remember you were happy and loved by me

read between the lines, look here, lucifer

[sancerely-yours]

sending love letters to the writers

accompanying my daily commute;

it’s dark and quiet and lonely out,

thank you for your stories 

ushering in the morning light. 

sancerely-yours,

a secret admirer (she/her | 30+)

✨ reading sideblog - not spoiler-free! enthusiast of both cozy reads and dark fic, and since something’s apparently gotten us flagged, please note,

✨ some reblogs contain mature-explicit content and/or dark themes - proceed with caution and heed authors’ warnings!

[gunbunnyhwa]

dark red

stalkerverse ot8 ateez x reader

maybe you're just as fucked as they are.

wc: 9.4k

note: final official part. we'll explore more of this universe later, but this is the end of the official narrative. hope you all had fun and enjoy!

It’s a Sunday when you’re all together again. San is pulling a dish out of the oven and shooing you away as you hover around the kitchen, attempting to help. He pulls away from the stove after placing the dish on top of it and turns around, placing tender hands on your waist.

“My love, I appreciate you being thoughtful, but I need you to go be a guest today,” he squeezes your hips and presses a kiss to your mouth quickly before spinning you where you stand and sending you off with a slap on your ass. You giggle and walk toward his living room, pausing in the doorway to watch the other six men. They’re all tucked tightly around San’s tiny coffee table, elbows bumping each other and engaged in a very heated conversation over some card game you can’t place. You watch as Wooyoung starts to lunge over the table only to be pulled back to a seated position by Jongho’s firm grip on the back of his shirt. Mingi had scrambled away from the edge of the table where he had sat when Wooyoung moved and is now shuffling back to his original spot, his chin tucked and heat down the back of his neck. Seonghwa sees you first and reaches a hand out, pulling you fully into the circle.

He pulls you down behind him and leans his head back where your fingers card through the short pieces of hair at the back of his neck. He hums softly before taking your hand and wrapping it around his shoulder. You peek over at his cards before turning your eyes to Jongho’s hand next to him, chin propped over Seonghwa’s shoulder.

“You’re bleeding, Jjong,” you chirp lightly and Jongho reaches out a hand and pinches at your side. You squeal and he laughs in response, smoothing a hand over where he had just pinched.

“This is why we don’t let you play cards with us anymore, you’re such a cheater,” Yunho chides from the opposite end of the table. Wooyoung throws an elbow into Yunho’s ribs.

“I think it’s more strategy than anything,” Yeosang defends you, a smile peeking through the corners of his mouth. “You can’t cheat if someone doesn’t give you the chance to.”

“Exactly,” you respond, holding your hand out and gesturing as if to say, ‘See?’

Seonghwa puts a card face down on the table before picking another one up, looking toward Jongho to his left. San’s voice carries from the kitchen as he calls for all of you to clean up the table and you laugh at the agitated groan that the others let out in response. You pat Seonghwa lightly on the shoulder as you stand up, moving to just check one last time to make sure San doesn’t need anything before a knock at the door pauses your movements. It’s light, long pauses between each knock as if the person on the other side doesn’t even know if they want to. You look between all of the men across the living room and realize no one else heard it. You move toward the door and open it, poking your head out and blocking the rest of the room with your body.

“I brought dessert,” Hongjoong says quietly, holding up a tied box dangling off two of his fingers. You look behind you and realize no one has noticed yet. You turn back to Hongjoong.

“Do they know you’re coming?” you ask carefully.

“Don’t worry, princess. I’m here by invitation,” he laughs softly and you open the door, gesturing lightly for him to come inside. He slides off his shoes in the foyer before walking into San’s apartment, pausing momentarily in the doorway to the living room.

“You good?” you ask from where you stand behind him, a bit unnerved at his seemingly nervous behavior.

He shakes his head and rolls his shoulders before turning his head to face you with a smirk. “Yeah, all good.”

The room stops moving as Hongjoong steps through the threshold of the living room. Yunho and Mingi freeze where they wrestle over a pillow on the couch. Yeosang’s hands fall slowly to his side from where they had been positioned holding the deck of cards over Jongho’s head. Seonghwa is the first to move. He crosses the room in a few paces and carefully takes the box from Hongjoong’s hand, clapping a hand on his shoulder briefly before taking the box to the kitchen.

“Joong brought treats,” he calls out to San.

You see San’s head poke out from the doorway of the kitchen and a smile takes over his face. He looks to you and then looks to Hongjoong.

“Welcome back, Hongjoong,” he calls brightly before pulling himself back into the kitchen.

You move past Hongjoong across the room, grabbing Yunho and Mingi by the collars before shoving them toward the dining room. They go easily despite their bigger size.

“Go, it’s dinner,” you laugh before moving to straighten up the mess they had left on the couch. Slowly, the bodies pile out of the room before it’s just you and Wooyoung, who hovers behind you. He reaches down and pauses where you adjust the blanket on the back of the couch.

“Say the word and we leave,” he says softly, eyes tender.

You pull your hand out of his and place it on his chest, leaning up to press a kiss against his cheek. Heat reaches his ears and you laugh out a breath.

“Thank you, but I’m okay, baby. I promise,” you squeeze his shoulder before softly patting his chest. “Now go eat, Sannie will be mad if you miss it. He made your favorite.”

He lifts his hand once to clasp yours, squeezing softly three times before heading toward the dining room. You run a hand through your hair and down your face, taking a deep breath before you follow him.

It’s stunted at first, awkward silence hangs in the air as San places a plate in front of you. You thank him softly before looking around the room. In your head, you thank God for Seonghwa and San, who carry conversation easily between each other to break up the dead air.

“What did you do the last few weeks?” your eyes are focused on Hongjoong, who has been eerily quiet the entire time. You put another bite of food in your mouth and let the question hang in the air for a moment.

His eyes widen slightly and he vaguely gestures to himself and you nod. “Not much, worked mostly.”

“And what would that entail exactly?” your question is probing in the same way theirs are to you. His eyebrows relax and he smiles, clearly catching on to your game.

“I don’t think you would want to know,” his voice is playful as he drops his eyes back to his plate, moving food around it with his fork.

“Have you ever been to his apartment?” The question comes from Yunho, sitting across from you. You shake your head and he grins. “It’s insane.”

You wave your hand encouraging him to continue.

Elaboration comes from Mingi at his left. “Babe, it’s got two floors.”

You choke and shoot your eyes down to Hongjoong, who just continues to stare at his plate. You can see the grin growing on his face.

“It’s ridiculous,” Seonghwa’s lip curls in distaste. “So ugly, too.”

You laugh. “Joong, any defense?”

“Nope,” he replies, popping the ‘p’ on the end of it. “It’s practical, it doesn’t have to look nice.”

“Two floors doesn’t sound practical for an apartment,” you joke and he huffs out a laugh.

The conversation flows easily after that, with Hongjoong taking most of the hits throughout the night. Wooyoung’s arm is draped easily over the back of your chair, playing with the ends of your hair, and your ankles knock lightly against Yunho’s underneath the table. Jongho gestures animatedly as he talks about work through mouthfuls of food and you laugh lightly when he inevitably chokes. It’s relaxed and you find yourself thinking about how much you missed this.

Clean up is uncharacteristically quiet, but you assume that they all wore themselves out when a screaming match started about the best way to disembowel someone. You stand at the sink washing dishes, soft voices from the living room and the low hum of the television barely audible over the sound of running water.

“Need some help?” Hongjoong asks, head poking over your shoulder but not touching. You shoot him a soft smile and nod. He moves to your right, carefully grabbing a plate and drying it off before placing it on the kitchen island behind him.

“Did you have fun tonight?” you ask, not looking up from where your soapy hands sink into the water.

“Definitely, I missed being with all of you,” Hongjoong replies quietly, head down where he stands, attention entirely put on the dish he’s drying. “Thank you for letting me in.”

“It’s not my apartment, Joong. I couldn’t turn you away even if I wanted to,” you laughed softly. He turns his body to face you and leans against the kitchen counter, face serious.

“Yeah, you could’ve. You could’ve turned me away and everyone would have let you, but you didn’t. Thank you,” Hongjoong reaches a hand out, hovering lightly over your arm. You lean into it, allowing him to touch you for the first time in weeks. He smiles and leans forward lightly, bringing your foreheads together. He presses your heads together, rubbing them together a bit harshly and you giggle as you pull away.

“Too hard, Joong,” you laugh and he brushes a thumb over your cheek in apology when you turn your head away. The rest of the dishes are washed in relative silence, a few words exchanged between the two of you as you pass dishes between each other. There isn’t much that needs to be said, you both know that. He said his piece that day in the park and so did you. You just need him here, showing up, showing you something other than the casual cruelty of that night back in the winter. And he does in every gentle brush of your fingers against each other, in the hovering hands and the not-quite-touching, in the silence. It’s a presence that whispers “I’m here when you want me, but for now it’s up to you. Tell me when, tell me when, tell me when.” There’s no pressure in his teasing or his soft touches. It’s a different man from before that night in December and you feel something new bloom in your chest over it.

It doesn’t happen all at once—Hongjoong just doesn’t rejoin the fold as easily as the others. Dinners are still awkward in the beginning, conversation stilted until you break the ice with some question or jab geared toward Hongjoong. It’s a fine line between looking interested and looking desperate, but you ride it easily. Over time, the guys greet him with clasps of hands and easy smiles, but there’s still the edge of discomfort for the first few minutes—like they don’t know how to dance around the topic anymore, but not wanting to push you. They are keenly aware of the lack of easy affection from you toward Hongjoong and they do their best to keep their hands off when he’s around. It’s a measured kind of respect and of course you notice it—the fleeting touches when you’re alone with them, the occasional sneak into a bathroom or to your room. It’s embarrassing, like they’re ashamed of you, like Hongjoong is some kind of outsider who doesn’t understand the dynamic.

You break this awkwardness around the third month of Hongjoong coming for dinner. It’s the usual routine—the door knocks and you answer (you’ve started to think they all just like leaving you a few quiet moments with Hongjoong). You poke your head out and Hongjoong holds up the same ribboned box off two fingers. You step aside to let him in, closing the door softly behind him. He toes his shoes off and goes to walk down the foyer toward the livingroom, but you grip his sleeve softly. Hongjoong spins slowly, face crumpled and terribly vulnerable. You move your hand up his chest, settling carefully over his jaw, a thumb rubbing over his cheekbone. He smiles softly, arm not currently occupied by the box coming to wrap around your waist. He leans in first, taking the first step in three months which you are grateful for. His lips press against your own, tongue swiping over your bottom lip. It’s hungry and all encompassing and he drops the box on the floor, taking the opportunity to press you carefully against the door. A hand cups the back of your head as your back thuds softly when it hits the front door and you run your own hands up into Hongjoong’s hair, pulling softly when he nips your bottom lip. Hongjoong’s hand slips down your body, hooking a leg over his hips and pulling you into him. You let out a light whine and he laughs into your mouth.

“Can you guys not fuck in my foyer, Jesus Christ?” San’s voice interrupts the two of you and you jolt back from Hongjoong’s mouth. You tilt your head to peek over Hongjoong’s shoulder, shooting San an apologetic look and Hongjoong only laughs as he tilts his head into your shoulder. Hongjoong releases his grip on your thigh, stepping back slightly before placing one last kiss on your mouth and heading toward the living room. You take a moment to smooth out your hair and your clothes before you follow him, only to be greeted by a wolf whistle from Yunho on the couch. You lean over the arm of it and pinch his ear. He takes advantage of your leaning to pull you over the arm and into his lap, pinching the side of your thigh as you squirm. Yunho laughs and squeezes you into his chest as you playfully fight him off.

“Don’t be mean, Yun,” Mingi comments from next to you on the couch, not looking up from his phone. “This is a big moment.”

“Mingi,” you scold, still struggling against Yunho’s hold. “Embarrassing.”

Mingi tilts his head up to you, face softening into a smile and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Sorry, angel.”

It sort of settles from there. Hongjoong’s appearances become more frequent. There’s still some remaining tension between him and Wooyoung, but you leave it up to them to settle it between themselves. It’s not perfect, but it works for all of you.

The conversation comes up the next winter—a full year from the fallout, a new kind of routine settled into. Your apartment is full most of the time, bed never empty and life breathed into your space in a new way. There are clothes in your drawers, a whole extra dresser purchased by Yunho a few months ago. Your foyer is filled with spare pairs of their shoes. Photos line your living room—pictures from date nights and vacations, one selfie of you passed out drunk while Yunho and Wooyoung stood in front of you with wide smiles stretched across their faces and their thumbs up. It’s full of life, but it’s still full—too small to fit yourself and also eight grown men. You bring it up over dinner one weekend.

“I’ve been thinking of moving,” you say simply before taking another bite of food. The clattering of forks on dishes pauses and you look up, all eyes stunned as they look at you. “What? My place is too small for all of us.”

“So, what do you want to do?” The question comes from Seonghwa at the other end of the table, careful and measured, as if he’s afraid of asking the question.

“Why are you all being weird about this?” you narrow your eyes and set your fork down, shoulders shrugging. “I’m thinking of moving. I need a bigger place if I’m going to have, like, all of your shit in my apartment. I don’t know why you’re all acting like I blew up our lives.”

“Have you given any thought to moving in with any of us?” Jongho asks with one eyebrow raised—always blunt, always honest. Your eyebrows shoot to your hairline and take a leveled sip of your wine before bursting into laughter. Eight pairs of eyes stare at you as you cackle at San’s dinner table, body folding forward. You sigh heavily and look back around the table, taking in their shocked faces and laughing lightly again.

“Hey, I love you guys, but fuck no,” you snicker out and Wooyoung leans forward across the table.

“What do you mean ‘fuck no’?” his voice is offended and you lean back a bit.

“Are you serious?” you level him with a look and Wooyoung nods. “I see all of you every day, multiple times a day. I have more than two bodies in my bed so often I had to buy a bigger bed to fit us. You had to buy an entire new dresser to fit clothes for all of you. My apartment is filled with all of your shit, your shoes are a tripping hazard in my foyer. Half of you keep your gym bags in my living room, which reek by the way. Seonghwa has three half-started lego sets sitting on my dining room table, for God’s sake. So much of my life is surrounded by all of you, which is wonderful and I love it, but also I need my own space.”

You take a breath and then continue, “Also, if I moved in with one of you, the others would all have an issue with it. So, yeah, fuck no. Not getting into that.”

You wave your hand flippantly and take another sip of your wine, letting them mull over your words. You look around the table and watch as they all have a silent conversation amongst each other. You raise an eyebrow and look to Hongjoong.

“The thought was that there could maybe be a shared place. I do have two floors,” he shrugs in your direction. You laugh and shake your head.

“If you guys all feel like you won’t kill each other if you share a place, then sure. I’ll consider it, but we’re not moving into your place. It would be somewhere new,” you respond, still flippant. You don’t think they’re serious and they can tell.

“You know we’ve talked this over, right?” Seonghwa asks, eyebrows knitted in the center. “We aren’t just bringing this up out of nowhere.”

“Wait, when did you talk about this?” you ask, suddenly aware of the seriousness of the conversation. You shift your head to look across from you. “Woo?”

“It’s been a running conversation for the past month, don’t push it to him,” Hongjoong answers, voice stern.

“It’s been a running conversation, but you didn’t think to involve me?” you fire back. You can feel heat burning in your chest. A deep hurt settles into you, how could you have missed such a big conversation? But, at the same time, how could they hide this from you? Moreover, how could they think that they could decide this for you?

“No, that’s not—” Mingi starts, but stops himself when Jongho places a hand on his shoulder. Your eyes fly to Mingi, then around the table.

“Then, what is it? Somebody clue me in, please,” you let out a humorless laugh and cross your arms over your chest. You raise an eyebrow when no one answers. “Figures. Like usual, decisions are being made for me, not with me. I really thought we had moved past this, but whatever.”

You push yourself back from the table to stand and a hand grips your wrist. Yeosang levels you with a look that makes you freeze before you wrench your hand out of his grip. 

“Don’t fucking do that, you know not to fucking do that,” you scoff and gather your plate, walking into the kitchen and dumping the rest of your food in the trash. You move through the kitchen noisily, slamming things as you put dishes in the sink and trash in the can. You down the rest of your wine and drop the glass to the counter where it lands with a harsh clink. You take a breath and steel yourself before walking back to the dining room.

“No, you know better than that. I cannot believe you would try to do that to me, Yeosang, and I cannot believe you would all sit there and let him. You know better than to try to scare me like that. You know better than to put your hands on me like that. What the fuck is wrong with you guys tonight?” you spit, voice venomous and you see them reel. Hongjoong’s nostrils flare for a minute before he speaks.

“And you know better than to talk to us like this, but you’re doing it anyways,” he snarks and you feel the words settle in your chest, adding to the heat.

“Are you kidding me?” your voice is almost a whisper, but still sharp. You narrow your eyes. Your mouth opens, ready to fire back, before you throw your hands up and close it. “You know what? I’m done for tonight. Thanks for dinner, San. I’ll see you guys.”

You turn past the dining room, through the living room, gathering your things as you pass through the space. There’s footsteps following you and a hand grasps your wrist and spins you around as you go to grab your shoes from the foyer.

“What is your problem?” Wooyoung exclaims, releasing your wrist as quickly as he grabs it. You give him an incredulous look and the heat in your chest boils over.

“My problem?” you yell, voice raised for the first time in the conversation. “My problem is that apparently my partners are having conversations about me, making decisions for me, without me. Again, it’s like I’m not even a part of this, I’m not an equal. I’m a pet you keep around until you get too fucking bored of me and finally put me out of my misery. And then you have the absolute gall to put your hands on me when I try to disengage from the conversation because I know I’m too angry about this to have it right now. And now, my problem is that you’re cornering me in the fucking foyer when I’m trying to go home. Is that satisfactory, Wooyoung?”

“Enough,” it’s Jongho, stern and serious. You take stock of Wooyoung’s shocked face, color drained from it. Jongho steps in between the two of you and softly pushes Wooyoung back a few steps, urging him back to the dining room before turning to you. “Let’s go.”

“No, Jjong, let me go,” your voice is softer now, fight taken out of you after your outburst.

“I’m letting you go, I’m just going with you,” his eyes meet yours and they’re still tender, still soft. “We’re going to go for a walk.”

He takes your bag from you, holding your jacket out for you to slide your arms into. Jongho slides a scarf off a hook and wraps it around your neck, tucking it into the collar of your coat. He leans down and helps you step into your shoes, lacing them up for you despite your protests. He opens the door, letting you exit first, steering you away from your own front door with a firm hand on your spine. You grumble the whole way down the stairs and out the entrance of your building, tucking your hands deep into your pockets when the winter wind hits you. You walk in relative silence for six blocks before Jongho speaks up.

“No one meant to leave you out,” he starts, voice soft. Jongho doesn’t look at you, eyes fixed straight ahead, but his hand is still firm on your back and his arm wraps you closer to him to help block the wind. “We wanted to be sure when we brought it up. Like you said, we had to be sure we wouldn’t kill each other.”

You laugh lightly despite yourself and tuck your nose further into the scarf.

“We wanted to do it right, but obviously that didn’t work out. I should have said something when Yeo put his hands on you, you’re right. That shouldn’t have happened and I can assume that there is a pretty heated conversation happening about it right now. They were talking about it before you stormed off,” Jongho confesses. “You’re right, we could have done this better, and I’m sorry for that.”

“I’m sorry for yelling,” you mumble into your scarf and Jongho laughs lightly, pulling you impossibly closer. He presses a kiss to the side of your head.

“I’m not the one you have to apologize to,” he replies simply and you nod.

The rest of your walk is spent in silence. Jongho is polite as always—he walks you to your door, kisses you goodnight, doesn’t press any farther than he needs to. Your apartment is dark and cold, you had forgotten to leave a light on when you left. You check your phone for the first time in the past hour, it buzzes briefly in your palm as you pull it out of your coat pocket. There’s a few texts from your friends about a plan to meet for dinner soon, a Teams message from your boss reminding you of a meeting tomorrow, and a voicemail from Hongjoong. You hit play and lift your phone up to your ear as you take your coat and shoes off, sandwiching it between your shoulder and your head. The line beeps and there’s some shuffling. Hongjoong lets out a deep breath before he starts talking.

“I know you’re with Jjong right now, but I just wanted to ask if you could let me know you got home safe. I, uh–” he takes another breath, and you hear some shuffling over the line, then something slamming on the ground. “Shit, fuck. Okay. Um, I just wanted to let you know that when you’re ready to talk, I’ll be here. I know you won’t want to talk tonight and I am trying to be okay with that, so just let me know you made it home, okay? Okay, I’m going to go. I love you.”

The line clicks and you keep your shoulder shrugged to your ear for a moment longer than you need to. The voicemail starts to replay and you let out a sigh. You scrub your hands over your face and flop back into your couch, staring at the white of your ceiling. You shoot off a brief text and lean back into the couch, letting your eyes fall shut.

A knock at your door startles you awake, it’s light out. You’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep and you wipe your face with the back of your sleeve as you sit up. Your neck aches and you wince as you stretch. The knocking continues, becoming more insistent with each passing moment.

“Jesus,” you mutter under your breath before raising your voice. “I’m coming.”

You trip over a gym bag as you scramble up from the couch and you give it a swift kick, muttering to yourself as you swing open the door. Wooyoung’s hand shoots out, a cup of coffee held in his grasp. You grab it, a bit startled, before stepping aside to let him in. He stays on your doorstep.

“Are you not coming in?” you ask quietly, still waking up but also not quite sure how to approach your last conversation when he’s standing in your hallway.

“I didn’t plan on it, I just wanted to let you know I’m leaving for a while,” Wooyoung says, looking at the ground and scuffing the toe of his boat where he stands. His hands are tucked tight in his jacket pockets, a hat pulled tight over his ears. He doesn’t meet your eyes.

“Is this about last night?” your voice is careful and measured, you don’t want to let your emotion get the best of you, but you can’t control the bit of hurt that seeps into your tone.

Wooyoung keeps his eyes on the floor, but his shoulders shrug up a bit. “No? Kind of? I just need some space from everything. Gonna hunt up in the mountains for a bit.”

“Normal hunt or group hunt?”

“Group.”

“Oh,” you breathe. You didn’t know they went out of the city, just another thing to add to the list of secrets being kept from you. “Be safe.”

“Thanks,” Wooyoung’s tone matches your own, soft and breathless. He lifts his head up finally and takes a brief step back.

“I’m sorry,” you start and he pauses. “For yelling and for being shitty. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that, it wasn’t fair.”

“Yeah, thank you,” Wooyoung murmurs, nodding and stepping back again. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

You watch as he turns and walks down the hallway toward the stairs, the door clicks open and shuts softly behind him. He doesn’t look back at you once.

You feel your eyes burn and a lump form in your throat. You slam your front door shut as you choke out a cry. You press your back against your door and let your legs carry you to the floor, tucking your knees to your chest. You wonder, for a moment, if this is how Wooyoung felt that night a year ago—if this crushing feeling of abandonment engulfed his being as strongly as it does yours. You press your palms into your eyes and you continue to cry.

You don’t leave your apartment for three days. You call in sick to your job and work from home, you barely leave your bed, you bother enough to order at least a meal every day but it’s nothing substantial. By Thursday, you feel terrible and you look worse—you figure that out when Yeosang knocks on your door while you lay in bed, something mindless playing on your laptop. You’re curled in a ball on your side, comforter tucked up to your ears. You don’t hear the lock click or your front door open. You don’t register Yeosang calling your voice until he’s outside your bedroom door.

“Are you alive in there?” Yeosang’s tone is concern wrapped in irony. You don’t look up from your laptop when he enters the room. You feel the bed dip behind you and a hand lays on your arm. “You look horrible.”

“Thank you, I think gaunt and sick suits me, don’t you?” you quip, but your tone is too monotone for it to come across as a joke. Yeosang lays the back of his hand to your forehead before moving it to your cheek.

“You’re not sick, which is good. Do you want to talk or do you want to keep sulking?” Yeosang’s voice lacks its usual bite, you know it’s just an observation he’s making. It still makes you feel petulant.

“Sulk,” you respond, eyes never leaving your laptop screen.

“Alright, scooch over then,” he pats at your back lightly before slipping into bed behind you, chest pressing to your back. His arm wraps around your waist, hold loose. You’re still curled tightly in a ball, but when his hand brushes down your arm to hold your hand you find that some of the tension bleeds from your spine.

“I’m sorry for grabbing you the other night, I shouldn’t have done that, ever. You have been very clear about putting hands on you or grabbing you and that was completely out of line. I let my emotions get the best of me and I made you upset. I’m sorry,” Yeosang’s voice is soft, but final. There’s no room for argument, for it to be redirected back to you in some way, no room for it to get tangled up in your head in your current state. You turn your head slightly, still not looking at him but no longer looking at the laptop and breathe out a sigh.

