho’s are worse.”
Minho closed the folder with a soft thud. “Mine just don’t get caught.”
Jisung pointed at him, eyes wide. “See? That. That right there is the problem.”
“I never said I wrote the reports.” Minho said, glancing at you. “That’s why we have her.”
You let out a sigh. “If you two ever burn this place down, I’m not documenting it in Excel.”
“I’d never burn down the company.” Jisung said. “The break room snacks are too good.”
“Only reason you’re still here.” Minho muttered.
“I’m here for her.” Jisung said, tossing you a wink.
You groaned. “That was weak, even for you.”
He grinned. “You smiled.”
“I grimaced.”
“Same thing.”
Before you could fire back, a voice drifted in from the hallway.
“Full moon this weekend.” Seungmin called out as he passed by, eyes on his phone. “Heads up—Alpha says pack dinner’s Friday.”
Jisung went still beside you. Just for a second. Barely a pause. But you felt it.
Then he called back, “Got it!”
Minho didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. You understood the look the second it crossed his face. Pack dinner. Full moon. No humans.
It had never come up like this before, not seriously. You knew the rules even if no one had ever spelled them out. Humans didn’t go on patrol, didn’t sit in on territory talks, and didn’t ask questions about full moons. And they definitely didn’t attend pack dinners.
You weren’t offended, just quietly reminded of where the line still was. No matter how close you were with them—no matter the late nights, the running jokes, the quiet understanding that had settled between you over time—you still weren’t one of them. And you weren’t supposed to be.
“Friday night, huh?” You said lightly, taking another sip of coffee. “I’ll try not to schedule anything too important Saturday morning. Wouldn’t want to get buried under mystery injuries and vague sick notes.”
“You’re not wrong.” Jisung said. “Last moon cycle, Hyunjin dislocated his shoulder and his pride.”
“I heard that.” Hyunjin called faintly from down the hallway.
Jisung cupped his hands around his mouth. “Both!”
You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head.
Minho glanced at you then—quick, unreadable—and said, “Don’t stay late that day.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”
“Building’s going into partial lockdown.” He said. “Extra security. Not the best night to be here alone.”
“I can handle myself.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
His voice wasn’t sharp or overprotective, just steady and sure. Jisung didn’t crack a joke to break the tension this time. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, but it carried a little more weight than usual.
You nodded. “I’ll head out early.”
“Good,” Minho said.
Jisung stood and clapped his hands once. “Speaking of early—I should go pretend to be productive.”
“That’ll be a first.” You said.
He pointed at you as he backed toward the door. “I’m ignoring that.”
“You never do.”
Minho gave you a small nod before following him out, already glancing at his phone, already slipping back into that composed, alpha focus he wore so easily.
You stayed where you were, coffee cooling between your palms as your attention drifted back to your screen.
It wasn’t a big deal. You weren’t pack, and you never had been. The full moon didn’t change that. But sometimes it was enough to make you remember.
——
You didn’t need a calendar to know it was a full moon. You felt it the moment the elevator doors opened.
The air inside Sirius Holdings had changed. It wasn’t warmer or colder, but heavier—like the building was holding its breath. There was a tension that settled low in your spine, the kind you couldn’t shake. Like something was off-balance. Like everyone around you was running just a little too hot beneath the surface.
You weren’t part of the pack. But even you could feel it. No one said anything outright. Nothing obvious had happened. But something had settled over the building. A current humming just below the surface. Paper sounded louder when it shifted. Footsteps hit harder against the tile. Everyone moved faster—more clipped, less smooth. The silence wasn’t calm. It felt watchful.
You were halfway down the hall to your office when someone brushed past too fast, making you flinch.
“Sorry.” Hyunjin muttered, not slowing down. His voice was rougher than usual, his tone clipped. When he glanced at you, his eyes were a brighter gold than they’d been yesterday—glinting at the edges, too sharp to feel human.
He didn’t wait for you to answer. He just kept walking. You didn’t need claws or sharper senses to read the shift in the air. The wolves were closer to the surface today.
Felix was the next familiar face. Human, like you, but something in his posture was different. Shoulders tight. Steps careful. Like he was expecting something to jump out around every corner. He wasn’t pack, but he worked security—and he had good instincts.
“Morning.” You said.
He didn’t return the greeting.
“Full moon tonight.” He said instead. “Be careful.”
By the time you reached your office, the atmosphere had sunk in all the way to your bones. You set your bag down, took a breath, and flicked on the light. Even that felt too loud.
Three new emails were waiting in your inbox—one from Legal, one from Chan’s assistant, and one from Jisung.
You opened Jisung’s first.
> Come get coffee. The break room smells like blood oranges and murder.
You huffed out a quiet laugh and grabbed your badge. It was typical Jisung—dry, dramatic, and probably exaggerated. But even so, you found yourself walking a little faster.
The hallway lights felt dimmer than usual. Or maybe it was just you. Maybe it was the tension in the air. Maybe it was the way no one seemed to make eye contact today.
When you turned the corner into the staff kitchen, Jisung was already there—slumped dramatically over the counter like the weight of the world was on his back.
“You’re ridiculous.” You said.
“I’m suffering.” He groaned. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to have five wolves fighting over the last hazelnut coffee pod?”
You opened a cabinet and reached for your mug. “Can’t relate.”
“Exactly. It’s a jungle out here.”
He looked different today. Still Jisung, still familiar, but a little more wound up than usual. There was less bounce in his movements, more tension in his shoulders. The kind that made him tap his fingers without realizing. The kind that made his grin linger a second too long, like he was trying to pin it in place.
He slid a muffin across the counter toward you. “Peace offering. For when I inevitably piss you off later.”
“It doesn’t count if it came from the admin snack cart.”
“It’s the thought that counts.”
“You didn’t think of it. Someone else did.”
“Semantics.” He said with a shrug, smiling just enough that for a second everything felt normal again, like the Jisung you knew—bright, teasing, a little untouchable—was still right there.
The feeling didn’t last. You heard Minho before you saw him, his footsteps quiet but deliberate, the kind that made you aware of the space shifting around him. He walked in without a word, gave Jisung a small nod, and then looked straight at you.
“Don’t stay late today.” Minho said.
You raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”
“Because I said so.”
You stared at him.
Minho stared right back.
Jisung let out a low whistle. “Damn. Do you go full Alpha like this with everyone before the moon, or is it just her?”
Minho didn’t respond, but he didn’t look away from you, either.
Eventually, you rolled your eyes. “Fine. I won’t stay late.”
“Good.” He said, turning to pour himself a cup of coffee.
Jisung leaned in and whispered behind his hand, “He totally likes you.”
You snorted. “He likes not getting sued.”
“Same thing.”
You finished your coffee without saying anything else. Minho didn’t speak again either, but you noticed the way he hovered near the door until you left. He always did that on full moon days—walked you out, made sure Jisung kept it together, made sure nothing got out of hand. You tried not to think too hard about why.
—
By noon, the whole building felt like it was vibrating under your skin. The whole place felt wrong. People were either standing too still or moving like they were running out of time, with nothing in between. Reports showed up half-finished or late, conversations cut off the moment you stepped into a room, and even Seungmin hadn’t made a single sarcastic comment all morning, which was unsettling on its own.
So you decided to leave earlier than you needed. No one questioned it. A few of them actually looked relieved. Your badge let you into the side elevator with a soft beep, and when the doors slid open, Felix was already inside, leaning back against the wall with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets.
“Good timing.” He said.
“You heading out too?”
“I’m not an idiot.”
The ride down was quiet. Both of you too drained—or maybe too tense—to talk. The elevator hummed softly as it dropped into the garage. You unlocked your car. Felix gave you a casual two-finger wave.
“See you Monday.”
You smiled. “Stay safe.”
He hesitated for half a second, then nodded. “You too. Drive with the windows up tonight.”
You blinked, caught off guard—but didn’t ask. Just gave a small nod in return.
“Night, Felix.”
He waited until you were in your car before heading to his. This time, when he pulled out, he glanced back once before disappearing up the ramp.
—
That night, you made dinner, folded the laundry, and kept glancing at your phone like it might light up if you looked at it long enough. Jisung hadn’t texted, and Minho never texted first, so there wasn’t anything technically wrong with that. It was a full moon. They had their own routines, and you weren’t part of that circle.
You left your phone on the counter anyway and curled up on the couch, trying to distract yourself with whatever was on TV. The apartment felt quieter than usual, the kind of quiet that presses in on you. There was a faint, restless feeling sitting low in your chest, something you kept brushing off as habit or overthinking, but it lingered. You drifted in and out of sleep without ever really resting.
—
In the forest, beneath the cold silver gaze of the full moon, the pack gathered. They came barefoot, quiet. Some arrived in pairs, some alone. No one spoke unless they had to. The clearing was old—sacred ground marked by generations of pawprints, by bloodlines and vows buried deep in the soil. The air was thick with pine, smoke, and the sharp edge of sweat. Mist clung to the ground, curling around ankles. Magic moved with it, slow and steady.
Chan stood at the center. His voice was calm and clear as he called out names, titles, ranks. One by one, the pack answered. Hands pressed to shoulders, lips brushed over knuckles, heads bowed in quiet respect. They moved like one living thing—connected, instinctive. Even in their human forms, they were wolves tonight.
Minho stood to Chan’s left, Jisung to his right. Neither of them looked at the other, not at first.
The ceremony unfolded at its own pace, steady and deliberate. Oaths were renewed, promises spoken aloud, laughter weaving easily between moments of quiet reverence. Voices rose in song, breaths mingled in the cool night air, and above them all the moon hung full and bright, watching without mercy.
At first, it was just a feeling—something in the air tightening without warning. There was no sound, no light, nothing dramatic to mark it. Just a sudden pull that made Minho lose his footing for a second, and Jisung inhale sharply like he’d been hit in the chest. It felt wrong and overwhelming all at once, like the ground had shifted beneath them and something old had snapped into place before anyone could stop it.
The clearing fell silent as the weight of it pressed down. Chan turned immediately, eyes wide, already piecing together what the rest of them were only starting to understand.
Minho went down to one knee, his fist digging into the dirt like he needed something solid to anchor himself. Across from him, Jisung took a rough step back, his hand pressed tight against his ribs as he tried to catch his breath, like the air had been knocked clean out of him. The space between them felt different—charged, almost visible, as if something unseen had just stitched itself into place.
When Minho finally looked up, Jisung was already staring at him. The understanding passed between them without a single word. A moonbond. Between two alphas. It wasn’t supposed to happen. And yet it had.
No one in the clearing moved. The pack just watched, stunned into silence as the weight of it settled in. Minho stood slowly, steadying himself, and Jisung straightened too, still quiet but no longer fighting for breath. The bond sank deeper, settling into bone and instinct, and as it did, they both felt it at the same time.
Something was missing.
It wasn’t loud or dramatic. Just this strange, quiet absence where something should have been. The bond locked into place—old, steady, undeniable—but it didn’t settle the way it was supposed to. It throbbed unevenly, like a melody that stopped just before the last note.
They met each other’s eyes again, searching for something to explain it. There was no fear there, no anger—only confusion, and beneath that, a dull ache neither of them could name. It didn’t feel wrong. Just unfinished.
They didn’t say it out loud. Neither of them knew what was missing, only that the space was there. But the moon knew. She wasn’t finished with them yet.
Chan stood beside the fire, arms crossed tightly over his chest. The dying flames cast long shadows across his face, deepening the lines near his mouth, the quiet tension in his jaw. Even as the last threads of the ritual’s energy faded, he didn’t relax. His gaze stayed on Minho and Jisung.
“Two alphas.” He said finally, his voice low, meant more for the trees than for the wolves around him. “I’ve seen blood bonds. Broken oaths. Challenge bonds. But this? I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Minho and Jisung stood a little apart from the others now, not quite side by side but no longer entirely separate either. The bond between them was steady and alive, a low, constant hum beneath their skin that everyone in the clearing could feel even if they couldn’t see it. The pack gave them space without being told to, as if instinct alone understood that something had shifted.
It was clear to all of them that something had begun tonight. It just hadn’t fully settled yet.
Jisung pressed a hand to his chest, right over where the bond still burned beneath his ribs. His eyes were wide and unfocused, like he hadn’t fully come back down from wherever the magic had taken him.
“It doesn’t feel wrong.” He said quietly.
Chan shook his head. “Because it’s not. But I can tell it’s not finished either.”
Minho looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”
“Bonds like this don’t happen by accident.” Chan said, lifting his gaze toward the moon. It hung high and heavy above them, casting its light through the bare trees like it was watching. “The moon doesn’t choose on a whim. It gives the pack what it needs. What will strengthen it, heal it, keep it balanced.”
He turned his attention back to them.
“And the two of you…you’re not balanced. Not like this.”
Jisung frowned, uncertainty flickering across his face. “Then what are we?”
“Half of something bigger.” Chan said. “Not wrong. Just unfinished.”
Minho didn’t answer. His jaw was tight, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. There was tension in every line of his body, running all the way down to his fingertips.
“You feel it.” Chan said, his voice lower now. “Don’t act like you don’t. That pull in your chest. That ache in the bond. The sense that something’s missing. That you’re waiting for someone who hasn’t arrived yet.”
Jisung didn’t try to brush it off or pretend it wasn’t there. He felt it just as clearly. It wasn’t painful, not exactly—more like becoming aware of an empty space that had always existed but had only just revealed itself. There was a gap in the bond between them, a quiet place that should have held something more, like a room in a house he hadn’t realized was unfinished, waiting for someone else to step inside.
Minho let out a slow breath. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and rough. “Then who is it?”
“I don’t know.” Chan said honestly. “That’s not mine to answer. But the moon knows. And she’s already chosen.”
The fire crackled between them. Sparks snapped and danced into the night sky, disappearing like small, fleeting stars.
Silence fell again, heavier this time. The weight of it settled over them—something ancient, something close. It wrapped around Minho and Jisung until it felt hard to breathe.
Jisung glanced sideways, and for the first time since the bond hit, Minho met his eyes without hesitation. No confusion. No resistance. He didn’t look away.
They didn’t speak, but something passed between them—a quiet understanding, a shared anchor in the middle of something neither of them could explain.
Jisung’s voice broke the silence, barely more than a whisper. “Do you think we’ll know her?”
Minho paused before answering, just as softly. “I think we already do.”
They didn’t say a name. They didn’t need to. You were already woven into the quiet pattern of their days, close enough to feel even without certainty.
The bond had begun, unfinished but real. Whatever came next would come when it came.
——
Monday came with the usual shuffle of footsteps, the sharp smell of too much coffee, and the low hum of the vending machine that hadn’t worked since last quarter.
You walked in expecting a normal start to the week. Instead, you found Jisung leaning against your office door like he’d been waiting for hours. He hadn’t—you were early—but his posture made it look like he’d been camped there all morning.
He grinned as soon as he saw you. “Hey, gorgeous.”
You didn’t bother rolling your eyes. You just bumped his shoulder on your way past. “Morning. You’re cheerful for someone who claimed to be dying all weekend.”
“I got better.” He said solemnly. Then, with a dramatic sigh, “Full moons are exhausting. But your face makes the recovery worth it.”
You dropped your bag onto your desk. “You never stop, do you?”
“I prefer to think of it as commitment.” He said, unfazed.
A few minutes later, Minho walked in with a stack of reports. He didn’t knock, just nodded once at Jisung and set the folders on your desk like it was part of his usual Monday routine. It wasn’t.
“These could’ve been emailed.” You said, flipping open the top file.
“Felt like walking.” Minho replied. His eyes met yours for a beat longer than necessary before sliding away. “Figured I’d drop them off myself.”
Jisung raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you were in the delivery business.”
Minho didn’t blink. “New week. New habits.”
You didn’t say anything—you just noticed how Minho lingered near the edge of your desk, not quite leaving. Jisung grabbed a chair and stretched out like he had every intention of spending the rest of the morning in your office.
It wasn’t strange. They’d always been around, always comfortable in your space. But today felt different. A little more intentional. Like they were waiting for something, even if they didn’t know what it was.
You didn’t feel any different, maybe just a little warmer under their attention. The clock ticked, papers shifted, and the office buzzed on around you.
Jisung crumpled a sticky note and tossed it at your shoulder.
“You still smell human.” He said.
“Disappointed?”
“A little.”
Minho gave the faintest smirk and finally turned to leave, but as he passed, his fingers brushed the corner of your desk—just once, light and quick.
They didn’t know what they were looking for. And you had no idea they were even searching. Not yet. Still, they stayed close—never too far, never fully gone—for the rest of the day.
—
On Tuesday, it was lunch. You walked into the breakroom and found both of them already at your usual table, looking like they’d been there for ages. Jisung had half a sandwich hanging out of his mouth and was waving a fork in Minho’s direction like he was making a very important point. Minho looked like he was regretting every decision that had brought him to this moment.
“She’s here.” Minho said, without even looking up.
Jisung turned to you with a grin. “Finally. We were about to send a search party.”
“You were waiting to steal my lunch.” You said, heading to the fridge.
“I would never.” Jisung said, completely unconvincing. “Unless it smelled good. Or looked good. Or had my name on it in a past life.”
You pulled out your container and dropped into the seat across from them. “Are you planning to follow me around all week?”
“Yes.” Jisung said without hesitation.
Minho gave a half-shrug. “Coincidence.”
Jisung leaned across the table a little. “We just missed you over the weekend. Right, Min?”
Minho didn’t reply, but his gaze slid to you—and didn’t move.
The conversation flowed easily, the way it always did. But you noticed the way they watched you. Not in a way that drew attention. Not intense. Just…focused. Like they were waiting for something. A shift. A reaction. Anything.
When they didn’t find it, Jisung stole one of your fries and declared it a peace offering. Minho rolled his eyes, but didn’t stop him.
—
By Thursday, they’d quietly worked their way into your routine. Jisung had started showing up at your desk just before your 10 a.m. meeting, always with a coffee in hand—exactly how you liked it, always delivered with a smug little grin like he expected you to be impressed.
“You know you don’t have to bribe me to like you.” You said one morning as he set the cup down.
“Oh, I know.” He said. “But it’s more fun this way. And maybe I’m just buttering you up for a favor.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“Isn’t it? You’re smiling.”
You were.
Minho, meanwhile, had developed a quiet habit of walking you to the elevators at the end of each day. He rarely said much, but his presence was steady. Grounding. Even when neither of you spoke, it felt like something solid to lean against.
One evening, as you waited for the elevator, you glanced up at him.
“You okay?”
He looked down at you, his expression hard to read. “Yeah. Fine.”
“You just seem…off.” You said gently. “Like something’s on your mind.”
He was quiet for a moment before replying. “Just tired.”
You didn’t push, but the way he said it stayed with you. When the elevator arrived, he stepped in beside you without comment, then got off a floor early without explaining why.
—
By Friday, Felix was giving you looks.
“Not that it’s any of my business,” he said, leaning against your office doorframe with the kind of casual tone that meant he’d been thinking about it for a while, “but you’ve got two shadows now.”
“Are you jealous?” You asked.
“Mortified.”
You rolled your eyes. “They’re just being friendly.”
“Sure.” He said, dragging the word out. “And I’m just here for the paycheck.”
You didn’t have a real answer for him, because honestly, nothing was happening. At least not in any way you could point to.
You didn’t feel different. There wasn’t some sudden pull toward them or a rush of strange, instinctive energy. If anything, the opposite was true. Lately, things had felt steadier. More grounded. Easier in a way you hadn’t expected.
If either of them noticed that your scent hadn’t changed or that there wasn’t any obvious shift in you, they didn’t say it out loud. They didn’t push or question. They just stayed close—closer than before—and a little quieter, like they were listening for something you couldn’t hear.
On the surface, everything stayed the same—coffee in the mornings, reports stacked on your desk, lunch breaks that ran a little too long. And the two of them, always somewhere nearby, always within reach, ever since the moon chose them.
hey!! i wanted to let you know (assuming you dont already) the the link for chapter 1 of I Don’t Love Her… Do I? is broken :(
A lot of my links got broken because I changed my username (and didnt know it would do that 😭 lol) but I will go and fix that right now :) Tysm for letting me know!
You + Jisung, a night you barely remember, a morning you won’t forget, and the chance to rewrite what love feels like.
MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS, DNI
Han Jisung x afab!reader, rivals to lovers, ex-boyfriend drama, drunken hookup, second chance romance, college rivals reunion, jealousy, possessive Jisung, praise kink, messy emotions, emotional vulnerability, oral (f rec), unprotected sex, multiple rounds
My writing is all fictional and does not represent any of the named people in any way, shape or form. All works and writing is done by me, and I do not use AI at any point in my writing.
You didn’t remember much. Just the sting when you read the texts. The way your boyfriend—no, your ex—had smiled like it meant nothing when you confronted him. The pressure in your chest getting harder to ignore. You’d walked out into the night without a plan or even a coat, head loud with static and heart too full to breathe.
And now? You woke up in someone else’s bed.
The sheets were soft—expensive enough that you noticed. They rustled beneath you when you shifted, and the ache in your thighs answered immediately. Your head throbbed. You definitely weren’t home.
The room was massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the kind of light that made everything look golden. You didn’t recognize the skyline outside, but it had to be uptown—too clean, too high up to feel familiar. The furniture was sleek, the floors polished, and the air carried a scent you couldn’t place. Something warm and unfamiliar—spice and clean wood.
Your clothes were on the floor, scattered like you’d been in a hurry. You were wearing someone’s dress shirt. Not yours. The sleeves nearly swallowed your hands, and the hem barely skimmed your thighs.
Your pulse jumped. You didn’t remember getting in a car. Didn’t remember choosing to come here. Everything was blurry—disjointed, like it happened to someone else.
You sat up slowly, wincing at the soreness in your legs, the dull pull of muscles you’d definitely overworked. Every step was a reminder that something had happened—something you couldn’t quite piece together.
Then you heard it. A soft clatter of metal. The low hum of someone’s voice. The smell of breakfast—eggs, maybe pancakes, something sweet and warm.
You paused at the edge of the bedroom doorway, unsure, heart racing. But your feet moved anyway, drawn toward the sound. The hardwood was warm beneath your steps, the scent stronger with every breath. And when you finally stepped into the kitchen, your heart caught in your throat.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt. Sunlight poured over his skin, turning it gold. His hair was a mess—soft and dark, like he’d dragged his fingers through it. Broad shoulders shifted as he moved at the stove, flipping something in the pan. His back was marked with fresh red lines, trailing down in patterns you knew by touch.
You recognized them immediately. He spoke before you could move. A quiet laugh, low and rough, rolled from his chest. Deeper than you remembered.
“Good morning, princess.”
He set the spatula down and turned toward you, already smirking like he’d been waiting for this moment. His voice was smooth and low, warm with amusement. “You had quite a night, didn’t you?”
You froze. That voice. You knew that voice.
Han Jisung.
Your college rival. The academic pain in your ass. The boy who once called you “overachieving and uptight” in the middle of a study group. Who matched your every perfect grade with one of his own. Who smirked at you across debate stages and library tables like competition was a language only the two of you spoke.
You hadn’t seen him in years. And now he was standing in his kitchen. Shirtless. With your scratches on his back. Your heart tripped over itself.
“Jisung?” Your voice cracked. “What the hell?”
He leaned back against the counter, picking up the spatula again like this was any other morning. “Don’t worry. You were…enthusiastic.” He said, tone teasing. “I just hope you stretched first, because you definitely didn’t take it slow.”
Your face went hot. “I—what?”
His eyes flicked down to the oversized shirt you were wearing—his shirt. “You really don’t remember?”
You didn’t answer, but you didn’t have to.
His expression shifted. The smirk softened a little. “I saw you at Lucid around midnight. You looked like hell. We talked for a while—you said you needed to forget someone. I figured you were drunk, but then you looked me dead in the eye and asked if I was still good at making people scream.”
Your stomach dropped. “No. I didn’t”
“You did.” He said, casually amused. “And I said no.”
You stared at him. “So…nothing happened?”
“Oh. No. We definitely fucked.” He said it like it was just another line on a to-do list. “Twice, actually. But I wasn’t going to let you off the hook that easily.”
Your knees nearly gave out. Jisung slid a plate across the counter toward you and stepped in close. His mouth hovered near your ear, breath warm against your skin.
“Besides…” he murmured, voice low and wicked. “We’ve got all day to jog your memory.”
You sat on the barstool in stunned silence, the plate of pancakes and eggs untouched in front of you.
Jisung moved around the kitchen like this was normal. Like cooking shirtless and throwing out sex jokes before noon was just another Tuesday for him. He rinsed out the pan without looking at you, casual and unbothered.
You couldn’t stop staring at his back. The scratches were obvious—angry lines across his skin that looked fresh. You must’ve gone at him hard.
Something stirred at the edge of your memory. Just a flicker. Your hands on his shoulders. The sound of him groaning into your neck. The weight of his body pressed tight against yours. You flinched.
“Something wrong?” He asked without turning, too casual for the way your stomach twisted.
“I…remember something.” You said quietly. “Just…your voice. You said something, I think, when I…”
He glanced back over his shoulder, grin already forming. “When you came?”
You gave him a look, flat and unamused.
He held up his hands. “Hey, just trying to help jog your memory.” Then he laughed. “You were loud, by the way. Not that I minded.”
You didn’t respond. More flashes started coming, too quick to hold onto. His mouth on your skin. The feel of your nails digging into his back. His voice—low and wrecked, whispering something right at the edge of your ear.
It was like trying to recall a dream before it slipped away. Disjointed. Blurry. But real. And getting clearer by the second.
—
Hours Earlier
It happened somewhere between your third and fourth drink. You’d been sitting alone at the bar in Lucid, head tipped back, vision soft around the edges. The music was low and steady, pulsing through the room, and the bartender had already cut you off with a sympathetic smile.
Your phone still glowed in your hand, the screen filled with texts you couldn’t stop rereading. Proof mixed with apology. A confession wrapped in excuses.
That was when he showed up. Leather jacket. Messy hair. That familiar smirk—like he already knew something you didn’t.
“Well, well.” He said as he slid onto the stool beside you. “If it isn’t my favorite academic pain in the ass.”
You let out a short, bitter laugh. “Don’t start, Jisung.”
“Oh, I won’t.” He replied easily. “But you look like you could use someone to ruin your night in a different way.”
You turned toward him, eyes glassy. “What are you doing here?”
“DJing the after-hours set.” He tilted his head, studying your face. “Though I’d cancel it if it meant finding out who made you look like you just got hit by a betrayal truck.”
You exhaled slowly. “Boyfriend.”
He didn’t push. Didn’t ask questions. He just nodded, like that told him everything he needed to know. And that was the moment things shifted.
You wrapped your hand around your glass and leaned closer, your voice dropping. “How good are you at making someone forget?”
His smile came slow and sharp.
“That depends,” he said, eyes darkening, “on how loud you’re willing to get.”
—
Present
You rubbed your arms, trying to shake the chill creeping down your spine. “I can’t believe I slept with you.”
“I can.” Jisung said, way too smug for your liking. “You practically dragged me into the car.”
Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
He held up a hand like he was defending himself, taking a slow sip of coffee. “I resisted. For at least the first few blocks. But then you kissed me at a red light and whispered something absolutely filthy, and I figured—who am I to fight fate?”
Your brain stalled. “What did I say?”
He leaned in slightly, elbows on the counter, voice dipping lower. “You said I was the one you should’ve chosen back then.”
The words hit like a punch.
Back then.
College. That final debate meet. You’d taken first place, riding high on adrenaline and praise. He walked you back to your dorm, teasing you the whole way. You were flushed from the win, tipsy on the moment—and you kissed him.
He kissed you back.
Then you pulled away. Said it was a mistake. That you had a boyfriend. That it didn’t mean anything. That it was just emotions running high.
You never brought it up again. Until now. Until last night.
—
You blinked, trying to steady your breath. Your face was warm, and your heart wouldn’t slow down.
Across the counter, Jisung was watching you—eyes sharp, a little smug. “Getting your memory back, princess?”
You swallowed. “Just pieces.”
“Want some help filling in the rest?”
His voice was smooth, teasing. But the look in his eyes said he wasn’t just messing around.
You watched him carefully. The warmth behind his gaze. The way he hadn’t pushed, even though he easily could have. He made breakfast. He let you have space. Even now, he was giving you the choice.
“Why did you do it?” You asked. Your voice came out quieter than you expected. “Why…let me stay?”
He set his mug down and didn’t answer right away.
“Because,” he said finally, tone soft, “I spent years wanting you. And even if it was just one night—drunken, messy, whatever—I wasn’t about to walk away from the chance to finally touch you without pretending I didn’t care.”
Your breath caught. Something shifted. The air between you changed. It wasn’t just tension anymore. Not just heat or leftover adrenaline. It felt heavier than that.
“I still don’t trust you.”
The words slipped out before you could stop them. Too sharp, too defensive, but honest. You hated how real it felt—standing here, in his shirt, in his apartment, with the marks of last night still scratched red into his back.
This wasn’t just some one-night mistake. It never was. Jisung didn’t flinch. He just tilted his head and leaned back against the counter, wearing the same unreadable look that used to drive you crazy in college. Calm. A little smug. Always a step ahead.
“I’d be more worried if you did.” He said, lifting his mug for another sip. “This would be a lot less fun if you suddenly became a fan.”
You let out a sharp breath—half laugh, half scoff. “You’re insufferable.”
“I missed hearing you say that.” He murmured, voice quieter now.
You didn’t have a comeback. Not one that didn’t feel forced. The silence stretched.
You looked down at your plate, pushing the edge of a pancake with your fork, not really hungry. Your thighs still ached in a way you couldn’t ignore. Not painful—just sore. Satisfied. Like your body remembered what your mind couldn’t.
“I hate not knowing.” You said finally. “It feels off. Like it wasn’t me.”
Jisung set his coffee down. Then he walked around the island slowly, stopping beside you. He didn’t reach for you, didn’t push. Just stood close, arms crossed, voice low.
“It was you.” He said. “You just weren’t holding everything so tight. You let go a little.”
You swallowed. “Will you tell me what happened?”
He looked at you for a long moment. Not in judgment. Just searching.
“Only if you want me to.”
You nodded. So he did.
——
Flashback — His Apartment, After Midnight
You stumbled through the door, heels already halfway off. The apartment smelled like cedar and clean laundry. Music played low from the speakers—one of his mixes, heavy on the bass, slow and deliberate. He closed the door behind you.
“You sure about this?” He asked, voice quieter than usual.
You turned to face him. Your breath caught in your throat. “I don’t want to think.” You said. “I just want to feel something that doesn’t hurt.”
Your hands gripped the collar of his jacket. He inhaled sharply as you pulled him down and kissed him hard.
You remembered that now—how fast everything moved. The heat of his mouth. The way your bodies collided like you’d both waited too long. He lifted you without warning, arms firm around your thighs, and carried you straight to the bedroom. He didn’t stop kissing you. Not once.
——
Present
“You were desperate.” Jisung said, his voice steady. “But not sloppy. You told me exactly what you wanted. You asked me to take your mind off him. Said you wanted me to ruin you so badly, you’d forget his name.”
You winced.
He gave a small smile. “I said I could try.”
Heat stirred low in your stomach, a slow curl you didn’t want to acknowledge—but couldn’t ignore. His voice alone did something to you, pulled at something just beneath your skin.
“But I didn’t want it to be some revenge-fueled mess,” he went on. “I wanted you to remember it for you. Not because of him.”
You looked up at him. “So…you held back?”
Jisung let out a quiet laugh. “Not exactly,” he said. “But I did slow it down.”
—
Flashback — Bedroom
He took his time with you. His mouth moved slowly across your skin, kissing the curve of your shoulder, the dip of your waist, the inside of your thigh. Every press of his lips was deliberate, like he was tasting something he’d wanted for years. His voice stayed low, warm against your skin as he spoke between kisses.
“You always made me lose focus…”
“You smell like cinnamon and sin…”
“I should’ve had you years ago…”
The memory wavered for a moment, then snapped back into focus—his hands spreading your legs, fingers pressing gently behind your knees as he settled between them. The first drag of his tongue made you jolt. He didn’t stop. He didn’t even pause. He stayed there like he had all the time in the world.
Tongue slow and deep at first, then faster when you started to fall apart. He didn’t mind the way your hips rocked against his mouth, didn’t stop when you moaned too loud or clenched too tight. He just held you open and kept going, humming something filthy against you like he was savoring every second.
His hands were everywhere—cupping your thighs, gripping your hips, slipping up to squeeze your breasts when you arched off the bed. He mouthed at your clit until you begged, then eased off just long enough to whisper something dark against your skin before diving back in.
You came once, sharp and sudden, your hands tangled in his hair. The second time was slower, drawn out by his fingers curling inside you and his mouth working in perfect rhythm until you were gasping his name like a secret. He didn’t unzip his jeans until you were shaking under him.
—
Present
Your face was warm. You shifted on the stool and tried to play it off, but he caught it. Of course he did. He always did.
“Feeling warm?” He said, teasing, leaning one hip against the counter. “That tends to happen when your body starts remembering how good I was.”
You shot him a look. “You’re impossible.”
He just hummed and brushed past you to grab the syrup, completely unfazed. “Maybe. But you stayed. And you haven’t run yet.”
You watched as he poured syrup over his pancakes, calm and casual like he hadn’t just said something that landed a little too close to the truth.
Because he was right.
You hadn’t run. You could have—nothing was stopping you. Your pride had screamed at you to leave the second you realized where you were. So had your shame. But you stayed. And not just physically.
You were still here, still sitting at his counter in his shirt with your nails still red on his back. Still chasing answers. Still feeling the ghost of his mouth on your skin.
Still remembering—
—
Flashback — Midway Through the Night
You were straddling his lap, thighs spread over his, your body rising and falling as he held you steady. His hands were firm beneath your legs, fingers digging into your skin every time you came down on him. He was buried deep inside you, filling you completely, each slow bounce sending a jolt of pleasure straight through your spine.
He kissed you like he needed it to survive. Messy. Open-mouthed. Breathless. His tongue pushed past your lips while his hips rolled up to meet you, the slick sound of you taking him echoing softly through the room.
“Say it.” He murmured against your mouth, then along your jaw, his teeth scraping lightly over your skin.
You gasped, nails dragging along his back hard enough to leave marks. “Say what?”
“That you want this.” He said, thrusting up into you, making you whimper. “Tell me you wanted me.”
Your head tipped back as he drove into you again, slow and deep, the stretch of him pulling a sound from your throat you didn’t bother holding in. You felt wrecked in the best way, heat pooling low in your belly, your body already trembling.
“I want this.” You breathed. Then, louder, more desperate, “I wanted you.”
He swore under his breath and tightened his grip on your thighs, guiding your movements as you rode him harder. Every time you came down on him, his cock dragged perfectly inside you, hitting that spot that made your legs shake. His mouth dropped to your throat, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, sucking marks into your skin while one hand slid up to cup you, thumb circling your clit in slow, cruel strokes.
You said it again and again. That you wanted him. That you’d wanted him for years. That this was exactly what you needed.
Each confession only made him move faster, rougher, his breathing turning ragged as he chased your reactions. What started as raw heat turned into something heavier as he held you close, forehead pressed to yours, watching your face fall apart while you came apart around him.
You clenched around his cock, crying out his name, your body locking up as your orgasm tore through you. He followed seconds later, thrusting deep and spilling inside you with a low groan, arms wrapped tight around your back like he didn’t want to let you go. Even then, he didn’t stop kissing you.
—
Present
“I should go.” You said, too quickly. You stood before you even thought it through.
Jisung stilled.
“Hey.” He said quietly. “Are you okay?”
“I just—” You shook your head. “This wasn’t supposed to be anything. I was drunk. You’re…you. I don’t even know what I’m doing here.”
He didn’t stop you. He didn’t reach out or argue or roll his eyes the way he used to when you stormed off after a fight in college.
Instead, he stepped back and nodded. “Okay.”
You blinked. “That’s it?”
“I’m not gonna trap you here, Y/n.” He said. “You came to me. If you want to leave, I’ll let you.”
You stared at him, waiting for the catch. It never came. He turned back to the counter, picking up his plate like he wasn’t breaking a little, like your absence wouldn’t gut him the second you walked out.
You watched his shoulders—shoulders you’d clawed red just hours ago. Watched the soft curve of his hair, the way the light from the windows lit the edge of his face.
And for a moment, the room was quiet.
Then your voice broke through it. “I can…stay a little longer?”
He turned slowly, surprise flickering across his face before it softened into something warm. Something that made your chest tighten.
“Yeah.” He said. “Of course.”
He nodded toward the couch. “Come sit. I’ll put on something dumb. You like dumb, right?”
“I dated my ex for two years.” You muttered.
Jisung laughed. “Then I’m a fucking upgrade.”
You cracked a smile. And to your own horror, your eyes stung.
He sat beside you, legs stretched out, mug warming his hands. He didn’t reach for you or crowd your space. He just stayed there, close and steady, the quiet kind of warmth that didn’t ask for anything. After a moment, you let yourself lean in—not all the way, not yet, but enough to feel where this might begin.
Jisung’s couch was the kind you could sink into. Soft in the right places, firm enough to hold its shape. His hoodie was tossed over one armrest, and a blanket was folded neatly over the back, like he spent more nights here than he’d admit. Not with you. Not until now.
You curled into one corner, coffee mug in hand, the warmth steady between your palms. Neither of you spoke. He didn’t try to fill the silence.
The TV played something light—an old anime, voices murmuring in the background—but he didn’t bother explaining the plot. He lounged beside you, bare feet tucked under the coffee table, one arm stretched across the back of the couch. It was a casual position, but it didn’t feel careless. Every now and then, his thigh brushed yours. You couldn’t tell if it was on purpose. You couldn’t tell if you wanted it to stop.
After a while, he turned toward you. “So,” he said, “are we going to talk about it?”
You didn’t look at him. “Talk about what?”
“College. That kiss. The whole unfinished symphony of us.”
You huffed a laugh. “Unfinished symphony?”
“What, I’m dramatic now?” He placed a hand over his chest like he was offended. “Princess, you broke my heart and you don’t even remember.”
“I didn’t break anything.” You said, setting the mug down. “We kissed. I pulled away. I had a boyfriend.”
He raised a brow. “Didn’t stop you last night.”
You turned your head sharply, giving him a look.
He winced, hands up. “Okay. Low blow. I’m sorry.”
The quiet returned, heavier this time. Not awkward, but loaded. Like the space between you could tip either way—toward heat, or distance.
“You were always so sure of yourself.” He said after a beat. “Back then.”
You snorted. “I was twenty. I wasn’t sure of anything. I just got good at faking it.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” He shifted again, arm still draped behind you, his fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder. Not a full touch—just the edge of one.
“You walked around campus like you had everything figured out.” He went on. “Like you already knew the ending before anyone else even showed up.”
You looked down. “And you walked around like you didn’t care how anything ended.”
“Also faking it.” He said softly.
When his eyes met yours, it cut through the years in a way nothing else could. Jisung leaned his head back against the couch, eyes drifting toward the ceiling like he was looking for something he couldn’t name.
“After that kiss,” he said quietly, “the night you left…I sat on the dorm steps for hours.”
Your breath caught in your throat.
“You left so fast…” he went on. “I thought you’d come back. I thought—maybe—you’d change your mind. I was still buzzing from the way you touched me. The way you said my name.”
You looked down at your hands, fingers tightening around your mug.