“Thank you for apologizing,” you respond.

“Of course, I love you,” Yeosang replies—like it’s that simple, like it’s the most obvious conclusion to come to, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. It’s a stark contrast from most of the others. Yeosang hides behind a layer of irony, words always teasing and playful, it’s similar to Wooyoung in a way, but he lacks the obvious affection that Wooyoung layers on. It’s not that he doesn’t care for you, it’s just that the ways in which he does are smaller—more focused on long term impact than short term reward. Like the cameras he gave you for your apartment door or the pans in your kitchen he replaced without a word to you or the way he tightens every loose screw and oils every squeaky door. It’s quiet, often done without you asking or noticing, but it’s just so him that you can’t stop noticing after the first time. And it’s moments like these, when it’s just the two of you, that his love and care becomes so apparent, so obvious. 

The honesty of his words shock you, like it always does when he has these moments of softness, and you turn your head back to your screen to hide the obvious blush blooming across your cheeks. You hear him huff out a laugh into your neck and you jab your elbow back lightly, catching him in the side. He makes a sound when your elbow connects and then laughs, pulling your arm back to your side.

Yeosang lets you rot for another hour before he pulls you out of bed and shoves you into your bathroom with a stern order to shower. You let the water wash over your body, scrubbing at your skin until it’s raw. It should be nice. It should be relaxing. Instead, it just adds to the weight pressing onto your shoulders. You pull yourself out of the bathroom wrapped in your robe, shuffling your feet as you walk through your apartment. You find him on your couch, sitting cross-legged with his laptop on his lap. You plop down onto the couch next to him, pulling your knees up and curling into his side. An arm wraps around your body and you press your face into his shoulder, feeling the buzz of Yeosang’s voice in his chest against your cheek.

“You should go put some clothes on,” he hums. “We’re going to get some real food.”

You sigh, a bit overdramatic, and grumble when he laughs lightly at you, brushing your wet hair from your face. You peek over a bit at his computer screen, trying to be discreet, but you watch him adjust the screen to face you better and you glance up at him briefly. Yeosang doesn’t look at you, but a small smile forms at the corners of his lips. On one side of his screen is a map, there’s a few blinking initials scattered over it and you lean a little closer to the screen. On the other side of the screen, there’s a tracking page for a train ticket, you watch as the bar blinks forward to the next stop.

“What’s that?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.

“I am watching Woo head upstate,” Yeosang confesses, voice measured. There’s something in his tone that tells you he wasn’t sure whether to tell you or not. You hum in response and watch the progress bar on the train ticket tick up another stop.

“What are the other dots?”

“One is Mingi, one is Yunho, and that one is Seonghwa,” Yeosang points around the map at different blinking dots. You nod your head and turn to face him.

“Do you want to give me one?” you ask the question tentatively, as though you’re scared of the answer he’ll give you. His mouth drops open slightly before closing and he slides his tongue over his teeth.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Yeosang whispers and you just nod in response, eyes glued to the dots on the screen and the slow progress of the bar.

“Is he mad?”

“Yeah, but he’ll get over it. That’s why he’s there and you’re here.”

The way Yeosang says it only sparks more questions for you. There’s something under the surface that you can’t pin down. You roll around a question against your tongue as you watch another stop roll by.

“Is he alone?”

Yeosang nods. You purse your lips together. You make a decision.

It’s 2:36 when you slide out from under Yeosang’s arm and tiptoe out of your bedroom. You close the door softly behind you, thanking him silently for oiling the hinges earlier in the day. You slip Mingi’s gym bag over your shoulder which you had packed full of your own clothes while Yeosang was in the shower. You pull the train ticket up on your phone and stare at it as you stand in the dark of your living room. The moonlight drifts through your curtains, casting harsh shadows across your floor. You steel your nerves, tuck your feet into your shoes, and head out your front door. The lock clicks behind you louder than you would like and you freeze in your hallway when you hear the door across the hall creak open.

“What are you doing?” San whispers and you hang your head, sighing heavily.

“Nothing, go back to sleep,” you whisper back, keeping your face to your door.

“Couldn’t sleep. Are you going somewhere?” San’s voice has an edge to it and you’re starting to feel more interrogated than anything.

“Just out, Sannie. Ji is having a bit of a crisis, so I’m going to her place to stay with her for the night,” you offer, letting the lie fall off your tongue easily. You let your keys jingle in your hand lightly, as though you’re fumbling with them, in a rush. “I really gotta go Sannie, she’s waiting for me to get there. It was nasty.”

You turn to face him and his face is hard, but he sighs as you approach him. You press a kiss to his cheek softly and he grasps your hand softly as you turn away.

“Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

“Yeah, I promise,” you smile slightly and he releases your hand, letting you turn down the hallway, into the elevator, and into the night.

The train ride is surprisingly pleasant. It’s late and quiet, it goes faster than you thought it would. You hole yourself up in a motel for the night and you figure you might as well get some real sleep. By the time you wake up, it’s mid-day. The sun beams through the worn blinds and you cover your eyes with your arm. Your phone buzzes without pause where it lays beside your head. You scroll mindlessly through the notifications before turning it off entirely. They’ve texted you, it’s pinged against cell towers. You know if they wanted to find you, they could. There’s no use in having it be an annoyance in your pocket for the entire time you’re here. You pull yourself out of the bed, pull on something plain and head down the street to the diner you saw in the taxi to the motel.

You seat yourself in the corner by a window and a bubbly waitress comes over to take your order. You mumble something out and she nods before stepping away from your table briskly. You keep your eyes glued to the door, hoping that you would catch a glimpse of familiar blonde hair bustling through the door. But, you don’t. You sit in the diner for an hour, eyes staring at the figures passing, eating your breakfast in silence. A few times the waitress comes up and checks in, but you wave her off every time. You finish your third cup of coffee and pull out a map you had grabbed at the motel from your pocket. You stretch it across the table and track the trails in the area. Your fingers travel over the different routes before you decide on two you’ll traverse today. You check your watch then look up to the sun in the sky. You slam thirty dollars onto your table, not waiting for your check, and you pull your hood up as you drift into town.

Your search through the trails turns out to be a bust. You waste seven hours of daylight before you decide to pack it in. Your feet hurt and your throat is dry, fingers trembling at your sides from exhaustion. You trek back into the edge of town, shoving open the door to the dingy bar. It slams against the wall, but the sound is swallowed by loud laughter and pool balls striking the sides of a table. You sidle yourself into a booth, pressing your forehead into your hands when you hear a familiar laugh from the corner of the bar. You tilt your head over your shoulder, catching a shock of blonde hair pushed back by sunglasses. You watch as his hand drifts over a woman’s shoulder before pressing into the small of her back. You force your eyes forward and shuffle over in the booth, shoulder pressing against the wall. Another bubbly waitress comes by your table, you think they must all be like that here. You order a beer and a basket of fries and shove your hand into the inside of your jacket pocket. You roll a pen between your fingers while you wait for your food, catching the reflection of Wooyoung and this woman in the window. You glare as she presses her face into his neck and he preens.

You beer arrives and you down it, ordering a shot before cutting yourself off. You’d like to be at least somewhat coherent when you see where this goes. You chew your fries, miserable, as you continue to watch their reflections in the window. You grit your teeth every time she laughs or runs her fingers over his chest or presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. It’s stupid. She’s stupid. She doesn’t even know what he’s going to do to her, and that should make you feel at least a bit superior, but the jealousy burns in your chest regardless.

You watch as he takes her hand and helps her down from the barstool, gliding past your table with a hand pressed to the small of her back. You let him guide her out the door before you pull out another twenty and place it under your empty shot glass. You take your time getting on your coat before drifting to the door, hood sliding down as the wind whips against your face. You follow, twenty paces behind as they traipse through town. It’s about six blocks before Wooyoung glances over his shoulder and you turn the corner carefully, counting to ten before falling back into step behind them. You watch as he takes her hand and leads her into a house, not too far from one of the trails you had explored earlier in the day. You stand outside the house, glancing up at it before pulling a pack of cigarettes from your coat pocket. You light one up and listen.

There’s a clatter and a muffled scream and you scoff. Stupid cunt. You pull your phone from your pocket and power it back on, finally letting the notifications from the day catch up to you. A million angry texts from Hongjoong. A few worried ones from Seonghwa. One voicemail from Yeosang that you decide to listen to while the faint screams echo in the background, you step closer to the edge of the driveway and crouch by a basement window. You’re careful not to let your shadow get caught in the porchlight.

“I know you think you’re doing something meaningful right now, but you shouldn’t do this,” Yeosang’s voice rings in your ear. “We’re going to come get you, so don’t do anything stupid, fuck. Just don’t look for him, please.”

You huff out a breath from your nose, smoke billowing into the cold night air. You stub out your cigarette and light another, listening to the crunch of bones through the window. She’s stopped screaming at this point, but you let satisfaction wash over you anyways. You hear a door slam and you poke your head up, freezing slightly. You watch a light turn on in the second floor window above you. You stand up slowly, gravel of the driveway crunching under your feet as you walk down it. You take a look at the back of the house before trying the screen door to the back porch. Unlocked. You stub your half-smoked cigarette against your shoe before placing it back in your pack. You open the door and slip through. You’re not exactly trying to be quiet, especially when the door screeches, but you hope that the others have had contact with Wooyoung for you to at least catch him by surprise with your presence.

You step into the kitchen and take a place at the small table in the center of it, sliding off your jacket and placing it on the back of your chair. Your phone buzzes in your back pocket. You slide it onto the table, letting it vibrate against the wood. You hear shuffling below you, a few high pitched whines and what sounds like the straining of wood. The stairs creak from the other room and you let your eyes drift over to the doorway. Wooyoung stops in the threshold of the kitchen, eyebrows raised.

“You got the jump on me,” he sounds surprised.

“Guess I did,” you reply. Your phone vibrates three more times.

“I think you should get that,” Wooyoung whispers, hands behind his back.

“What are you hiding?” you ask, voice even. Wooyoung doesn’t reply, but shuffles a bit. You catch the flash of metal as he moves. You smile.

“I didn’t know you touched other girls like that,” you tilt your head and let your mouth form into a pout. Wooyoung’s eyes flash with something dangerous and primal. You pout harder.

“You jealous?” he asks, corners of his lips lifting into a smirk. You lean forward on the table, hand resting on your chin.

“A little,” you drum your fingers where they sit on your face. “What did you do already?”

Wooyoung steps fully into the room, strides wide as he approaches you. His gait is a bit uneven, though, and he leans a little bit more on his right side. As he reaches the space in front of you, you press on his left thigh and he groans. You laugh.

“She got a hit in,” you state incredulously. You press harder with your thumb and Wooyoung grips your wrist, hard. He’s grinning, too white, too wide. Familiar. His other hand grips your chin roughly.

“Don’t be a bitch right now,” Wooyoung mutters inches away from your face. You hum and lean in, pressing a kiss to his mouth, soft and sweet. You feel his grip on you loosen slightly and he freezes. You pull away and watch as his eyes narrow.

“I think you should stop playing with your food and finish it already. I want to go home,” you whisper against his mouth. Wooyoung lets his hands fall away from you and takes a step back, his eyes traveling over your face. You see the cogs in his head spinning wildly. It makes you laugh. The screen door screeches behind you and you don’t look back. You keep laughing as you watch Wooyoung try to figure you out. A hand clasps the back of your neck, palms rough.

“Are you fucking drunk?” Wooyoung breathes out.

“Not nearly enough,” you laugh and wave him off carelessly. His eyes stay on you as he stalks back to the basement.

“What happened to not doing anything stupid?” San breathes from behind you. You can hear the exasperation in his voice. You don’t have to turn around to see his face—eyes closed, mouth pressed tightly in a line, a slight shake to the head. You shrug your shoulders and stand silently. You slip your jacket over your shoulders and shake out of San’s hold, walking out the screen door and letting it slam behind you. You sit on the back steps, pulling out another cigarette. You catch Seonghwa’s eyes, blazing, where he stands in front of you. You hold out your pack of cigarettes to him and he knocks your hand away. The box falls to the ground.

“Touchy,” you mutter.

“Are you fucking stupid?” Seonghwa hisses and you raise an eyebrow. “Or do you just like pissing us off?”

“Hwa,” San’s voice, warning.

“I cannot believe you would follow him. You’re unbelievable,” Seonghwa scolds, but he lays a soft hand to the top of your head. You smile.

“I was running an experiment,” you reply, voice easy. You watch Seonghwa close his eyes and take a deep breath. If you listen hard enough, you can hear flesh meeting metal, liquid hitting cement. It makes you hum in relief. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Getting your stuff from the motel. Use cash next time,” Seonghwa replies, eyes still closed. You reach your hand up and grasp his, pulling it from the top of your head. You press a kiss against the back of it.

“Thank you for coming to pick me up,” you sigh.

Seonghwa runs a thumb under your chin. “Always.”

A door slams from inside and your heads tilt toward the back door. Wooyoung emerges, hands smeared with blood. You smile at him brightly.

“You’re a fucking psycho, do you know that?” Wooyoung snarls at you.

“Ironic,” you tease. You reach your cigarette out to him and he leans down, face still sour, you place it in his mouth softly. He perches next to you on the steps. You scooch closer to him.

“You ready to go home now?” you ask, knocking your knee against Wooyoung’s. You take the cigarette out of his mouth and he blows out the smoke, nodding. You press a kiss to Wooyoung’s shoulder and nudge him back into the house to clean up. San’s hand smoothes down the hair in the back of your head before he follows.

“You know everyone is pissed right now, right?” Seonghwa asks as he sits down on the steps beside you.

You laugh in response, leaning into his body. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Hongjoong’s face is red when you reach the motel, your bag gripped tightly in his fist. He’s shoving into the trunk of a car, you think Yunho’s, when you arrive. He slams the trunk shut when he sees you, hand in hand with Wooyoung.

Hongjoong screams across the parking lot. “Have you lost your mind?”

You shrug and that seems to infuriate him more. It’s a delicate balance you have to strike with Hongjoong and you think you’ve figured it out by now. You let him rip into you, something about irresponsibility and stupidity and maybe he should have killed you, before you reach a hand out and lightly grip the collar of his coat. You stroke your fingers over it, smoothing out the edge where it sticks up. You smile up at him and place a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I’m sorry for worrying you, Joong,” you whisper. “But, you wouldn’t have let me find him. I had to see it for myself.”

Hongjoong’s hands come up to rest on your waist before he presses his forehead against yours. He shuts his eyes tightly, as if willing the emotion to go away, and grips you tightly against his chest. You rest your head on his shoulder, hand stroking gently through his hair.

“What did you think?” Hongjoong whispers where his cheek is pressed against your hair.

“I think it was fun,” you whisper back and you feel his hands fist against your coat. You smile softly and pull yourself out of his grip, running a hand to his face and stroking over his cheek. “I’m okay.”

“Everyone else is home, I sent them back when Seonghwa texted. I figured you wouldn’t want the cavalry here,” Hongjoong says, the last sentence is directed over your shoulder to Wooyoung, who nods lightly. Wooyoung’s face is tight, body shifting quietly while Hongjoong gives him a once over.

Hongjoong releases you carefully before striding over to Wooyoung and clasping a hand around his neck, bringing him into a tight hug. Wooyoung’s shoulders tense, then sag, and he collapses into Hongjoong’s hold. You realize it’s the first time they’ve interacted since that night last year, at least the first time that you’ve seen, and it’s obvious how much they’ve missed each other. You turn and make your way toward the car, giving them the space they need for now. San’s arm loops around yours and you lean into him.

“It’s a long ride back,” he mutters. Your laugh lights up the parking lot.

It takes a week before you’re forgiven. Apologies are breathed out between meals, pressed into cheeks and hairlines and palms, gasped against open mouths between bedsheets. Wooyoung presses himself against you most nights now, bare chest warm against your spine. He whispers apologies of his own against your shoulder when he thinks you’re asleep—sometimes about the way he spoke to you, the veiled threat, and other times it’s about the face he ran in the first place, the way he let his hurt push you away. You pretend not to hear it, but the next morning you hold his hand a little tighter, let your kisses linger a little longer.

You move the next month, a new place in the same building as Hongjoong’s. You let the guys bankroll it, San practically begs to pay at least a portion of your rent. Your apartment is bigger now, not two floors kind of big, but big enough to fit a wide dining table and two couches. Bodies don’t pile onto the floor anymore and you can comfortably fit an extra dresser or two for the clothes of eight grown men. Gym bags are placed in the front closet, shoes are placed neatly on the shoe rack, new pictures line the mantle. It’s as close to perfect as you could imagine.

Your boys pile into your apartment one night after a hunt, the manic energy that fills the room exhausts you, but you let them tug you around and press their faces into you anyways. You end up in Yeosang’s lap, his face pressed into your shoulder as you attempt to order food. His hips grind up into yours and you turn your face to glare at him. He gives you a sheepish grin before latching his mouth onto the side of your neck.

You push yourself out of his lap and another set of hands reach for you. You slap them away, yelling over their collective noise to try and collect orders. Hongjoong watches from where he’s perched on one of the couch arms, back pressed into the cushion and arms crossed over his chest. You pout in his direction and he sighs, sitting up before clapping his hands together. The room falls into silence.

“Our girl is trying to order food, can you guys stop bickering for ten minutes and tell her what you want?” Hongjoong chides playfully. Orders fly out of mouths and you type everything into your phone, making Mingi and Wooyoung repeat their orders three times because they keep talking over each other. You roll your eyes before shuffling into the kitchen, pulling your phone to your ear as you mutter the order down the line. Your back is turned away from the door and you lean against your counter with your hands pressed to your eyes when you hear the bickering start up again. Hands slide around your waist, slow and careful, giving you ample time to pull away. You turn in the hold, face a few inches from Hongjoong’s as you reach your arms to wrap around his shoulders. He leans in and presses a long kiss to your mouth, smiling into it.

“Love when you take care of us,” he mumbles against your mouth. You grin.

“Love when you guys let me,” you reply. “Also, love when you guys come back from a hunt.”

“Yeah,” he presses another kiss to your mouth before pulling away, teasing.

“Yeah, very sexy,” you breathe in between kisses.

Hongjoong hums where his lips are pressed against your neck. “Wanna come with next time?”

He laughs when you nod eagerly. Psycho.

[sancerely-yours]

Again, it’s like I’m not even a part of this, I’m not an equal. I’m a pet you keep around until you get too fucking bored of me and finally put me out of my misery.

can’t say i saw this coming, but the reversal of her giving them the slip and hunting wy down? makes so much sense!! because she reclaims some of the power imbalance and secrecy, becomes complicit instead of passive, and asserts herself more firmly among them! (and! perhaps most importantly! gives them a taste of their own medicine ha)

[gunbunnyhwa]

let the light in

stalker!ot8 ateez x reader

it breaks, but then it mends.

wc: 9k

note: double update, lfg. also, i totally lied and this part got away from me so expect maybe one or two more before things are all wrapped up. longest part to date so i hope you all enjoy it :)

Hongjoong doesn’t text you the next morning.

It sets you on edge for the first time in a year. As January’s bitter edge sets in, you feel the chill seep deep into your bones. For the first time in a year, you do all the things you typically would with no shadow. No one waits outside your apartment, no one watches you quietly on your way to work, no one leaves coffee or flowers outside of your door. There are no notes on your fridge or coffee brewing for you the next morning. You pay for your own nails. You cook your own food. You buy your own takeout. It should feel like freedom, but it tastes like dread.

Your landlord comes and replaces your locks after two days. He’s a nice older man, about mid-50s, with gray splattered along his temples like a gunshot wound and calloused knuckles. His dark complexion glows bronze in your lamplight and you watch as he quietly tinkers away on your door.

“How did that happen?” he asks calmly, gesturing to the corpse of your coffee table still in the middle of your living room.

“A few friends of mine had too many drinks,” you respond. You don’t look away from where he’s tinkering with the doorknob.

“Those friends have something to do with the yelling the other night?” he smiles up at you, too knowing. “You got a noise complaint from Mrs. Haggerty, but you’re not a troublemaker so I didn’t see the point in telling you. I figured it was a bad night from what she said.”

You turn your face away and that seems to satisfy his curiosity. He mumbles, “You should be careful.”

“What?” you turn back to face him, eyebrows knit tight in the middle. You feel your shock spread open on your face.

“Boys like that tend to be more trouble than they’re worth—get dangerous when they get bored,” he’s not facing you, still staring ahead at the doorknob like he’s discussing the weather or the news. You feel your hands start to tremble. You clasp them behind your back. A noise comes from the back of your throat and you turn away into your kitchen. You feel his gaze prickle at the back of your neck as you make coffee, something to do to keep your hands busy and your mind quiet.

“I’m not kidding,” his voice comes from the doorway of the kitchen now and you startle. “You’ve been here a while. I’ve grown used to seeing you. It would be a shame if something happened and I have a feeling that I know who it would be.”

You never realized how short he is until you see him in your doorframe. But, maybe you’re just used to bodies filling them fully. You nod softly and hand him a cup of coffee for the road. He understands that you are politely ushering him out of your apartment and sighs, but he acquiesces and turns to leave anyway. Before he exits your apartment, he presses a cold key into your palm.

“Don’t leave a spare out anymore.”

You close the door behind him with a click.

Your days blend together. You clean your apartment almost every day, scrub at the tiles of your kitchen like it could erase any trace of a presence other than your own. You go to work, you go to after work drinks, you see your friends. You do anything you can to fill your time. You begin to feel the reaper drawing closer and you can’t stand to do nothing in the meantime. Despite your full days, you still feel empty. Your bed is cold. The show you started with Wooyoung sits unwatched on your Netflix. The sink fills with one dish every night instead of two or three.

Your Friday nights are the worst. What used to be filled with laughter at a bar is now filled with you and a bottle of wine. It’s depressing. You feel old. At the same time, you feel too young to be lamenting like a divorcee. You do feel like a woman scorned in a way. Three weeks in, you gather your coat at 9:34 and head across the city. The jostling of the train does nothing to calm your nerves. You tug your hood further down your head and pull your sleeves over your fingers to fight the cold that sets in fully at night. The wind bites your face as you trudge up the stairs onto the street. You look out into the park briefly and turn away. You head three blocks north past the pizza place with the front wall of windows, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of your pocket and lighting one. You’ve been smoking more when you’re sober, a nasty nervous habit you had broken after college. You pull open the door to the bar where you were hunted. You sit in the back corner, where you can see the door but people entering would have a hard time seeing you through the other heads at the bar. You order a shot, then another, then another. The hours blur as you sit there. Your head is now cradled in your arms as your finger swirls around the top of the scotch glass sitting to your left. You pull out your wallet and leave fifty dollars on top of the bar.

You pull your coat on and exit the bar, stumbling. You catch yourself on the doorframe and laugh. It’s nasty, something that pulls out of a piece of your chest that had been cracked open. You pull out another cigarette and perch against the front wall of the bar, struggling with your lighter through your drunkenness. You’re crouched down in a squat and your jacket pools around your ankles where it touches the ground. You can’t be bothered to care about the dirt right now. Bodies pass you, footsteps come and go. You keep fumbling.

A pair of legs stop in front of you. You feel a stare on the top of your head. You continue to flick your lighter. A hand comes down to wrap around your own and a face comes into view as the body attached to the legs crouches in front of you, the smell of sea salt surrounds you.

“Finally come to get me, huh Mr. Reaper,” you spit around your cigarette.

Seonghwa’s face splits into a sad grin. “I wouldn’t go that far, darling.”

He takes the lighter from you, cupping his hand to block the wind. Your cigarette finally lights and you take a long drag, blowing it into his face. Seonghwa laughs. His hair is light now, almost white, with his eyebrows bleached to match. You find yourself thinking his features are sharper with his hair like this, and that he looks particularly handsome tonight. He looks far too well dressed to be in this part of the city, with his tailored coat and pressed pants and shiny shoes.

“You look like shit,” you slur as you take the cigarette out of your mouth in an exaggerated gesture. He just laughs in response.

“Let me take you home,” his voice is tender. “Please.”

“I think I’d rather you kill me here. Less for my landlord to clean up. He’s a nice man, but I think he’s seen too much shit. Don’t want to leave a mess for him.”

You still take his outstretched hand and let him entwine your fingers with his. He tucks your arm up so it’s wrapped around his own. He walks slowly and keeps careful watch of the sidewalk, avoiding any cracks or deviations that would cause you to trip in your current state. You notice—because of course you do, it’s Seonghwa—and look up at him bitterly.

“I hate you,” it comes out as a venomous whisper. He just nods in response and keeps you on the path.

You get back to your apartment in one piece, the rest of your travel spent in silence. He reaches under your mat for your spare key and you laugh at him. You pull your own keys out, struggling to find the lock for a moment before sliding them in and barreling through your apartment door.