“But you didn’t come out. And the next day, you acted like it never happened.” He said.
You didn’t know what to say.
“I know you were with someone.” He added, softer now. “I didn’t expect anything from you. I just…never forgot it.”
You glanced at him. “Why?”
He didn’t smile this time. Not even a little.
“Because that was the first time I thought you actually saw me.”
Your chest tightened. Had you ever really seen him back then? You’d been so focused—grades, plans, the relationship you thought was going somewhere. Always running toward a future that ended up falling apart behind your back. And through it all, Jisung had been there. Your rival. Your shadow. The only person who ever really kept up.
And now here he was again. Older. A little more worn. A little more sure. Still sharp, still quick with a joke—but quieter now, too. Softer in the spaces that used to be all edge. And still looking at you like he was waiting for you to finally look back.
“I’m sorry.” You said.
He blinked. “What?”
“For leaving that night. For not saying anything after.”
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing a little. “You think that’s what I want? An apology?”
Your cheeks flushed. “I don’t know what you want.”
Jisung leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, voice low but steady.
“I don’t want you to regret last night.” He said. “I don’t want to be something you file away under ‘mistakes made while drunk and heartbroken.’”
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
He looked down for a second, then back at you. “And I’m not going to push. If you walk out that door, I’m not chasing you.”
“Why not?”
His reply came without hesitation. “Because you’ll come back if you want to. Not because I pulled you back.”
Your throat tightened. And then, like he couldn’t help himself, Jisung’s voice dropped again.
“But I am gonna flirt with you.” He said. “Because that’s who I am. And because I remember exactly how you sound when I make you fall apart.”
You closed your eyes. Heat rolled through you, low and sharp, flaring under your skin. But it wasn’t just the words—it was the way he said them. Like that memory meant something. Like he’d earned it. Like he still held it close.
When you looked at him again, your eyes traced the curve of his jaw, the faint stubble that hadn’t been there in college. His expression was quieter now. Less smug. Softer in a way you didn’t remember.
“You’re not what I remember.” You said, voice low.
He raised an eyebrow. “Better or worse?”
“Different.”
He smiled. “I’ll take that.”
You glanced down at your lap. “I don’t know what I want yet.”
“That’s fine.” He said easily, leaning back into the couch. “But I’m making lunch, and you’re staying for it.”
You blinked. “I never said—”
“I’m not letting you leave on just pancakes and trauma.” He said, already standing, arms stretching over his head. “Besides, I have a reputation to uphold.”
You frowned. “What reputation?”
He shot you a wink. “Best rebound in the city. But also? Surprisingly good at garlic butter pasta.”
You groaned. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Still true.” He called over his shoulder as he headed for the kitchen. “Now come on. Chop veggies with me or sit there and look pretty. Either way, you’re not going anywhere.”
Somehow, it didn’t feel like a demand. It felt like the first real choice you’d been given in weeks. You stood, and you stayed.
The kitchen smelled like garlic and butter, the air warm and easy. Soft music drifted in from Jisung’s phone—a mellow R&B playlist, all low bass and breathy vocals, perfect for a slow Sunday afternoon.
He stood over the stove, stirring the pasta with one hand while adjusting the volume with the other. Everything about him looked at home here—barefoot, focused, completely unbothered.
You leaned against the counter across from him, peeling a clove of garlic like it required serious concentration.
“Do you even cook for anyone else?” You asked, tossing the clove into the growing pile.
“Mm.” He hummed. “Sometimes. But I don’t usually pull out the good pasta unless it’s a special occasion.”
You glanced up. “So I’m a special occasion?”
He looked over his shoulder. “You’re in my shirt, in my kitchen, post-orgasmic and slightly hungover. I’d say that qualifies.”
You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth gave you away. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet.” He said, brushing past you to grab the butter, “here you are.”
His hip bumped yours as he passed, casual but electric. The heat of him stayed on your skin even after he moved away.
You turned back toward the counter, pretending to reorganize the spice rack. “You’re good at this.”
“At cooking?”
“At making people feel like they’re supposed to be here.”
He didn’t respond right away.
Then, quieter, “That’s because you are.”
You didn’t know what to say. So you picked up the knife and started chopping parsley and he let you.
He waited until the pasta was boiling before speaking again.
“Do you remember that study room in the back of the old library? The one with the window that wouldn’t close?”
You looked up. “Yeah. It always smelled like old books and mildew.”
He grinned. “Exactly. We had that study session there—end of second year. You were losing your mind over finals.”
You paused mid-chop. “I remember.”
“I brought you coffee.”
You frowned. “I thought I bought that.”
“Nope. You forgot your wallet. I paid. You didn’t notice.”
You turned toward him.
He kept his eyes on the stove. “You were ranting about comparative lit. Said the professor was a sadist. I figured if I pointed out your wallet was missing, you’d bite my head off.”
That…did sound like you.
“And then,” he added, stirring the pasta, “you fell asleep.”
“I did not.”
“You totally did.” He said, grinning. “Right at the table. Head down on your arms. Still muttering about Kafka.”
You groaned. “God.”
“You looked exhausted,” he said, quieter now. “Like you hadn’t slept in days.”
Your stomach tightened.
“So I sat there.” He said. “Did my work. Let you rest. And when you woke up—”
“I had a blanket.”
The memory clicked into place. A soft sweatshirt, draped over your shoulders. You always assumed one of the library staff had put it there.
“That was yours?” You asked.
He nodded. You stared at him.
“You never said anything.”
He shrugged, a little sheepish. “Didn’t want to make it weird.”
“Jisung…”
He finally looked at you then. And just like that, you saw it again—the look you never let yourself acknowledge back in school. Not teasing. Not casual. Just quiet. Steady. Something careful and tender that had waited longer than it should’ve.
Your chest ached. You reached for the basil without thinking, and your hand brushed his on the counter.
Neither of you moved. He glanced down, then looked up at you, eyes searching.
“I was never just trying to beat you.” He said. “Even when you beat me. Even when you acted like I wasn’t there.”
You couldn’t breathe.
You didn’t want to.
You wanted—
He leaned in slowly, giving you space. His hand hovered near your waist but didn’t touch. His breath warmed your cheek. He smelled like butter and rosemary and something uniquely him—clean skin, heat, something grounded and earthy.
You tipped your face up, just enough.
Just enough to say yes.
And then—
Buzz.
Your phone lit up on the counter.
One name in bright, unmistakable letters.
Baby 💬: Can we talk?
The moment cracked. You froze. Jisung saw it. His jaw tightened. You stepped back without meaning to, like the floor had dropped out from under you. The warmth between you vanished.
Jisung turned back to the stove, voice flat. “Pasta’s done.”
You didn’t know what to say. You stared at the screen like maybe if you looked hard enough, it would disappear.
“Jisung…” you started.
“It’s fine.” He cut in quickly. “You don’t owe me anything.”
You shut your eyes. The music still played. The garlic sizzled. Your heart beat so loud it drowned everything else.
“I didn’t ask him to text.” You said.
“I know.”
“I’m not going to see him.”
“I know that, too.”
But he still wouldn’t look at you. And you hated it. You reached out and flipped your phone face down. He exhaled, the tension leaving his shoulders—but not fully. Not yet.
“I liked that sweatshirt.” He said quietly.
You blinked. “What?”
“The one I left on you. In the library. It was my favorite.”
“I still have it.” You whispered.
That made him glance over. His eyes softened. Just a little. And when you stepped in again, closer this time, he didn’t flinch.
The city stretched wide beyond the glass, all clean lines and soft haze. The sun had climbed higher now, casting a warm glow across the skyline, catching on rooftops and windows in flickers of gold. On Jisung’s balcony, the breeze stirred the windchimes near the railing. They clattered gently, a scattered sound like the ghost of a song no one ever finished.
You sat curled in one of the lounge chairs, knees tucked beneath you, a plate of pasta resting on your lap. Across from you, Jisung had pulled on a hoodie over his bare chest, the sleeves pushed up as he leaned back with one leg stretched out.
He hadn’t brought up the text again. Neither had you. For a while, the only sounds were the quiet clink of forks and the low hum of the city below. Even the music had stopped. It should’ve felt tense, but it didn’t.
It just felt quiet. Eventually, you set your fork down and stared out at the horizon.
“I loved him.” You said softly.
Jisung didn’t move.
“I really did. For a long time.”
He nodded once—steady, open—but didn’t interrupt.
“I met him right after graduation. He was confident. Charming. He always had the right words.”
Jisung made a small sound in his throat. It wasn’t a reaction. Just a sign he was still listening.
“I think I just wanted to feel chosen.” You said. “And he made me feel that way. At first.”
You exhaled slowly, voice tightening.
“But then the compliments turned into corrections. The big gestures came with strings attached. And eventually, I started shrinking to fit whatever space he left for me.”
Your voice cracked on the last sentence. You looked down at your hands. “He made me feel like I was lucky he tolerated me.”
The silence hung for a beat.
Then Jisung spoke, quiet but certain. “That’s not love.”
You looked up. He was watching you, his pasta forgotten, gaze steady and dark.
“That’s control.” He said. “That’s fear. That’s someone taking and calling it love.”
You didn’t respond right away. But something in your chest settled a little. Because for the first time in a long time, you felt seen. You felt something shift in your chest—like a knot slowly coming undone.
Jisung leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “You’re not too much, Y/n. You never were. You were the only person who ever made me want to keep up.”
The breath you let out felt like it had been trapped inside you for years.
“I hate that he got to touch you.” Jisung said, voice rougher now. “That he made you doubt yourself. That he left his name on you like a bruise.”
Your throat tightened.
But he didn’t look away. “I’m here now. And I’m not letting that be the last thing you feel.”
Your eyes burned, vision going soft at the edges, but the tears didn’t fall. You held them back—not because you were trying to be strong, but because the way he looked at you didn’t leave room for anything but breath.
“You’re really not gonna tease me for once?” You said, hoping your voice sounded lighter than you felt.
He smiled, just a little. “Don’t tempt me. I’ve got at least four jokes lined up.”
“Only four?”
“I’m being respectful.” He said, then paused. “But if I wasn’t…”
You lifted an eyebrow.
“I’d tell you how good you look in my shirt.” He said, watching you carefully. “How it’s really fucking hard to be noble when you keep biting your lip like that.”
You looked away, but the smile tugging at your mouth gave you away. He noticed.
“But I won’t say that.” He added, softer now. “Because I meant what I said. You don’t owe me anything. Not last night. Not this morning. Not now.”
You nodded, your heart full and aching at the same time.
“I know.”
He stood and took your empty plate, then reached for your mug. You moved at the same time, your hand brushing his. Both of you froze. Your fingers lingered longer than they should have.
He didn’t pull away. Neither did you. But the moment that followed wasn’t charged. It wasn’t tense or heavy like earlier. It just…held. Like a breath neither of you wanted to exhale. Like space that didn’t need to be filled.
When you looked up at him, it wasn’t about needing a distraction. It was about being seen. He reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke.
“If you ever want to rewrite what love feels like…I’ll be here.”
Then he turned and walked inside. He didn’t ask you to follow. He didn’t wait for an answer. e just let you be. And somehow, that broke you open more than anything else ever had.
——
Your phone buzzed again on the coffee table. You didn’t want to look. You didn’t want it to be him. But you already knew.
When you finally glanced down, the name lit up the screen in bold white letters. Casual. Like it meant nothing.
Baby 💬: I’m coming over. We need to talk.
Your stomach twisted.
“Y/n?” Jisung’s voice came from the kitchen, low and careful. “You okay?”
You didn’t answer right away. You just picked up your phone and turned the screen toward him. His jaw tightened. That was the only visible reaction.
He walked over slowly, towel still slung over his shoulder, eyes flicking from the message to your face.
“Is he serious?”
You nodded. “He still has the code to my apartment.”
Jisung didn’t speak for a moment. Then, calmly, “You’re not going back tonight.”
“I wasn’t planning to.” You said, voice tight. “But now I’m worried he’s just going to show up.”
“Then stay here.” He said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “As long as you need to. One night, five nights—I don’t care.”
You looked at him. “You don’t even hesitate.”
He gave a crooked smile. “What, like I haven’t imagined you living here before?”
Your breath caught. But he didn’t press it. Didn’t make it a joke. He stepped past you, unplugged a charger from the wall, and held it out to you like it was something more than just a cord.
“Turn it off.” He said. “Or leave it on if you want to stare at it. Either way, you don’t owe him a response tonight.”
You took it from him and wrapped your fingers around it.
“I’ll stay.” You said quietly. “Just for a little while.”
His smile softened. “Good.”.
——
Later, you stood in the doorway of his bedroom while he turned down the sheets. The whole room smelled like him—clean linen, warm spice, something bright and citrusy lingering beneath it all. A single candle flickered on the dresser, casting soft, slow shadows across the walls.
“I’ll take the couch.” he said, already reaching for a pillow.
You didn’t respond right away.
He glanced back, brow raised. “Unless you’d rather I didn’t.”
The space between you stretched thin. Your heart started to race.
“Would you stay?” You asked, voice low.
He paused, just for a second. Then nodded. “Yeah. I’ll stay.”
You both climbed into opposite sides of the bed without saying anything else. It felt oddly natural—like something you’d done before, even if you hadn’t.
The silence didn’t feel tense anymore. It felt full. Like it had room to breathe now.
You lay on your side, facing the window, watching the light shift against the glass. But you couldn’t ignore the warmth beside you—the quiet, steady presence of him. It felt like gravity, subtle and constant, tugging you closer.
After a while, he spoke.
“I’m not going to touch you unless you ask.”
Your chest tightened. You rolled over slowly. He was already facing you, head resting on one arm, eyes tired but steady. You didn’t know how to answer, so you didn’t explain it. You just told the truth.
“I feel safe.”
Jisung exhaled, soft and relieved. “Good.”
You hesitated. “You didn’t make me feel like a mistake. Not this morning. Not now.”
He reached out gently, letting the pad of one finger brush over your knuckles. Just that—no pressure, no assumption. Just contact.
“You never were.” He said.
That was when you moved closer. A little at first. Then more. You ended up tucked against his chest, your forehead resting near his collarbone. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you in just enough. The other hand settled gently between your shoulder blades, warm and still.
Neither of you moved for a while. The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable—it just held. Steady. Close.
Then—
“Jisung…” you whispered.
He turned his head slightly, his breath soft against your temple. “Yeah?”
You pulled back just enough to see him. His lashes were long in the low light, his lips parted slightly, waiting. He didn’t push.
“I want…” your voice caught. You swallowed. “I want you to touch me.”
He searched your eyes.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
He moved slowly. His hand slid down the curve of your back, fingers brushing the hem of the shirt that still hung loosely on your frame—his shirt, oversized and wrinkled from sleep. It skimmed the tops of your thighs and didn’t hide the fact that you weren’t wearing anything underneath.
When he leaned in to kiss you, it wasn’t rushed. It was warm. Intentional. Something you both leaned into, steady and slow. You melted into it—into him—into the low heat that had been simmering since the moment you woke up in his bed.
Your hands found his hair, then gripped his shoulders as he shifted, moving over you. His thigh slid between yours, parting them with a quiet confidence that made your breath catch. And still, he didn’t hurry.
His mouth moved down, brushing along your jaw, then lower—under your ear, across your throat. His teeth grazed the skin there, and when you gasped, his tongue followed, soothing the sting and pulling a sound from deep in your chest. You felt him smile against your skin.
“You still good?” He murmured.
You nodded, already breathless. “I want you.”
That smile widened. You could hear it in his voice when he spoke.
“Then I’m going to take my time with you.”
The shirt bunched higher around your ribs as his hands moved beneath it, palms sliding over your hips, your waist, your stomach, leaving heat everywhere he touched. He explored you like he hadn’t already learned your body the night before, like he wanted to take his time rediscovering every curve in daylight. His mouth followed the path of his hands, pressing slow, open kisses along your ribs and down your stomach until he was between your thighs, his breath warming the sensitive skin there.
“You’re gorgeous like this…” he murmured, tongue dragging upward in an unhurried line that made your toes curl. “In my bed. In my shirt. Already dripping for me.”
A soft, needy sound slipped from your throat as your hips lifted without you meaning to. He smiled against your skin.
His fingers slid inside you. Two at first, slow and deliberate, curling just right as your back arched with a broken gasp. His other hand spread your thigh wider, holding you open while his mouth hovered just above where you needed him most. He kissed around you on purpose, close enough to drive you crazy, letting you feel how wet you were before he finally lowered his mouth.
His tongue pressed into you, slow and deep, drawing a moan straight out of your chest. He didn’t rush it. He licked you like he had nowhere else to be, switching between long strokes and tight circles over your clit while his fingers worked inside you, scissoring gently, then curling upward until your thighs started to shake. You grabbed the sheets, breath coming apart.
“Jisung…” you whispered, already desperate.
He hummed against you, the vibration making you cry out, then pulled back just enough to look up at you. His lips were wet and swollen, his eyes dark.
“Say it.” He said softly.
“Please,” you breathed. “I need you.”
That did it. He kissed his way back up your body, slow and savoring, dragging his mouth over your stomach, your breasts, your throat, until he was hovering over you again. His skin was flushed, his breathing rough, his cock hard and heavy against your thigh as he shifted between you. He slid his fingers out of you reluctantly, replacing them with the thick head of his cock, already slick with you as he dragged it through your wetness. You felt every inch of him as he lined himself up.
“Tell me again, Y/n.” He rasped.
“I want you.”
He pushed in slowly. Your mouth fell open on a gasp as he stretched you, inch by inch, filling you completely. Your legs locked around his waist, pulling him closer as he sank deeper, careful and steady until he was buried inside you. He froze there for a second, forehead dropping to your shoulder, breath shaking.
“Fuck…” he whispered. “You feel so good.”
You couldn’t form words. All you had were soft, broken sounds as he started to move. His thrusts were slow at first, deep and smooth, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in again, letting you feel every inch of him. He rolled his hips just right, grinding into you with each push until your whole body felt lit from the inside.
You wrapped your arms around his back, nails digging into his skin as he picked up the rhythm. The sound of your slick filled the room, mixed with the quiet slap of skin and his low groans every time you clenched around him. He shifted his angle, driving deeper, hitting that spot that made your breath stutter and your thighs tremble.
“Oh—fuck.” You cried, clinging to his shoulders.
His hand slid between your bodies, thumb circling your clit in slow, cruel strokes while he kept thrusting into you, harder now, faster, his control slipping. He buried his face against your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he whispered your name like it was something sacred.
And then your phone rang.
Not a buzz. Not a ping. A full-volume ringtone—sharp, jarring, cutting straight through the breathless rhythm of the room. You froze, breath caught in your throat. Jisung didn’t. He only paused for a second before turning his head, gaze flicking to the screen glowing on the nightstand beside the bed.
Baby 💬 – Incoming Call
“No—” you started, barely able to get the word out. “Don’t—”
But his hand was already moving. The other stayed braced beside your head, his cock still buried deep inside you, pulsing with every heartbeat. He answered.
“She’s busy.” He said, voice calm—too calm. Ice threaded with something darker.
You lay beneath him, stunned. His body still covered yours, heavy and hot, his cock twitching inside you. Every muscle in your body tensed, breath shallow, nerves on fire.
The voice on the other end cracked through the line, sharp and angry. “Who the fuck is this?”
Jisung smiled. You felt it before you saw it. The curve of his lips against your jaw, the shift in his breath.
“Let’s just say,” he said, dragging his hips back an inch before pushing in slow and deep again, making you gasp beneath him, “I’m the one taking care of her now. The way you never could.”
The line went silent. Your cheeks burned, fingers clawing at the sheets as Jisung started to move again—slow at first, deliberate, grinding into you with a rhythm that made you whimper. His hand slid up your body, palm curving around your throat—not squeezing, just holding. Possessive. He brought the phone closer to his mouth, eyes locked on yours as he spoke.