“Took that shit away the same night,” you’re still laughing at him and it’s caustic. You struggle with your coat and slap his hands away when he tries to help. You drag your tired body to your kitchen and get yourself a glass of water. Seonghwa stands in your foyer. You lean against the wall lazily as you watch him watch you.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” Seonghwa murmurs, his voice knitted with concern and something you can’t place. He takes a step forward and you recoil away from him. He freezes.

“Of course I haven’t been sleeping. My stalkers decided they’re bored of me. They’re done playing. I’m on my last game, Seonghwa. You know that,” your tone like acid. “Every day, I wake up and I wonder, ‘Is this it? Am I going to die on a fucking public bus today? What about in the alley outside my workplace?’ Every day, I think about you breaking my fingers, I think about how it would feel for me to have to watch myself die slowly. I think about Mingi hauling my body into a chair when I’m too broken to run away and Yunho flaying me alive and Yeosang sitting there watching from his stupid fucking cameras. I think about all of you laughing at me being so fucking stupid to let you into my life and I see Wooyoung and Hongjoong delivering the final blow. Do you know how that feels, Seonghwa? Do you? To know that death is at your doorstep and you don’t know when he’s going to knock.”

You’ve inched closer during your tirade, finger poking at his chest with every sentence. Your nose almost brushes his. Seonghwa doesn’t answer, just gently grips your wrist and puts it down at your side. He takes a step back and runs a hand through his hair completely ruining its nicely styled appearance. He’s still too handsome, you hate it. He leans back against your front door and takes a deep breath. Then, he rubs a hand over his chest, right where you had pressed your finger into it.

A bitter laugh cuts through the silence at his dramatics. “Fuck you, Seonghwa.”

You turn on your heels and walk through your apartment. You get ready for bed, not caring to check that he left. In your mind, the conversation is over. It’s been over for weeks. The only thing left is for the reaper to come knocking and for you to answer the door. You’ve accepted it, accepted it a while ago. You think you accepted it that first night in the park. You scrub your face raw at your bathroom sink and skip your skincare. You throw clothes around your room before settling on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from a pile of dirty clothes that you haven’t gotten around to washing. You settle into bed and dream of flayed skin and sharp knives and too wide, too white grins.

Seonghwa never left. You learn that the next morning when you walk into your kitchen to a plate of fruit and coffee made exactly how you like it. You didn’t know that Seonghwa knew how to use your espresso machine. You don’t acknowledge him as you move toward the fridge. You move through the room like a storm, every glass slams on the counter and every utensil scrapes sharply against ceramic. You don’t look at the plate of fruit or the coffee or Seonghwa.

His voice breaks through your tirade of sound. “I talked to Hongjoong.”

You freeze, blood chilling. You feel the tremble return to your hands. Men like Hongjoong grow dangerous when they’re bored. You wrap your fingers around the cup of coffee you made, letting the warmth against your fingertips ground you.

“I’ve been talking to him,” Seonghwa corrects himself. “You don’t need to worry about anything. If you want to call it here, say the word. You’ll never see any of us again.”

You scoff. “Seeing you isn’t the concern and you know that.”

“I meant that–” he stops, frustrated. “You know what I meant.”

“No, Seonghwa, I don’t. I never do. Will you all leave me alone if I ask you to?”

“Yes.”

Your world tilts on its axis. You think about it—no shadows, no secrets, no weird in betweens. You consider your life the past few weeks. You consider the loneliness and the emptiness, but you also consider the way you’ve grown used to it. You could make a home in this emptiness. You know you could. You could get a therapist, maybe some medication. You could have a normal relationship with no terrifying extracurriculars in the background of every interaction. You could.

But you turn around to face Seonghwa. “I never asked you to. Any of you. And you’ve left me alone for the last three weeks. You all keep making choices for me. I’m tired of it. If this continues, it’s with my rules.”

Seonghwa’s face cracks open, his usually cool demeanor is destroyed in the few seconds it takes for you to spit out your words. “I’m listening.”

“First rule, no more secrets. I’m tired of you all keeping me out. If I ask, it’s because I want to know and because I think I can handle it.” You watch Seonghwa nod his head in agreement. “You either trust me or you don’t. You need to decide that now. I trust all of you. I need that to be returned.”

“Okay,” Seonghwa’s voice is soft and broken and he’s looking at you like you hung the stars. “What else?”

“Second rule, no more free entry to my apartment. No spare keys, no picking locks, no busting down the door. You knock and if I don’t answer, I don’t want you here.” your voice is pointed and he ducks his head in shame. “Third, I need apologies. From everyone. I’m mad at Joong, but I’m also mad at all of you. You all let me believe I was different when this whole time it was another game I didn’t know I was playing. You all let him talk to me like that. You let it get to this point. It never gets here again.”

“Anything else?” Seonghwa’s attention is fully captured by you, there’s a look on his face like he would crack open your skull and inspect your brain if he could. You like it.

“Fourth, my life changes and you don’t know. We make this more normal. I change my routine and no one follows. I go out with my friends and I don’t run into any of you there unless it’s a coincidence. I’ll know.” your voice is scathing.

“That one will be tough, you know that,” he leans forward over your counter.

“I know, that’s why it’s your job to convince them,” you reply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Those are my conditions. If they can’t be met, you might as well kill me now.”

“We’re not interested in killing you,” he bites back.

“Sure haven’t convinced me,” you hiss. He nods, acquiescing, and stands from the kitchen island. He pushes the plate of fruit in front of you and you take a piece off the plate and pop it in your mouth—peace offering. You trust him. Seonghwa rounds the island slowly, letting you push him away at any moment. He crosses into your space and places a hand on the back of your head. He brings your forehead to his mouth and presses a kiss against it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your hair. You grasp his shirt loosely in your fists. “I’ll say it until the day I die. I’m sorry for scaring you, I’m sorry for not stopping him, I’m sorry for invading your space. We want you. We want to keep you. I want to keep you. I want you to be here with me every day. I’m sorry and I missed you.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I missed you too, Hwa.”

A smile blooms in your hair and he presses another kiss into your hairline, firmer this time, and it feels like a new beginning.

Their presence is different than before. They don’t hover like a shadow at your back any longer, now they meet you where you are. They show up in new ways. Nothing is done silently. San is the first to cave after you assume Seonghwa delivers the message. The day after your conversation with Seonghwa, there’s a knock on your door. It’s insistent and non-stop. You groan and open your door with force. San stands there, fist hovering in the air where it just was banging on the door.

“Hi,” his voice is breathless and his grin is the brightest thing you’ve seen all month. “Can I come in? Seonghwa said we’re supposed to ask now.”

You can’t help the smile that spreads over your face and you gesture to your foyer to get him inside. He reaches for you instantly and you let him. His hands trail down your shoulders before settling on your waist. He scans you, as if he’s checking you’re in one piece. Then, his arms wrap around you, squeezing exactly like the last time you saw him, like nothing’s changed.

“I missed you so much,” San’s voice booms through your apartment. You can’t help but laugh at his excitement. He swings your body back and forth as he hugs you and your laugh grows stronger. “Oh my God, I missed that sound.”

“San, enough,” you push him off of you fondly.

“I’m sorry. For all of it,” his voice is more serious now and the shift in the atmosphere throws you off balance for a second. “And I’m not just saying that because Seonghwa told me to. I wanted to come over here the morning after Hongjoong said that shit, but everyone told me to leave you alone. But, I didn’t want to. I really didn’t want to. I missed you so much and I couldn’t help you and I wanted to so badly. I’m sorry that I let him tell you all those things and I’m sorry that we kept it all a secret and I’m sorry that we never listened to you and I missed you and I’m so happy you let me into your apartment.”

You stare at him and he takes a deep breath after spitting out his whole tangent in one breath. He stares back, eyes pleading you to forgive him. As much as you want to be angry at the moment and as much as you should be, it’s San. San who was always tender with you, who always had gentle hands, who cared about Wooyoung as much as you did, if not more. San who greeted you every morning and every evening with a smile and a compliment. San who cooked for you, who hosted dinners every week so you could grow closer to all of the guys. San who brought you into the fold and made you feel like you belonged with them.

You reach up and cradle his face, bringing him nose to nose with you and shaking him lightly as you say, “Sannie, breathe. I forgive you.”

His face lights up and he giggles, grasping your hands over his face and holding you there. He rubs the tip of his nose against yours before wrapping his arms around you again, he smiles into your cheek.

San quickly pulls away from you and places his hands on your shoulder, leveling you with a serious look, “Do you want to get dinner?”

San becomes a fixture around your apartment after that. He keeps knocking insistently, like the world will end if you don’t open the door. You can’t help but find it endearing. He lazes around your living room typically, typing away on his phone and occasionally looking up to tell you about something funny one of the other guys sent him. Seonghwa sometimes joins the two of you, evening out San’s energy and often bringing dinner with him. San always whines that Seonghwa brings better food than him. You always laugh. Your apartment starts to feel like home again.

The night Wooyoung comes to see you, San is there. He’s splayed over your living room floor where you once had a coffee table and is complaining about how cold your apartment is. He whines that you guys should just hang out at his place and you ignore him. You tell him that he doesn’t pay the utilities and he offers to. You laugh him off. His continued whines are cut off by a knock at the door. San’s eyes widen and you narrow your own.

“Expecting anyone?” you purse your lips at him. San shakes his head, but the tips of his ears bloom red.

Wooyoung stands on your doorstep, a bouquet of purple hyacinths in his hands. I’m sorry. Your face crumbles and so does his. He looks down at his feet.

“Please let me come in,” Wooyoung’s words are wet and shaky. “I’m so sorry.”

You reach a hand out and bring him inside steadily. You take the flowers from his hand and lay them carefully on the table in your foyer. You look at him, really look at him. He’s in a worse state than when he left. His hair is cropped short now, almost buzzed around the sides. It’s blond now and you wonder if he dyed it with Seonghwa as some sort of mourning ritual. Wooyoung’s eyes are sunken in and his face is almost skeletal. His clothes hang off his small frame in a way you haven’t seen before. It scares you. You slowly reach up to his face, placing a hand on one side under his ear. Your finger brushes a new piercing and you smile softly at him. You press your lips against his, giving him the opportunity to move away. He doesn’t. His hands reach up, one on your waist and the other tangled in your hair. He returns the kiss, hard. He fills your senses for a moment and when you pull away you’re both out of breath.

“I forgave you the night I made you leave,” you tell him. “I love you.”

The tears that threatened to fall are free now. Both of you standing in your foyer crying and holding each other. He runs his hands through your hair and over your body. You know that he’s inspecting you like the others were. His hands run over your ribs and his face scrunches.

“You lost weight,” he pouts.

“So did you,” it comes out in a wet chuckle.

“We need to order food, you need to eat,” he deflects.

“We already did,” San’s voice comes from the other end of the foyer where he leans against the wall, watching, a soft smile adorned on his face.

“Hi, Sannie. I almost forgot you were here,” you joke around the end of your tears and Wooyoung pulls you further into your apartment toward San. San grasps your other hand and traces circles into the back of it with his thumb.

“I love when my two favorite people get along,” his voice is warm as he looks at your and Wooyoung’s joined hands. You bump your shoulder against his own and move into your living room. You settle on the couch, smushed and warm against two bodies. The food comes and Wooyoung has a portion already saved for him. Your night is spent sandwiched in between two grown men and the next morning you order a bigger bed. You also start to think your life is feeling a bit more complete than it has in a month.

Jongho appears next, but you think you ambush him a little bit. You and San are going to a bar that Wooyoung works at to keep him company for the end of his shift. It’s a Thursday night routine you quickly settled into now that Wooyoung was back in your life. Seonghwa would sometimes join you, but tonight it was just you and San. You both settle at the bar and watch Wooyoung work, admiring his lithe muscle under the low light and occasionally exchanging some less than acceptable words to share in public about him. Wooyoung still tries to show off, but this time for you and San. About an hour after you arrive, you excuse yourself to the bathroom. You make it to the hallway where the restrooms are when you slam into a body. You quickly go to apologize, brushing off your clothes before looking up and—oh, it’s Jongho.

His face betrays anything he was going to say as he stands there and sputters, hands frozen hovered over your arms where he intended to steady you. As he ducks his head and goes to walk away, you grab his bicep and pull him behind you, stomping toward the staff exit and pushing him out into the alley next to the bar. He is utterly frozen where he stands. You wrap your arms around yourself in the cold and start to regret your choice to bring him out here.

“You started paying for my nails again,” you start. Jongho nods. His eyes dart around the alley, avoiding all eye contact with you. You walk closer and stand in his eyeline. He sighs. This is not a winning fight for him.

“I want to apologize,” he responds.

“Were you going to if I didn’t force you?” you probe, raising an eyebrow.

“Probably not,” he grits. You knew that. Jongho was a man of action, not words. When he started paying for your nails again, it was through Venmo transactions that you tried to decline. Every time you would return the money, he would double the amount and send it right back to you. You stopped fighting him after it hit four digits. Jongho was bankrolling a lot of your life right now. Not only did he pay for your nails, but he covered every tab at every bar he worked at. He sent San and Wooyoung money to take you on dates. He started paying for your hair and had new clothes sent to your apartment every week like clockwork. After the second week of this, you began to realize he would never show his face unless you found him. It grated against you in a way you couldn’t explain. It felt cowardly, but you knew that wasn’t like Jongho.

“You can’t just bankroll my life and expect that to be an apology,” you goad him. “You’re kind of being a coward.”

His eyes cut to yours and his eyebrows furrow. Jongho shakes his head and fixes his face in a scowl. He looks away from you, then looks back. He shakes his head one more time before he speaks.

“I’m sorry, are you happy now?” he grits.

“I think I need it one more time, with feeling,” you smirk.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you,” his tone is more genuine this time. His mouth tilts at the corners and you feel your facade crack. You reach out a hand and squeeze his bicep.

“We’re good, Jjong.”

He watches you shiver and slides his jacket over your shoulders, suddenly very aware of the outside air. You smile and lean against his torso as you both walk around the bar to the front. He lifts the rope and guides you inside, following close behind you as you make your way back to the bar. San’s eyebrows lift dramatically as he sees the pair of you.

“Thank God, I thought he would never talk to you again,” he yells over the music. You laugh and double over, steadying yourself on his shoulder. You slip Jongho’s jacket off and hand it back to him, fingertips brushing. You watch Jongho’s cheeks glow red and you pinch them as you coo. He swats your hands away, a shy smile blooms on his face, and he waves at the pair of you as he turns to head back to work. San’s arm wraps around your waist and you lean back against his body where it sits on a bar stool. He tips his head over your shoulder and leans into your neck.

“Feel good about that?” he asks against your ear. You turn, smiling brightly, and nod. He returns your grin and you both watch Jongho slip away into the crowd.

Yunho and Mingi come in a pair. They have the entire time you’ve known them, so you should have figured they would come as a set this time, too. It starts with breakfast.

There’s clattering and hushed whispers coming from your kitchen one weekend and you awake with a start. You freeze where you lay in your bed, not quite sure what to do. It’s been a while since you feared intruders in your house, but with the general respect for the rules you set, you assume it can’t be one of the guys. You fumble around for your phone, wincing as you knock a bottle of aspirin off your bedside table. You look at your bedroom door and listen for any change in sound. When you find none, you anxiously scroll through your messages. Wooyoung worked a late shift at the bar last night with Jongho and didn’t stay the night. San’s out of town visiting his family. Seonghwa is working an early shift at the gallery. You can’t or don’t want to bother any of them right now to check it out for you. You’re kind of out of options right now. You slowly get out of bed, trying to be as quiet as possible, creeping toward your closet where you keep a baseball bat for protection. You raise it over your shoulder as you step slowly down your hallway. You jump as you reach the threshold of your kitchen and scream at the two tall men standing over your stove. They scream in response.

“What happened to no surprise visits?” you yell. The tips of Mingi’s ears go red.

“Okay, so hear me out,” Mingi starts, hands still raised in defense where he stands. “It was supposed to be a nice surprise?”

“No,” your voice indicates finality. The bat makes a solid noise where the tip of it hits your kitchen floor as you relax your arms by your sides. “Nope. I am not doing this today. Leave, please.”

“Wait, no. Please, we worked so hard,” Mingi’s voice is whiny and his whole body slumps as he says it. His hands are outstretched, reaching for you but not touching. “Just try it first and then we’ll leave.”

Yunho shoots him a glare at the back of his head. You stare at them both incredulously. You watch as Mingi rounds the island and stands in front of you before dropping to his knees. He clasps his hands together and stares up at you, pleading. You continue to stare at him as he continues to whine.

“Oh my God, fine,” you state, clipped. Mingi pumps his fist. You realize this is the least formal he’s ever been with you. You wonder if he’s high. You seat yourself at the island and Yunho slides a plate toward you. It’s shockingly fancy french toast. There’s some sort of berry compote in between each slice with fresh cream on top. You stare down at it, unnerved. You take a bite anyway. It’s good and you sigh.

“We thought it would be nice to apologize and also make up for time,” Yunho starts when you glance up at him. You gesture for him to continue when he pauses for too long watching you eat.

“It was fucked up to let it all go on and keep you in the dark. We all thought it would be better to just let you live without knowing we originally planned to kill you, but you deserved to make an informed decision on whether or not you wanted us around. So, we’re sorry,” the way Yunho says it is easy, like it’s just any other piece of information. You like the fact that he’s the first one to say it outright. You look at Mingi, still kneeled on the floor.

“Get up, you freak,” you say between a mouthful of food. He scrambles from the floor to the barstool next to yours. His face is too close to yours. “Are you high or something?”

“I’m so sorry and I missed you,” he breathes and you laugh gently. “Also, I’m so jealous San got to kiss you before I did.”

You choke and Yunho reaches over the counter to smack the side of his head. You look at Mingi as he sputters, his eyes wide and hands vaguely gesturing at the air. You turn to look at Yunho, whose eyes are fixed on the side of Mingi’s head, but his ears are bright red. You look back at your plate and cut yourself off another piece of french toast.

“Guess you should’ve apologized sooner,” your voice is casual before you put another bite in your mouth. Mingi keeps sputtering.

The rotation continues after that, but much less formal than the first time. They care less about overlap now. Sometimes, Jongho comes over after a shift to find you and Wooyoung curled up on the couch watching something on the television. The three of you trudge tired bodies toward the diner and you let Wooyoung fill the silence. Jongho will complain about somebody at the door giving him attitude and Wooyoung will fire back some new threat to give them the next time it happens.

Mingi and Yunho start sleeping in your bed at some point, you can’t exactly figure out when. You just know that one morning you woke up to a much taller body than you were accustomed to pressed to your back and it just started happening after that. Mingi likes to come over after a rough day at the site he manages and watch you do chores in your apartment. He never helps, but he observes carefully. He’s quiet and patient and softly sings along to the music you play. About an hour after he arrives, he takes your phone and changes the music to something more upbeat. San usually comes over concerned from the yelling. You’ve learned that Yunho sleeps like the dead and is the worst person to share a bed with when you have something to do the next day. One morning, you woke up late for work and had to battle Yunho’s tight grip on your waist before rushing out of your apartment. He sent you a text later about how he was so sad that you didn’t kiss him goodbye. You roll your eyes and shoot something sarcastic back, but a fond smile sits on your face.

There are times when Wooyoung knocks on your door, only to turn around when your voice pops out of the other side of the hallway. He grins as he strides into San’s apartment and buries his face in your hair. He presses a kiss to the side of your hair before walking over to the stove and pressing a kiss into San’s. You think you should feel jealous, but something soft blooms in your chest instead. You love when your favorite people get along.

Seonghwa appears often, usually popping by when the others are already there. He learned to start texting before he comes, though, after San opened the door while you were giving Wooyoung head on the couch. You’ve learned their concept of privacy differs greatly from your own. Wooyoung walks into the bathroom while you’re showering for the first time and you scream, yelling something about knocking and he laughs. He has no interest in doing anything, he just wanted to talk to you. It would be sweet in a weird way if he had asked beforehand.

“I’ve already seen it, baby. I don’t know why you’re freaking out,” he says while sitting on the toilet seat. You realize after fifteen minutes of bickering that this is not something you will get through to him on.

San walks in on you changing more than once. Mingi digs through your laundry. Yunho goes through your underwear drawer in front of you. Jongho has, on more than one occasion, scrolled through your camera roll just to do it. Seonghwa asks overly probing questions like he doesn’t already know the answer. You realize eventually that this is their way of satiating the urge to know without you knowing. It lights up the same part of their brain that gets a thrill from following you. It lets them know you without asking, dig into your brain without ever saying a word. You stop questioning it when Seonghwa mentions it.

You’re at the grocery store and Seonghwa is pushing the cart as he watches you scan the aisle. You pick up a jar of sauce and inspect it for a moment before going to place it in the cart. Your wrist is grabbed before it hits the bottom. You look up, puzzled.

“You don’t like that one,” Seonghwa says, pulling the jar out of your hand and placing it back on the shelf. You tilt your head for a moment.

“It’s on sale, it’s fine,” you grumble and reach for the jar again. “How do you even know that? It’s fine. I’ll eat it.”

“The last time you bought it, you used it once and let the rest of it spoil in your fridge. Even though it’s been on sale multiple times since, you’ve never rebought it because you don’t like it,” he stares at you as he says it, face flat. You give him a look and he shrugs.

“You guys track my habits, don’t you?” you pick up a different jar of sauce and he smiles softly at it.

“I like to think of it as ensuring you take care of yourself, but sure,” he smiles and leans over the cart toward your face. Seonghwa leans in and presses a soft kiss to your nose as you stand in the aisle, dumbfounded.

“How am I just realizing this?” you call after him, speeding up your steps to catch up to him.

“You’re not very observant, darling,” he looks over his shoulder at you and grins.

The day Yeosang comes to apologize is surprisingly normal. Yunho is standing in your living room as you lounge on the couch. He’s been pacing around your apartment since he woke up in the morning. You can’t tell what’s gotten into him, but you keep glancing at him to make sure he’s not getting into anything. You know a bored Yunho is a particularly troublesome version of the man. He disappears into the hallway and reappears into the livingroom, standing solidly in the center of the space. You see something purple swaying from his fingers as you scroll mindlessly on your phone.

“Are these new?” he grins as you glance up. You shoot up from the couch to try to grab your underwear, yelling at him the whole time. Yunho’s arm is outstretched over his head in a game of keepaway when a voice comes from your doorway.

“Am I interrupting?”

The two of you freeze and you see Yeosang standing at the edge of your foyer. Yunho lowers his arm and you snatch the underwear away from him as you shove him towards your door. He laughs the whole way there.

“No, he was just leaving. Bye, Yunho,” you grit as you continue to shove him out. It’s playful, though, and he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before he leaves.

“You were supposed to knock,” you press your lips in a line and lean against the wall.

“I did, but I didn’t think you could hear over all the yelling,” Yeosang fires back.

“Fair. Do what you came to do,” you gesture vaguely with your hand. You have gotten tired of the endless apologies from everyone but who you want one from. Yeosang hands you a USB stick and a remote from his pocket. You squint down at it in your hand.

“For security,” he starts. “I just finished installing cameras outside your door, closed circuit. The only way you can access them is with that.”

He points down at the USB and your eyes dart up at him, narrow. “Genuinely?”

“Genuinely,” he shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back and forth on his feet, nervous. “I figured it would be a good way to know if you want to pretend you’re not here when we knock.”

You smirk and let out a quiet laugh. “Thanks, Yeosang. That’s really thoughtful.”

“I figured that saying sorry wasn’t enough,” he takes a deep breath before continuing. “I wanted to give you some extra security.”

You clutch the USB and remote in between your fingers softly and reach a hand up to smooth his hair away from his forehead. Yeosang freezes when your fingers make contact with his skin.

“You need new conditioner,” your voice comes out soft. He laughs lightly and smacks your hand away, toeing off his shoes before following you into your apartment.

Yeosang rejoins the fold of your routine easily. He’s a solid presence on your work from home days and even on days you work in the office. He and San argue over dinner. He laughs at Mingi’s jokes at the bar. He joins you on the dancefloor and is a quiet presence at your back as Wooyoung and San walk you home. The weeks drag by and your apartment is always full. There’s always a body or two in your bed, another on your couch. Your sink is always full of dishes. You consider charging them rent if they keep staying over so much.

It’s two and a half months from then until you hear from Hongjoong again. The spring rolls in and the world takes on more color in a way you haven’t seen in six months. You’ve heard about him. His name comes up over dinner sometimes, always with a glare from one of the others. They’ll mention his name in a funny story or when talking vaguely about a recent hunt. It’s never anything specific, never anything where you’re involved or where he’s talking about you, but they still hover when someone says his name, like you’ll break at the mere thought of him. You think it’s meant to be comforting, that they are doing their best to protect you from Hongjoong, but it just makes anxiety swirl in your gut. You always wave them off, the mention of Hongjoon isn’t going to kill you, but they still hover, still glare, still spit out his name quickly to get it over with. Wooyoung and San talk about him in hushed whispers when they think you’re asleep. They mull over whether or not they should tell you that he’s asked about you or that he tried to send something to your apartment but it was intercepted by one of the others. Other times, you catch them all huddled over San’s dining room table with beers between them. They hadn’t heard you enter through San’s unlocked door. It’s almost conspiratorial the way their bodies are hunched over, leaning into each other’s spaces to speak in soft voices. You catch them on a high after a hunt, and Yunho lets it slip that Hongjoong hadn’t been out with them in two months, just setting up the pieces for the rest of the guys to finish it off. It unsettles you, the way Hongjoong would go against his very nature to keep the peace. It’s antithetical to the man you know him to be—desperately selfish, terribly private. It’s at this point that you debate reaching out to him first, but ultimately decide against it. On one hand, you feel bad. There’s a reason that he seems to be avoiding everyone else and you assume that your bitter disposition isn’t helping dispel the tension between them and Hongjoong. On the other hand, you can’t feel bad at all. If he’s going to keep running away from this, whatever it is, then he has to live with it. But it always feels off. It always feels like there’s something missing. Sunday dinner at San’s is always with one less plate and all of you stumble over it for a little bit once Yeosang apologizes. Your apartment is tangibly missing one body and you can tell that they all don’t know what to do without Hongjoong.

At 8:47 on a Tuesday, you get a text. You had only been at work for a little bit, but the name on your screen makes your stomach pull. You think you might throw up. It’s a pin drop with one sentence.

“Two hours to find me.”

You tell your job you aren’t feeling well and hop on the train. You step through the entrance of the park and walk aimlessly for thirty minutes before heading toward the entrance on the opposite side. You figure if he’s going to be anywhere, it will be where you first prepared to die. Dramatic.

A shock of red hair is the first thing you see. He’s bent over leaning on his knees on a bench. His hands grip his phone as he taps away. The tip of his left foot rises and falls in a rhythm and you can’t place where it’s from. Your shoes crunch over loose rocks and you stop in front of him. He tips his head up and smiles, genuine. You reach your hand back and crack your palm across his cheek. His sunglasses hit the ground about a foot away.

“You’re such a dick, you know that,” you start. “And you still owe me a coffee table.”

Hongjoong laughs and stands up, crouching to pick up his sunglasses before wiping the lenses on his sweatshirt. A handprint is blooming across his face. You can’t find it in yourself to feel empathetic.

“I know,” his face is still fixed in a grin. “Walk with me.”

“To my death?” you question as he turns down the path. He just laughs. You jog lightly to catch up with him. The two of you walk in silence for a while. He doesn’t try to initiate any conversation and you’re too busy seething. His body hovers close to yours, but not touching. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his jacket, something oversized and brown. You’ve never seen it before. Your arms sway awkwardly at your sides and you trip every so often where the heel of your boot scuffs over a crack on the path. You weren’t dressed for a walk. He turns quickly to the left, striding six long paces before freezing where he stands. When you stop, you’re overlooking a field of wildflowers in the center of the park. He guides you to a collection of rocks at the edge of the field, still not touching, just gesturing with a cock of his head. He sits cross-legged on top of one and raises a hand at the one across from him. You settle on top of it, looking out across the field.

“I fucked up,” his voice is serious and you nod, still not looking at him. “I realized that I couldn’t talk my way out of this when Seonghwa told me that you set rules. None of them spoke to me until Wooyoung had patched things up with you, he wouldn’t let them.”

You find yourself laughing at the way he says it, like he couldn’t believe it himself.

“I think that was when I knew that I fucked up. Wooyoung is—” he pauses, mulling over the words. “He’s particular. He’s good at drawing people in, but there’s not a lot of people he’s interested in keeping. He’s my litmus test. He’s how I found everyone else. When I realized he was keeping you like he kept the guys? That was when I knew. I overstepped. I made you out to be just a target. You hadn’t been that in a while when I said that.”

You scrunch your face and turn to face him. “Is that it?”

“No, you just have to let me finish first,” his smile is more genuine and you think he should wear this expression all the time. “I don’t regret telling you, but I regret how I did it. You had a right to know. You still have a right to know. I shouldn’t have been so vindictive about it, though.”

You squint, but nod anyway and he continues, “I think I was jealous.”

“What?” your face tightens in confusion.

“You were the first one that I didn’t pick.”

“Who did?”

“Who do you think?” he laughs out and you feel heat bloom in your cheeks. “I should have known something was different from the start, but I let myself get so caught up that they wanted to keep you and it wasn’t even my choice. You know our dynamics. You know how we work. I got in my head and I took it out on you. It’s not an excuse, it’s just… what it is. I shouldn’t have done it like that, but it’s done. If you don’t want me around, then that’s it. I just wanted you to know.”

“You’re infuriating,” you whisper and his eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “If I didn’t want you around, I wouldn’t have wanted an apology from you so bad.”

He reaches out a hand and you take it. You run your fingers over his knuckles. You didn’t notice they were cut up until now. You wince as you inspect them.

“You are distant and hard to understand and an absolute dick, but I want you around, Joong. You just have to prove you deserve to be here,” you look up at him as you finish. He squeezes your hand in agreement.

“Yeah,” he breathes, staring at your joined hands. “I can do that.”

It’s not the end of the conversation, and you both know that, but it’s enough to settle the anger that had been sitting behind your ribs for months. He walks you to the train station, squeezes your hand goodbye, and you don’t see him for another two weeks.

You reach your apartment and Wooyoung is still there, propped up on the pillows in your bed and staring blankly at his phone. You slam open the door to your bedroom and walk over to the bed, tossing your boots somewhere near your closet before crawling into bed and tucking yourself into his side. He’s visibly confused, but lets you do what you need. He strokes the back of your head softly where it lays on top of his chest.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks quietly, eyes never leaving his phone. It’s not a distracted gesture, just giving you space in a way, letting you figure out what you need without all of the attention being on you. You nod softly after a second.

“He makes me so angry,” you whisper. Wooyoung’s hand keeps stroking the back of your hair, mussing it up from the presentable style you had worn it in to work. “I never know if he’s telling me the truth.”

“Fair,” Wooyoung replies. “I can tell you what I know if you just ask.”

You feel his lips press to the top of your head and you lean up to face him. His face is open, unguarded in a way that’s reserved for few people. You sigh and roll over, sitting on his lap so you’re facing him. He places his hands on your waist, gentle and unmoving. There’s no ulterior motive, no unsavory intentions. He just grounds you where you sit before you take a deep breath.

“Did you pick me, yes or no?” your face is determined, but your voice is fragile. His hand moves up to cradle your face, observing you carefully.

“Yes.”

“Did you tell everyone to not talk to Hongjoong until you apologized?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think I deserved to know?”

“Yes, but not like that.”

Every word is precise, like it’s obviously the correct answer, like there’s no other possibility in the world. You feel your lip twitch slightly and he moves his thumb to smooth over it.

“Would you have killed me? If Hongjoong had asked you to?” you whisper against his thumb. His movements freeze and his eyes narrow.

“Honestly?” he asks and you nod. “I would have let him kill me, too.”

You smack his chest and he grabs your wrists, softly holding them together.

“I’m being serious. I didn’t pick you to kill you, I picked you to keep you. I knew from the second I saw you that you would get it,” his voice is even but his eyes are vulnerable. The sentiment scares you a bit, the idea that this has all been an elaborate ruse to keep you with them—with him. But, there’s a bigger part of you that knows if Wooyoung wanted you to himself, he would have you. You wouldn’t be able to fight him, physically or otherwise. It’s not because Wooyoung wanted to keep you that you’re alive or that you’re with him or that you’re something to every one of the guys. It’s because you get it. You get what they do, you understand death, it’s not something that frightens you any longer. You understand them in ways that they only ever experienced with each other. It’s stomach churning the way you understand it, and you’re not sure when you started to get it. The killing never bothered you, you realized, it was just the secret of it.

You fight lightly against his hold and a smirk takes over his face. He grips your wrists a little tighter and you lean towards him. He captures your lips in a kiss and pulls his face away briefly, letting you chase him.

“Want a distraction?”

You let him flip you over on the bed.

[sancerely-yours]

You all let me believe I was different when this whole time it was another game I didn’t know I was playing.

when i say you have /me/ on edge lol, not me suspecting her landlord when he’s simply warning her out of good intentions 😂 guess that shows how immersive your writing is! but yes to setting boundaries, yes to establishing rules! am loving the different apologies, how they express themselves in such different ways, whether through words or actions (or both)! and how she opens her door back to them, like she’s opening herself back up to them

[gunbunnyhwa]

bend and break

stalker!ot8 ateez x reader

listen, things have to get worse before they get better. you didn't think this was the original plan, right?

wc: 5.2k

note: hello everyone, thank you for all the support on the last 2 parts of this series! we are hitting angst territory, so sorry if that's not your thing! the next part will be much longer and honestly might be the last one in this universe in terms of major plot! pls enjoy!

cw: pretty graphic description of murder and gore, these are not good dudes but you knew that! now we're just getting proof of it!

By the winter, you’ve settled into a routine with them. Sundays are what San calls family dinner. Everyone gathers into his living room, bodies piled onto the furniture and the floor, and settle into conversation about the week and what everyone has been up to. The guys tend to throw elbows while you settle on San’s couch, Wooyoung curled into your side or into your lap. Sometimes one of the others perches on the arm of the couch next to your head, usually Yunho, and pets a hand over your hair. If it was anyone else, you’d feel condescended, like a dog, but somehow you don’t mind as much when it’s them. The apartment fills with noise and warmth and once everyone’s bellies are full, San throws on some movie and everyone groans because it always turns out to be terrible. Once he put on a romcom and you were kind of into it, until it turned into a psychological thriller in the third act and you couldn’t quite follow it at that point. Eventually, everyone piles their way out of San’s apartment and into their cars, you and Wooyoung stay to help San clean up, and you part ways back to your apartment. Before you leave, San always pulls the both of you into the tightest hug, pressing a soft kiss to both of your foreheads. The hallway fills with giggles as you and Wooyoung stumble back to your apartment on tired legs and with full hearts.

 Mondays are Seonghwa’s day. He takes you out to lunch near your office. It’s always some new upscale place that you would never budget for, but he always puts his card down despite your protests. He tells you about the new artists at the gallery and the stuffy old women who request to “rent” the art for some sort of social gathering. You laugh as he describes their faces pulled taut when he tells them no. He presses his palm over yours as you finish your espressos and gently kisses your fingertips before walking you back to your office. 

Tuesdays you work from home and Yeosang joins you. You both work in your apartment. It’s quiet, but comfortable. There is always a point in which he gets frustrated with a client and walks into your kitchen, coming back with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. You chuckle and tell him no, but once five o’clock hits you happily pour yourself a drink. The two of you toast to a day gone and slowly get tipsy on your living room floor. It’s the most noise your apartment has seen all day and eventually he pulls you into a dance before he heads back to his own apartment. You find yourself smiling the rest of the evening.

Wednesdays are almost always Wooyoung and San’s day. Originally, those days just belonged to Wooyoung, but San invited himself over once and never stopped coming. San cooks dinner while you all chat and Wooyoung always stays the night in your bed. Nothing ever happens, not that you don’t want it to, but Wooyoung always seems to fall asleep before anything can really happen. Occasionally, San stays the night, too. The three of you tucked into your full size bed. It’s a bit too small for three full grown people, but you’re squeezed between two personal space heaters to block out the winter chill. You lower the heat when the two of them come over because you always know you’ll wake up too warm the next morning if you don’t.

Thursdays are Mingi and Yunho’s day. Yunho brings takeout and Mingi picks a movie. He says he’s too tired of San’s horrible recommendations and Jongho’s lukewarm picks. You laugh and cuddle into the couch. Now, you sit sandwiched between them—half perched in someone’s lap with your legs curled into another. Mingi has started to pick up your hands and absentmindedly play with your fingers as the movie plays. The calming repetition of Mingi’s hands drifting from finger to finger usually puts you to sleep about twenty minutes into the movie. You always wake up in your bed with coffee brewing and a note on your fridge.

Fridays you typically join a few of the guys at a bar. The one night out accosting Wooyoung and Jongho turned into a Friday night tradition at some point. Not everyone shows up every time, but you’re never alone and Wooyoung appreciates getting to walk you home and sleep over an extra night. He loves seeing you at the bar while he works, often shooting you a wink and a cheeky smile from across the bar. You laugh as he fails to hit on a male patron one time for an extra tip and gets a drink thrown at him. Another time, he tried to do some sort of trick while mixing a drink and broke three glasses. When he gets a break in customers, he floats to your end of the bar and grabs your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. He listens as you tell him something about your day and brushes a stray hair out of your face. Jongho, on the other hand, has grown tired of your nonstop talking as he works the door. You perch yourself on the stool behind the open door, jacket wrapped tightly around yourself and a scarf over your ears as you talk his ear off about God knows what. Sometimes you comment on the quality of people’s fakes, other times you give opinions on whether or not people fit the dress code of the bar. His boss will yell at him that he can’t have his girlfriend hang out with him while he works, neither of you correct him. At some point, his gloves are passed over to you as you shiver, the ice in your glass not helping keep the chill out of your bones. You smile softly at him and he pinches your knee softly. You know that’s your sign to leave him alone.

On Saturdays, you typically wake up to a breakfast delivery from Hongjoong. Sometimes he appears, sometimes he doesn’t, but throughout the day there are packages and meals delivered to your door. He always texts you when something arrives to make sure the gift doesn’t get stolen or that your food doesn’t get cold. On the Saturdays that he decides to join you, he talks to you about what he writes in his journal. Sometimes he shows you things, sometimes he doesn’t. Other times, he pulls out his phone to show you something funny one of the other guys sent in the group chat they have without you that week. You find it doesn’t bother you, there are some things you’d rather not know right now. Your days are filled with laughter and soft brushes of hands as Hongjoong settles close to you to pass the phone to you.

Saturday nights are Jongho’s. He takes you out to dinner after he gets off his shift, knowing you’re up at that hour regardless. His soft knocks on your door always startle you, but you slip your shoes on anyways and start the sleepy trudge to the diner around the corner from your apartment. Neither of you really talk, the silent companionship is really what both of you need. As you walk back to your apartment, he adjusts your hood or your scarf, tucking you tighter into the warmth to break up the winter wind. Sometimes, he tucks you into his side as you walk and your cheeks warm.

The only one that ever shares your bed is Wooyoung, and sometimes San, not that any of them would pass up the opportunity. They do stay the night, or at least you think they do, but no one ever dares to cross the threshold of your bedroom. You can’t exactly understand why, but you think it’s out of some form of respect for you. When Wooyoung spends the night, it’s all soft touches and whispered compliments. From the time he enters your apartment, Wooyoung’s voice is low and his footsteps are measured. He moves through your space in virtual silence and you have trouble tracking his footsteps from room to room. You wonder if that has more to do with the careful footwork needed for food service or his…extracurriculars.

Neither of you talk about work when he stays over. He drops the pretense of not knowing anything about you or what you do in your day, and you can tell he just doesn’t particularly like talking about his job. You both talk about the show you’re watching (a romcom that Wooyoung came home from work talking about one night because his coworkers were raving that it was So Good), music you’re listening to, and, on occasion, he discusses his extracurriculars. This only really happens, though, when he hasn’t been out in a while—like that first night. He is always reserved, too quiet and too shy for your liking. The first time you ask him if he wants to talk about it, he hesitates.

“I’m afraid if I talk about it, you won’t like me anymore,” he whispers into your torso. The two of you have migrated to your bed, his arms envelope your body and you run fingers up his spine. You turn your face into his hair and press a kiss there.

“I think it would take a lot for me to not like you, Wooyoung” you whisper back, voice broken from how much you mean it. “I think you forget that I know who you are and I still let you into my bed.”

He sniffles a little and presses your face into your collarbone. You feel his ribs expand against your own as he takes a deep breath. 

“Sometimes, I miss hurting people,” he starts. “We don’t go out as often anymore. I think it’s because of you, and that’s a good thing. I like that you changed us–changed me. But, I miss it. I miss when we would do it all the time. It’s like the ultimate release. And I don’t expect you to understand it, or to like it, but it’s a part of me. And I need you to know that it’s a part of me. And I’m having a hard time hiding it from you on days like this.”

He pauses and you run your other hand down his arm to take his hand. You squeeze it once and he continues.

“There was this one time where we stalked a guy for a month and he didn’t even notice. We weren’t even sneaky about it, he was just unobservant. We picked him up at a bar on the other side of the city. I remember the name was stupid, like Serpent’s Tongue or something like that. We made jokes about it while we buried him. San was on top of the world. I think that was one of the first times it was all eight of us.”

“What do you mean?” it’s still whispered where your mouth presses against the top of his head.

“It didn’t start out with all of us. Joong found us and brought us together. For a long time, it was just me and Joong. Those were quick and weren’t half as elaborate as the shit he sets up now,” he laughs quietly and the room gets a little brighter. “It was always a quick slash and dash. I think that’s the kind of stuff I miss the most. Not the mess or the quickness, but that it was just me and Joong. I liked the secret and I liked that we shared it. I liked that it was just the two of us. And I love the others, I do, but it was just a different experience, I don’t know. I’m sorry if I’m freaking you out right now, but the guys are tired of me talking about it and moping around their apartments and I just need to get it out. I don’t know.”

“Woo,” you start, voice sad.

“No, wait,” he interrupts, pushing away from your body. You reach for him on instinct. “I need to know if this is okay. If any of this is okay, I don’t know, I’m feeling weird about it. I feel like you didn’t have a choice and I forced my way into sharing your bed and I don’t know. I know this is all weird, but I need to know if this is okay, if I’m okay.”

He’s leaning over you propped on one arm and you reach up to tangle your fingers into his hair. You’ve never seen him wear an expression like this before, he looks devastated. You brush his bangs out of his face and pull him towards your face. Your lips meet and you feel him gasp.

You press your forehead to his as you pull away. “You’re okay. We’re okay. This is okay. I want this. I want to be here with you and I am happy with whatever you want to share with me. You have been nothing but kind to me, baby. I stopped being afraid a long time ago.”

He slumps into you, putting his whole body weight onto your chest. You let out a sound as he collapses. Wooyoung digs his face into your neck and squeezes your hand, still entwined with his own. You feel him inhale hard on the side of your neck and you laugh as it tickles the hair he’s buried himself in. You push him off of you and roll onto your side. You don’t ask if he’s okay. You know he would never give you an honest answer, but when you hit the light to go to bed, you feel him hold you a little bit harder than usual.

Nights like that are a rare occasion, though. Most of the time, the two of you sit together on the couch and shoot the shit. Like the night he comes to you fresh from a hunt. You can tell from the manic energy still radiating off of him and the two word text from Hongjoong.

“Wooyoung incoming.”

You open the door and he’s standing there bouncing on the balls of his feet. The front of his shirt is drenched in sweat and what you think might be blood. It’s the first time any of them have exposed you directly to what they do. Your eyes widen and you grab his bicep, tight. You yank him through your doorway and slam the door behind you, looking out the peep hole to make sure he hadn’t caught any unwanted attention.

“Are you fucking insane?” you reel on him with your arms outstretched. He grasps your hips, rubbing circles into your skin and sticks his face in your neck breathing you in.

“Hey, baby,” his voice is so fucking fond. “How was your day? I missed you so much today, it was crazy. Yunho and Mingi wanted to kill me because I almost blew it.”

He presses his lips into your neck, trailing kisses from your collarbone to the shell of your ear. You lean your neck away from him and he whines.

“Go shower, you stink,” you scrunch your face. “We can talk, but after you take a shower.”

He slinks away from you, crestfallen, and keeps throwing sad looks over his shoulder at you. He does it like a dog tries to make you feel bad. 

“And throw your dirty clothes out!” you yell down the hallway at him. You press your fingers into your eyes and groan. You knew this was a part of being with Wooyoung, not that you’ve put any kind of label on it. Maybe that’s a conversation you should have. Another night, though. After a year of mental preparation, you are handling it rather well. A therapist would surely have a field day with you, but that’s a line of thinking to explore at a later date. For now, you focus on the things you can control, like the mess that Wooyoung has dragged into your apartment.

You tidy up his shoes where he threw them in your foyer, cleaning up the dirt that he tracked in, and look back at your phone. You think about texting Hongjoong and forcing him to explain. You think about texting Jongho to drag Wooyoung out of your apartment. 

You text San to ask if he’s home. 

When he confirms, you march over to his door and swing it open. The other seven are sitting at his kitchen table, a bottle of whiskey in the center of it between them.

“Guys, what the fuck?” it spills out of your mouth before you can stop it, exasperated. They all stare at you silently. They look worn, eyes heavy and bodies hunched over the table. They’re all covered in mud and sweat and what still looks like blood. Some of them are bruised up. Whoever they were after tonight put up a fight.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Yunho sighs. “He wanted to see you.”

“You sent him over covered in blood. Can you make sure he changes next time? I really don’t want him walking around the complex like that,” your voice is almost whiney and you can feel your dignity bleeding out of you. They all look surprised, you just keep surprising them. Then, they all nod.

“Yeah, we can do that,” Yunho sounds breathless this time. He’s straightened up in the last moment. You look around at them and sigh.

“Do you guys want to come over after you all clean up a bit?” you ask shyly. Their staring is getting to you. They all stare at you like you’re the only one in the room and sometimes it freaks you out. They nod again and watch silently as you exit San’s apartment with a brief wave.

As soon as you step across the threshold of your apartment, Wooyoung is on you. His arms wrap around your waist and his face is buried into your hair. You know it’s impossible to pry his arms off of you, so you move through the room with him attached to you like a parasite. You push shoes to the side of the doorway so no one trips coming in and move the extra pillows from the couch onto the living room floor.

“What ‘re you doin’?” Wooyoung whines smushed into your neck. You guide him back to the couch and settle into his lap where he continues to cling.

“The boys are coming over in a bit,” you yawn around the words. “Everyone wants to hang out.”

He groans a little bit, still buried in your neck. “Wanted you to myself tonight.”

“You have me for a bit, and then you have to share for a few hours. You’ll survive, baby.”

“Sannie went on a date the other night and she walked out twenty minutes in,” he presses a kiss to the side of your head.

You wrench yourself around in his lap to face him, jostling him away from your face. You grab his cheeks and squeeze. “You need to tell me everything, they’re going to be here in like an hour.”

Wooyoung smiles against your hold, and presses kisses to both of your palms before starting the story. Apparently, San had been really strong over text and according to Wooyoung that was all his doing. When San got to the date, he was late and said some “unsettling” things—Wooyoung’s words—and the girl had been so put off that she left. By the time Wooyoung is finished, with all the gory details, you’ve both migrated further into the couch. You’re laying horizontally with your face on his chest. You jump a little when the door opens.

“Are we interrupting anything?” Yeosang smirks as he leans over the couch to stare at you both, six inches away from both of your faces. You laugh and push him away, palm splayed across his face. Bodies pile into your living room and they’re all noticeably cleaner. San comes and sits on the opposite end of the couch, pulling you towards him by your ankles. Wooyoung whines, but accepts that he is giving you up temporarily. San pulls you into his chest and squeezes.

“Okay, big guy,” you wheeze and pat his bicep as his arms squeeze you one last time. You do, however, let him wrangle you until you’re pressed against his side with your legs tangled with Wooyoung’s. San uses one hand to play with your hair and the other to rub at Wooyoung’s ankle where it sits against your side.

Chaos quickly spreads over the room as Yunho says you all should order food and a fight breaks out over what to get. Yeosang throws an elbow at Mingi to get to Yunho’s phone and all hell breaks loose from there. But, you stay safe in your little bubble of San and Wooyoung as the two speak in soft voices about God knows what. You think about their tired faces in San’s apartment, you think about Wooyoung covered in blood in your foyer, you think about what’s been previously said about their hunts and how little you are actually aware of. You feel the burning need to know in your chest and you look around the room a few times before gaining the courage to speak up. It takes you enough time that they’ve decided what to eat, with Wooyoung speaking for you because you’re so caught up in your head, and Yunho turns to you.

“You okay, sweetheart?” his eyebrows furrow in concern.

“What did you guys do tonight?” you ask, and you meant it to be more confident, curious, maybe nonchalant, but it comes out as a whisper, terribly shy in a way you usually aren’t. Your eyes drift around the room before finally falling on Hongjoong.

“Joong,” your voice is weak. “Please tell me about tonight.”

The room is silent. They glance at each other before their eyes finally fall on Hongjoong, waiting. He’s standing in the corner of the living room, body pressed against the wall. He takes a deep breath and leans forward, stepping fully into the room and perching himself on the armrest of the couch. Hongjoong reaches out a hand and brushes your hair back from your face. You feel Wooyoung stiffen and San’s arm wrap tighter around you. It’s like all the air has been sucked out of the room a few movements and the silence sits for a moment.