“She’s not yours anymore.” He murmured, low and dark, voice meant for you and only you—even if the phone was still pressed to his ear. “She’s under me now. Moaning for me. So full of my cock she can’t even speak.”
He wasn’t wrong. You let out a sharp, breathy moan, your legs trembling around his hips. He fucked you deeper, rougher now, each thrust hitting that spot that made your vision blur. Your body clenched around him, helpless, wrung out and gasping.
You could hear your ex’s voice again—faint, shouting through the phone, furious and distant. Jisung didn’t care. He hung up and tossed the phone aside like it didn’t matter. He looked down at you—wild-haired, flushed, panting beneath him—like nothing else existed.
“You okay?” He asked, voice hoarse, forehead nearly pressed to yours.
You nodded, barely able to form a sound, your fingers digging into his back. He kissed you—your jaw, your cheek, your lips—soft and messy and breathless.
“Still want this?”
“Yes.” You gasped, voice breaking. “Don’t stop. Please—don’t stop.”
His growl was low, right against your ear, and then he slammed into you harder. Again and gain. His pace brutal, precise, every thrust driving you closer to the edge.
“Good.” He said, teeth grazing your throat. “Because I’m not fucking done.”
His pace wasn't careless. It was deliberate. Deep. Raw in a way that felt purposeful, like he was pouring every year he’d spent wanting you into each thrust. He drove into you harder and harder, hips snapping forward in a steady, relentless rhythm that pulled helpless sounds from your throat. It felt like he was trying to erase the distance between past and present, like he was finally taking what he’d only been allowed to look at before.
You clung to him, gasping, your legs locked tight around his waist. Every stroke pushed his cock deep inside you, keeping your breath broken and your body wound tight. He fucked you like he might never get another chance, like he needed to make you feel everything all at once.
“God, baby…” he groaned through clenched teeth. “You don’t even know how long I’ve needed this. Needed you.”
You couldn’t answer him. You could barely breathe. You didn’t have to. Your body told him everything—how you clenched around him, how his name fell from your mouth with every thrust, how your nails dragged down his back while your hips met his desperately.
Then it hit you. Your orgasm crashed through you hard and fast, stealing the air from your lungs. You cried out as your body locked up around him, pulsing tight, pleasure ripping through you in waves.
He followed immediately, letting out a broken curse as he slammed into you one last time, hips grinding deep while he came inside you, spilling hot and heavy, filling you until he had nothing left.
But he didn’t pull out. Instead, he collapsed carefully over you, catching himself on his arms so he didn’t crush you, his cock still buried inside your sensitive heat. You could feel him twitching with aftershocks, feel the way your body fluttered around him, sore and stretched and still clinging to him instinctively. He stayed right there.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. There was only the sound of your breathing, the heat of skin against skin, sweat cooling slowly on flushed bodies. Your fingers slid into his damp hair, holding him close while his lips brushed lazily over your collarbone.
And then he shifted again. Not away but lower. He kissed along your jaw, down your neck, then lower—slow, reverent kisses over your breasts, each one softer than the last. He was still inside you. His cock had softened slightly, but not much. Your body still held him tight, your walls swollen and clinging to every inch of him. Every small shift of his weight made you feel it—that stretch, that heat, that full, aching presence deep inside.
“Still okay?” He asked, his voice rough—not just with lust now, but something heavier. Something real.
You nodded. “Yeah.”
He let out a low groan, mouth brushing the center of your chest, down between your breasts, along your ribs. “Fuck.” He whispered. “You feel so amazing like this.”
You gasped as he moved, hips rolling deep and slow against you. The motion carried no rush, only a heavy deliberateness that made it feel like he was holding himself there, unwilling to let go.
“I should let you rest…” he murmured. “But I can’t. I can’t stop touching you.”
He slid back up your body and kissed your mouth, soft and unhurried. His weight settled over you again, warm and grounding. One of his hands smoothed down your thigh, then curled around it, gently pulling your leg higher over his hip. Inside you, his cock stirred—slowly hardening again, hardening as your body pulsed around him, still wet, still open, still aching.
“I need you again.” He said softly against your lips. “Need to feel you wrap around me while I take my time. Make you feel good all over again.”
You whimpered, breath shaky. Your body was tender, overstimulated, but already ready. Already aching for more.
“You’re still inside me.” You whispered.
His mouth brushed yours. “Exactly where I want to be.”
Then he began to move. Not fast. Just a slow, deep grind of his hips that made your breath catch. Every thrust was careful. Intentional. He wasn’t chasing release—he was savoring every second. Letting you feel the weight of him, the stretch, the steady drag of his cock as he moved inside you, filling you over and over, lazy and deep.
Your body welcomed him without hesitation. Still wet, still open, still fluttering around him with every push. He leaned his forehead against yours, watching you, breathing you in like he couldn’t get close enough.
“I used to stare at you in class…” he murmured, voice low and steady. “Watched you smile at everyone but me.”
You let out a breathless laugh. “You were cocky.”
“I was obsessed.” He said, kissing your cheek, then under your ear. “Thought about you every night. Wondered how you’d sound…moaning like this. Falling apart under me.”
He thrust a little deeper and your hips jumped, a soft cry leaving your lips as your legs tightened around him again.
“Thought about how soft you’d be. How tight. How fucking warm you’d feel wrapped around me like this.”
His lips found your temple, then your mouth, kissing you slowly, like it mattered.
“I waited too long…” he whispered. “But I’m not wasting another second now that I have you.”
You held him tighter, arms wrapped around his shoulders, hips rising to meet every careful thrust. He stayed deep inside you, never pulling back far, never rushing. Just rocking into you, letting the rhythm build until your body was trembling beneath him again.
And when you came—quiet, breathless, legs shaking around his waist—he was still with you. Still inside you. Still whispering against your skin. That you were beautiful. That he wanted you. That he wasn’t going anywhere.
Eventually, the rhythm slowed. He stayed inside you, his cock still hard, still fully seated, but his thrusts softened into slow, lazy rolls of his hips—more about staying connected than chasing anything more. You were both trembling, skin slick and flushed, your breaths falling into sync in the warm space between you.
Your body ached in a way that felt worth holding onto, and he made no move to take it away.
Jisung kissed you again, slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that said he wasn’t going anywhere. The kind that made your chest squeeze, made you feel something more than just the afterglow. There was a shift in him—you could feel it. Not just the way his weight settled over you, or the way he was still thick and pulsing inside you. But emotionally. The sharp hunger from earlier had melted into something heavier. Warmer. Possessive, but quiet.
His chest pressed against yours, and when his hips lowered, you could feel every inch of him, still snug, still hard, still deep. You were so full.
“Fuck.” He breathed against your lips. “I could stay like this forever.”
You dragged your fingers through his hair, brushing back the sweaty strands from his forehead. “You’re still hard?”
He grinned, nuzzling the side of your face. “Can you blame me?”
You let out a soft, blissed-out laugh and rolled your hips just enough to make him groan.
“Careful…” he warned, his voice a low rumble. “Don’t start something unless you want me to finish it.”
“I think we just finished something.”
“We started something.” He said, brushing his nose along your jaw, then down your throat. “And don’t even think about calling this a one-time thing.”
“I wasn’t.”
That made him pause. He looked down at you, his expression unreadable for a brief moment before it softened. Still buried inside you, his hips held steady as he dipped his head and kissed the top of your breast. Once, then again, slower this time. The third kiss lingered, his mouth dragging across your skin as his lips parted and stayed there.
Your breath caught as he wrapped his lips around your nipple, tongue flicking softly. His free hand came up to cup the other, thumb brushing gentle circles across the sensitive skin, like he was trying to memorize it. Like he needed to feel your heartbeat there.
“You’re so soft here…” he murmured against your breast, before switching sides.
“Jisung—”
“I’m serious.” He said, his voice muffled as he sucked gently. “You used to stretch during lectures. Lean back in your chair, arms overhead. I almost failed stats because of these perfect fucking tits.”
You laughed softly, breath catching when he sucked a little harder at your nipple.
“Is this your post-sex cuddling tactic?” You teased, fingers brushing through his hair. “Talking about how you objectified me in class…while still inside me?”
His eyes flicked up, amused—but warm.
“No.” He said. “My post-sex cuddling tactic is staying buried in your perfect pussy while I worship every inch of you and tell you how long I’ve been in love with you.”
The words hit harder than you expected.
You blinked. “What?”
He kissed your chest again, slower now, lips dragging over your skin.
“I’m not saying it to make this heavier than it needs to be.” He murmured. “I’m not asking you to figure anything out. But yeah. I was gone for you. Back then. And now too, obviously.”
Your throat went tight. You swallowed hard, heartbeat thudding in your chest. You’d known he cared—he’d said as much earlier—but not like this. Not love.
Jisung looked up at you, his hands still gentle where they held you, thumbs tracing slow, absent circles along your waist.
“You don’t have to say anything.” He added quietly. “Just…let me stay here for a while longer.”
You didn’t hesitate. You wrapped your arms around him again, your legs still draped over his hips, your body still holding him deep.
“Stay…” you whispered. “As long as you want.”
His smile softened. He pressed a kiss to your jaw, then tucked his head against your chest, one hand trailing down your side to rest on your thigh.
He remained inside you, solid and warm, his presence grounding in a way that made you cling to him. And this time, you didn’t let go.
—
You didn’t know how much time had passed. The room was quiet now, save for the soft hum of the fan above you, the sound of your breathing, and the slow drag of Jisung’s mouth across your skin.
He still hadn’t pulled out. His cock stayed inside you, warm and thick, twitching slightly whenever your hips shifted or your walls fluttered around him. He wasn’t moving. Wasn’t fucking you. Just there—rooted deep, like leaving you wasn’t even a thought.
His mouth moved lazily over your breast, tongue circling your nipple, slow and unhurried. His hand cradled the other, thumb brushing back and forth in the same soft rhythm while the other hand traced the curve of your hip, over the sore marks he’d already left behind.
You were still breathless. Still sore from how thoroughly he’d ruined you earlier. But the ache hadn’t faded. Neither had the need.
You let your head fall back, a quiet sound catching in your throat when his lips ghosted across your chest again. And when you shifted—just slightly—your hips tilting without thinking, his cock throbbed inside you.
He groaned low. “Fuck…”
Then he looked up at you—hair a mess, cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded and hungry—and gave you that crooked smile you hadn’t seen in years.
“Wanna ride me?”
Your stomach flipped. You didn’t answer, only pressed lightly against his shoulder, and he followed the guidance without hesitation. He sank back into the pillows, arms falling loose at his sides, eyes never leaving you—his expression open with heat and something close to awe.
You straddled his hips again, your thighs trembling with the effort, still sore—but it didn’t matter. Not when he was looking at you like that.
You reached down, fingers guiding him as you lifted your hips. You sank back down, inch by inch, taking every bit of him until you were full again. Until your body was stretched around him, pulsing, aching in the most perfect way.
He cursed under his breath, chest rising sharply as his hands found your thighs. “Holy shit—”
You started to move, slow and steady, grinding down instead of bouncing, rolling your hips with purpose. Each motion dragged him deep, hitting every sweet spot you didn’t know you still had left.
His grip tightened on your hips, but he didn’t try to take control. He just looked up at you like he couldn’t believe you were real.
“Take your time, baby.” He said, voice raw. “I just wanna watch.”
His eyes dropped to where you were joined, where your body slid over his, slow and slick and perfect. He looked wrecked—half-gone, fighting between a groan and a prayer.
“You always looked so good from across the room.” He murmured, like the words slipped out on their own. “Always wondered what you’d look like like this.”
You looked down at him, breath catching. “Yeah?”
He nodded slowly, his teeth catching on his bottom lip as your hips rocked over him again. “Back in school,” he murmured, “didn’t matter who was talking—I was just looking at you.”
You pressed your hands into his chest, moving a little faster now, finding that rhythm again. “You never said anything.”
He let out a soft breath, almost a laugh. “You had a boyfriend.”
The words landed low, heavy in your stomach. The memory surfaced before you could stop it—that kiss. That night. How fast it happened. How fast it ended. Your hips faltered. He noticed immediately.
“I didn’t mean to ruin the moment ” He said quickly, sitting up just enough to reach you, his hands smoothing gently over your back. “I just…I never forgot.”
You leaned down, forehead brushing his, breath warm between you. “I never did either.”
His hands slid back to your hips, holding you still. Then he flexed up into you once—slow, deep—pushing his cock into you until you gasped.
“Then why didn’t you come back to me?” He asked, voice thick. “After that kiss. After that night.”
“Because I was still with him.” You whispered. “And I felt guilty. And scared. And stupid.”
He groaned quietly, eyes squeezing shut like he was trying not to feel everything at once. “That kiss haunted me.”
You started to move again, hips circling slow and steady, dragging him deep with every grind. The way he filled you—perfect and thick, pressing against every part of you—made it hard to breathe.
“It haunted me too.” You said.
His hands slid up your back, spreading wide between your shoulder blades. He watched you, eyes wide and dark, taking in every movement as you started to fall apart again right there in his lap.
“You feel like everything I missed.” He whispered.
You gasped softly, grinding down harder, deeper. “Then don’t miss it now.”
He cursed under his breath, gripping your waist tighter, letting you move the way you needed—slow, smooth, drawing out every second. Each roll of your hips made his cock hit deeper, both of you trembling from the pressure building again.
“Fuck—you’re so beautiful like this.” He groaned. “Even better than I imagined.”
Your eyes fluttered open. “You really imagined this?”
“Every fucking day.” He said, like he didn’t even have to think about it.
You leaned forward, your breasts brushing against his chest, your mouth hovering just above his.
“Then watch.”
You rode him harder now, your pace still steady but charged with intention. Every roll of your hips brought his cock deeper, your bodies meeting with soft, wet sounds as you moved together. You were flushed, slick, stretched wide around him, and Jisung couldn’t take his eyes off you.
He looked wrecked—lips parted, cheeks flushed, eyes locked on you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. Like the weight of every year between then and now was finally breaking apart beneath your skin.
“I should’ve waited for you.” You said, breath catching. “I should’ve chosen you.”
“You’re here now.” He rasped, his voice rough. Then he thrust up into you once—deep and hard. “Choose me now.”
The words hit something raw in your chest, and your body responded before your mind could catch up. The pressure coiled tighter, hot and heavy in your belly. His thumb found your clit, circling lightly, just enough to send you crashing over the edge.
You came with a cry, collapsing onto his chest, your whole body shaking. Your walls clenched tight around him, pulsing, and he groaned low—hands gripping your hips, fucking up into you with short, desperate thrusts to ride out your release.
“Shit—just like that…” he gasped. “Wanna feel you come all over me.”
He didn’t last much longer. With a sharp breath and a shudder, he came deep inside you again—his third time that night—his cock throbbing as he spilled into you, warmth spreading between your legs as his arms wrapped around your back and pulled you closer.
He didn’t pull out. He didn’t move. He just kissed your temple, lips lingering there, and whispered, “I’m not letting you go this time.”
And you buried your face in his neck, holding him tight. Because you believed him. Because you wanted to. Because this time, you finally could.
——
Morning light slipped through the blinds in soft bands of gold. It warmed the sheets, your bare shoulders, and the slow curve of Jisung’s back as he hovered over you, still buried deep, holding himself there like he wasn’t ready to move yet.
Neither of you had moved much. You were tangled together, your thigh draped over his hip, his hand resting warm at your waist. His breath brushed your collarbone, lips parted against the newest bruise blooming there—another mark he’d left during the night. You couldn’t tell how long you’d been drifting like that. It felt like hours. Maybe minutes. Time had gone quiet.
Your whole body ached in the best possible way. You felt it in your chest, your thighs, the sore peaks of your breasts. You felt it between your legs too—still swollen and sensitive, stretched around the space he filled. There was no mistaking what had happened. Not with the way your skin tingled everywhere he’d touched, licked, claimed.
Jisung stirred before you did. He didn’t pull out right away. Just shifted, nuzzled into your neck, and kissed your shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Mmph…” he murmured against your skin. “Still inside you.”
You smiled, eyelids heavy. “You sound proud.”
“‘Cause I am…” he mumbled, one hand sliding down to cup your ass. “Might just stay like this.”
Your laugh was soft, muffled by the pillow. “You know you're gonna have to eventually.”
“Don’t wanna…” he grumbled, voice still rough from sleep and sex.
You were about to answer—something teasing, something warm—when a knock shattered the quiet. Three sharp raps. Firm. Familiar. Jisung’s whole body tensed.
You blinked, your heart leaping to your throat as you pushed up slightly on one elbow. “Was that—?”
Another knock. Louder. Then a voice—loud, impatient, unmistakable.
“Y/n! I know you’re in there!”
Your blood turned to ice. Jisung was already moving. He eased out of you carefully—both of you gasping at the sudden ache of emptiness—then pressed a kiss to your temple before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His back was covered in new scratches. There were bruises blooming at his hips, bite marks on his neck and shoulders. His whole body looked wrecked—thoroughly and visibly fucked. You couldn’t look away.
He grabbed the first pair of sweatpants he could find and dragged them on without bothering with boxers. His hair was a disaster, sticking up in every direction. His voice still wrecked from sex and sleep.
He looked exactly like someone who’d spent the whole night fucking. Because he had. The sweatpants he’d pulled on hung low on his hips, doing nothing to hide how recently and thoroughly he’d been inside someone.
And when he opened the door without bothering to put on a shirt, he didn’t even try to tone it down. He leaned against the frame, one hand braced above his head, the other resting casually against the door like he had all the time in the world.
The smug, satisfied look on his face was impossible to miss. Your ex’s jaw clenched the second he saw him.
Jisung didn’t flinch. “Can I help you?”
“I want to talk to Y/n.”
“She’s asleep.”
“I want to see her.”
Jisung tilted his head slightly, not moving from the doorway. “Yeah, see…that’s not really your right anymore.”
His voice wasn’t loud. But it was sharp—quiet and cool in a way that made your ex stiffen. There was a long pause. Your ex’s eyes swept over Jisung’s chest, the marks, the faint red streaks that clearly weren’t self-inflicted. His gaze dropped lower—to the curve of Jisung’s hips, the outline of his cock thick behind the fabric. His expression shifted. Frustration. Jealousy. Something darker.
“You think this proves something?” He snapped.
Jisung’s lips curled into something close to a smile. Easy. Calm. Cruel.
“No.” He said, still relaxed. “But the scratches on my back? The way she moaned my name last night? The fact that she’s sleeping in my bed right now, full of me, legs still shaking?”
His smile deepened. “That should clear it up.”
Inside the room, you sat up slowly. The sheets slid down your body, and the air against your skin reminded you of every mark he’d left. You didn’t call out or move toward the door. You already knew there was no need.
Jisung was already standing there—unbothered, unapologetic, and very clearly not going anywhere. Your ex stared at him for a long moment. Then stepped back. He didn’t say anything else. He just turned around and walked away.
Jisung closed the door with a quiet click and made his way back to the bedroom. For a moment, the silence just hung in the air.
Then he exhaled hard, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus. That felt good.”
You let out a breathless laugh from the bed. “You’re such an asshole.”
He turned toward you, and his eyes did a slow sweep—your messy hair, the flushed curve of your lips, the trail of bruises he’d left across your chest.
“Yeah.” Ge said easily, walking back over, barefoot, sweatpants still barely clinging to his hips. “But I’m your asshole now.”
He didn’t bother with the covers when he slid back into bed, just crawled between your legs like he belonged there.
His mouth found your stomach first, soft and warm, then your hip, then lower—kisses slow, deliberate, and dangerously close.
“Ready for another round?” He asked, his voice low against your skin, muffled slightly by the inside of your thigh.
Your breath hitched. Your hips lifted without meaning to. “You’re insane.”
He grinned, mouth brushing just above where you needed him.
You enter the gala with Chan and Minho, and it quickly becomes clear that the connection between all three of you can’t be ignored. The night is filled with tension, attention, and quiet intimacy that lingers long after the party ends.
MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS, DNI
Warnings/genre: MinChan x hybrid!AFAB reader, SMUT, slow burn, soft dom/consensual power dynamics, exhibitionism (implied/public risk), marking/hickeys, possessive themes, praise kink, group intimacy (MMF), domestic aftercare, found family, emotional bonding, unprotected sex, future heat implications.
My writing is all fictional and does not represent any of the named people in any way, shape or form. All works and writing is done by me, and I do not use AI at any point in my writing.
dividers made by @cafekitsune
The en suite door cracked open, and steam drifted out in slow curls, slipping into the bedroom like it didn’t want to leave.
Chan stepped out first, water still trailing down his chest, a towel slung low around his hips. His hair was damp and mussed, clinging to his forehead in uneven strands. Minho followed close behind, drying the back of his neck with one hand while pushing wet bangs out of his eyes with the other. His skin was flushed from the heat, pink at the edges in that way that came from exertion and warm water.
They’d only meant to reset. A quick, instinctive round to steady themselves before the evening ahead. Neither of them expected to see you already dressed.
You hadn’t noticed the door open. You were still standing by the mirror, carefully adjusting one of the thin velvet straps on your shoulder. The dress hugged you in all the right places—the rich wine-colored fabric catching the light when you moved. It cinched at your waist, dipped low across your chest, and parted high along your thigh, swaying softly every time you shifted.
Elegant. Bold, and a little dangerous. They both stopped in the doorway.
Minho’s towel slipped a little in his hand as he stared, his jaw going slack. “Fuck…”
Chan blinked once, like his brain was still catching up. His gaze traced slowly from your throat to your collarbone, down the deep curve of the dress and the subtle rise and fall of your breathing beneath it.
“You’re ready?” He asked, his voice quieter than usual.
You turned at the sound, your ears twitching faintly, and froze when you saw them—both standing there, half-naked, still warm from the shower.
Your breath caught.
So did theirs.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was heavy, charged with heat and everything that hadn’t been said yet.
Minho moved first. He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, never breaking eye contact. “You weren’t supposed to be ready yet.”
“I—” Your voice came out soft, a little unsure. “I wanted to surprise you.”
His eyes dropped to the hem of your dress, to the way it skimmed your thigh when you shifted.
“You did…” Chan murmured, his voice rough and low. “You really did.”
You fidgeted without thinking, smoothing a hand down your side even though the fabric already sat perfectly. Minho slipped in behind you, quiet as a shadow. His hands hovered near your hips—not touching just yet, but close enough to remind you he was there. Watching and present.
Minho’s breath warm and even near your ear as his fingers traced a barely-there line along the curve of your waist.
“You know what you’re doing, walking around in this?” he murmured, voice low and close.
You swallowed once before answering, your voice quiet but certain. “I wanted to look good for you.”
Chan stepped closer from the front, his eyes taking you in slowly, like he was seeing the dress for the first time. “You don’t just look good, baby.” he said softly. “You look like temptation—velvet-wrapped and tied up with a bow.”
Behind you, Minho’s hand slid down your spine in an unhurried stroke over bare skin, settling just above your ass. Your tail flicked in response. He didn’t squeeze or guide you—just let his palm rest there, solid and steady, like an anchor.
“They’re going to stare.” He said, making no effort to hide the way his gaze followed every inch of you.
“They can look.” Chan added, his voice roughening as his hand came to rest lightly over your sternum. “But they’ll know better than to touch.”
Your tail flicked again before you could stop it, brushing softly against Minho’s thigh.
“They’ll know,” he murmured, lips grazing your ear, “exactly who you belong to.”
The shiver that ran through you had nothing to do with nerves or cold. It was them—the way they looked at you, the way their touches stayed gentle but sure, holding you between them like neither was ready to step away.
Chan tipped your chin up with two fingers, careful and deliberate, and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. There was no rush to it, no heat—just something steady and real.
“You’re perfect, Princess.” He said.
A moment later, Minho kissed your shoulder just beneath the thin strap of your dress, lingering briefly before pulling back.
“We should finish getting ready.” He said, even as he stayed close.
For a few seconds, neither of them moved.
Then Minho stepped away to grab the dress shirt at the foot of the bed. He put it on, already fastening his cuffs as he spoke, his voice edged but controlled. “Ten minutes. Then we’re taking her downstairs.”
Chan reached for the blow dryer and switched it on low, working it through his damp hair, though his eyes kept finding you in the mirror like he couldn’t help it. He grinned around the hum. “And if we’re not out in fifteen—”
“She’s going to end up against the wall…” Minho muttered.
“And out of that dress again.” Chan finished, eyes bright.
Your cheeks burned, but you held their gaze in the mirror. This time, you didn’t look away.
——
The ballroom glowed in soft gold and green, candlelight flickering across marble floors and catching in the delicate crystal ornaments suspended from the vaulted ceiling. Low strings and piano filled the space, just loud enough to soften the clink of glasses and the hum of conversation. The elevator doors hadn’t even fully opened before you felt it—the subtle shift, the way heads began to turn. The weight of attention settled over you all at once, heavy and unmistakable, like velvet drawn across your shoulders. It matched the pull of your dress as the slit shifted with each step, the fabric skimmed your hips like it had been made with your body in mind.
With Minho on one side—sharp-eyed and unreadable—and Chan on the other, steady and warm, you didn’t hesitate. Not even when the room seemed to pause, quieting for a beat as you entered. You knew this place. You’d been here before, when the ballroom was nothing but ladders and half-built arches, tape marking measurements on the floor, fabric swatches clipped to folding chairs. You remembered trailing behind Chan and Minho as they adjusted placements and corrected details, moving through the chaos with calm certainty, as if they’d already seen exactly how this night would look.
Now, it was alive. The space buzzed beneath its polish—laughter drifting from clustered conversations, glasses lifted in easy toasts, heels clicking softly against stone. There were hundreds of people here: executives in tailored suits, department heads dressed to impress, PR teams scanning the room with practiced smiles. You caught glimpses of media badges and overheard names you recognized from headlines.
And then, more quietly, you noticed them. Not many, but just a few. Hybrids, though it wasn’t obvious at first glance. No visible ears or tails on display, nothing overt. It was in how they moved instead—the way their bodies read the room, how their attention stayed half-angled toward exits, how their posture never fully relaxed. You recognized it instantly, the kind of alert calm that lives in muscle memory. You weren’t sure whether they noticed you first, or if you noticed them, but when your eyes met, there was a flicker of something shared. Not curiosity. Not judgment. Just recognition, like the air had shifted around you the way it does when the wind changes.
You didn’t look away. You kept your spine tall, your shoulders easy, your steps measured between the two men who had never once asked you to make yourself smaller. Chan’s hand brushed your lower back, light but grounding, and you let the reminder settle in. You were allowed to be here. Allowed to be seen.
Near the catering table, two hybrid women stood together. One had faint tiger striping across her bare shoulders, bold against the dark fabric of her gown. The other wore golden ears tucked low into her curls, nearly hidden unless you knew to look. Farther back, near a tall frosted window, a hybrid man lingered alone—tall, still, observant. Feline, most likely. It was hard to tell from a distance, but the way he held himself—poised, deliberate, quietly aware—reminded you of Minho. Of how he watched without making it obvious. Of how he always seemed to know exactly where you were.
They had noticed you the moment you walked in. Of course they had.
They didn’t need to be looking at you to know you were there. Your presence would’ve reached them already—your scent quiet but unmistakable, carrying the imprint of the two men at your sides. You weren’t marked. Not officially. But you weren’t untouched either. There was something different in the air around you now, warm and layered, like your body had absorbed the way they’d held you earlier and refused to let it fade.
What you felt from the others wasn’t judgment. It was awareness.
Not confrontation—just acknowledgment, like an invisible thread pulled tight across the room. And instead of shrinking under it, you found yourself standing taller. You didn’t look away.
Chan’s hand shifted at the small of your back, light and steady. Reassuring you in a way that made it feel like he already knew what was running through your head.
“You alright?” He asked quietly, his voice nearly lost in the hum of the room.
You nodded once. “Just…taking it all in.”
Minho’s gaze slid toward the far end of the ballroom, his expression unreadable. “Too much?”
“Not yet.”
He stepped a little closer, angling his head so only you could hear him. “There are a few hybrids here tonight. Do you want space from them?”
You shook your head immediately—too fast to be uncertain. “No. I’m not hiding.”
There was a brief pause. Then his mouth curved into a small, quiet smile, something proud flickering beneath it. “Good girl.”
The tension along your spine eased, just a notch. Around you, the room settled back into motion. Conversations picked up again, the initial weight of attention loosening as people turned back to their drinks and their companions. Some glanced at you and quickly looked away. Others watched as you passed, curiosity lingering without comment. The few words you caught weren’t unkind—just wondering.
“Is that her?”
“I didn’t even know she was coming.”
“She’s really…wow.”
They weren’t loud, but they didn’t need to be. You heard enough—the surprise, the interest threaded through every hushed remark.
Chan didn’t slow. His hand stayed steady at your back as he guided you deeper into the room, past the drink table and toward a quieter stretch near the edge of the dance floor. Minho remained at your other side, his attention drifting lazily across the crowd, alert in that understated way of his.
You kept walking, with them, exactly where you belonged.
As you walked, more heads turned. A few people offered polite nods or brief smiles, the kind that acknowledged your presence without inviting conversation. Others looked almost startled to see you, blinking once before dropping their gaze the moment you met it. You didn’t flinch. You held yourself the way Minho had taught you—chin level, tail relaxed but not tucked, ears angled just enough toward the voices that mattered.
Then you caught her gaze. One of the hybrid women from earlier—the one with the faint tiger markings—was watching you again. This time, she didn’t look away and neither did you. Her eyes held yours a beat longer than expected, assessing, careful. Just as your pulse began to quicken, she dipped her head in the smallest nod.
You returned it. The moment passed, but something in you loosened, like a knot gently undone.
“Tail’s puffed.” Chan murmured under his breath, amusement threading his voice.
You nudged him with your elbow without looking, barely managing to hide your smile.
Minho let out a quiet chuckle. “That’s our girl.”
Your stride stayed steady, but you felt the shift when someone else took notice. An older woman stood just off to the side in a striking emerald dress, her posture tall and composed, the kind of effortless elegance that came with power and money.
She held her drink perfectly still as her eyes swept over all three of you, lingering on you the longest. She didn’t nod. She didn’t smile. But she didn’t look away either.
A few minutes later, she approached.
“I didn’t realize we were doing themed accessories this year.” She said lightly, her voice sweet enough to mask the edge beneath it. Her gaze flicked to your collar—the black satin, the silver moon charm catching the light. “Very…festive.”
Minho’s mouth curved faintly. Not quite a smile. “It’s not a theme.”
Chan didn’t answer right away. He stepped a little closer behind you, his hand settling at the small of your back, warm and steady. The gesture was quiet but unmistakable.
The woman’s smile tightened. “Funny. All these years, you two always attended events alone. Not even a whisper of a date.”
“We weren’t hiding.” Minho said, his tone calm, measured.
She shrugged delicately. “Of course. I just assumed…” Her eyes traced over the three of you once more before she let the thought trail off into a soft, breathy laugh. “Well. It’s not every day you meet a couple that shares.”
You stayed exactly where you were, unflinching, held between them without apology.
You felt the shift in the air right away—a brief tightening of tension that caught in your chest before you could stop it.
She blinked. “Surprised, actually. Most people aren’t…open-minded about arrangements like this.”
Minho tilted his head slightly. “You mean love?”
That seemed to silence her.
“And if that’s hard for you,” Chan added gently, still smiling, “you’re welcome to look somewhere else.”
She didn’t respond. Her jaw tightened, and she turned without another word, heading back toward the bar.
Chan let out a quiet breath behind you and brushed his fingers along your arm in a grounding sweep.
“You okay?” He asked, voice low enough for only you.
Minho’s attention was fully on you now. “You alright?”
You nodded once. “She thought you two were—”
“She thought she had a chance.” Chan said dryly. “She didn’t.”
Then he held out his hand, warm and familiar. “Come on. Dance with me.”
The floor wasn’t crowded yet, but the lighting had softened, warm and low, catching beautifully on the deep red velvet of your dress as Chan guided you out. He never let go of your hand, his other settling at your back, leading you like this was something he’d done with you a hundred times already.
He held you like it mattered. Like this wasn’t for show. Like he wanted to remember every second.
“I know it’s a lot.” He murmured as you started to move together with the music, his voice meant only for you.
“It’s not bad,” you whispered back. “Just…new.”
“And next time?”
You lifted your gaze to his. “Next time I won’t flinch.”
His smile softened. “That’s my girl.”
The music shifted, slowing just a touch, and Minho stepped in. Chan released you without hesitation, passing your hand over like it had always been part of the plan.
Minho’s arm slid around your waist, drawing you closer. His fingers laced with yours, his touch steady and familiar now, anchoring you as you moved together under the lights.
“She was wrong, by the way,” Minho murmured.
You blinked. “About what?”
“That we’re ‘willing to share.’” His voice dropped, warm against your ear. “We’re not sharing you. We chose you. Both of us.”
Something tightened in your chest—not fear, not nerves. Just warmth. Something full and steady, spreading through you in a way that made it hard to breathe for a second.
You didn’t answer. You simply leaned into him, instinct guiding the movement. Your ears flicked once when you caught your name whispered somewhere nearby—soft, curious—but you didn’t turn. You didn’t need to. You knew exactly where you were.
When the song ended, the three of you drifted back toward the edge of the ballroom. A small cluster of guests stood near the terrace doors, voices low, laughter threading gently beneath the music.
You noticed him just before you passed—a tall hybrid man standing slightly apart, silver-tipped ears twitching once.
He didn’t speak. He only inclined his head when your eyes met. Not as a challenge. Just recognition.
Minho’s hand settled at the small of your back again, calm and grounding. And when another guest let their gaze linger too long on the collar at your throat, you didn’t flinch. You stayed exactly where you were, held steady between the two people who had chosen you.
—
The music faded behind you as Chan guided you down a quieter hallway, Minho close enough that you could feel the warmth of him at your back. This wasn’t the main exit. The passage was narrower, tucked behind heavy doors and lined with muted carpet, the kind of route meant for staff or slipping away unnoticed. The pulse of the party dulled to something distant, like it was happening in another world.
“Where are we going?” You asked softly.
Chan glanced back. His expression stayed mostly neutral, but the corner of his mouth lifted in a way that told you he had plans.
“Somewhere quiet.”
“We’ve been patient.” Minho murmured behind you, his hand brushing just above your lower back, light and deliberate. “Figured we earned a break.”
Your ears twitched, your tail giving a slow flick before you could stop it. They noticed.
The hallway curved, and just before it ended, Chan opened a door with a quiet click. An executive lounge.
You stepped into low, warm lighting, shadows cast by a flickering electric fireplace and pale moonlight spilling through tall windows. Dark leather couches, glass-paneled shelves, and the hush of privacy wrapped around the room like a secret.
The door closed softly behind you. You barely had time to turn before Minho was there, slipping his arms around your waist and drawing you back against his chest.
“Let us see you again.” He murmured, his fingers sliding over the fabric at your sides and dipping just below your ribs. “We haven’t really had a chance to take you in since you walked out in this.”
Chan moved in close in front of you, his touch gentle as he tipped your chin up with two fingers. His gaze dropped to the slit in your dress, then lifted back to your eyes.
“That cut’s been killing me all night.” He said quietly. “I can’t stop wondering what else you’re hiding under there.”
Your breath caught, heat pooling low in your belly, and neither of them rushed you. They stayed close, giving you space to feel it.
Minho’s voice dropped near your ear, rough and warm. “You wore it for us, didn’t you?”
You nodded before you could think, your pulse fluttering in your throat.
Chan’s thumb brushed slowly across your bottom lip. “Good girl.”
The quiet that followed settled thickly around you, soft but charged, like the air right before a storm. When Chan finally kissed you, he didn’t rush it. He took his time. His hand curved behind your neck, fingers gentle as his mouth moved against yours, slow and steady, tasting you like he wasn’t in any hurry at all.
Behind you, Minho stepped closer, his chest pressing to your back. His lips brushed your neck—not quite a kiss, not quite a tease—before he murmured warmly near your ear, “Take a break with us, baby. Let us touch what’s already ours.”
There was no urgency in them. No grasping. The way they held you felt reverent, like a slow unraveling instead of something frantic.
Chan’s hand slipped beneath the fabric at your waist, his fingertips skimming your skin as he traced the curve of your hip. His voice roughened. “We’ll be careful. We won’t mess up the dress. We just need a taste. Just need to feel you.”
You whimpered softly into his mouth, and Minho’s arms tightened around your waist.
“Fuck…” Minho breathed, more air than sound. “That little noise…”
They moved with you, guiding rather than pushing, easing you back toward the couch. Chan kept his hands steady at your hips while Minho followed the line of your shoulder with slow kisses, his teeth catching lightly against your skin. As you sat, the hem of your dress crept higher, the slit falling open to show more of your thigh. Your tail brushed against the cushions, snagging briefly on the soft fabric.
Chan dropped to his knees between your legs, his hands warm and deliberate as he gently coaxed your knees apart. His gaze traveled up your body like he was committing every detail to memory.
“Let me see you.” He murmured, lifting the velvet inch by inch.
Minho leaned in from behind, his fingers gliding down your arms in an unhurried, teasing line. His voice rumbled low in your ear.
“She’s soaked already, Chan.” He said softly, almost in awe. “I can smell it through her panties.”
You gasped, caught between heat and a flicker of hesitation, and both of them stilled for a brief moment.
Chan didn’t respond right away. He stayed where he was, watching every small movement of your thighs beneath the fabric. Then his hands slid slowly up your calves, over the backs of your knees, and higher, until his fingers caught the edge of your dress again and eased it upward.
You drew in a soft breath as the velvet slipped over your skin and gathered at your hips.
Your panties were delicate, pale lace, thin enough to leave very little to the imagination. The center was already darkened, the warmth of your arousal clinging to the fabric.
Chan’s gaze softened and darkened at the same time. “Look at you…” he murmured. “You’ve been like this all night?”
Minho’s hand settled at your waist, steady and warm. “You wore these knowing we’d see them eventually, didn’t you?”
Your face heated as you gave a small nod. Chan leaned in, close enough that his breath warmed the inside of your thigh. His lips brushed your skin in a barely-there kiss that still made your muscles twitch. One hand slid behind your knee, lifting your leg gently until your foot rested on the couch beside him. His nose grazed the waistband of your panties.
“Say it, Princess.” He whispered.
You swallowed hard. “I wanted you to see.”
Minho groaned softly, the sound rough with approval. “Our dirty girl.”
Chan pressed his mouth to the lace, not pulling it aside—just kissing over the damp fabric, letting the heat of his lips and tongue soak through. The pressure made your hips jerk forward, your tail flicking sharply against the cushions. The friction was too light, too teasing, not nearly enough.
Minho’s hand slid up your throat, tipping your head so he could kiss beneath your jaw. “You’ll let him taste you like this?” He murmured. “With your panties still on?”
“Y…yeah,” You breathed.
Chan let out a low sound as his fingers hooked into the waistband. He pulled them down slowly, inch by inch, watching every reaction—the way your legs trembled, the way your breath hitched. The lace peeled away from your slick skin, cool air replacing the warmth that had been trapped there.
Minho reached down without taking his eyes off your face and took the panties from Chan, his fingers brushing yours in the exchange.
“These,” Minho said quietly, slipping them into his jacket pocket with a small smirk, “are staying with me.”
Then Chan leaned in again, and this time there was nothing between his mouth and you.