“There was a woman,” Hongjoong starts. His voice is almost condescending and you start to feel like a child being scolded. “We followed her for six months. We infiltrated her life until she couldn’t avoid us. Tonight, we took her to the woods and told her if she could escape us in an hour, we would let her go. But, we showed her our faces. She knew she wasn’t getting out alive. She still fought like hell, but we caught her. You know that. When we caught her, we took her to a cabin that I own and we tortured her until she passed out. Then, we electrocuted her to wake her up.”

“Hongjoong,” Wooyoung’s voice holds a warning. He’s sitting up now on the couch, face pinched and serious.

Hongjoong ignores him and continues, “When she woke up, we kept going. We broke all her fingers and all of her toes. It was slow and we did it with pliers. Seonghwa did that, it’s his favorite part.”

“Hongjoong,” another warning, from Seonghwa this time. You don’t know if it’s defensive or protective.

“Then, we ripped all of her nails off. She had acrylics on so it was extra painful. She can thank Jongho for that,” a cruel smile starts to stretch over Hongjoong’s face and you feel your stomach curdle. Jongho avoids your gaze. “We severed her eyelids and cauterized the wounds so she was forced to see what we were doing to her. We put a mirror in front of her so that every time we left, she had nothing to do but stare at herself and what we did to her. That was all Sannie’s idea.”

“Please,” San begs in a whisper. You feel yourself pull away from him, you don’t know if you mean to do it.

“We broke her ankles and then took off her ropes. We told her that if she could run away we would let her go. She tried and tried. It was pathetic,” Hongjoong’s voice drips condescension, his hand never stops moving in your hair. “We gave her fifteen minutes of struggling before Mingi hauled her off the floor and put her back in that chair. Then, we ripped out all of her teeth so she couldn’t be identified.”

“Okay, I get it,” you whisper, at some point you had stopped looking at them. Your gaze is now fixed on your feet where they rest on the couch. You dig them into the cushions to ground yourself.

“No, I’m not quite finished,” Hongjoong coos. “Then, Yunho strung her up from the ceiling and took off pieces of her skin. He smiled while he did it. She screamed so loud. And every time he peeled a piece of her skin off, we would light it on fire so that she didn’t bleed out. But, also so that it really hurt her.”

Yunho finally breaks out of his stupor. “Hongjoong, that’s enough.”

“I’m not finished,” Hongjoong’s voice is hard, but then curdles into something sickly sweet when he turns back to you. “Do you want to know who finally killed her?”

You keep staring at your feet and he takes your silence as an answer.

Hongjoong curls a finger under your chin and tips your face to meet his, inches apart, and whispers, “Wooyoung. He laughed while he did it. Had Yunho flip her upside down and bled her like a deer.”

There’s a blur at your side and Hongjoong’s touch is wrenched from your face. Your coffee table breaks under the weight of two bodies being thrown onto it. The guys bolt up from where they’re scattered around your living room and they move towards the center of it. Wooyoung is on top of Hongjoong with Hongjoong’s collar grasped in his fist. Wooyoung gets a few good punches to Hongjoong’s jaw, while Hongjoong just grins up at him where he’s pinned on the floor. By the time their bodies are pulled apart, Hongjoong’s nose is visibly broken. Wooyoung fights the hold Mingi has him in. You stay seated on the couch.

“Why did you say that?” Wooyoung roars at Hongjoong. “Why would you say any of that? We said that it was just between us. We said that this time was different. Why the fuck would you do that, Joong?”

Hongjoong just chuckles lightly where he lays on your floor. You stare at him. Then, you stand up and walk over to where he lays. You loom over him, glaring.

“Hongjoong,” your voice is the steadiest it’s been all night and devoid of emotion, you kick his side lightly with a socked foot. “You need to leave.”

He stares up at you, the smile slips from his face. Your bland delivery seems to wash over him like ice water. He sits up and you stay planted where you are on the floor. You refuse to give him ground in your own space. He continues to stare at you, almost daring you to look away. You tune out Wooyoung’s yelling and kick Hongjoong a little harder.

“Get out of my apartment, Hongjoong. Don’t come back until I’ve invited you,” your tone is decided. You feel eight pairs of eyes on you and you don’t back down this time.

Hongjoong scoffs and then picks himself up off your floor. He brushes off his pants and looks around the room. Eight pairs of eyes stare back at him. He shakes his head.

“Fine,” he clips and heads toward your apartment door. It rattles on his exit.

Your body slumps into the couch and you look at the ruins of your coffee table. A head of long brown hair comes into your view and a pair of hands grip your own, hard. Wooyoung is kneeled in front of you on the floor with his head bowed. He’s whispering and you can’t make it out. You lean forward to hear him better. He shoves his face into your clasped hands.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know he would do that. I’m so sorry. Please don’t hate me. I didn’t want you to know. None of us wanted you to know. You didn’t need to know that, any of it,” he whispers. His voice is too clipped and you realized once you register the backs of your hands are wet that he’s crying. You stare at him blankly.

“I think you should go home, Woo,” you whisper back to him. His eyes fly to yours.

“Please, please, please,” he begs. “Please don’t make me go home. Please don’t make me leave. Please.”

He’s sobbing now and you reach up and wipe the tears from his face. Wooyoung flies forward and wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face into your stomach. San moves forward and puts a hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder.

“Woo,” San croaks. Wooyoung just sobs harder.

“Baby,” you lean down into Wooyoung’s hair and reach your hands down to pull him away from your stomach. You cradle his face in your hands, wiping away tears as they fall. “I need you to go home tonight. Just for tonight.”

Wooyoung’s breaths are coming in wheezes and his eyes search yours for any secret meaning to the words. He nods and presses his face into your legs. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I love you. I’m sorry.”

San presses a hand gently to the back of Wooyoung’s head and strokes his hair. He taps Wooyoung’s shoulder lightly as a signal to stand up and Wooyoung does. San shoots you an apologetic look as he walks Wooyoung to the door. You turn your attention to the other men in the room.

“I hope you know I expect an apology from him.”

Seonghwa steps forward and keeps his gaze trained on his feet. “Of course. I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

You let out a wet chuckle.

“We’ll get you a new coffee table,” Yunho replies.

“I have a question and then you need to leave,” you comment, trying too hard to sound casual. They nod and Seonghwa’s eyes meet yours for the first time since this all started. “Was that going to be me?”

Seonghwa’s eyes flick away from yours and that’s all the answer you need. As he leaves your apartment, he turns back to meet your gaze one more time.

“Don’t–” he starts and seems to reorganize his words in his mouth, feeling them before they spill over. “Don’t take out his actions on the rest of them. They just follow the leader.”

You nod and the door shuts behind him softly. You pull the spare key from under your mat. You lock your door and deadbolt it. You need to call your landlord tomorrow to get your locks changed again. You stare at the ruins of your living room. You go to bed with a pit in your stomach.

[sancerely-yours]

We infiltrated her life until she couldn’t avoid us.

is it mean to confess i’ve been waiting for this? for the other shoe to drop? because as you said, the fact the boys aren’t supposed to be good people has been lingering in the back of my mind, but they keep it so carefully tucked away! only presenting their strangely sweet courting! until this? this moment of wait, that sounds familiar… and then how he proceeds to lay out every gory, morbid detail for her?? peels away their domestic masks and makes her confront what’s been underneath this whole time? (yet i can’t look away, this one hurt so good)

“Was that going to be me?”

[theamazingbard]

love the "oh. oh." moment in fics as much as the next person but can i also advocate for "stay?" reaching out to grasp for their wrist. the surprise, the anticipation, the acceptance... a confession disguised as a request.

so fucking good

[beautyoftheships]

Both get me every time but that ‘stay?’ It makes me absolutely feral!

[starchasersunseeker]

The little "stay?🥺" gets me every time

[gunbunnyhwa]

what you know

ot8 ateez x reader

wc: 4.1k

you've accepted your life now and the eight men that have forced their way into it. despite the violent predilections, they're kind of sweet.

note: this chapter is very mingi centric with some wooyoung spritzed in the beginning. still super duper unedited. if you want to know how we got here, read the first part here!

The boys keep their distance after that night with Hongjoong. You still get gifts at your door. You still get texts from Hongjoong. But, there’s less of a physical presence. It’s harder to spot them in a room or on the street, if you even spot them at all. Considering the stalking, it should have relieved you. You should feel lighter not having a shadow at your back at all times. However, all you felt was empty, exposed, like someone had taken off a life vest you hadn’t realized you were wearing and thrown you into the deep end. But, you’re normal, so you give them their space. If there’s a reason they’re pulling back, you figure it’s easier to let them come to you.

The summer comes and goes and the early fall air starts to burn crisp in your lungs when you start to see them reappear again. It starts with flowers left at your door. A bouquet of bluebells, hydrangeas, and blue salvias wrapped in paper and lace. It’s surprisingly delicate for these men who you now understand have a physiological need to kill. You smile softly at the flowers on your doormat before picking them up. You look down the hall hoping to see a head, and feel the corners of your mouth fall when you realize you’re alone. You place the flowers in a vase and set it on your kitchen island. The next week, there’s another. This time, it’s peonies encased in sorrel and ivy. The week after that, it’s camellia, calla lilies, and zinnias. This continues for about a month. Every Monday, you wake up a little bit earlier to grab the bouquet and place the flowers in a vase before you leave for work. And as the Mondays go on, you begin to grow impatient.

It’s the end of October by the time you stop waiting. That Monday morning you wait by the door for the slight shuffling of feet trying to be quiet. It’s 5:03 when you hear it and you peer out your peephole. A shock of blonde hair greets you and you softly open the door. The body stumbles back a bit, glancing up at you.

“Hi, Woo,” your voice is soft and you lean your body against the doorway. You smile. He takes in a sharp breath at the first sight of you in months. It’s not like you’ve been hiding, he’s just been pointedly avoiding anything that had to do with you. “Do you want some coffee? It’s pretty early for you to be leaving me flowers.”

He’s visibly taken aback by your offer, obviously expecting you to be upset at the abandonment or angry at his presence. Once he gets himself together, he softly nods, the flowers still softly cradled in his arms. Your heart stutters as he hands them to you while passing through your doorway. It’s utterly gentle, the way he passes them over like they’re precious. Gentle hands on violent men. 

You go through your typical routine with the flowers, and he freezes in the doorway of your kitchen. He watches your hands, delicate and unscarred, place the flowers on the counter, pulling out the old bouquet. He watches you replace the water and carefully unwrap the lace bow around the flowers before placing them into the new water. He watches as you stare at the old bouquet for a moment, before picking out one of each kind of flower with intention. The remaining flowers go into a bucket by the door, much to his chagrin, but the flowers you chose get cut down. You walk into the living room and collect a worn journal. You’re attentive as you arrange them, and then you press them into the book.

“I kept one of each from every week,” your voice startles him out of his stupor—you’re not looking at him, only looking ahead at the counter while you move through your kitchen to make coffee. “That was really sweet, Wooyoung. Thank you.”

“Of course,” his voice is stilted. There’s still a bit of that vacantness left from the last time you saw him. You pour coffee into a cup and place it across from you at the island. He steps fully into the kitchen and takes a seat on one of your bar stools. He wraps his hands around the warm cup and stares into it. It’s silent as you move through your apartment preparing for work. Wooyoung stays exactly where he is the entire time, staring into his coffee cup. If this was anyone else, anyone more normal, you would be worried, but you know that his conversation will come when he wants it to. Once you’re dressed, you drift back into the kitchen. As you pass him, his fingers wrap around your wrist.

“I’m sorry. For that night. You weren’t supposed to know and I made it your problem. And I understand if you don’t want anything to do with us, or me, but I just wanted you to know I’m sorry,” his eyes are still fixed on his cup.

Your fingers wrap around his and his eyebrows twitch. “If I didn’t want you here, Woo, you wouldn’t have been invited into my apartment.”

“Can you stay today?”

“Yeah, Woo. I can stay.”

The rest of the day is filled with the same kinds of silence—large stretches of time where neither of you say anything and Wooyoung stares at a fixed point in the room. You had changed out of your work clothes a while ago and are now planted on the couch, a cushion between you both as something plays on the television you stopped paying attention to about fifteen minutes in. The silence doesn’t feel heavy, but you know there are still things unsaid.

“Why did you stop working at the cafe?” your voice cuts through the space. He looks at you for the first time since 5:03 that morning. His eyes widen, then soften, as if he is realizing things as he stares at you. As though you are a puzzle and he has finally found the piece he was looking for.

“I figured you wanted space,” the corners of his mouth twitch up as he continues his thought. “Didn’t think that serving you your payday monstrosity would be a very conducive environment to giving you space.”

You feel a comment on the tip of your tongue, but you squash it down and decide on something more honest. “Well, it sucked. I missed seeing you.”

“I was always around, baby,” it comes out as a quip, but you know it’s real.

“Yeah, but I missed seeing you.”

Wooyoung’s smirk grows soft at the edges. You turn to the side, pressing your back against the armrest. You stretch your legs out enough to tuck your feet into his lap. He laughs and grabs your ankle, digging his thumbs in under the sole of your foot. You turn your face back to the television and you feel a bit lighter.

Wooyoung stays the night. By accident, of course. Both of you were tucked up in your bed, catching up on what had been going on for the past month and a half—more you catching up with him than vice versa, but he listened like he didn’t have the knowledge of every move you had made. During some story you were telling about a guy bumping into you at a department store, you realize his breath had evened out. You don’t have the heart to wake him up. When you wake up the next morning to an empty bed, you figure he left at some point during the night, only to walk into eight bodies crowding your kitchen trying to figure out how to work your espresso machine.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you rub your eyes and smooth your hair out, blinking as though they would disappear if you did it enough times.

“Hi, baby. I’m making coffee,” Wooyoung’s voice comes from the corner, blocked by all the bodies, but you hear the slam of your knockbox. “Is your shit not dialed in right?”

“Woo, please don’t mess with the settings,” you whine as you push through the bodies in your kitchen to grab the portafilter from him. You huff out a sigh and let the group head rinse out for a few seconds before placing the portafilter back into it. “Why are you all here? It’s Tuesday and it’s early and you all need to leave.”

“We wanted to do something nice for you, let you see us for once,” Hongjoong smirks from the opposite end of the counter. He’s perched next to the stove, observing as San carefully flips an omelette. You grab a spare spatula off the counter and lean over to smack Hongjoong in the knee with it. Then, you lean over and pinch Wooyoung’s side. He whines in protest.

“We had that conversation yesterday, you weren’t even on your phone,” your exasperated tone makes a chuckle move through the room. The atmosphere, despite the home invasion, is tender and sleepy. You start to think they’ve barely woken up themselves. Wooyoung leans into your space, far too close for what you would usually be comfortable with, but as he leans his head over your shoulder and wraps his arms around your waist you find yourself leaning into it.

“You should stay home again today,” his breath is warm against your neck where he has buried his face.

You turn your head towards his. “I was home yesterday, Woo. I can’t stay home again today.”

“You need a new job,” he responds, voice muffled. You breathe out a huff of laughter. A hand touches your forehead.

“I don’t know, dude,” San’s face is serious. “I think you might be coming down with something.”

“Yeah, you look a little pale,” Yeosang, amused from across the island. You realize this is not a fight you’re going to win. Your face must be resigned from the way San’s own lights up and he returns to the stove. You lean over and turn the gas off, not reacting as an offended gasp comes from San.

“If I’m staying home, we’re going out. I’m not having all eight of you in my apartment right now,” you shrug yourself out of Wooyoung’s arms, ignoring how he trails behind you, and head towards your bedroom.

“Where are you going?” he whines.

“Changing, baby,” voice soft, again. Always soft for Woo. He puts his foot in the doorway as you go to shut yourself in the bedroom.

He looks up at you with a pout. “Please. I just want to be with you.”

You sigh and open the door wide enough for his body to slip through. He sits patiently on your bed as you dig through your drawers. He doesn’t stare or ogle, surprisingly. He touches you lightly as you move through your routine. A touch to your spine as you take your shirt off, a brush of your hair when you put your socks on, a light grasp of your hand as you adjust your jewelry. And as you head out to go to breakfast with the rest of the boys, his hand sits warm in your own.

They cycle in and out of your apartment for the rest of the year. You regularly come home to a large body sprawled on your couch or sitting on a barstool. Occasionally, someone is cooking in the kitchen or reading at the dining room table. Most of the time it’s Wooyoung, sometimes accompanied by San. Other times it’s Yunho, with Mingi tucked quietly into a corner holding watch over you both. Your favorite time, though you would never say it out loud, is when you come home from a long day of work to Hongjoong sitting politely on your living room floor huddled over a notebook. He barely reacts as you close the front door behind you. You kick off your shoes and they bang against your already scuffed wall. Your bag rattles as it slams against the ground. With a huff, you round the couch and throw yourself face down into it.

“Cute skirt,” he snickers at your dramatics. You groan in response and tilt your face out of the pillow towards where he sits on the floor. Hongjoong’s torso is twisted to face where you’re splayed on the couch. His arms drapes across the cushions, fingers brushing your own.

“You’re such a perv sometimes,” your fingers reach towards his. He tilts his head back in laughter.

“You keep me around though.”

“Don’t have a choice otherwise,” you deadpan. He takes your hand in his and brushes circles over your palm with his fingertips. You push your face farther into the pillow to hide the growing heat in your cheeks. Hongjoong’s hand travels up your arm until it cups the back of your neck. He digs his thumbs into the tense muscles at the top of your spine and you sigh.

“Did you eat?” he asks, voice quiet and tender as he continues to massage your neck. You shake your head. Hongjoong digs his fingers in one last time before tapping your shoulder and standing up. He offers a hand to help you up from the couch and guides you to the kitchen. You seat yourself at the kitchen island and lay your head on folded arms. 

“Want to hear about what Yeosang did to Mingi’s car?”

You nod and he starts the story as he cooks.

Their tenderness always surprises you, like one of the times Yunho and Mingi come to visit. Most of the time, their visits consist of you and Yunho talking and Mingi sitting quietly throughout their time in your apartment. After many visits, though, Mingi starts to sit further into the room with you both—sometimes the living room chair rather than the dining room, other times at the kitchen island rather than hovering by the doorway. You had begun to think that it was due to an abundance of caution, a way to keep an eye on both the entrance to your apartment and yourself and Yunho. Mingi’s recent physical closeness was more of a forced action rather than an intentional movement in your relationship, though, as you had begun to rearrange the furniture in your apartment in order to force him into your space.

It started with the chair in the living room. Under the guise of no longer liking the feng shui of the room, you asked Yeosang and Jongho to help you reorganize one Saturday. Of course, that meant that San (doing his “neighborly duties,” he says) forced his way into your apartment in order to help the redecoration efforts.

The layout of your entire living room changes by the time they’re done, along with the layout of your dining room as well. Your work desk moves into your bedroom, the couch moves onto the opposite wall, your dining room table is repositioned the other way. The chair in the living room is now positioned perpendicular to the couch rather than on the wall near the window—separated only by an end table on the corner. The next time that Yunho and Mingi came over, Yunho settled in his usual seat on the couch and Mingi paused before fully stepping into the room, visibly short circuiting at the change in scenery. You watch his eyes scan over the rest of the apartment, assessing. The new angle of the dining room table no longer allowed him to comfortably look out into the living room unless he was seated at the end furthest from the room.

“Mingi, sit down,” you command, but your voice is playful. He seems surprised you addressed him, letting the momentary shock rattle off of him before awkwardly stumbling over to the chair. He sets himself down carefully and rubs his palms over the arm rests. You look over at Yunho who cocks an eyebrow at Mingi’s behavior.

“Dude, chill out,” Yunho smirks. Mingi squeezes his palms into fists and releases the tension, looking up at Yunho.

“I’m chill,” he says. “I’m so chill right now.”

You laugh at that and shake your head at Mingi’s antics. You see the tips of his ears turn red as he ducks his head into his chest. You turn your body to face Yunho before diving into your usual conversation.

Another time, you have to physically drag him into the kitchen when you get tired of his hovering. You loop both of your arms around one of his own and guide him to the island, placing your hands on both of his shoulders and shoving him into a barstool.

“Thank God,” Yunho murmurs from over the stove. “I thought you would die in the doorway, honestly.”

Your hands remain on Mingi’s shoulders while you watch Yunho cook, tracing over a seam of his jacket. You don’t realize how Mingi stiffens under your touch.

“Need any help?” you ask Yunho lightly.

He shakes his head. “Just need you both to sit there and look pretty.”

Mingi’s ears turn red again and your laugh tinkles in his ear. You stand behind him while Yunho cooks, leaning more into his body the longer you’re standing. Mingi turns his head and pats the barstool next to him. You shake your head where it rests against his own. He reaches a hand up and touches your wrist where your hands hang over his shoulder. His hands are rough, but his touch is gentle.

He is always shockingly gentle, like the time you fall asleep on the couch and he carries you to bed. Yunho hadn’t been able to make it that time and Mingi said that Yunho hadn’t been feeling well for a couple of days. Despite the lack of Yunho, Mingi still stuck to the usual routine, arriving promptly at sun down and knocking politely. Mingi is one of the only ones that still knock—except for the times he leaves you new things in your apartment. Mingi arrives at your apartment, knocks politely, and waits patiently for you to open the door. You look through the peephole and watch briefly as he scans the hallway, wincing lightly when a crash comes from San’s apartment. He knocks a second time after that. You open the door and let his large body past yours, sticking your head out to check for his companion.

All things considered, the time you spend with Mingi is relatively normal. He is quiet, per usual, but is more willing to be in your space and entertain your chattering. He sits at your kitchen island while you cook. Music plays through the speaker you had brought into the room and you hum to yourself. You don’t feel Mingi’s stare on your back, fond, nor do you realize he pulls out his phone in order to purchase you surround speakers for your whole apartment.

“What did you get up to this week?” you throw the question over your shoulder as you watch the pan sizzle and pop. Mingi sits up a little bit straighter. He points at himself. “Who else would I be asking?”

His ears heat up and he tucks his chin to his chest, shy. “Um, not much.”

“A little more detail would be nice, Min.”

“Well, I don’t think you want to hear about dismemberment over dinner,” he responds, blase about it. “Other than that, not much. I watched a movie with Jongho the other night.”

“Yeah? Tell me about it.”

He launches into a thirty minute recap of the movie, some action flick that San had recommended. There was a fifteen minute digression about how he and Jongho should never take recommendations from San, and about how he should have known after the last time San recommended the most boring drama known to man or the time before that where San actually recommended them a porno and they didn’t realize until the actors started having sex. Apparently, San’s taste tends to be all over the place, but the one thread of all his recs seem to be that they are horrible. You giggle as Mingi complains about the lack of realism in the movie and as he states for a fourth time that San’s taste is shit and that he’s never taking a recommendation from San ever again.

As you plate up the food and slide one across the counter to Mingi, you pause for a second before asking, “So, like, what do you do for work? Like, do you have a job?”

Mingi laughs. “Yes, I have a job. I work as a construction manager.”

“Okay,” you take a bite of your food and then continue. “So, do you all have jobs?”

“Yes,” Mingi is incredulous at your question. “We all have jobs. We are all employed. We don’t just give you nice things out of nowhere.”

You learn over dinner that Mingi hates construction, hates the guys he works with and the way they talk about each other and their families and women. You learn that he’s overseeing the construction of a new pediatric hospital across the city and that on Wednesdays, the guaranteed day that he and Yunho come visit, he lets all the guys go home early. He says it’s because they need a break by mid-week, but you know it’s because the little routine the three of you had built is sacred to him. You also learn that Yunho works in marketing for various food vendors.

“He’s freelance,” Mingi mocks the last word and you get the sense that he’s heard too many spiels from Yunho about it.

Mingi tells you that the billboard across from your apartment building has copy from Yunho. You peek up at it and nod approvingly. You learn that freelancing is kind of the thing among the guys. Yeosang works in tech, something something security services. Jongho works in security, which makes sense considering his stature. He works for a few bars around the city and sometimes works for private contractors. San works in sales, his charm working for him greatly as he sells various packages to old couples. Apparently, he sold packages to almost everyone on your apartment floor. Mingi tells you this while you’re taking a sip of your wine and you almost spit it all over your counter.

“No way,” you choke. “I would know. Why hasn’t he tried to sell me anything?”

“He respects you too much,” Mingi responds. You realize this is the most you’ve heard him speak in the almost year you’ve known him.