His first lick was slow and deep, and you felt it everywhere. Your thighs shook, your breath caught, and your hands curled into the couch as Minho’s grip steadied your hips.
Chan took his time, every movement deliberate, each stroke of his tongue building heat that settled heavy and slow in your belly.
You barely noticed the soft sound of a zipper or the shift of fabric behind you. Minho’s fingers found the back of your dress and tugged it open until it slipped off one shoulder, his mouth following with warm kisses along your skin.
“You’re ours.” He whispered again, quieter this time, like the words were just as much for himself as they were for you.
Your body arched before you could stop it. The climax hit fast, stealing the breath from your lungs, a sharp cry muffled as you curled forward against Chan’s shoulder. Neither of them pulled away. Neither loosened their hold. They stayed with you, steady and sure, anchoring you through every trembling second.
Chan didn’t stop. His mouth stayed warm and unhurried, his tongue slow and deliberate as he worked through each aftershock, easing you along the edge of oversensitive while your thighs twitched and your breathing came uneven and thin.
Behind you, Minho moved closer, his chest warm against your back. His hands traveled slowly, sliding from your waist up along your ribs until his palms rested over your breasts through the velvet. He didn’t squeeze or tease—he simply held you there, solid and grounding, giving you space to come back to yourself.
Then he leaned in, his breath brushing your temple, his mouth close enough that you felt the warmth without the touch. At the same moment Chan glanced up from between your legs, Minho shifted just enough to bend toward him.
Their mouths met.
It started soft, barely more than a brush and a shared breath, but it deepened with quiet intention. One of Minho’s hands moved from your breast and came up to cradle Chan’s jaw. Chan leaned into the kiss like it was something familiar, something he’d been waiting for. There was nothing rushed or showy about it—just the slow, natural rhythm of something well-known between them.
They kissed like instinct. Like memory. Tongues brushed. Breath mingled. Your taste passed between them.
You stayed frozen between them, flushed and open-mouthed, your own breathing faltering as you watched. It didn’t last long—only a moment—but it felt heavy with meaning, private in a way that made your chest tighten. Then, without a word, they both turned their attention back to you.
Minho pulled back first, though he barely moved. He exhaled against Chan’s cheek before shifting his gaze to you, his eyes dark and intent.
“Hold her steady.” He murmured, so low you almost missed it.
Chan pressed a quick kiss to your cheek as he shifted to sit beside you, his hand sliding down to grip your hip.
“Let him taste you.” He said softly, his voice thick with heat.
Minho sank to his knees between your legs, slow and controlled. He didn’t rush. His hands smoothed up your thighs, thumbs brushing along the sensitive inner skin that was already twitching from overstimulation. Your dress was still bunched at your hips, and he eased it higher, baring you fully.
You were soaked, unmistakably so, the sheen catching in the low light. Minho’s gaze traced every inch between your thighs like he was committing it to memory.
When he finally looked up at you, he didn’t glance. He really looked.
“You want this, baby?” He asked.
You nodded quickly, your breath hitching. “Yeah.”
A small smirk curved his mouth. “Good.”
He leaned in, brushing a soft kiss along your inner thigh. The first barely registered. The second landed higher, slower. By the third, his tongue was tracing lazy circles into your skin, teasing you with every pass until your legs already felt unsteady.
When his mouth finally closed over you, the heat of it pulled a sharp gasp from your throat.
Where Chan had been gentle and reverent, Minho was steady and intentional. His tongue moved with purpose—slow but firm—tasting you like it mattered, like he wanted to learn every reaction. He drew your clit into his mouth in controlled pulses before dragging his tongue lower again, teasing every inch, opening you with careful pressure.
Your breathing started to stutter, your body tight with need as you leaned instinctively toward him.
Chan shifted closer, his mouth brushing your temple while his hand stayed warm and solid on your hip.
“You’re doing so good.” He murmured. “Just let go, baby.”
Minho let out a low groan between your thighs, and the vibration of it sent a jolt through you. His grip on your hips tightened as he moved closer, his nose pressing into your skin while he licked deeper, slower, harder.
He built the rhythm gradually, each stroke of his tongue pulling more heat through your belly. Every so often he’d pause just to kiss or suck your clit again, over and over, until your hips lifted off the couch, chasing every bit of pleasure he gave you.
Your hand reached out without thinking. Chan caught it immediately, his fingers threading tightly through yours, his grip firm and grounding as Minho worked you closer to the edge.
“You taste like heaven.” Minho murmured against you, his words warm on your skin. Then his tongue swept slow and sure over your clit again, hitting exactly where you needed it.
“Come on, sweetheart.” He said softly. “Let go for me.”
Your body tightened, thighs trembling as your back arched. The orgasm moved through you in a slow, rolling wave—deep instead of sharp, warmth blooming low in your belly and spreading outward. Your vision blurred, your breath caught, and you held onto Chan’s hand like it was the only thing keeping you steady.
Minho didn’t pull away right away. He stayed with you through it, his mouth softer now but still intent, drawing out every last pulse of pleasure until your hips jerked from overstimulation and a broken sound slipped from your throat.
Only then did he finally ease back. His lips were slick, his mouth slightly swollen, and the look in his eyes was dark and satisfied.
“You’re perfect like this.” He said, his voice rough.
Chan leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “We should get you cleaned up, love. Can’t have you walking back out there looking freshly fucked.”
You let out a shaky breath that was half laugh, half exhale, still riding the aftershocks.
Minho reached for a napkin, his touch unexpectedly careful as he cleaned between your thighs. He paused long enough to kiss the inside of your knee, then stood and smoothed your dress back into place with a few practiced motions. One hand brushed gently over the fur at the base of your tail, settling it where it belonged.
“We’ll get you sorted.” He said, glancing between you and Chan. “Then we’ll decide if we’re heading back to the party…”
His thumb traced lightly along your cheek as he tilted your chin toward him.
“Or if we’re taking you home.”
—
You barely had time to run your fingers through your hair, a shaky attempt to calm the heat still lingering on your skin, before Minho cracked open the side door back into the ballroom.
The music hit first, louder than before. Laughter and bright voices spilled out like champagne mist, echoing across marble floors and gilded fixtures.
You stepped in with them, legs still a little unsteady, your body humming from everything they’d just done to you. There was still warmth between your thighs. Your lips tingled faintly. The taste of kisses, the scrape of teeth, the ache of want—all of it clung to you like perfume.
Minho entered first, smooth and effortless as ever, except his mouth was pink and a little too glossy, and his shirt buttons were out of order. One side sat higher than the other, and he clearly hadn’t bothered to fix it.
Chan followed right behind him. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows now, his collar slightly crooked where your mouth had tugged and kissed earlier. His hair was a mess—the specific kind that only comes from fingers threaded through it without restraint. You knew, because those fingers had been yours.
And you?
You glowed.
There wasn’t another word for it. Your skin was flushed, warm with afterglow. Your hybrid ears stood tall, twitching with every shift in sound, and your tail flicked sharply behind you like it was trying to speak for the rest of your body.
You tugged at the hem of your dress, trying to smooth it back into place. It didn’t help.
Your collar—the sleek black satin one with the small silver moon charm—had twisted during everything. Chan’s hands. Minho’s mouth. Someone had pulled it out of place, and though Minho had adjusted it on the way back in, it still sat lower than usual, loose against your throat.
The skin beneath it still throbbed, kissed and nipped and sucked warm. Not bruised. Not quite. Just flushed enough that anyone paying attention would understand exactly what had happened.
And Camille was paying attention.
You spotted her before she noticed you, still standing at the bar, fingers wrapped around an overly full glass like she was waiting for something.
Or someone.
Her gaze snapped up and landed on all three of you. She looked at Chan first. Then Minho. Then you. And this time, her expression didn’t just falter. It cracked.
Jealousy flared across her face, sharp and unmistakable. You didn’t only see it—you caught it in your senses, too. Her sugary perfume turned sour in an instant, like fruit left out too long. Your ears twitched back before you even had time to think about it.
Minho noticed right away.
“She’s still staring.” He murmured.
“She looks like she’s about to combust.” Chan added dryly.
Minho leaned closer, his voice low near your ear. “She wants us to play along. Wants us to pretend you don’t exist so she can keep whatever fantasy she’s holding onto.” His tone darkened slightly. “But she’s jealous. And she’s doing a terrible job hiding it.”
You didn’t respond. You didn’t need to.
Your tail flicked once, sharp and decisive. That was all Minho needed. Without warning, he caught your wrist and pulled you straight into him, pressing you against his chest before kissing you full on the mouth.
It wasn’t gentle. It was confident and heated, slow and unapologetic. You let out a soft gasp into the kiss, not from surprise but from how certain he was. His mouth moved with intention, his tongue slipping past your lips like he owned the moment. His hand slid down your back, settling just above your tail, holding you firmly in place.
Your ears twitched, heat climbing up the back of your neck. He only pulled away when your breathing started to come too fast, leaving your lips swollen and flushed.
Then Chan stepped in.
He framed your face in both hands, tipped your chin up, and kissed you hard.
Where Minho had been slow and sure, Chan was deeper, needier. His tongue moved with aching precision, brushing against yours before he shifted his angle, lifting your chin just enough to bare your neck. You knew exactly what he wanted, and your breath caught.
“Still watching?” Minho asked, a hint of amusement in his voice as he glanced past you.
Chan didn’t even look up. “Let her.” His mouth moved lower.
He kissed beneath your jaw once, then again, before sucking firmly at the soft skin of your throat, just enough pressure to draw a quiet sound from you. He lingered there until warmth bloomed beneath his lips and a dark mark rose to the surface.
A hickey. Clear and deliberate.
Minho’s hand slid along your waist to steady you before he leaned in. His mouth found the other side of your neck, just below your collarbone where the neckline dipped low, and he sucked slowly, warm breath brushing your skin as he left a second mark to match the first.
The small silver moon at your throat caught the light, glinting softly between them.
“Good girl.” Chan murmured, his voice warm against your skin.
You didn’t need to look to know Camille was still watching. You could feel her stare like a spotlight.
Your head tipped slightly as the two of them stepped back, hands smoothing your dress, fingertips brushing over your skin with easy familiarity. The way they touched you now was unhurried and gentle, like this wasn’t the middle of a polished company party but just another quiet moment the three of you shared.
“You ready to go back in?” Minho asked, the smug edge in his voice impossible to miss.
You let out a slow breath, still catching up with yourself. “I think I have to be.”
Chan smiled, soft and proud, then pressed a kiss to your cheek. “That’s our girl.”
And just like that, you moved away from the wall with them, heading back toward the golden light, the clink of crystal glasses, and the carefully curated crowd of watching eyes.
The marks on your neck were fresh. Their warmth still lingered on your skin. You carried their scent, their touch, their mouths with you like a kind of perfume—something no one could name, but everyone could sense.
Camille didn’t bother hiding it anymore. Her face had gone rigid, jaw tight, eyes locked on you. No smile. No polite mask. Just silence.
And you didn’t care.
Your tail lifted as you walked between them, confident and sure, Chan’s hand resting low at your back, Minho’s fingers brushing your hip.
Yours. Theirs. And now, the whole ballroom knew it.
——
The door had barely clicked shut behind you before Minho had you pressed against it, his hands braced on either side of your head as his mouth found yours like he’d been holding himself back all night. You barely had time to breathe before he was kissing you hard, all heat and intent, his body crowding yours like there was nowhere else he wanted to be.
Somewhere beside you, Chan locked the door with one hand.
“Upstairs. Now.”
Your heels tapped softly against the tile as Minho caught your wrist and started walking. He wasn’t rushing, but there was purpose in every step. You followed without hesitation, legs still unsteady, head still spinning. Chan stayed close behind, his hand sliding along your spine before dipping beneath the hem of your dress, his thumb tracing a slow line over bare skin.
No one spoke again until you reached the bedroom. Minho pushed the door open and guided you inside. Chan kicked it shut behind you.
“You were so fucking good tonight.” Minho said quietly, his voice thick with praise. “Letting us touch you like that. Letting them all see.”
“Letting her watch.” Chan added as he stepped in close behind you. “Let her simmer while we had our hands and mouths all over you.”
You whimpered, heat pooling low in your belly from the way their hands were already finding you again. They boxed you in, warm on either side, bodies pressed close, the distant pulse of the party still echoing faintly in the background.
You’d been marked at the gala. Twice. And now they weren’t holding back anymore.
Your dress was gone in seconds, tugged down and discarded in a soft rush of fabric. Then there were hands, mouths, teeth. The intensity hit fast, spreading through you until your skin flushed and your thighs started to shake, your tail drawing tight as Minho sank to his knees again, his mouth finding the fading mark he’d left on you hours earlier.
Chan guided you back onto the bed, one hand firm at your thigh, keeping you open for him.
“Ours.” He whispered against your skin.
After that, there were no more words. Just the steady work of mouths and tongues, the slow build of pleasure as they took their time with you, drawing it out until you were trembling beneath them.
You came with both of them on you, Minho’s mouth between your legs and Chan’s lips at your throat, held close, opened up, cherished in every way that mattered.
Much later, when the sheets were tangled and your breathing had softened into quiet, shaky pulls, you drifted off with their names still on your lips and their hands still threaded through your hair.
——
Snow dusted the terrace like powdered sugar, just enough to frost the edges of the windows and soften the world beyond them. It wasn’t falling heavily, but it muted everything, wrapping the morning in a quiet that felt almost sacred.
Inside, the house glowed. Light from the chandelier spilled across the marble entryway, catching on polished surfaces as fir garlands wound their way up the staircase banisters, threaded with silver ribbon and tiny warm lights that blinked softly like stars. In the main room, the tree stood tall—at least ten feet, real and fragrant—decorated with heirloom glass ornaments and moon-shaped baubles that shimmered whenever you passed too close.
You padded in barefoot. The hardwood was cool beneath your feet, but the oversized knit sweater Minho had given you kept you warm. It brushed mid-thigh and slipped slightly off one shoulder, revealing the faint trace of a hickey still fading along your neck.
Your satin collar wasn’t on this morning. They’d tucked it away in a velvet-lined box upstairs after the party, but the charm hadn’t gone far. Chan had woven the silver moon into a bracelet and clasped it around your wrist himself while you were still half-asleep.
You were theirs. And the house seemed to know it. Staff moved quietly in the background, setting the long dining table, lighting the last candles, folding blankets near the fireplace, but you barely registered any of it. Your attention drifted instead toward the hearth, where golden warmth flickered across the walls.
They hadn’t noticed you yet.
Chan was adjusting the stockings, straightening the white velvet one with your name stitched delicately along the top. The fur trim caught the light as he smoothed it into place. Beside him, Minho leaned against the mantel with a mug in hand, dressed in dark slacks and a half-buttoned black shirt with his sleeves pushed up. He looked half undone and completely at ease, his gaze fixed on the fire as it crackled softly.
For a moment, you just stood there, taking them in.
“Looks good.” Minho said quietly.
“She’ll like it.” Chan replied, just as softly.
You lingered in the hallway for a moment, your chest aching in the best way. You hadn’t asked for any of this—the decorations, the warmth, the care. They’d done it anyway. Not for guests. Not for appearances. Just for you. Your tail curled behind you, slow and content.
When they finally noticed you standing there—sweater slipping off one shoulder, bare legs, that soft, shy look you always got when you felt seen—the energy in the room shifted. Chan’s smile turned molten, his gaze drifting down your frame like he couldn’t help himself. Minho set his mug aside, eyes steady on you.
“Come here, baby.” Minho called, his voice low and gentle.
Chan tilted his head, his smile softening. “We saved you a spot between us.”
You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Barefoot and quiet, you crossed the room and settled between them, folding easily into their warmth like it was the most natural thing in the world. Just like that night after the gala—only this time, it was Christmas. And this place, this moment, felt entirely like home.
The rug beneath you was thick and plush, still warm from the fire and from the two men at your sides. Chan handed you a mug of cider with both hands, his fingers brushing yours. Minho shifted closer, resting his chin on your shoulder as his hand began a slow, absent sweep up and down your thigh.
For a while, no one said much. The fire crackled softly. A mug clinked as it was set down and lifted again. Your tail curled around your side, resting lightly across your legs. Your ears twitched now and then, especially when Minho’s voice dropped low—even if he was only mumbling about the tree lights being uneven.
Chan moved closer behind you, his lips brushing just behind your ear.
“Warm enough?”
You hummed, smiling. “Mmhmm.”
Minho let out a quiet sound that was almost a laugh. “You’ve got that look.”
You blinked. “What look?”
“The one where you’re absolutely planning something.” He said, leaning in a little more.
You smiled into your mug. “No plan.”
Chan lifted a brow behind you. “That’s what you said right before you stared Camille into an existential crisis.”
You turned your head slightly, putting on your most innocent expression. “That wasn’t a plan. That was instinct.”
Minho huffed. “Sure it was.”
You let their warmth sink into you, into your bones, slow and steady—the kind of comfort that made your limbs feel heavy in the best way. After another sip of cider, you set the mug aside and stretched just enough to shift closer, settling back into them as the morning carried on around you.
You ended up half draped in Chan’s lap, your back resting against Minho’s chest, your tail flicking lazily with every small shift. Neither of them tried to move you. They just let you settle in, hands sliding easily over your body like it was instinct. Holding you. Grounding you. Letting you rest.
Which made what you said next even better.
You stretched a little, ears lifting, and spoke casually, like it wasn’t loaded at all. “Spring’s going to be fun.”
Minho blinked, a beat of silence passing. Chan blinked slower.
“…Fun how?” Chan asked.
You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Well. That’ll be my first proper heat with you.”
Minho’s brow lifted. Chan went very still behind you.
You kept your voice light, sweet. “You know how I spent my last one.”
“Alone.” Chan said immediately. Just fact.
“Exactly.” You sighed softly. “And it was fine. Manageable.”
Minho’s hand flexed on your thigh, his fingers pressing a little deeper. “Fine.” he repeated, and it sounded more like a warning.
“But this time,” you continued, drawing it out just enough to be deliberate, “I’ll have you two.”
Neither of them spoke.
You smiled, warm and teasing. “You’ll take care of me, right?”
Chan’s voice dropped against your ear, rough and low. “You’re dangerous.”
You leaned back into him, lips curling. “You said you liked that.”
Minho shifted beside you, his hand spreading wider over your thigh, his thumb tracing a slow arc. “If you think we’re making it through your heat in one piece, sweetheart, you’re dreaming.”
“Who said I wanted you to?” You murmured.
Chan let out a low groan, his lips brushing your neck. “You’re actually going to kill us.”
“You’ve barely touched me today.” You whispered, turning just enough toward him.
“That was intentional.” Minho muttered, like he was trying to convince himself.
Your tail flicked again, smug this time. “Why? Scared?”
“Terrified.” Chan breathed against your skin, already undone.
Minho leaned in to kiss your shoulder through the loose knit of your sweater, his breath warm where the fabric slipped low. “She’s going to ruin us come spring.”
You laughed softly, bright and light, the kind of sound that felt like pulling a ribbon tight.
But beneath it, there was something else waiting. A quiet hum under the surface. Promise-laced.
You leaned back into their arms, letting the firelight warm your skin as your fingers drifted idly across Minho’s knee.
“I’m already planning it.” You whispered.
Chan’s breath caught. Minho’s smile curved slowly against your cheek.
“Merry Christmas to us.” Chan muttered, dry but edged with something greedy.
You didn’t answer. You just smiled—sweet and a little wicked—knowing they’d spend the rest of the evening replaying every possibility your words had planted. And they did.
Eventually, the three of you ended up tangled together on the rug, limbs overlapping in easy comfort. The mugs were abandoned on the low table. The fire crackled steadily. Chan’s hand moved lazily up and down your calves beneath the hem of your sweater, slow and absent. Minho’s fingers traced the small of your back, occasionally brushing where your tail flicked in quiet little arcs.
It stayed peaceful for a while, the kind of quiet that settles deep into your bones.
Then Minho spoke.
“So,” he said, far too casually to mean nothing, “when you say you’re planning…what kind of planning are we talking about?”
You shot him a look. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Oh, I would.” He replied, grinning.
Chan let out a low chuckle behind you. “She’s been driving us up the wall for days. I don’t think she even has to try anymore.”
“Mmm.” Minho hummed, eyes half-lidded. “And spring’s a long season.”
You narrowed your eyes at both of them. “Why do you sound like you’re warning each other?”
“Because we are.” Chan said simply.
He tightened his arm around your waist and drew you closer until you were pressed right between them, held in the center of their warmth and attention. His chin brushed your shoulder, his lips close as his voice softened.
And just like that, you let yourself melt into them again.
“You realize,” Chan murmured, his voice low with amusement, “if you’re even half as intense as you’re making yourself sound…we might not survive spring.”
Minho made a thoughtful noise, like he was actually weighing the idea. “Maybe that’s her plan.”
You snorted. “Maybe.”
Chan’s hand gave your hip a slow, affectionate squeeze. “Maybe she wants to keep us in bed for a month.”
Minho leaned in, brushing his lips against your hairline. “Maybe longer.”
Your tail thumped softly against the rug, giving you away completely.
Minho nuzzled your temple, his tone casual, not even overtly suggestive—but it still sent heat curling low in your belly.
“You know,” he said, like he was making idle conversation, “when hybrids go into heat…instincts can get a little more focused. Nesting. Thinking about the future.”
“Minho…” you warned, halfway to a groan. The warmth creeping up your neck didn’t help your case.
Chan chuckled behind you. “Don’t look at me. He started it.”
“I’m just saying,” Minho continued, far too pleased with himself as he lightly tapped the silver moon charm on your bracelet, “if she ever decided she wanted to…expand the household someday…” He shrugged slowly. “We wouldn’t complain.”
Chan hummed thoughtfully. “A little one running around here? Or two?”
Your ears shot straight up. “Chan!”
He laughed, burying it against your shoulder. “Just teasing, sweetheart.”
“Mostly.” Minho added, entirely unhelpful.
You nudged his knee with your heel, your face burning. “You two are impossible.”
“And you love us.” Chan said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
You didn’t argue.
Minho bumped his cheek gently against yours. “We’re teasing. For now.”
There was a brief pause.
“But spring might make us rethink the whole ‘just joking’ thing.” Minho added lightly.
“Minho.”
“What?” He lifted his hands in mock surrender, eyes still full of mischief. “We’re allowed to imagine things.”
Beside you, Chan’s voice softened as he leaned closer. “And imagining a future with you…that’s not a bad thing.”
Something tightened in your chest. Not fear. Just fullness. Warmth. Minho’s teasing faded as he really looked at you, lifting a hand to gently brush a strand of hair from your cheek.
“Whatever happens in spring,” he said quietly, “we’ll take care of you. All of you. Always.”
Chan’s hand slid over yours, his fingers threading through yours, steady and warm.
“And when you say things like that,” he murmured near your ear, “it’s hard not to start picturing something bigger. Something real. A whole future wrapped up in you.”
The room stayed quiet except for the soft crackle of the fire, its light painting everything in gold and shadow.
For once, you didn’t tease them back. You just leaned in—into the calm, into their arms, into the weight of their words—and let it settle. Not a promise. Not yet.
All you wanted was to finish your work. All Seungmin wanted was you. Your hybrid boyfriend’s neediness unravels into kisses, closeness, instinct, and no chance of you getting any work done. Even once he’s satisfied, he clings like a living heater, scenting your clothes and acting like staying wrapped around him is the only reasonable plan for the rest of the day.
MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI
Hybrid!Seungmin x AFAB Reader, dog hybrid (Jindo) dynamics, SMUT, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, breeding kink, knotting, overstimulation, marking/Scenting (Hybrid Instincts), clingy/needy partner, power of one kiss destroying productivity, reader has a job but Seungmin has other plans, very devoted boyfriend energy.
My writing is all fictional and does not represent any of the named people in any way, shape or form. All works and writing is done by me, and I do not use AI at any point in my writing.
dividers made by @cafekitsune
The apartment was too quiet for how stressed you were. Your laptop hummed on the table, screen glowing with the unfinished document you’d been staring at for the last hour. Your boss had emailed you twice. Your deadline was creeping closer. Your fingers kept hovering over the keys, trying to find momentum again.
You were deep into that desperate focus—leaning forward, eyebrows pinched—when you felt something warm brush against your calf. At first you ignored it. Then it happened again. A soft nudge…followed by a heavier weight settling there. You didn’t even have to look. That posture, that warmth, were unmistakable.
“Seungmin.” You said, not even trying to sound stern. “I’m working.”
A quiet whine answered you. You sighed and finally looked down.
There he was. On his knees between your legs, tail curled around your calf like a question, like a claim. Jet-black fur, thick and soft, brushed against your skin as his tail flicked once…then twice…then wrapped tighter. His ears—usually sharp and proud—were flat against his dark hair.
He tilted his head up at you, eyes wide, lashes too pretty for someone actively sabotaging your productivity.
“Baby…” he murmured, voice low, warm, dangerous. He rested his chin on your knee like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Look at me.”
“I am looking at you.” You said, exasperated but already softening.
His fingers slid over your shin, subtle, gentle, slowly petting you the way he liked to be pet. His tail twitched like he couldn’t hide how pleased he was that you’d finally acknowledged him.
“You’ve been working forever.” He said quietly, shifting closer until his chest pressed against your leg. “You didn’t even take a break.”
“Deadline.” You reminded him, gently. “Your girlfriend has bills too.”
He huffed, offended at the implication that you needed to worry about money at all. Coming from the heir of one of the oldest hybrid bloodlines in Korea, it was almost funny.
“Baby…” he whispered again, sliding his hands higher up your thighs. “Just one kiss? Please?”
You froze. Because he said it softly enough to ruin you.
“Seungmin…one kiss is not ‘one kiss.’ You know that.”
His ears tightened against his skull, tail curling tighter around your calf until you could feel it pulse with every flick of emotion.
“That’s a lie.” He leaned up onto his knees, hands gripping your hips. “I’ll be good. Promise.”
That was also a lie. A catastrophic lie. His face was inches from yours, warm breath brushing your cheek. His tail wagged in a slow, needy sweep, a quiet admission of everything he couldn’t bring himself to say out loud.
You swallowed. “Seung—”
“Please?” He whispered, voice cracking in that way that always broke your resolve. “Just one?”
You tried to remember your deadline. Instead, you remembered the soft look in his eyes. The way his tail curled around you like you were something he’d defend with his life. The way he lowered himself to your feet—not submissive, but devoted.
You leaned in, helpless. “Fine. One.”
He didn’t even give you time to finish the word. His mouth was on yours instantly—warm, soft, hungry in the way only he got, like he’d been holding his breath until you finally let him have you. His fingers tightened at your waist, pulling you forward. You felt his tail wrap around your calf again, like it was embracing you too.
You broke the kiss first, breath unsteady.
“That was not one.” You whispered.
He pressed another kiss to the corner of your mouth.
“Then let me try again.” He murmured, lips brushing your cheek. “I think I miscounted.”
You laughed—quiet, doomed—because this was the beginning of the end of your productivity. His smile was slow, satisfied, his tail swaying like he had just solved a puzzle.
“Baby?” He whispered again, nudging his nose against yours.
“…Yes?”
“Let your deadline wait.” His voice dropped. “Your hybrid is needy.”
And when Seungmin said needy, what he meant was: He’s not letting you go until he’s kissed you properly.
“Seungmin.” You warned, even though your voice was already giving you away, already soft around the edges.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t move back. Didn’t even pretend to reconsider. He just shifted forward, crowding between your knees until your chair creaked and your laptop slid forward half an inch. His hands came up to your hips again—gentle but firm, grounding you in place.
“Baby.” He murmured, eyes flicking down to your lips like he was fighting the urge to kiss you again. “I’m serious.”
His tail brushed your calves, slow, sweeping arcs that grew lazier and lazier the closer he leaned.
“I’m needy.”
And God—he said it like a confession, not a joke. Like it was something he’d been holding in for hours, maybe all day, maybe since the moment you sat down and stopped touching him. You tried to keep your breath steady. It didn’t work.
“I can’t right now…” you tried again, but your voice had no strength behind it. “I have to finish—”
“No.” He said simply.
Then he climbed. He pushed himself up on his knees again, sliding into your space with that quiet determination only a Jindo could pull off. You felt the warmth of his torso press between your thighs, his nose brushing up your jaw as he nuzzled you.
It wasn’t playful or dramatic. He was just…seeking.
“You’ve been working for hours.” He whispered against your skin. “You didn’t look at me. Didn’t touch me. Not once.”
His tail looped around your left calf again, tight and trembling. “That’s not fair.”
You swallowed hard. “You—you sat next to me for twenty minutes.”
“Twenty minutes.” He echoed, insulted. “Baby, I’m a dog hybrid, not a cactus.”
You let out a startled laugh—but even that was shaky. Because his hands were sliding slowly up your sides now. Because he knew exactly where to touch you to turn your spine to liquid.
He nuzzled under your ear again, breath hot. “Just give me a kiss.” He whispered.
“Give me what I asked for.”
“You got your kiss.” You tried, weakly.
He pulled back just enough for you to see the expression on his face. Soft. Desperate. His ears flattened into his hair.
“That wasn’t a kiss.” He said quietly. “That was you being generous.”
He cupped your face in both hands.
“This time,” he breathed, lips brushing yours, voice trembling with how much he wanted this, “I want you to kiss me like you missed me.”
Your heart slammed against your ribs. And before you could even think—before logic, deadlines, responsibility—your hands slid into his hair. His breath caught, sharp and needy, hips inching closer between your thighs like instinct pulled him there.
“Baby…” he whispered again, barely holding himself back. “Please. I’ve been good. I’ve been waiting. I need you.”
Your resolve crumpled. You kissed him. Not the pity version. Not the compromised version. You kissed him properly and he broke instantly.
A sound punched out of him—a soft, broken whine he muffled against your lips as his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, tighter, almost dragging you out of the chair. His tail thumped against your legs without rhythm, frantic and relieved and overflowing.
You didn’t even get air between kisses. Didn’t get distance. Didn’t get the chance to remember the world beyond your hybrid boyfriend clinging to you like he hadn’t touched you in weeks. His breath shook against your lips, brow resting against yours like he needed the contact to stay standing on his knees.
“Baby…more…” he whispered again, voice low and trembling. “Please. Please—just a little more.”
You tried—really, really tried—to hold on to the last scraps of discipline you had left.
“Seungmin…I can’t. I need to finish this draft and—”
He kissed you again, and it wasn’t gentle. It was slow and deep, his mouth warm and desperate, his hands sliding up your waist in a way that made your whole body arch without permission. His tail wrapped around your calf tight enough that you felt the tremble in it. He broke the kiss with a soft whine, lips brushing your jaw, voice thick.
“Baby,” he murmured, kissing down your neck, “you can finish after.”
“Seung—"
“Just one quick round.” His mouth dragged lower, breath hot. “You know I can be fast.”
You laughed—breathy, involuntary. “No you can’t.”
He froze. Pulled back just enough to look you dead in the eyes.
“Excuse me?” He whispered.
You bit back a smile. “You heard me.”
His ears twitched—slow, lifting slightly from his hair, alert in that way you recognized too well. His pupils dilated a little, the soft brown darkening, focusing.
“Baby,” he said, voice dropping into something low and playful and dangerous, “if you’re trying to get me worked up, congratulations. It’s working.”
His hands slid under your thighs before you could even protest.
“Wait—wait, Seung—”
He stood. Lifted you straight out of the chair like you weighed nothing. Your laptop clattered forward on the table as your legs wrapped around his waist automatically. His tail flicked hard behind him as he held you, hands gripping your ass, his chest pressed to yours as he stumbled you both back toward the couch.
“This isn’t fair…” you muttered, already breathless. “You can’t just—”
He kissed you again, harder. You whined into his mouth as he lowered you onto the cushions, settling between your thighs, his body already pressing hot and heavy against yours. His hips rolled once—instinctual, needy—and the sound he made was barely controlled.
“Baby,” he breathed against your mouth, “I need you.”
His nose brushed yours, soft, pleading.
“I’ve been sitting like a good boy for hours.” He whispered, kissing your cheek, then your neck, then the hollow just above your collarbone. “Didn’t interrupt your calls. Didn’t touch you. Didn’t even ask for anything until now.”
You swallowed. “You asked every fifteen minutes.”
“That’s nothing.” He snapped back, then immediately softened, nuzzling into your throat with a small groan. “Baby, I’m going crazy. Please. Just one round. One. Quick.”
His fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts. You caught his wrist and he stilled. He wasn’t frustrated or angry. He just waited. Every muscle tight with restraint, tail still, ears half-lifted with expectation but ready to drop again if you said no.
“Min.” You murmured. “I really do have to get this done.”
He leaned forward, and his forehead pressed to your sternum, his voice muffled but heartbreakingly sincere.
“Then I’ll make it quick.” He whispered. “I’ll make you come fast. I promise. You know I can.”
Your breath caught. He lifted his head slowly, eyes locking with yours. The look on his face was open and hopeful, almost disarming—ridiculously pretty, and very clearly hanging on by a thread without your touch.
“Please?” He asked softly. “Just…please?”
Your resolve snapped like wet tissue.
“…One round.” You said.
He brightened instantly, ears lifting, tail swishing in one sharp, delighted sweep.
Then, under his breath—barely audible, but you heard it. “One.”
He dipped down to kiss you again, slow and hot and hungry, his hips already rolling, already lined up. You felt his smile against your mouth. Because you both knew it wasn’t going to be one.
He kissed you so hard your head tipped back into the couch cushion, your breath catching as his weight settled fully between your thighs. His hands slid up your waist—slow, claiming movements that felt more like a worship than a touch—and the sound he made when you arched into him was low, almost pained.
“God…baby…” he groaned, hips grinding down against you. “I needed this. I needed you.”
You barely had time to respond before he pulled your shorts down your legs—fast and desperate but careful—and dropped them somewhere behind him without looking. His mouth was back on your neck instantly, kissing, sucking, breathing you in like he’d been starving for the taste.
You tugged at the hem of his shirt. “Min…”
He sat up just long enough to yank it over his head—messy, impatient—his ears flicking free. His tail thumped once behind him, a sharp, eager sound. Then he was on you again.
His hands gripped your hips, dragging you down along the couch until your back arched and your knees bent around his waist. Your body opened to him without thinking, like instinct had taken over.
He hissed softly through his teeth. “Baby…look at you.”
You didn’t get a chance to answer. He pushed your panties aside with his fingers, slipping them down your legs in one slow drag until they slid off completely and hit the couch. His gaze dropped between your thighs, and a low, shaky breath escaped him the moment he saw how wet you were.
“Baby…” he murmured, voice breaking around the word.
Before you could tease him for it, his hands moved—steady, sure—gripping the hem of your shirt. You lifted your arms without thinking, and he pulled it over your head, tossing it aside. Your bra was gone a heartbeat later, unclasped with a practiced flick of his fingers. Then his own clothes were being shed just as easily—pants pushed down, underwear following, everything stripped away in a blur of need.
And suddenly he was back on you, body hot, breath uneven, every inch of him trembling with restraint he was already losing. He settled between your thighs again, hands gripping your hips, eyes dark and hungry.
“God…” he whispered, swallowing hard. “Look at you.”
His thumb brushed through your slick, slow enough to make your breath hitch, gentle enough that it felt like worship. He spread you open with his fingers, leaning down to kiss the inside of your thigh—soft, reverent. Then higher. His nose brushed your skin, his breath warm and shaky as he dragged his mouth toward where he wanted you most.
“Baby…” he whispered again, voice tight with need. “You’re already dripping for me.”
He lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes—pupils blown wide, ears low, tail barely twitching behind him.
“Let me in.” He breathed. “I need you.”
Your breath caught, your body already tipping toward him without thinking, thighs softening, opening. Seungmin exhaled shakily like he’d been waiting for that tiny shift, like your body giving him space was the permission he’d been starving for.
He lowered himself again—slow, careful—kissing the inside of your thigh once, then again, closer to where you needed him. His fingers stroked along your outer thigh, grounding you, his touch gentle despite how strained his breathing had become. You felt the heat of his breath before his mouth touched you.
“Baby…” he murmured, sounding almost dazed. “I’m gonna taste you once. Just once, okay?”
You nodded—though even if you hadn’t, he was already leaning in. His tongue pressed flat to the very bottom of your slit, hot and deliberate, and he dragged one long, slow lick all the way up through your folds. The sound you made tore out of you without warning. His groan was louder—raw, needy, vibrating against your skin as he tasted everything you had for him.
He stopped himself there, pulling back before another lick, before another tease, before the control he was clinging to slipped. He pulled back sharply, chest heaving, eyes wild with restraint.
“Fuck—” he whispered. “Baby, I can’t…I can’t wait.”
His hands slid up your hips, your waist, your sides, moving himself forward until his body covered yours. His mouth found yours in a deep, messy kiss—your taste still on his tongue, his need pressed against you, his cock thick and hot between your thighs. He broke the kiss only long enough to guide himself lower.
“Let me in.” He whispered again against your lips. “Please.”
You nodded, breath trembling. “Min…yes.”
He groaned—relief, desire, something deeper—his forehead dropping to yours as he positioned himself. The blunt head of his cock nudged your entrance, sliding easily through the wetness he’d just tasted. He let out a sharp, shaking breath, his entire body trembling from holding back.
“Oh my God…baby…”
He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, your walls stretching around him. His breath stuttered, a small, high sound slipping out of him before he bit it back. Your nails dug into his shoulders when he pressed deeper, and his hips froze immediately.
“Are you okay?” His voice shook.
“Yes.” You breathed. “Keep going.”
His eyes slid closed as his tail twitched once, sharp and uncontrollable, and then he pressed forward the rest of the way, filling you completely until there was nowhere left to go. A broken whine escaped him as he bottomed out.
“Baby—fuck—” he gasped, pressing a desperate kiss to your mouth. “You’re so warm—so tight—God, I needed this—needed you.”
He stayed there, buried inside you, panting against your lips, his entire body trembling with the effort of holding still.
“Tell me I can move…” he whispered, voice cracking.
You cupped his jaw, pulling him into another kiss. “Move, Min.”
He exhaled like he’d been freed—like whatever invisible leash he’d been holding himself back with finally snapped. Then he moved.
Slow at first, but not gentle—deep, steady rolls of his hips that pressed him against every place inside you he’d been aching to touch. His hands slid under your back, pulling you closer, holding you like he needed your body against his to stay conscious.
“Baby…” he groaned, voice shaking as he pulled almost all the way out—then pushed back in, harder. Your breathing stuttered.
His ears twitched wildly at the sound, tail jerking once behind him.
“You feel—God—” he choked, thrusting again, deeper this time, “—you feel amazing.”
He buried his face into your neck, breath hot and uneven as he started to build a rhythm. Slow and deliberate, the kind of hunger that felt claiming. Like he’d been waiting all day—maybe longer—for this exact moment.
Your thighs tightened around him, and the noise he made—a raw, muffled whine in your skin—nearly undid you on the spot.
“Min—”
He cut you off with a desperate kiss against your throat, his lips dragging up your neck until he found the spot just below your jaw. He inhaled hard, needy, shaking. Then he leaned in to scent you, his nose tracing your skin, warm breath rolling over your throat, a low vibration humming through his chest.
“Baby…” he whispered into your neck, thrusts losing rhythm for a second. “You smell like me now. You—fuck—”
He rocked into you again, sharper this time. “Gonna make you smell even more like me.”