Seonghwa is a curator for an art gallery, somewhere private in the upper quarter of the city you typically don’t go to. It doesn’t shock you with how well he’s always dressed. Wooyoung always works in food service, his stint at the cafe near your work wasn’t out of the norm for him. He gets by with catering jobs and different bartending shifts at a few of the bars Jongho works at. Mingi says that he, Yunho, and Yeosang like to stop by one of the bars both of them work at and accost them on Fridays. You tell Mingi you want to join next time they go. A smile slides across his face. Hongjoong is the mystery. Apparently, none of the guys even know what he does. It’s hush-hush, but none of them really bother him about it. You make a mental note to bother Hongjoong about what he does the next time he appears in your apartment.

Eventually, you and Mingi settle in the living room. A movie is on, your pick this time, and Mingi is still nestled into the arm chair. You stretch your legs on the couch and roll onto your side, you curl your legs up and catch his eye. You nod to the space on the couch by your feet and you see the cogs turn in Mingi’s brain as he mulls it over. He slowly gets up and settles onto the couch, you push your feet into his space and kick the blanket down your body and over his lap. He huffs a laugh. As the night goes on and a second movie rolls, you shift on the couch, drifting towards Mingi’s body. He stiffens a bit as you settle into his space. At a point, he feels your body slump entirely, tension bleeding out as you drift off to sleep.

The next morning, you’re not sure how you ended up in your bed, but there’s coffee already brewing and a note on your fridge with the date and time of the next bar outing the boys have planned. You smile to yourself and pour yourself a cup of coffee.

[sancerely-yours]

It’s utterly gentle, the way he passes them over like they’re precious. Gentle hands on violent men.

it’s not… deceptive per se? because they are sweet to her! they /are/ gentle with her! it almost makes it easy to forget they’re hiding another side to them, like taken out of context, dare i say this reads like a “normal” relationship? or the navigations of one, what with missing them when they’re gone, spending time together, getting to know each other, learning how to fit? (and maybe that’s the killer, isn’t it, forgetting?)

[gunbunnyhwa]

good luck, don't die

ot8 stalker ateez x reader

wc: 3.9k

you're being stalked by eight very handsome men and they're getting bored. now, you have to play a new game.

note: completely unedited jfc i wrote this in one long stretch tonight. very very very inspired by @ihaveamassivegun and her stalker skz series. everyone should read it, her voice is really fun and makes the series seriously enjoyable.

THE UNIVERSE MUST THINK YOU'RE ONE DUMB MOTHERFUCKER. You are having the worst day imaginable. You missed three alarms, your bus was late, you spilled your coffee all over the front of your shirt, you got a write up at work for your lateness, and then you didn’t have enough money in your account to cover your lunch. All things considered, a handsome man offering to pay for your lunch should be a good thing. Unfortunately for you, this specific handsome man happened to be stalking you for the past few months. Very obviously.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” you deadpan and walk toward the entrance of the cafe. You can feel the heat of his stare on the back of your neck as you walk out. The door closes behind you and you notice a shadow pushing off the wall. You roll your eyes.

“Stop following me,” you grit out.

“Where’s the fun in that?” the shadow laughs, shrugging his shoulders up to his ears to fight the wind. He watches you tuck your nose into the neck of your jacket. “Are you cold? Do you want my scarf?”

You side eye him, eyes narrowing. You feel your face contort in frustration. It’s been three months of living like this. Eight different shadows following you throughout your city. You feel their stares through your windows in the morning as you make your coffee, as you ride the bus to work, as you enter and exit every building within a five mile radius. You don’t know what you did to catch their attention, but considering they hadn’t tried to kill you yet, you left it alone for the most part. Yes, having a stalker was scary—having eight was absolutely terrifying—but you weren’t going to risk pissing them off when for the most part they’ve been quiet and stayed away.

The first time you noticed one of them was on the bus. You had gotten used to seeing the same faces every day, so when a new one pops out of nowhere it sticks in your memory. Every Monday, Wednesday and Thursday, a tall man with dark hair would get on the bus five stops from your own. He would sit on the lower level of the bus and would look at his shoes. Then, the two of you would get off at the same stop, going opposite directions. If not for two weeks ago, the man would have blended in with the rest of the bus ride crowd. But when a homeless man began to get belligerent on the ride and the man with the dark hair stood up and put himself in between the homeless man and the rest of the bus, you engraved that face into your mind. Brown hair, dark eyes, soft features that were almost pretty. When you got off at your stop, you grabbed his sleeve before you parted and told him thank you. In return, he gave you his name. Yunho.

Over the course of the next several weeks, you began to notice him around—at your favorite coffee shop near your apartment, the grocery store you went twenty five minutes out of your way for because they carried the pastries you liked to eat for breakfast, the cafe near your workplace that you went to three times a week for lunch—and he was never alone. He was always with at least another man around his age. Then, it wasn’t just him you noticed everywhere, it was all of them. The man in the tailored coat that smelled like sea salt was always near your apartment in the morning. Originally, you thought he lived there, but you’ve started to think differently. The blonde one with the broad shoulders passed by you three times when you went shopping like clockwork—once on the train, once in the store, and once on your walk home. The stocky one, the one that was built like a brick wall, was always by the nail salon on Tuesdays. You would get a fill and never had to pay for it. The techs said it was paid for by “your cute boyfriend.” The one with long hair started working at a coffee shop you only went to on pay day. It was an upscale place that was too expensive to get every day. The only reason you connected him with Yunho is because you saw them together once. There was the other tall one, similar in height to Yunho, but with bigger muscles. You hadn’t seen him without at least one of the others yet, but you waited every day with baited breath to catch a glimpse of him while going to the gym or at the bar with your friends. The one with black hair and a cute face, much too cute to be as built as he was, had just moved in across the hall. Before that, you had seen him on the way to your friend’s place every Friday. The last one, short with a shock of red hair, seemed to be almost everywhere. He was on the phone outside of your office, sitting in the back of the coffee shop near your apartment, at the bar while at dinner with your friends. Today, standing outside of the cafe while you wanted to just get your fucking lunch.

It was like a pack of wild dogs circling at any given moment. You didn’t know peace at this point, but you had become accustomed to a certain level of unease and anxiety when leaving your apartment each day. They didn’t seem malicious, stalking barred, but there’s still something utterly unsettling about knowing you’re being watched. And today, your capacity for negativity has reached its peak.

“When are you going to just give up?” he smiles at you, too wide and too white. You speed up, heels clicking loudly on the pavement. He laughs in response. Another body sidles up to your other side. You sigh.

“Hey, pretty,” Cute Face Neighbor smiles, more genuinely than Red Hair. If he wasn’t so fucking weird, you probably would have given him the time of day. It could have been a meet-cute.

“Never and don’t call me that,” you can feel your face beginning to hurt from the cold and the tenseness of your muscles. You just need to make it back to your office.

“Okay, stop,” Red Hair grabs your elbow, you shake it out of his hold and stumble back. Your eyebrows raise and you freeze. This is the most contact you’ve gotten with them. They generally don’t speak to you and they definitely don’t touch you. You feel a pair of hands steady you by your shoulders. “This has been cute—the whole you run, we chase thing—but I’m getting bored. I think we should play a new game.”

You shiver. “No, thank you. I have to go back to work.”

“You still have twenty two minutes of your break left,” Cute Face Neighbor helpfully interjects. He’s still smiling and you can’t tell if it’s genuine or if he’s just stupidly good at the whole charming-boy-next-door schtick.

“This weekend, you’re going to go out. No friends, no dates,” Red Hair levels you with a calculating look, but he sounds like he’s making it up as he goes. “Yeah, you go out. We do no surveillance ahead of time. The rest of the week free of us. Deviate your patterns. We’ll find you.”

He says it like it’s a tempting offer, like you would willingly offer yourself up to a pack of rabid wolves.

“And why would I do that?”

“For fun,” Red Hair is still fucking smiling that too wide, too white smile. “If you wanted us to leave you alone, you would have called the cops by now. Or at the very least, you would have closed your blinds.”

You still don’t know why the fuck you’re doing this. You feel fucking crazy as you finish your makeup for the night. You told your friends you were going for a quick drink by yourself, a solo date. What a positive spin on this turn of events.

The terms were simple—you were to leave at 7:00pm, you had exactly thirty minutes to get a head start on them. You were allowed five days to prepare where you were going, full recon within your control. You could deviate your patterns as much as you liked. They weren’t allowed to wait at the train station or bus stop near your place and you could go wherever you wanted as long as it was within the city limits. They had exactly three hours to find you, but Red Hair—Hongjoong—had assured you that it would take less.

At the time, it seemed like a better option to say yes than to risk being stabbed outside of a CVS. Now, though, you were beginning to question if a stab wound would have actually been worth it. You checked your phone, 6:52, and began to gather your things. You open your door at exactly 6:57 and a head pokes out from the doorway across the hall.

“Hey, no cheating,” Cute Face—San—whines at you, the same smile across his features.

“It’s not cheating, it’s accounting for the elevator,” you gripe back as you lock your door. You don’t look at him as you pass and definitely don’t look back as he calls down the hall at you.

“See you in a bit!”

It’s 8:06 when you arrive at the bar. It was a dive, three neighborhoods over from your own. It was the opposite direction of your workplace. You hadn’t been here in years, far longer than the pack had been following you. You take a seat at the bar and tuck yourself into the corner. Close enough to see the door, but obscured enough that if they were to duck their heads in they wouldn’t see you. The last time you were here, you almost got kicked out. You think about that as you order your drink. 

It had to be at least three years ago at this point. One of your old colleagues decided going away drinks in their neighborhood was how they wanted to celebrate their time with your team. After a few too many, a man got handsy with one of your coworkers and you got in his face. One punch and you were grabbed by a bouncer twice your size as the man yelled about lawsuits and pressing charges. The cameras showed him grabbing a handful before your confrontation, though, and after that he calmed down. Your coworkers decided it was probably around the time to head home after that and you hadn’t been back since. Over the past six days, you had combed through your social media to ensure there was no proof of you ever being at this place and after confirming it, you decided this was the one. You pull a book from your purse and open it to the chapter you left off on. Only two hours before you could leave. You tried to lean into your book and ignore the ticking of the clock.

At 8:38, you left your stool and started toward the bathroom. At 8:43, you grab your purse and walk out of the bar to smoke a cigarette. At 8:50, as you finish the last drags of the American Spirit, you hear a familiar laugh around the corner. You debate entering the bar again. They never said you had to stay in one place. You start up the block in the opposite direction of the laughter. You had no confidence that they hadn’t split up, but you had to try. You walk at least three blocks before spotting two tall figures in the distance heading toward you. You tuck into the pizza joint on your right.

The front of the store was a wall of windows, something that made you uneasy as you stood in the small store, but you had faith in your state of dress tonight. You had gone out and bought new clothes for this venture. An entire new outfit, new shoes, a new purse—nothing they had seen you in before. Your goal wasn’t to disguise yourself, but to blend in. You allow yourself to melt into the crowd of hungry dads trying to get a late night snack and students who had gotten too drunk, too early attempting to sober up. You don’t look out the window or turn around. You wait your turn, you order pizza, and then you leave.

You walk aimlessly for a while, and at 9:33, you stumble into the park. You walk a little ways into the park, enough to be tucked away but still see the main path, and then settle on a bench. You criss-cross your legs under you and place the bag on your lap, pulling out the pizza. You let the sounds of the city settle over you as you eat your pizza. You see a few joggers pass you. There’s a teenage couple having an argument over by the fountain. You feel the early spring breeze pass through your hair and don’t register as another body settles next to you.

“Found you,” a murmur from your left. You startle and almost drop your pizza. The man with the tailored coat leans over and drops a hand under your plate. He looks surprised at your jumpiness. He’s handsome up close. His face is all sharp angles and dark shadows. You can smell the sea salt from here. You get over your shock after a moment and sigh before taking another bite of your pizza. Then, you slide over and pat the space that’s left, resigned to your fate.

“How’d you find me?” you mumble through a mouthful. You don’t look at him.

“I’ve been following you the whole time. You’re not the most adept at noticing,” he smiles softly at you. The corners of his eyes crinkle softly and you find yourself thinking that if you had met a different way, you would probably be enamored with his attention at this very moment. You don’t say anything else and let him do something on his phone, you assume telling the others you had been found. The silence washes over you and the reality sets in. You really wish you had chosen something else as your last meal. A shock of red hair comes into your peripheral flanked by taller bodies and you prepare to be marched to your death.

“Good work, Hwa. You’ve always been the best at this,” Hongjoong says, giddy. The energy is coming off of him in waves, something restless. One of the men at his side comes to plant himself on the opposite end of the bench from Hwa—Yunho. You glance over at him as if your stare could physically remove him. He ignores you and drapes his arm behind you. He rubs soothing circles on your back and you think if it was any one of the other men you would have brushed them off, but you’ve seen Yunho do nice things before. He offered you his name. At the very least, that’s something. If you are going to be marched to your death, at least one of your executioners will have gentle hands. Hopefully, that will make it less painful.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Yunho is quiet, placating. “You did really well.”

“Can I finish my pizza before you kill me? Or are you just going to do it now while I have a mostly empty stomach?” you ask. Hongjoong’s eyebrows raise to his hairline and the one with the long hair cackles.

“We’re not going to kill you. We have no interest in that,” his voice is steady. “You’re interesting. You played the game. Just because you lost doesn’t mean that we’re done playing.”

“Fuck.”

“Were you hoping we would kill you?” Yunho leans towards you, now tracing lines over your spine with his fingertips.

“Less hoping, more preparing for it.”

They exchange glances with each other, all ending up at the same fixed point—Hongjoong. Well, now that’s new information.

“Like I said, you’re interesting,” the words fall easily out of Hongjoong’s mouth. “Alright, let’s take you home.” He turns and starts walking away, just like that. The others fall in line behind him, flanking. You cock your head as you watch their backs. A hand reaches out in front of you, Yunho, he looks at you expectantly.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s go home.”

It gets stranger from that point on, but also not so strange in the same way.

They start leaving gifts for you, which in terms of having a stalker is blatant escalation, but the gifts are oddly thoughtful. Sometimes it’s coffee from the place where Wooyoung works after a particularly hard day. Sometimes it’s a Venmo from an account you don’t recognize, but learn belongs to Jongho, with far too much money to get your nails done despite that being the description. Sometimes it’s the particular pastries you go twenty five minutes out of your way for just when you run out of them. Other times, it’s larger. Like the time San paid your rent for six months despite you telling him not to and to take back the money. Or the time Yeosang delivered your groceries for three weeks and refused to let you pay him back. Or the time Mingi showed up at your apartment and replaced all of your junky electronics from college with brand new ones. You weren’t supposed to stumble upon that, but you had gotten out of work early only to find your apartment full of new things and one very tall, very hot man sprawled on your couch and visibly exhausted. You change your locks after that, not that it does anything. Recently, it’s been notes slipped into your pockets, courtesy of Seonghwa and Yunho. Usually they’re small reminders to take care of yourself or of upcoming deadlines, but sometimes they’re sweeter—notes that your outfit looks nice, or that the new way you did your hair is flattering.

Hongjoong is a quieter presence. He isn’t like the others, doesn’t do these large declarations of (friendship? love?) a relationship. He texts you every day, not that you ever gave him your number, and tells you that he hopes you don’t die today. For anyone else, this would be unsettling. It would be an ever present reminder of the shadows on your back. But to you, it’s a reminder that these men have no interest in killing you. They have no interest in seeing you dead. Scared? Panicked? Definitely, but alive nonetheless.

It all sort of shifts one day in July. It had been over half a year of them following you, three months of leaving odd gifts at the door. You had grown used to their presence everywhere. It’s a Saturday and you’re settled on your couch. Something is on the television, but you’re not truly paying attention to it. Then, your front door opens. You jump and turn around. Wooyoung walks in and settles on the couch next to you, tucking his head into your lap. You freeze, your arms hovering above his body and not entirely sure what to do in this situation.

“Can you play with my hair, please?” his voice comes out soft. You look at him a little closer. His legs are tucked up into his chest, arms cradled between the two parts of his body. He doesn’t look at you as he asks and you get the sense that something happened.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Yeah, Woo, I can do that.”

You brush a lock of his hair out of his face and begin to card your fingers through it. You both stay like that for a while. Episodes blend together and at a certain point, it’s dark out. You look down at him and he’s fallen asleep. You reach for your phone.

“why is woo in my apartment right now?”

The text sits on delivered, you wait for the read receipt to appear, a response comes through.

“We’ve been looking for him. Stay there.”

You don’t question that Hongjoong knows where you are. You don’t question the fact that you texted him. You don’t question the fact that you are concerned for Wooyoung’s wellbeing. These are just facts of your life now. Twenty minutes later, San walks into your home. You gesture at him to keep it down, not wanting to wake the boy still sleeping in your lap.

“How long has he been out?” he questions.

“What the fuck did you guys do?” you seethe in response.

San winces. “He hasn’t been sleeping. It’s been a tough couple of days and we haven’t been out in a while. We’ve all been so focused on you and it took a toll we didn’t realize.”

You furrow your eyebrows and level him with a look. The tips of his ears grow red and his eyes widen, like a kid caught in a lie.

“You need to ask Joong if you want to know more than that. I can’t tell you. I’m not allowed,” he breathes it out in one long phrase. You keep looking at him and he focuses on looking everywhere but at you.

“Get Hongjoong here now and get Woo out of my apartment.”

San nods quickly, pulling out his phone. His fingers fly over the screen and he paces in your living room. His phone buzzes in his hand and he slips it into his back pocket. San gives you a thumbs up and gathers Wooyoung in his arms before heading towards the door. He mouths ‘thank you’ before it closes.

Hongjoong arrives two hours later, deeply late for his standards. When he gets to your apartment and swings open the door, he smells of sweat and metal with a hint of something sweet over it, as if he had tried to cover it up for your sake. He closes the door without tact and walks over to your couch where you’ve been stuck for the past several hours. His posture is casual, but reeks of an underlying exhaustion. When you finally look at him, you notice the heavy bags under his eyes and the almost sallow appearance to his skin.

“Hongjoong what the fuck did you get me into?” you whisper. You’re not scared of him, not anymore. You’re just exhausted.

“You weren’t wrong. We just didn’t want you like that,” he whispers back, his head tilted toward the ceiling. His eyes are closed and the words aren’t sharp. You know what he means instantly. You put your head in your lap. A moment later, a hand strokes your back.

“I’m sorry, if that accounts for anything, we– I didn’t want to upset you. I told everyone to keep it to themselves. I didn’t want to give you a burden you didn’t ask for.” “Yeah, like having eight men follow me for months isn’t already doing that,” you whisper, sardonic. You don’t look at him as you raise yourself up from the couch. “You should go, Joong.”

He grasps your wrist, softly, much softer than how he had grabbed you months prior. You don’t look at him. He raises your wrist to his mouth and presses his lips against your pulse. He breathes once, twice, before releasing you.

“Okay,” softly and you wonder if you’ve made a mistake.

The next morning, the same text.

“I hope you don’t die today.”

You feel yourself release a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding.

[sancerely-yours]

Deviate your patterns. We’ll find you.

…is that a threat or a promise? no but it could have, should have, would have been creepy! knowing she’s being followed not just by one, but an entire pack of stalkers? yet she keeps her cool despite her role in their game of cat and mouse! even when they change it up on her, she /adapts/! earning their interest and (courting) gifts read like prizes for playing, but i especially like the irony of hj falling into a pattern with the daily unsettling yet oddly sweet, reassuring texts

[ramadiiiisme]

How Did We Get Here? - Prologue Part 5 (Yunho/fem!reader)

Pairing: Jeong Yunho/reader

Word count: 1,9k

Genre: Smut, angst, toxic relationship

Summary: Looking back, you can see it, how he slowly got you to your limits and pushed you over. But in the moment, he was just Yunho.

Contains: Toxic dom!Yunho,, degradation, butt plug, sadism/masochism, not safe sane and consensual, extremely dubious consent turning into non-consent, Daddy and puppy as titles, manipulation, choking, orgasm denial, chastity belt, anal only, ignored safeword, slapping.

A/N: Is this the last part of the prologue? Who knows. Not this gal! All the Wooyoung kisses to my beautiful bestie @gooddaykate for being the bestest little potato ever! Also @sancerely-yours, please know that you are a huge part of the reason this prologue even exists (so everyone blame or thank her for it xD) Support your local wildlife everyone!

Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

Prologue Part 4 Prologue Part ?

"Settle, pup." Yunho chuckles lowly in your ear, squeezing your thigh in warning when you can’t stop squirming. "You don't want Mingi to find out what a greedy little mutt you are, do you?"

"No, sir." You whisper back and fix your posture with a deep breath, your bruised ass and back of the thighs aching miserably from sitting still for so long.

You're so on edge, it’s not even funny. Even Yunho just touching your knee earlier had made you drip, and you're sure Mingi must know that something is going on from the way he watches in amusement.

"Everything okay?" He asks and you nod, giving him an easy smile that you know betrays none of the turmoil inside you.

"Everything's good. What were you saying again?"

Yunho watches you, so proud of your ability to act like he hasn't been pushing you to the edge of insanity all week.

He'd given another push last Friday. Gotten you nice and deep, and so pliant even though you cried while he fucked your throat as the machine worked your ass open on a new, bigger, dildo, before he'd pushed you.

"Look at you," He'd said as he had you trapped between his cock and the machine, drool running down your chin as your lungs burned. "So fucking greedy. Filled to the brim and still complaining about needing to come. You're such a spoiled little thing, always expecting to get things your way."

You'd apologized as soon as he'd let you breathe, even though you were too deep and too dumb to know what you were apologizing for. He had planned to let you come that night but your incessant whining about your ass being sore and how you needed to come to help it feel better, had made him want to change his mind.

"Do you really want to be like this, pup? Demanding and bitchy every time Daddy takes time out of his day to make you better? Don't you just want to make me happy? Not being worried about disappointing me all the time? Wouldn't that feel better?"

You'd nodded but he'd known it was only to make him happy, so he'd let you breathe again.

"Oh, you're going to be so good for me, puppy, I just know it." He'd chuckled, bending over you, forcing his cock even deeper down your throat as he gave you more lube and smacked your ass hard enough to make you scream around the intrusion in your throat. "My perfect girl. I'll give one last one to remember."

He’d ordered you the chastity belt that same night as you slept curled up against his chest. Of course, it had to be bright pink because girl puppies love pink, and he knows how embarrassed you get when he throws those little comments at you.

Since the package would only arrive around midday, and he was eager to get started, he’d woken you up turning you onto your back, hiking your hips up and proceeded to fuck your already sore ass, giving you nothing for you to hump your greedy little clit against.

You’d been so upset when he informed you that you had in fact agreed to a week of that, having no memory of it. But he'd kissed your lips, put you between his legs, gave you something to focus your little head on, and had been able to make you believe that you'd agreed to the terms.

He’d come down your throat so fast, realizing just how easy it was getting to dumb you down now. And seeing as you wouldn’t be allowed your usual way of regulating your pesky little emotions for the next week, he had a feeling he’d have to keep you down for most of it.

The couple of hours before delivery had been the roughest. Your hands had been constantly moving to where they shouldn't, until Yunho had finally had enough and put them behind your back in a reverse prayer tie, ensuring you stayed good and he wouldn’t be forced to punish you. He hadn’t wanted to start out the week by punishing you and souring the experience for you.

Although he didn’t use it as often as he’d like, the reverse prayer was one of his favorites. You always complained about how vulnerable you felt in it, and even though he often argued that that was part of the charm, he’d taken your preference to heart. Now, however, it was a necessity if anything, and it had the added bonus of making you completely dependent on him. You had to beg him for something so simple as getting hair out of your face, and he loved you for it.

Once the package arrived, and Yunho had you locked up nice and snug, you'd thought he would untie you, maybe ease you into it. But instead, he'd pushed you face first into the couch and fucked your ass so hard it made you see stars. He kept moaning about how you looked so fucking sexy locked up and dependent on him that he just wasn’t been able to control himself.

You shift in your seat. You're in the biggest plug Yunho currently owns, long and thick as it holds you open for him. In the past week, he’s only used your throat and your ass, and he’s been so excited about you in the belt that he’s been fucking you so often that he no longer needs to prep you, as long as the plug stays in at all times. The metal of the belt is nice and warm as it cups your pussy, so agonizingly close yet designed to give you nothing to hump.

A whole week of this and you're this close to losing your mind.

You've been snappy and emotional, earning yourself punishment after punishment until you were so bruised, Yunho had sat you down and told you, you had to stop fighting because he was worried you wouldn't be able to take much more. You've been so desperate that you've begged and pleaded with him to please let you come, that for the last two days he's resorted to keeping you gagged at home so he can get some peace and quiet.

The only thing that's been helping to take the edge off has been sucking his cock but it always ends the same way: with you on your stomach getting pounded into the couch until he comes in your ass and plugs you back up, leaving you even more desperate and in pain than before.

Tonight is the last night though, and if you could get away with it, you'd end the night early just so you'll be allowed to come faster.

But Yunho is showing no sign of getting ready to leave, and neither is Mingi. So, you're just stuck there, wishing Yunho would take a hint but he pointedly ignores every single one, squeezing your thigh and pushing you into your seat to put enough pressure on your bruises to get you to behave.

And when he finally gets you home and he buries himself in you, you're confused by why he wouldn’t take the belt off first, but you're so relieved you're finally done that you don't question it. You just do what you’ve been taught, what now comes natural to you: relax and take what he gives you.

"D-Daddy, please." You moan as you can feel him getting close, reaching back to touch him only for him to slam your hands back onto the bed.

"No touching. Bad puppy." He growls, putting his weight on you to compress you against the mattress, aggravating your bruised flesh, to make you gasp for air. "Just take it."

"But the belt-"

"Can't remember where- Fuck! Where I left the key. I'll get it tomorrow, puppy, don't worry."

"N-No, Daddy, you said today!" You cry as you thrash under him, ignoring the pain burning through your backside, needing him off you, but as always, he locks himself around you, keeping you where you are.

"Mm, and now I'm saying tomorrow." He moans, slamming into you. "Now, shut up and take it or I'll make it another week."

"No, Yunho, please! Re-"

The hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing hard, makes you choke on the precious word that's never left your lips before, and you clench around him tightly in your panic.

"Thaaaat’s it, puppy, good job." He grunts as he comes, fucking you through it to let you milk him for all he's worth before he finally releases you, needing to smack your face a few times to get you choking and spluttering on the free access to air.

"You did so good, baby!" He giggles as he rolls off you to pull you into his arms, kissing your tear-streaked cheeks as he rocks you, caressing the length of your back as his cum trickles out of you, coating your thighs and belt. "Oh my god, I can't believe you lasted a whole week. I'm so proud of you! Tomorrow I'll give you so many cummies you won't know what to do with them."

The praise warms you. The physical contact pulls you back from the ledge. Yunho's happiness soothes you as you lay motionless on top of him.

You had said it. Hadn't you?

Red.

He just hadn't heard you. He would have stopped if he had. You know he would have.

But all the praise and affection he lavishes on you can't wash away the sting of your bruises, or the pounding ache between your legs. It can’t distract you from how badly swallowing hurts, or how disgusting his cum feels dripping out of you in thick globs, you only now realizing he always traps it inside like it’s some sort of gift for you. Not even his kisses can take your mind off how strange it feels to have your ass empty after so long, the cool air touching your insides and making you shiver.

You've never felt it before. This feeling of being used. Of being just a hole.

You cling tighter to him as you quietly beg him to please plug you up. Being empty is wrong. Bad. You can’t stand it.

He coos and praises you for needing your plug and for asking so nicely for it, but even after he gives it to you, it doesn’t feel the same. You kiss him and hold him tight. You force yourself to take as much comfort from him as humanly possible, but even after he carries you to the bathroom and gets in the warm bath with you, you still feel cold.

Yunho feels you shivering and holds you to his chest, kissing your hair and telling you how proud he is, how perfect you were for him, and just how much he loves you for loving him.

You know you'll feel better once you get some sleep, it's been a rough week for you after all. But a small part of you wonders if the ice in your chest won't still be there when you wake up.

Prologue Part 4 Prologue Part ?

[sancerely-yours]

The hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing hard, makes you choke on the precious word that's never left your lips before, and you clench around him tightly in your panic.

…who was i kidding OF COURSE he can always make it worse! there’s something so deliciously humiliating about a machine, inhuman, impersonal, relentless, all while he looms over her? am just thinking of forced eye contact like the previous chapter, the escalation, ah! and then getting locked up? a whole week! /more/ than the “agreed upon” week! all that to further mold and rearrange her omg really just testing the limits of her body (her love, her surrender) but! BUT!! realizing she’s /never/ actually called for a hard stop before?? even after everything he’s done to her, pushing beyond her boundaries, every time he placates and shuts off that urge, every time he guilt trips and lets her buy into the sweet nothings, that she forges on until the absolute moment she can no longer… and to have it IGNORED? yet still desperately trying to convince herself to trust him?? (but her body knows better, she may be confused and doing every imaginable mental cartwheel at this master manipulator’s behest, but the part he can’t turn off /remembers/) poor thing, the emptiness and self-disgust dropping her so /HARD/?? like the shocking clarity of not even recognizing herself anymore? and the hopelessness of this feeling /staying/

[ramadiiiisme]

How Did We Get Here? - Prologue Part 4 (Yunho/fem!reader)

Pairing: Jeong Yunho/reader

Word count: 1,3k

Genre: Smut, angst, toxic relationship

Summary: Looking back, you can see it, how he slowly got you to your limits and pushed you over. But in the moment, he was just Yunho.

Contains: Toxic dom!Yunho,, degradation, butt plug, sadism/masochism, not safe sane and consensual, extremely dubious consent bordering non-consent, Daddy and puppy as titles, manipulation, breathplay, deepthroating, somnophilia, passing out, almost ignored safeword.

A/N: I am not okay and neither are Yunho and puppy. Thank you to my beautiful beta @gooddaykate for sticking with this story and cheering me on like always!

Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

Prologue Part 3 Prologue Part 5

Yunho's not having a good day. That much is clear when he comes home in silence, shutting the door behind him harder than usual.

No greeting you, no open arms for you to step into, no soft smile on his face.

"Welcome home, Daddy." You say, trying to put him in a good mood by using his title but the way he looks at you makes it clear it's not working.

"On your knees." He says, and it takes you a second to hear him.

"What?"

"I said," His hand shoots out, burying itself in your hair and pulling, a shocked gasp leaving you at the force behind it. "Get on your knees."

"Y-Yes, Daddy." You stammer, hating the swirl of emotions mixing together in your belly and moving south as you sink to your knees in front of him, your mouth falling open without prompting.

The hand in your hair loosens slightly, and the grim look on Yunho's face softens as he watches the drool gather on your tongue and the way you let it drip down your front.

"I'm sorry, puppy" He says as he lets go to pet your hair, watching your lashes flutter sweetly for him. "Daddy's going to be rough on you tonight and I need you to take it without complaining. I don't want to have to punish you when I'm like this, but you know I will."

"I'll be good, Daddy, I promise." You say, wanting to reach out to undo his jeans, but you know better than to make your own choices when he's like this.

"My sweet, dumb little puppy." He chuckles and the word dumb goes right between your legs, leaving you squeezing your plug. "You have no idea how much I love you like this."

He pulls off his belt and secures your arms behind your back, a sting of humiliation that he doesn't trust you to keep your hands to yourself, but you know it's to help you be good. To help you not get punished.

He's half-hard as he grabs the back of your head and pushes you against his cock. You do your best to kiss and lick where you can reach, but he holds you still as he ruts against your face, feeling your breath on his sensitive skin.

He moves you back against the wall, trapping you between him and it, and kicks your legs open so you get no relief other than from your plug and from pleasing him.

"You breathe when you can, this isn't about you." He warns, barely waiting for you to nod before he's pushing his way into your mouth, lodging himself deep in your throat and stopping.

A heavy sigh leaves him as you gag around him, the tension in his shoulders melting away and his eyes falling shut. "Fuck."

He holds you there, nose pushed against his pubic bone, all air cut off, as you struggle to look up at him.

You're pretty good at this normally, but he usually warms you up a bit first, and you hate yourself for the way you’re already struggling without it.

"Settle." He mutters, pushing you harder against the wall, holding your head so you can't even shake it to dislodge him. "Go dumb, puppy. Let your owner use you like you're meant to be used. My little fleshlight."

It's a struggle now, but you try your best to stay still, holding out hope that maybe he'll take pity on you before you pass out.

"Good puppy, you don't need air." He whispers, petting your hair as he feels you start to try to shift away. "All you need is to be a nice wet hole for Daddy to use when he's feeling stressed."

You want to be, but your lungs are burning and all you can do is blink up at him through tears and hope he understands.

He moves but it's barely enough for you to pull in any air, pushing right back down and grinding against your face.

"Take it, puppy, stop fighting me. Stop trying to think."

You scream, or as well as you can around the cock in your throat, hands frantically tapping the wall behind you.

He looks you dead in the eyes for three full seconds before he pulls back, far enough to let you breathe but never fully leaving your mouth.

"Good job, puppy." He chuckles, pushing his cock between your teeth and your cheek, tapping the obscene bulge with his hand as you pant and sob. "Did so well keeping your little teeth to yourself."

You hadn't even thought about biting him, you didn't even let your teeth touch him.

"Do better this time though." He says and like that he's back in your throat, what little air you'd managed to get already running out. "You know how I feel about you giving up on yourself like that, pup." He says, watching your teary eyes widen in distress. "It always makes me so sad when you don't trust me to take care of you."

You gurgle an apology and he laughs, it's a tired but real one and for a moment you forget about needing air.

"Aw, I forgive you, baby. It's not easy being a dumb puppy needing Daddy to think for you all the time, is it?"

You want to shake your head but know he'd take it as you giving up again, so you give your best nod instead.

"You poor thing." He chuckles, feeling your throat squeezing him as it desperately searches for air. "Keep your eyes open, you know I love to see you go down for me."

You try so hard but the black dots closing in make it difficult and only when you start to go limp does Yunho start pulling back.

He fucks your throat with steady thrusts, fire running through his veins at how you suck in desperate little breaths around him every time he pulls back.

You're all the way down now. Your eyes are empty and your body is barely functioning, all from a little breath play and some choice words.

Every now and then he stays down in your throat to feel you desperately squeeze him, taking you to the edge of consciousness where he can see your eyes flutter shut, and only then does he pull back, slapping you as he does to shock you back into your body again.

He keeps talking to you the whole way through, praising you for going dumb, for giving him control, for loving him so much.

You do finally pass out when he comes down your throat. He knows he shouldn't have taken you that far tonight, but you felt so good milking him and swallowing around him that he lost himself.

He picks you up off the floor, undoes his belt and carries you into the bedroom. You're a an absolute mess, and he cleans you up before he puts you on your side, before he quickly undresses and lies down behind you.

He can't stop himself from taking your plug out and burying himself in your ass, knowing he’s going to need to fuck you when you come to so he might as well be nice and stretch you out now to make it easier.

He wraps himself around you, locking you into place against him, knowing you're going to fight when you come out of it. But he knows as soon as you feel him moving in your little hole, you're going to thank him for it.

You're such a well-behaved puppy after all.

Prologue Part 3 Prologue Part 5

Taglist

@imeverycliche  @joonie-joon  @kathng555  @sunnysidesins  @hum4n-e4ter  @tournesol155  @thewinter-eden @mrsminseochoi @princessbabybootie2 @gooddaykate @sancerely-yours

[sancerely-yours]

You gurgle an apology and he laughs, it's a tired but real one and for a moment you forget about needing air.

despite the fear, despite the panic, at the sound of his real laugh? proof that he’s /pleased/ with her? forget how scary and mean he’s being omg her sheer relief, like it’s /worth it/ gagging and choking and suffocating over! forget AIR when she’s done /good/, made him happy, made him proud, /he’s/ her air in that moment 😭 he tells her as much, she doesn’t need air, she just needs to listen and obey! i swear the voice you give him is so intense yet soft somehow, because he knows he’s about to be rough, about to take his stress out on her whether she wants it or not, but he still coaxes like he cares to spare her the extra pain and discomfort of punishment (would she even register it, with how far she’s /shoved/ under? with how she’s passed out?) is it weird to confess that even though he’s clearly the villain of this story, like we’ve known he’s toxic from the start, he hasn’t been as terrifying as in this chapter? something about how matter of fact he is telling her he’s about to use her and she best let him? how he physically traps her between him and the wall? the sense of actual danger and how he deadass /stares/ instead of immediately withdrawing at her signal? (but then… how he wraps himself around her when all’s said and done, because at the end of the day, he knows her well enough to anticipate the fight and flail to come? so he holds her down and keeps her secure, and it’s in no way an apology nor gratitude, it’s entirely for his continued pleasure, but again! that warped sense of having someone take all her fear and panic from her! to ground and protect her!! yeah, yeah am so totally normal about them)

[ramadiiiisme]

He's truly positioned himself to be everything she needs, hasn't he? Her relief that he's pleased vs him telling her in a roundabout way that he's disappointed she tapped out, and then the way she stops herself from shaking her head at a question because he might think she's "giving up" again makes me sick 🤣

I'm such a sucker for soft cruelty, the kind that feels like love if you just don't think about it too hard. If you focus on the voice and not the words it's not so bad. If you hump your owner's hand the pain is manageable. A hand petting your hair negates the need for air. The brain choosing to acknowledge the softness because it's the only way to survive, and Yunho having learned that it works wonders with her 🤤

It's not weird at all, it actually makes me so happy to hear because it's what I've been aiming for! You can really see his selfishness come out here and while before there was at least a feeling of him doing it FOR her, here he's doing it TO her. He usually warms her up so she can take him somewhat comfortably, but here that's not a factor and it's a shock to her system. Instead of easing her into it, he's throwing her in the deep end and tells her to sink or swim.

Apart from serving him, she is not important in this chapter, even her physical needs (breathing sir! Have you heard of it?) aren't taken into consideration. And him just staring at her when she taps is so fucking scary to me because you can almost hear the thought of "should I pull out or should I stay?". And then basically telling her she failed because she didn't let him choke her out, which pushes her boundaries that much further away from what she's agreed to.

(the question for me is, how many times has he made her pass out to know she instinctively fights when she comes out of it to the point where he locks her down automatically? 👀)

He's absolutely thinking that he's holding her down for HER. He doesn't want HER to hurt herself when she comes to, so he makes himself her savior, protecting his poor puppy from herself when her brain is being bad.

#normalcy is overrated

Mmm I knew you'd clock that! 😍 Again, him taking away her ability to soothe herself because this was not for her in any way. She doesn't get to enjoy herself while he's in a bad mood. If he suffers, she suffers, that's what partners do, isn't it?

I love you connecting the dots so much, it makes this such a pleasure (hihi) to write!

I think in a way he kind of has, even if it was unintentional. He's trained her to be so scared of disappointing him, constantly having to ask for permission to touch herself and to come, that her inability to do so without in him in chapter is him having successfully trained her that she can only come for him and with his explicit permission. She just doesn't know it until she leaves him 👀

Poor dumb puppies of the world unite!

[sancerely-yours]

OH!! “soft cruelty, the kind that feels like love if you just don't think about it too hard” omg YES! yes this exactly!! everything you said should not be making me this giddy but sure does, softness to cope, softness to survive (because something has to give, and why not the mind to spare the body some hurt?? latching onto softness like hope and practically (guided) self-brainwashing, it’s all mind over matter right?) something about the /mind break/ is just! so!! i couldn’t really pinpoint it until THIS!! soft cruelty in the way he speaks to her and preps her (for his own use) /and/ that’s the precise feeling of his aftercare 😭 i keep circling back to how he /knows/ it’s the necessary, responsible thing to do but it still becomes a means of manipulation, as reward, as motivation, how all the good things are just more and different ways for him to sink his claws into her

the question for me is, how many times has he made her pass out to know she instinctively fights when she comes out of it to the point where he locks her down automatically? 👀

SHRIEKING?? i did not think of that at all! but of course he doesn’t learn to do it on first try, he’s had /practice/!! (lowkey i would hope she smacks him in the face that first time and stuns him for putting her through that terror… except i would also fear for her life if she does) again taken out of context? learning and cataloguing so he knows how to take care of her?? but because we’re talking about this yh it feels more like experimenting and clinical trials i’m

[angelics-ink]

𝕃𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝔻𝕠𝕝𝕝

──── ❤︎ ─────── ❤︎ ───

Pairing : Seonghwa x Reader

Genre : Smut

WC : 3K

Warnings : Dom! Seongwha, Sub! Reader, financial control, daily control, dumbification , traditional gender roles (If you wanna look at it that way?) , kissing, fingering, oral (M Receiving), dirty talk, degradation, praise, mirror sex, P in V sex (Wrap it up), cream pie, name calling, essentially just filth

──── ❤︎ ─────── ❤︎ ───

It started off as little comments.

“This would look really good on you.”

“Why don’t you try that one?”

“Let me do it for you.”

Seongwha had been doting and attentive to you since the first day you agreed to be his girlfriend. You hadn’t touched a check at a restaurant in over a year. Door handles were no longer a necessity. He’d even carry your purse when you whined about your shoulder, giving you a small eye roll before parading it around like it was his own. He was the only person you’d met who could take the quiet storm in your head and not only calm it, but bring back the sun. 

So when he set down the book he was reading one evening, you were only slightly taken aback when he said, “I want you to quit your job.” Before you could ask any questions, Seongwha held up his ring-adorned hand, gesturing for you to let him continue speaking. He crossed his legs in his chair, looking you up and down over his glasses. Even with all your time together, you still felt exposed under his gaze. “You’re too pretty to be working. Stay with me.” Seongwha certainly had the space for you in his luxurious house, and it’d be nice to get out of your apartment. The kitchen is large and modern; the living room is spacious and furnished with only the best name-brand items. His eye for style was never a question. The bedroom was perfect for the two of you, considering you both would need the space to get ready daily. Setting down your phone, you nod in agreement, making your way to him and sitting on his lap before placing chaste kisses on his cheeks.

You’d fallen into your new role easily. Waking up next to him, his arms holding you tightly until he had to make his way to work. Sometimes he’d hand you his card on his way out, mentioning that there was no limit and you could do as you wished. He’d grown to like taking care of you like this, answering any need you had before your lips could form a request. He didn’t ask you to do any house chores or anything really, he literally just wanted you to not have to worry about daily things. In fact, he didn’t want you to worry about anything at all.

Senoghwa started doing more and more for you. He’d lay out your outfit every morning and tell you how to wear your hair. He’d stand behind you in the mirror, brushing it for you while you relaxed into him. Being with him was easy. He’d order for you at the coffee shop and pick out clothes for you to try on in stores while you clung to his arm like a lost puppy. When you finally asked why he did all of these mundane things for you, he cupped your cheek and brushed his thumb along the soft skin.

“You don’t need to think. Let me do it for you.” His voice was so deep and sultry that what would normally be seen as a misogynistic comment stuck in your head like a mantra. 

You sunk into your new mindset so quickly. He was in charge and you happily followed along. When he walked, your footsteps fell in line with his. When he spoke, you fell silent. Now of course you could’ve fought this, argued your right to be your own person. And you had that option. You could have told Seonghwa that you didn’t want to do this, to listen to him. But you didn’t, did you? In fact you began doing your own routines. At night he would take his spot in his chair and you would come next to him, falling to your knees. Your head would lean on his knee, his long fingers running through your hair as he hummed soothingly.

One night while you were kneeling next to him, he cupped your chin, tilting your head to look at him. Your doe eyes gazed at him admirably, a lazy smile on your lips. His thumb wandered, landing on your bottom lip and pulling it down slightly, opening your mouth. 

“C’me here princess.” He applied a bit of upward pressure, bringing you to his eye level.m while remaining on your knees.His lips brushed yours softly, barely enough to be considered a kiss. He chuckled at your eagerness when your hand wandered to his chest, fisting his shirt to try to pull him closer.

“Patience, little one.” He pulled away from your mouth, tilting his head down and placing open mouth kisses on your jaw. Your grip relaxed as your head tilted to the side, a small giggle leaving your lips. You could feel the bulge in his slacks against your chest as he continued his slow movements, his hands dancing along your back.

He drug it out, occasionally switching to deep kisses along your pulse point, his tongue lapping at it. The whimper emitted from you was answered with a chuckle against your skin. Seonghwa’s hands moved under your ass, motioning for you to stand. When you did, he gripped your hips, licking his lip as he looked you up and down. 

“Do a spin for me baby.” His voice was almost a whisper but you immediately obliged, his hands never leaving you. You were wearing his favorite pajama set, a light pink silk set that was loose and flowy on your body. He loved how the fabric would catch the light, how the lace showed just enough of your skin to drive him crazy. When you’d done a full circle and faced him again his eyes had darkened, his fingers tracing the lace on the edge of the shorts. His hands moved up, pushing the fabric of the tank until it rested just below your breasts.

His mouth was trailing up and down your stomach, a groan leaving him when your fingers intertwined in his hair. He’d spend entirely too long ignoring exactly where the heat was building between your legs, so when you shifted on your feet he glanced up at you. “What’s wrong baby? Need something?” 

You rarely ever found the words to speak when he got you like this, all squirmy and nervous in his hands. “Need you…” Your words trailed off into a gasp as his hands cupped your ass, squeezing the soft flesh before pulling you into his lap, your legs on either side of his hips. The heat radiating between your legs was both embarrassing and erotic as you shifted, trying your best to ignore the urge to grind down onto him.

Seonghwa’s hand lifted your shirt once more, exposing your hardened nipples as his other hand snuck between you two. Your hips jerked eagerly as his hand barely brushed against the loose hanging shorts. He clicked his tongue but let this first time of the night slide. Your entire body was buzzing as he simply cupped your pussy, rocking his palm against you slowly while his mouth wrapped around your nipple, tugging it lightly with his teeth. Each time he did you swear you could feel the damp spot on your panties grow darker. “Such a filthy girl, hmm?” He whispered against your chest as he moved his hand into the leg of your shorts. The baggy fabric helped give him space to touch you without undressing you, your body shuddering as his fingers finally made contact with where you wanted him. His fingers slipped through your wet folds easily, making you whimper while you buried your head in his shoulder. You were his to play with, pliable and permissive.

“Look at me.” His voice was soft, his throat vibrating against your cheek as you lean on him. When you didn’t follow his instruction, he removed his hand, leaving you wanting and your pussy clenching around nothing. His hand grabbed the back of your head, yanking your hair so you made eye contact with him. His voice changed, now stern and steady. “I said fucking look at me. Or are you already too far gone?” Instead of giving you the chance to answer, his wet fingers separated your lips, slipping into your mouth. Instinct took over and your tongue swirled, your hand holding his wrist as you looked at him through hooded eyes. Your taste on his skin was salty and desperate. “Wider.” One word and your mouth opened, Seongwha pushing his fingers down your throat, covering them in your drool. He moved them back and forth on your tongue, watching with hungry eyes as you smiled.

“Off.” Again he didn’t have to say too much for you to remove yourself from him. He spread his legs, tapping his foot once, your unspoken cue to get between them. He’d glanced at you then down at his crotch, the outline of his cock prominent now. You eagerly undid the buttons and zipper, reaching in and wrapping your hand around his length. He was hot and heavy as you finally released him from the constraints of the fabric, his cock curving towards his waist. Instead of allowing you to touch him, he began to stroke himself in slow, tortuous motions in front of your face. Your eyes almost go cross as you watch, squirming on the heels of your feet.

“You didn’t listen, did you?” His precum pools on the tip of his cock before he collects it, using it as lube as he grips your chin with his other hand. “Answer me.” 

“N-no, I didn’t listen…” You were honestly just repeating what he had told you, too focused on how his hand wrapped around his shaft to pay attention.

“Are you going to be good now?” He hissed as he squeezed the base of his cock, shaking it in front of your lips. God, you hadn’t wanted anything more than you wanted him at that moment. He smelled of arousal and cologne, hints of wood and cinnamon. You found yourself nodding, a smile stretching across your lips. Your hips wiggled eagerly as you looked up at him, pleading silently.

The best part about this new dynamic was that you weren’t worried about what was coming next. You didn’t have to. So when he wrapped his hand in your hair and brought you forward into his lap, you were operating on pure lust. Your mouth opened once again, enveloping his cock as he groaned. You let him take control, bobbing your head with his movements as guidance. Even when he forced your head down, his cock throbbing in your throat, you gagged loudly and your eyes welled with tears, you still wanted only to please him. To be used by him. Filth flowed from his lips like honey as he thrust into your mouth, drool and tears covering your face. 

“Just a good hole for me to fuck, aren’t you baby? Look at you, squirming against the floor while I’m choking you on my cock. Pathetic little doll, huh?” You nod as much as you could with your mouth full. Suddenly he forces you down once more, his other hand pinching your nose, cutting off your air supply. As your throat tightens around him and your eyes begin to roll, you see him smiling down at you, a sense of pride flowing through you straight to your cunt. After a moment he lets you go, bubbles and strings of your spit connecting you to his cock. He didn’t waste a moment, getting on the floor with you. His cock bobbed as he moved, his lips crashing into yours in a sloppy kiss. At the same time he grabbed your hips once more, turning you so your back was against his chest. You felt his hardness press against your ass through your pajamas as you looked forward, remembering the full length mirror he put in the living room. He said it added a personal touch to the room. Yeah, that seemed like a good excuse at the time. 

Roughly grabbing your chin, he forces you to look at yourself, catching your reflection in the glass. Your nice pajamas are tussled and wrinkled, your lips swollen and drool practically dripping down onto your breasts. He shook your head, whispering in your ear. “Look at you, you look so pretty, don’t you baby? You’ll just let me do anything, hmm?” When you don’t answer, he taps your cheek lightly. “Stay with me sweetie.”