Your nails dug into his shoulders. He thrust again and again, each one deeper than the last, building heat low in your belly. You felt him twitch inside you—a sudden, telling pulse. His breath hitched.
He froze for half a second, trembling.
“Baby—” His voice cracked. “Shit— I’m close—my knot— it’s—”
You pulled him closer, hips arching into his.
“Yes…” you whispered. “I want it.”
He broke. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, and he let out a sound that was nearly a sob—pure instinct and need tangled together. His hips slammed forward, deeper than before, and you felt the base of him swell—just a little at first, then more.
“Baby—oh my—God—” His words fell apart.
He thrust again, harder, his body shaking. Your walls squeezed around him, your orgasm building sharp and fast from the pressure, the depth, the instinctive fullness of him.
“Come for me.” He gasped, teeth grazing your neck without biting. “Please—baby—come—”
Your climax hit like a wave, your body locking around him, pulling him deeper.
That was all he needed. His knot swelled, locking him inside you with a sudden stretch that dragged a cry out of both of you. He came with a high, broken whine muffled into your neck—his hips jerking, his whole body pressing down on you as his cock pulsed deep inside, filling you in long, shaking bursts.
“Baby—baby—fuck—” He clung to you, arms tight, tail curling around your leg as instinct overwhelmed everything else. “Don’t—don’t move—oh God—”
He wasn’t going anywhere. And neither were you. He stayed inside you, knot swollen, breath uneven against your throat as he continued scenting you between panting, shaky kisses.
“You’re mine.” He whispered, not possessive, but devoted. Wrecked. Still trembling. “You smell like me. You’re full of me. God, baby…I can’t—I can’t let you go yet.”
He pressed another kiss to your jaw, soft this time.
“Round two…when my knot goes down,” he murmured, voice rough and sweet at the same time. “Right now…I just want to hold you.”
You stroked a hand down his back, feeling the way he shivered under your touch, his body still molded to yours, still locked to you by the thick swell keeping him exactly where he wanted to be.
But reality crept back in.
“Min…” you whispered softly.
He hummed against your skin, nuzzling into your neck like he was trying to burrow into you. “Mm?”
“You said one.” You reminded him gently.
He went still. Only his ears moved—twitching once before lowering slowly, betraying him before his face even did.
“One.” You repeated. “As in…one quick round before I go back to work.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his face hovering above yours, hair messy, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-bruised.
“I did say that…” he admitted quietly.
His knot pulsed inside you when he shifted, making both of you inhale sharply.
You brushed his cheek with your thumb. “Min…I really, really need to get back to work.”
The change was instant. His eyes widened, big and brown and heartbreakingly soft, ears drooping as his bottom lip pushed forward just enough to be intentional. The final blow came when his brows tilted up in that slow, devastating way you knew he’d practiced in the mirror.
“Baby…” he whispered, fully deploying the puppy-dog stare. “But I’m still stuck.”
You blinked at him. “…That’s not my fault.”
He whined. A tiny, wounded sound in the back of his throat that should’ve been illegal coming from a grown man.
“But you’re warm…” he murmured, lowering himself until his chest pressed against yours again. “And soft. And you smell like me. And—”
He glanced down between your bodies, then back up with a dazed, helpless expression. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”
You sighed, trying—and failing—not to smile. “That’s not the point, Min.”
“It’s exactly the point.” He insisted softly, kissing the corner of your mouth. “My knot isn’t down. You can’t work like this.”
“That’s your fault.” You said.
His ears flattened even more.
“Baby…” He nuzzled your cheek.
“What if you just…stayed like this for a little longer? I’ll be quiet. I’ll behave.”
A pause. “Mostly.”
“Seungmin.”
He blinked once, slow and deliberate, his tail curling around your leg while his eyes widened, glassy with a heartbreak he was absolutely laying on thick.
“Just five more minutes?” He tried.
You gave him a look. “You said that earlier.”
“And I was right.” He said, lips brushing your neck, voice warm and hopelessly needy. “You can’t tell me you didn’t miss this.”
Your breath hitched, betraying you instantly. His smile followed, soft and satisfied, with that wrecked look he only got around you.
“See?” He whispered. “Baby, come on…five minutes. Let me hold you until it goes down.”
His knot pulsed again—hard—and he groaned against your throat.
“Okay…maybe ten.”
You stared at him as his tail thumped once behind him, all eagerness and zero subtlety.
“Min.”
He kissed you. Slow and sweet and annoyingly persuasive.
“Please?”
You let out a slow breath, brushing your fingers through his hair as his weight settled warmly against you. His knot stayed thick inside you, pulsing faintly, keeping him locked to you as he nuzzled your neck like he was trying to memorize your scent all over again.
“Just until it goes down.” You murmured.
“Mhm.” He hummed, smug and content as he kissed your collarbone. “Just until then.”
For a few long minutes he didn’t move at all—just held you, breathed against your skin, traced slow circles on your hip with his thumb. His tail lay curled loosely against your thigh, occasionally flicking when you stroked down his back.
Eventually, the pressure inside you eased. His knot softened. You felt his hips shift gently as it slipped free. You exhaled.
“Okay.” You whispered, patting his shoulder lightly. “Round over. I need to get up.”
You tried to push him back, but he stayed right where he was, head tipping forward until it rested against your shoulder, a soft, pathetic sound slipping out of him..
“Noooo…” he mumbled dramatically, tightening his arms around your waist. “Don’t go.”
“Min,” you said, firm but already losing conviction, “I really need to—”
But you had barely lifted your hips an inch before his hands slid to your waist and gently pressed you back onto the couch cushions.
“Baby…” his voice dropped into something sweet and warm, threaded through with trouble. “That wasn’t a round.”
You blinked. “What do you mean it wasn’t a round? You knotted me.”
He looked so offended.
“That was the beginning of a round.”
You stared at him, and he smiled—a soft, mischievous smile that was dangerously pretty and made it very clear how this was going to go.
Without giving you another second to argue, he helped shift you, his hands firm but gentle as he coaxed you onto your knees. Your arms braced against the back of the couch as he slid behind you, chest flushed to your back, hips fitting perfectly against your ass. Your breath hitched.
“Seungmin—”
“Shh.” He kissed your shoulder. “You’re just…turning around. Same round. Still round one.”
“That’s not how counting works.”
“Dog math…” he whispered against your ear. “Very advanced. You wouldn’t understand.”
You opened your mouth to protest—but his hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing under your breasts before trailing down your stomach. His cock, already half-hard again, pressed between your thighs with an eager roll of his hips, and a sharp, needy breath escaped him as he guided himself back to your entrance.
“You’re still warm…” he murmured, almost dazed. “Still open for me.”
Your fingers curled into the cushion.
“Min—I have—work—”
“You do…” he agreed warmly, kissing your nape. “And I’ll help you focus…”
He slid into you in one slow, deep push that pulled a sound out of both of you.
“…right after this…”
You let out a broken breath. “Min—”
His hips rolled again, deeper this time. A soft, needy whine slipped past his lips.
“Oh—fuck—baby.” He breathed, hands gripping your hips as he pulled you back onto him. “You feel—God—you feel unreal.”
Your back arched instinctively, and he groaned, forehead pressing between your shoulder blades.
“Still round one.” He whispered through a trembling exhale. “Still the same—still—fuck—”
He thrust again, harder this time—the kind of push that made your arms tremble, stole your breath, and dropped you straight into instinct before you could think your way out of it. Seungmin wasn’t even trying to hold back anymore. The need was written all over him, playful and wrecked in equal measure, and he was nowhere near done with you.
“Baby…” he whined softly, hips picking up rhythm. “Let me finish this round.”
You swallowed hard. “You’re insane.”
His tail brushed your legs in the same moment he slammed in deeper, and his laugh—breathy, desperate—hit your skin.
“For you?” He panted. “Yeah.”
He leaned over you, chest flush against your back, breath hot in your ear.
“Now let me fuck you properly.”
His hips snapped forward, the thrust sharp enough to knock a gasp out of you. His hands tightened on your waist, dragging you back to meet every movement as his cock drove deep inside you, slick and hot and perfect. You collapsed forward onto your forearms, your cheek brushing the couch cushion, your breath tumbling out unevenly as Seungmin set a brutal, hungry rhythm.
“Fuck—Min—” Your voice broke.
“I know.” He panted, chest shuddering against your back. “I know, baby—God, you feel so…fuck—”
He trailed off, momentarily lost in the sensation, before his mouth finally found your skin. The first kiss landed at the base of your neck, soft and deceptively sweet, the second pressing harder, more intent, until the third turned sharp enough to make your back arch. He groaned when you reacted, his teeth scraping a line down your shoulder before sucking a bruise into your skin.
“That’s it.” He whispered against your shoulder blade. “Let me mark you.”
He left hickeys in his wake, hot and messy, open-mouthed kisses and bites trailing along your neck, over your shoulder, and down your upper back wherever he could reach with each thrust.
“You’re mine…” he murmured, voice ragged. “Look how you take me—fuck—look at you—”
Your moan choked off as he angled his hips just right, hitting that devastating spot deep inside you. Your fingers curled into the cushions, your knees shaking as your body began to tighten around him.
“Baby—” he gasped, grip on your hips trembling. “Don’t—don’t do that—don’t squeeze like—fuck—”
Your orgasm crashed through you so fast it stole the air from your lungs. You clenched around him hard, your whole body shaking as you choked out his name, vision blurring at the edges. Seungmin whined—loud, desperate, needy—his rhythm stuttering as he chased his own release.
“Baby, I’m—shit—I’m gonna—”
He slammed into you one last time—deep, punishing, perfect—and you felt his knot begin to swell.
“No—no—no—baby—I can’t hold it—”
He thrust again, harder than before, and his knot popped inside you with a thick, stretching pressure that forced a cry out of both of you. You felt it expand—swelling, locking, sealing him in place—just as he came with a broken, almost helpless sound.
“Baby—fuck—fuck—” Hot pulses filled you, warmth spilling deep inside as his entire body shuddered against you.
He collapsed forward, panting into your shoulder, arms wrapping around your waist as if his instincts had completely taken over.
“Stay…” he pleaded softly, kissing the back of your neck. “Stay right here.”
He shifted his weight, guiding you back—slowly, carefully—until he managed to sit down on the couch, pulling you with him. You ended up in his lap, facing forward, your back pressed to his chest, his knot keeping him buried inside you.
He sighed—deep, satisfied, breathless—and rested his head on your shoulder.
“God, baby…” he whispered, kissing your jaw. “You feel so good like this.”
One arm wrapped tightly around your waist while the other slid lower, lazy and teasing, until his fingers brushed your clit. You gasped as your hips jolted forward on instinct, the overstimulation sharp and electric, flashing through you all at once.
“Shh…” he soothed, even as his fingers circled you again. “Just a little. Let me take care of you.”
His touch was gentle, slow—nothing like the frantic rhythm from earlier. His thumb circled your clit in soft, steady patterns while his other hand slid up your torso, cupping your breast with warm, sleepy neediness.
His fingers rolled your nipple between soft pinches. A low sound escaped your throat.
He smiled against your neck.
“That’s it…” his voice was warm honey now. “Still round one. I told you.”
You let out a weak laugh that broke into a moan as his hand worked you again—slow, deliberate, unhurried, his knot throbbing inside you every few seconds. He kissed your shoulder. Then your neck. Then the shell of your ear.
“You’re gonna come again for me…” he murmured, voice dropping to a whisper. “Even if it’s slow. Even if you’re sensitive.”
His finger circled you again—slow, perfect pressure.
“We’ll call it…” his hand on your breast tightened. “…the end of round one.”
Seungmin’s finger continued to circle your clit—slow, aching, perfect. You couldn’t breathe.
Your back arched slightly against his chest, your hands scrambling for purchase on his forearms as his knot held you open around him, the thick swell deep inside you pulsing with every shaky breath he took.
“Baby.” He whispered into your ear, lips brushing your skin with every word, his voice low and warm and unmistakably dirty. “You’re squeezing me again.”
“You’re so sensitive like this.” He murmured, fingers teasing your clit in lazy, devastating circles. “Knotted on my lap…stuffed full…dripping around me…”
You whimpered, your legs trembling.
“Oh, fuck—baby—” His breath stuttered, and his hips jerked instinctively upward, pushing his knot deeper, locking him tighter inside you. “You like that, don’t you? Love being full of me.”
Your moan broke into a shudder. His other hand slid up your ribs, cupping your breast again, thumb flicking your nipple in slow, steady pulses that matched the rhythm on your clit.
“God, you’re pretty when you’re ruined.” He whispered. “My pretty girl. My perfect girl.”
You tried to speak—tried to warn him how close you were—but the words tangled in your throat as pleasure spiraled hard and fast through your belly.
“Min—I—I’m—”
“I know.” His voice softened, but his hand didn’t slow..“Come for me. Come on my cock while I’m knotted inside you.”
His lips brushed your ear. “Give me another one. Give me everything.”
That was what pushed you over. Your orgasm slammed into you violently, your body curling in on itself as you choked out a sound you couldn’t hold back. Your cunt clenched around his knot so hard Seungmin shuddered behind you, a broken, low whine rumbling in his chest.
“Oh, fuck—baby—yes—yes—there you go—fuck—”
He kissed along your neck, your shoulder, your jaw—anywhere his mouth could reach while you shook against him, his fingers guiding you through every rolling wave of your climax.
“I’ve got you…” he murmured, voice warm and wrecked. “Ride it out. Let it happen—good girl—such a good girl for me.”
Your hips jerked once, twice—your overstimulated clit twitching against his finger—before your body finally slumped back against him, boneless and trembling. Seungmin held you tight.
His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you fully against his chest as he pressed soft kisses into the back of your neck.
“Baby…” he whispered, his voice messy with affection and leftover lust. “Fuck. That was beautiful.”
You breathed hard, trying to steady yourself as his knot pulsed gently inside you again, soothing now instead of overwhelming. Your head tilted back onto his shoulder. He exhaled shakily.
“God, I love feeling you like this.”
You stayed like that for a long moment—his chin resting on your shoulder, your hands curled weakly over his arms, your breaths syncing slowly back to normal. His hands softened, moving from stimulation into comfort—one gently stroking your thigh, the other smoothing lazy circles across your stomach.
“You okay?” He whispered into your hair.
You nodded.
“Tired.” You whispered back.
He smiled against your skin. “I know. I know, baby.”
He shifted slightly, adjusting the two of you so you were resting more comfortably in his lap, the couch cushions supporting your legs. His knot tugged as he moved, and you winced softly.
“Sorry—sorry.” He murmured immediately, kissing your shoulder. “It’ll go down soon. Just breathe.”
His fingers threaded through your hair, brushing it back from your cheek. “You did so good for me.” He whispered. “So good.”
His tail curled loosely around your calf, relaxed and affectionate, a quiet touch that spoke of comfort rather than possession. The moment stretched on in warm, unhurried silence until the pressure inside you finally eased as his knot softened, and only then did he lean in, brushing a gentle kiss just below your ear.
“There it goes.” He murmured, voice almost tender. “Almost…almost…”
You gasped quietly when it finally slipped out, the sensation both relieving and sensitive. Seungmin groaned softly—more at the sudden emptiness than anything else—and wrapped his arms tighter around your waist, guiding you back against his chest before you could move away.
“No…” he mumbled, burying his face in your neck. “Don’t get up yet.”
You let out a tired laugh. “Min. I have to—”
“No…” he said again, but this time softer. “Just…stay. Please.”
He kissed your shoulder. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth.
“You can work,” he murmured, “but you’re staying on my lap.”
You blinked. “…Min.”
He looked at you with the softest, most sincere expression you’d seen all night.
“I’m not ready to let you go yet.”
His hands slid up to cup your breasts gently, thumb stroking over your sensitive nipples like he wasn’t even thinking about it—just instinctively touching, soothing, claiming.
“Five minutes.” He whispered, kissing your jaw. Then, quieter, “…okay, maybe ten.”
You laughed breathlessly, leaning back into him. He smiled against your neck.
“Good girl.”
You shifted in his lap, breath still shaky, his knot finally soft enough that the last little pull slipped free of you. A warm, wet ache pulsed low between your legs, his cum dripping onto his thigh where you were still sitting against him. You inhaled slowly, trying not to melt completely at the heat of his body behind you.
“Okay.” You whispered. “Now I have to get up.”
Seungmin made a noise somewhere between a whine and a wounded gasp.
“No you don’t.”
“Yes, Min, I do.” You said, trying to ease forward off his lap—only for his arms to tighten around your waist instantly.
“No.” He repeated firmly, chin hooking over your shoulder. “We’re naked and comfortable and bonded and you smell like me. Why would you ruin that?”
His bare chest pressed fully against your back, warm and solid, and your whole body shivered. But you still tried to brace your hands on the couch to push up. He tightened his hold.
“Min…” you warned.
“No.” He said again, more desperate this time. Then he added, with zero shame: “Baby, please don’t leave. I’ll cry.”
You snorted. “You will not.”
“You don’t know that.” He said, voice muffled dramatically into your neck. “It’s been a very emotional morning.”
You laughed, breathless. His arms stayed locked around your waist, both of you still naked, tangled, warm. You could feel how soft he’d gone inside, how sensitive he still was, how his hips twitched every time your back slid against his chest.
“You are impossible.” You said.
He kissed your shoulder. Then higher. Then your jaw.
“I’m in love.” He corrected softly. “It’s different.”
You froze for half a second—heat blooming in your chest—but he didn’t seem to notice the effect he’d just had on you. Or maybe he did. Because when you turned your head to look at him, he had the softest smile.
“Let me up.” You whispered.
“No.”
“Min.”
He tilted his head, eyes wide, ears slightly lowered, tail giving one slow, pathetic sweep behind him.
“Ten minutes?” He tried, voice dipping into that needy whine again. “Just ten. I’ll make you tea. Or coffee. Or both. You can work naked. I’ll hold your legs so they don’t cramp.”
“Seungmin—”
“You can sit on my lap again.” He added hopefully. “We’ll call it…multitasking.”
You broke into a breathless laugh. “I can’t work like this.”
“Okay…fine.” He sighed dramatically. “You can get up.”
You blinked.
“Really?”
“Yes.” A pause. “Eventually.”
You groaned. “Min.”
He grinned and finally loosened his arms, letting you stand. Your legs nearly gave out, and he caught your hips quickly, steadying you.
“Careful.” He murmured, kissing your lower back. “I did a lot of work today.”
You gave him a playful shove and reached for your clothes. He watched you with shameless interest—eyes dark, tail thumping softly, body still flushed and naked on the couch. When you stepped into your underwear, his gaze sharpened. He stood, walked straight up to you, and slid his hands onto your hips—pulling you just close enough that your chests brushed.
“Hold still.” He whispered.
Before you could ask why, he lowered his face to your shirt and dragged his nose slowly across the fabric—long, deliberate passes that left heat prickling across your skin.
“Min—”
He ignored you. He lifted the shirt. Scented the inside. The outside. The collar. The hem. Then he looked up at you, satisfied and smug.
“There.” He said, pressing a quick kiss to your sternum. “Now everyone knows who you belong to.”
You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t belong to anyone.”
His smile softened—deep, genuine, a little shy.
“You belong with me.” He corrected gently.
Then, with absolutely zero warning: “When we get married, you know there’s gonna be way more scenting than this.”
You stared at him. He stared back, totally serious. Then you laughed “You’re insane. Min, we’re not even engaged.”
He shrugged, completely unbothered. “I know.”
You blinked. He stepped closer, hands sliding up your sides, eyes warm and annoyingly confident.
“But one day.”
The words hit softly—too soft for a joke, too easy for a confession. He kissed your forehead.
“One day.” He repeated, flashing that cheeky, devastating grin. “You’ll see.”
Your face heated instantly, and he grinned even wider.
“Now,” he said, smacking your butt lightly, “go to work before I drag you back onto that couch and make you call in sick.”