A small nod is all you give before his hand is on your back, pushing you forward. You can hear him quickly shuffle off his slacks, unbuttoning his shirt and leaving it open as you watch in the mirror. He afforded himself the luxury of being undressed, but didn’t give it to you, simply pulling your panties and shorts to the side. Your slick glistening in the light as your body told him everything you couldn’t find the words for. When his thick shaft grinded against you, you whined, your hips bucking back against him. He shakes his head, his hand grabbing your hip roughly. “Stay fucking still.” 

In one smooth motion he’s buried deep inside you, stretching you deliciously as your mouth falls open, a high pitched moan filling the room. Seonghwa wastes no time, beginning to thrust into you quickly, chasing the pleasure your clenching walls give him. He removes himself nearly completely before slamming back into you, groaning as he watches you in the mirror. 

“Fuck…You’re so fucking gone baby…” And he was right. Your eyes were hooded and glazed over as a lazy smile painted your lips, still covered in your own spit. Your body was reacting naturally, clenching around him instinctively as your breasts bounced with each of his thrusts. “Look at you, panting like a bitch in heat…” The only sounds are the ones of his balls smacking roughly against your clit and your heavy breathing, your tongue sticking out slightly. If someone else saw this, they’d be appalled. Instead, you were climbing towards the edge, the angle of his cock brushing against the most sensitive spot inside you.

Your whimpers grow into loud moans, your face going slack. Fuck, he felt so good. He looked so good. The sweat shining on his skin, his brow furrowed in concentration as he was switching between watching your face and enjoying the view of your pussy swallowing his shaft. You couldn’t see it, but between how wet you were and your previous use of your throat on his cock, you were dripping onto the floor under you. Even if you could see it, you wouldn’t care. 

His hips stutter, his groans growing more frequent as he fucks into you. Suddenly he leans forward, his chest pressing on your back as your nails scratch against the floor. His eyes lock with yours in the mirror as he whispers in your ear. “Such a pretty cumslut, don’t you think? Go on, tell her how pretty she is taking my cock. Do you think she wants to cum baby?” 

You swallow hard, his words sending a shock straight to your core. It’s been a minute since you’ve spoken, so your words come out dry and hoarse at first. “S-so pretty daddy, pretty girl…” You laugh, not because its funny, but because your so blissed out by his cock relentlessly fucking you through your own degredation. “Please, let her cum…” You don’t even realize that you’re speaking in third person, earning a laugh from him as he watches you humiliate yourself in the mirror.

“C’mon my pretty doll, show me how stupid you get for my cock. You can do better.” His tone is harsh again, catching your attention. The thing is, he knows you can hardly form words right now. All your mind can think of is the impending orgasm and him filling your womb. But it’s amusing to watch you try to get past the fog in your brain.

“Please daddy, p-please, she…cum, please….only for you…” 

“Awe, baby can’t do anything but babble, can she? Try again.” His sentence is punctuated by a sudden thrust into you, his movements stopping as he holds himself inside you. He’s using every last ounce of self control to not finish inside you yet, enjoying the show you’re putting on as your pussy attempts to draw him deeper.

Panting and crying out between your words, your eyes well with tears as your body teeters on the edge. “So stupid, look…” Your tongue falls out of your mouth, the sadistic smile across his face showing his approval. Seonghwa thrusts into you once, stopping to let you speak again. “Need to cum, please…” Your begging and self deprecating words earn a thrust each time you please him, until you can speak nothing but incoherent pleas and his name. Your body is giving way to your brain, your front falling forward, your head on the floor. 

The grip he has on your hips tightens as he watches your body give in, his movements speeding up once more. “Cum for…” His words fade out as your orgasm completely wrecks you, your brain popping as your legs shake. His laughter breaks through as he says “Fucking making a mess like an idiot…” Only then do you realize you’ve squirted back against him, his thrusts splashing it against your thighs. The tight grip your cunt has on his shaft pulls him over the edge with you, his body pressed firmly against you as he pumps rope after rope into you. 

It only takes a few minutes for Seonghwa to catch his breath, his cock softening in you as he kisses your shoulder, a stark contrast to his rough actions just a minute ago. His thumb traces your hip in smoothing circles as he speaks. “You did so good for me, so perfectly…” The sweet nothings don’t fully register as you lay panting and giggling, allowing yourself to sink completely into your favorite place in the world, where he had to do the thinking and you didn’t.

[sancerely-yours]

“You don’t need to think. Let me do it for you.”

the way he slowly cements his control, starting from the casual comments, to then taking over in day to day life, until she’s swept in his rhythms and cues? until she sinks into the next natural progression he’s been leading her toward? the steady escalation of acts of service as a love language, to their dominance and submission!! ah, to be sated, giggly, and doted upon

[yun-fangz]

2:08am

mdni! 18+ content ahead

pairing: dilf!hongjoong x fem!reader

warnings: mean!joong, age gap, dom/sub dynamics, toy use, cockwarming, submissive reader, punishments

a/n: just saw his content from PFW and i need his cock in my throat NOW.

also, couldn't decide between daddy or sir so i took the safe option with sir, but lmk if we like daddy too 🫣

dilf!hongjoong who makes you cockwarm a dildo as form of punishment.

getting caught touching yourself alone has led you to where you are now, sitting under his at home desk completely bare, with a cute little dildo shoved in your pussy.

you try your best not to squirm as the toy prods at your already sensitive walls, resigning yourself to laying your head on his thighs, staring up at the older man with pleading eyes.

on any other occasion, he would coo and stroke your hair at the far off look in your eyes, but you were bad, and bad girls get punished. instead he brings a hand downwards, gripping your jaw softly but firm, enjoying the way you bite your lip in an attempt to suppress a needy whine.

"such a dirty girl, aren't you?" he says, chuffing out a laugh as you attempt to nod in his grip. his warm laugh only serves to arouse you further, heat shooting straight down your spine and directly to your core. it causes a small involuntary twitch of your hips that has the toy accidentally moving inside you, forcing out a muffled but pleasured sound.

immediately hongjoong's face turns to a frown, a sharp look in his eyes. you feel his grip on your chin tighten as he leans down toward your wide eyes.

"watch it." you can feel each puff of air that escapes him brush across your face as he warns you with a growl for the final time.

"y-yes sir" you mutter out in a muffled pout due to his iron grip. satisfied with your response, he releases you with a light but affectionate pat to your cheek.

"good girl." he purrs as he straightens up once more to resume his work, leaving you to your own devices of his punishment.

#needthat

© 2025 Yun-Fangz All Rights Reserved.

[sancerely-yours]

on any other occasion, he would coo and stroke your hair at the far off look in your eyes, but you were bad, and bad girls get punished.

not me aching for head pets now, what have /i/ done to be deprived?? lol just kidding, this is nothing compared to the poor thing 😂

[ramadiiiisme]

How Did We Get Here? - Prologue Part 4 (Yunho/fem!reader)

Pairing: Jeong Yunho/reader

Word count: 1,3k

Genre: Smut, angst, toxic relationship

Summary: Looking back, you can see it, how he slowly got you to your limits and pushed you over. But in the moment, he was just Yunho.

Contains: Toxic dom!Yunho,, degradation, butt plug, sadism/masochism, not safe sane and consensual, extremely dubious consent bordering non-consent, Daddy and puppy as titles, manipulation, breathplay, deepthroating, somnophilia, passing out, almost ignored safeword.

A/N: I am not okay and neither are Yunho and puppy. Thank you to my beautiful beta @gooddaykate for sticking with this story and cheering me on like always!

Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

Prologue Part 3 Prologue Part 5

Yunho's not having a good day. That much is clear when he comes home in silence, shutting the door behind him harder than usual.

No greeting you, no open arms for you to step into, no soft smile on his face.

"Welcome home, Daddy." You say, trying to put him in a good mood by using his title but the way he looks at you makes it clear it's not working.

"On your knees." He says, and it takes you a second to hear him.

"What?"

"I said," His hand shoots out, burying itself in your hair and pulling, a shocked gasp leaving you at the force behind it. "Get on your knees."

"Y-Yes, Daddy." You stammer, hating the swirl of emotions mixing together in your belly and moving south as you sink to your knees in front of him, your mouth falling open without prompting.

The hand in your hair loosens slightly, and the grim look on Yunho's face softens as he watches the drool gather on your tongue and the way you let it drip down your front.

"I'm sorry, puppy" He says as he lets go to pet your hair, watching your lashes flutter sweetly for him. "Daddy's going to be rough on you tonight and I need you to take it without complaining. I don't want to have to punish you when I'm like this, but you know I will."

"I'll be good, Daddy, I promise." You say, wanting to reach out to undo his jeans, but you know better than to make your own choices when he's like this.

"My sweet, dumb little puppy." He chuckles and the word dumb goes right between your legs, leaving you squeezing your plug. "You have no idea how much I love you like this."

He pulls off his belt and secures your arms behind your back, a sting of humiliation that he doesn't trust you to keep your hands to yourself, but you know it's to help you be good. To help you not get punished.

He's half-hard as he grabs the back of your head and pushes you against his cock. You do your best to kiss and lick where you can reach, but he holds you still as he ruts against your face, feeling your breath on his sensitive skin.

He moves you back against the wall, trapping you between him and it, and kicks your legs open so you get no relief other than from your plug and from pleasing him.

"You breathe when you can, this isn't about you." He warns, barely waiting for you to nod before he's pushing his way into your mouth, lodging himself deep in your throat and stopping.

A heavy sigh leaves him as you gag around him, the tension in his shoulders melting away and his eyes falling shut. "Fuck."

He holds you there, nose pushed against his pubic bone, all air cut off, as you struggle to look up at him.

You're pretty good at this normally, but he usually warms you up a bit first, and you hate yourself for the way you’re already struggling without it.

"Settle." He mutters, pushing you harder against the wall, holding your head so you can't even shake it to dislodge him. "Go dumb, puppy. Let your owner use you like you're meant to be used. My little fleshlight."

It's a struggle now, but you try your best to stay still, holding out hope that maybe he'll take pity on you before you pass out.

"Good puppy, you don't need air." He whispers, petting your hair as he feels you start to try to shift away. "All you need is to be a nice wet hole for Daddy to use when he's feeling stressed."

You want to be, but your lungs are burning and all you can do is blink up at him through tears and hope he understands.

He moves but it's barely enough for you to pull in any air, pushing right back down and grinding against your face.

"Take it, puppy, stop fighting me. Stop trying to think."

You scream, or as well as you can around the cock in your throat, hands frantically tapping the wall behind you.

He looks you dead in the eyes for three full seconds before he pulls back, far enough to let you breathe but never fully leaving your mouth.

"Good job, puppy." He chuckles, pushing his cock between your teeth and your cheek, tapping the obscene bulge with his hand as you pant and sob. "Did so well keeping your little teeth to yourself."

You hadn't even thought about biting him, you didn't even let your teeth touch him.

"Do better this time though." He says and like that he's back in your throat, what little air you'd managed to get already running out. "You know how I feel about you giving up on yourself like that, pup." He says, watching your teary eyes widen in distress. "It always makes me so sad when you don't trust me to take care of you."

You gurgle an apology and he laughs, it's a tired but real one and for a moment you forget about needing air.

"Aw, I forgive you, baby. It's not easy being a dumb puppy needing Daddy to think for you all the time, is it?"

You want to shake your head but know he'd take it as you giving up again, so you give your best nod instead.

"You poor thing." He chuckles, feeling your throat squeezing him as it desperately searches for air. "Keep your eyes open, you know I love to see you go down for me."

You try so hard but the black dots closing in make it difficult and only when you start to go limp does Yunho start pulling back.

He fucks your throat with steady thrusts, fire running through his veins at how you suck in desperate little breaths around him every time he pulls back.

You're all the way down now. Your eyes are empty and your body is barely functioning, all from a little breath play and some choice words.

Every now and then he stays down in your throat to feel you desperately squeeze him, taking you to the edge of consciousness where he can see your eyes flutter shut, and only then does he pull back, slapping you as he does to shock you back into your body again.

He keeps talking to you the whole way through, praising you for going dumb, for giving him control, for loving him so much.

You do finally pass out when he comes down your throat. He knows he shouldn't have taken you that far tonight, but you felt so good milking him and swallowing around him that he lost himself.

He picks you up off the floor, undoes his belt and carries you into the bedroom. You're a an absolute mess, and he cleans you up before he puts you on your side, before he quickly undresses and lies down behind you.

He can't stop himself from taking your plug out and burying himself in your ass, knowing he’s going to need to fuck you when you come to so he might as well be nice and stretch you out now to make it easier.

He wraps himself around you, locking you into place against him, knowing you're going to fight when you come out of it. But he knows as soon as you feel him moving in your little hole, you're going to thank him for it.

You're such a well-behaved puppy after all.

Prologue Part 3 Prologue Part 5

Taglist

@imeverycliche  @joonie-joon  @kathng555  @sunnysidesins  @hum4n-e4ter  @tournesol155  @thewinter-eden @mrsminseochoi @princessbabybootie2 @gooddaykate @sancerely-yours

[sancerely-yours]

You gurgle an apology and he laughs, it's a tired but real one and for a moment you forget about needing air.

despite the fear, despite the panic, at the sound of his real laugh? proof that he’s /pleased/ with her? forget how scary and mean he’s being omg her sheer relief, like it’s /worth it/ gagging and choking and suffocating over! forget AIR when she’s done /good/, made him happy, made him proud, /he’s/ her air in that moment 😭 he tells her as much, she doesn’t need air, she just needs to listen and obey! i swear the voice you give him is so intense yet soft somehow, because he knows he’s about to be rough, about to take his stress out on her whether she wants it or not, but he still coaxes like he cares to spare her the extra pain and discomfort of punishment (would she even register it, with how far she’s /shoved/ under? with how she’s passed out?) is it weird to confess that even though he’s clearly the villain of this story, like we’ve known he’s toxic from the start, he hasn’t been as terrifying as in this chapter? something about how matter of fact he is telling her he’s about to use her and she best let him? how he physically traps her between him and the wall? the sense of actual danger and how he deadass /stares/ instead of immediately withdrawing at her signal? (but then… how he wraps himself around her when all’s said and done, because at the end of the day, he knows her well enough to anticipate the fight and flail to come? so he holds her down and keeps her secure, and it’s in no way an apology nor gratitude, it’s entirely for his continued pleasure, but again! that warped sense of having someone take all her fear and panic from her! to ground and protect her!! yeah, yeah am so totally normal about them)

[janeways-coffees]

Best one shot I've ever read lmao

[janeways-coffees]

(By the excellent @motleyfam )

[janeways-coffees]

Holy shit

[alexseanchai]

[image 1: AO3 chapter note that reads, "So as we all know from math class, '5/5' is just a fancy way of saying '1', meaning this story is most definitely still a oneshot 😌". image 2: AO3 chapter note that reads, "The funny thing about fractions is that, mathematically speaking, there is no difference between 5/5 and 6/6 (except for my sanity)".]

[ramadiiiisme]

How Did We Get Here? - Prologue Part 3 (Yunho/fem!reader)

Pairing: Jeong Yunho/reader

Word count: 1,3k

Genre: Smut, angst, toxic relationship

Summary: Looking back, you can see it, how he slowly got you to your limits and pushed you over. But in the moment, he was just Yunho.

Contains: Toxic dom!Yunho, humiliation, degradation, begging, butt plug, inspection, painal, sadism/masochism, not safe sane and consensual, extremely dubious consent bordering non-consent, Daddy and puppy as titles, manipulation, assumed CNC but is it though?

A/N: I have nothing to add about this man, other than the fact I'm feral for him and he needs to take responsibility! This one is for my beloved beta and bestie @gooddaykate and the number one toxic Yunho enjoyer @sancerely-yours!

Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

Prologue Part 2 Prologue Part 4

"Yunho, I don't have time for this." You say as your boyfriend pushes you down on the counter and holds you there.  

"You agreed to the rules, pup. You'll make time."

"I'm serious!" You try to wiggle out of his hold but the way he's pushing you down by the back of your neck makes it difficult, and you claw at his hands as he pins you to the counter.

"Stay still." He growls, momentarily releasing your neck to lock your wrists in your cuffs behind your back, before pushing you back down. "Do you really want me to punish you again?"  

You'd made yourself come last night while he was out with his friends and he'd paddled your ass so hard, sitting is going to be hell today.  

You stop resisting him, but you're nowhere near relaxed, earning yourself a sharp smack that makes your knees buckle and tears well up in your eyes.  

"If you just did as you're told, I wouldn't have to do this, pup, you know that." He sighs but you don't apologize like you usually do. "You're being bad right now, puppy, and you know how I feel about badly behaved mutts."

The shiver of fear that runs through you has your legs shifting open for him as you force yourself to relax, tears now running freely down your face.  

"I'm sorry, Daddy." You whisper, your ass hurting too much to be able to handle another punishment, and the hand that comes to knead your bruised cheek has you sobbing.  

"You should be." Yunho says, watching you fight the need to pull away again, giving your stinging flesh an extra firm squeeze to make you whimper. "I taught you better than this."  

"I'm going to be late for work." You continue to whisper, flinching when he rips your panties off to reveal the shameful wetness between your legs, and the base of your plug.

"I don't care. You’ll make time." He says, pulling down his sweats and coats himself in your arousal. "You always fight it and yet you always get so wet when I make you submit to me. Doesn't that say something about you, pup? That you actually like it?"  

"I don't." You whimper as he kicks your legs more open, only to panic when he starts pulling on the plug. "Wait, no, no, Yunho, I don't want that!"  

"Hush, puppy. You've known it was coming, if you hadn't been such a bitch this morning, I would have let you have your first time on the bed, but you made your decision."  

"No, Yunho please, please don't!" You cry, pulling on your restraints as he lines himself up and slowly pushes inside your virgin hole.

"You have the power to stop it, puppy. Why aren't you using it?" He moans as he slowly but surely opens you up on his cock, as your insides burn and your pussy drips onto the floor.  

You don't know. Your head's a fucking mess. You plead and beg with him to stop, and yet the safeword for emergencies lingers on the edge of your mind and you don't reach for it.

He would stop. You know he would. He's never not listened before. So why aren't you saying it?  

"I think you want this, puppy." Yunho says about halfway in, rocking back and forth for a few moments to help you relax around him. "I think you like it when I decide what's best for you. Why else would you let me do this to you?"  

You don't have an answer.  

Before Yunho you had never even though of putting anything in your butt, and especially no kind of edge play, and now you're bent over the kitchen counter in your work clothes, with your skirt pushed up above your hips, hands locked behind your back and your boyfriend's massive cock halfway up your ass.  

"Y-Yunho, please." You beg when he continues pushing, slowly filling you until he has you speared on him, lodged so deep inside you can almost feel him in your throat.  

"That's not my name, puppy." He says, swatting your ass and making you yelp like the puppy you are. "What's the name of your owner? I know you know this even when you're cock drunk. I’ve drilled it into you enough times."  

"Daddy..." You whisper and you whimper when you're rewarded with his hand between your legs.  

"That's it, good puppy. I knew she was in there somewhere. I'm still upset at your behavior so I'm not going to help you today."  

Your hips start moving on their own at his words, the pressure on your clit is too light but it's something as you hump his hand while incidentally fucking yourself on his cock in your attempt to soothe yourself.  

"There you go, good puppy." He grunts, squeezing the back of your neck to make you whimper again. "You're taking me so well, I knew you could do it. I told you you could but you keep doubting me, don't you, puppy?"  

"Yes, Daddy." You regurgitate the answer you know he wants, your mind turning blissfully empty from it all. "I'm sorry, Daddy."  

"It's okay, I forgive you, pup." The hand at your neck softens, and you whimper happily at the first sign of softness from him. "You just have to do your best to let go of those silly ideas that you can't do something just because you're scared. And Daddy will always be here to help you."  

"T-Thank you, Daddy." You whimper, grinding against his hand, feeling the pleasure slowly start to build deep in your belly. "Feels good."

"I know it does, that's why I've been helping you get to this point. It's so different from being stuffed with a toy or a plug, isn't it?"  

"Daddy..."  

"What is it, baby? What does my puppy need?"

"More," You mumble, squeezing around him so sweetly. "Need more, Daddy."   

"You need your Daddy to fuck your cute little ass, do you? You won't whine and bitch about it being too much if I do?" He says, cruelly removing his hand, leaving you nothing to hump to take the pain away.  

"No, Daddy, I promise! Please, I need it!" You sound so frantic, Yunho almost comes on the spot, but he gives you his hand back and tightens the hold on your neck.  

"Better keep that fucking promise." He growls and pulls almost all the way out before he slams back inside, knocking the air out of your lungs as he starts fucking you hard.  

He shows you no mercy even when you do break your promise, only presses harder against your clit to feel you desperately try to get some friction as he pounds your insides the way you begged him too.   

You're so fucking tight and warm, a perfect fit him and as he's getting close, he gives you the mercy of rubbing your clit to make you squeeze him even tighter.   

He makes you beg him to come, dragging it out longer than usual to make sure you're completely out of your mind before he grants you permission, letting you milk him as he shoots his load deep inside your ass for the first time.  

He keeps you there against the kitchen counter until he softens enough to slip out and then promptly plugs you back up, trapping his cum inside you, before he even thinks about letting you up.   

He straightens your skirt, undoes the restraints and checks the blood flow of your wrists before he finally pulls you into his arms.

You're crying like a baby, sobbing into his chest and you nod near hysterically when he asks if you'd like him to call in sick for you at work.  

He carries you into the bathroom where he undresses you and gets you in the shower before getting on his knees and eating you out for being such a good puppy for him.  

You don't remember your own name by the time he gets you back into bed, much less that big presentation at work you've been working at for the past two weeks.  

There is only Yunho, and Yunho is everything.

Prologue Part 2 Prologue Part 4

Taglist

@imeverycliche  @joonie-joon  @kathng555  @sunnysidesins  @hum4n-e4ter  @tournesol155  @thewinter-eden @mrsminseochoi @princessbabybootie2 @gooddaykate @sancerely-yours

[sancerely-yours]

"I think you like it when I decide what's best for you. Why else would you let me do this to you?"

how did you know, i am absolutely doing zoomies! no joke had to physically get up and take a lap before i spontaneously combust!! am honestly so hyped i can’t sleep LOL i think you really sent my head somewhere because i’ve just been combing through these, obsessed!! can’t believe you dropped a /triple/ update, can’t believe you did THAT!! yh manipulating her body with the counter and his hand so she fucks /herself/ on him, like see? you /do/ want it, didn’t i tell you, i /know/ you! diabolical that he even flips how she /begs/ switching her from defiance to desperation, and that ending? omg he did it on purpose, didn’t he, of all days to pounce, of all days for her training to end, he chooses a Big Presentation Day for her?? (it’s her. she’s the presentation. the culmination of his time and efforts!) i mean. of course he did, can’t have his poor puppy stressed, right? that must be why she’s all snappy, what’s best is staying home (with him!) and letting him take care of her, why work herself so hard, right? no thoughts head empty

There is only Yunho, and Yunho is everything.

[ramadiiiisme]

I love us both doing zoomies about this series 🤣🤣

Seriously I needed to know what you thought of it so decided fuck it, I'll drop it now! No way I was waiting two weeks to hear your thought about it!

I can't even tell you how much I love him using her way to soothe herself against her. Like oh, puppy wants to hump? Well go ahead but you're going to be taking what you said you didn't want so does that mean you actually want it?

Them previously playing around with the thought of CNC and edge play has definitely gotten her wires crossed because it's starting to go downhill for her now!

Oh he absolutely did it on purpose! She has something important at work that if it goes well might lead to a promotion which means her priorities shifting even more than they have during the last two weeks. She was so concerned about her job that she forgot about being his mindless puppy, probably even brushing him off a couple of times cause she was stressed and busy, and that's a no no.

So him starting it as an inspection because she has agreed to free use, just the inspections, to then make it into him fucking her ass for the first time once she's stopped fighting him? Evil 🤤

His control issues are definitely starting to bleed over into her real life now and I'm not sure if this is what makes her leave or not but I think we'll be finding out soon!

Yes! I was really proud of that line 🤣

Right though?! To trust someone so much to let them take you there, knowing that they'll protect you from everything after they've broken you down completely.

Yes! I needed him to realize that this was a massive push and he needs to make the aftercare the best there is so there are no lingering bad feelings about how it went down (as if that's how it works). But also playing with her mind like he can't be bad, he was so selfless when he went down on me, didn't even ask me to do anything for him (even though she's still plugged and it's technically another lesson). It IS love! and like she said on the main story, he was never as soft as when he did aftercare ❤️ god I love this fucked up man!

Oh I love that mix for sure! I really do think the kink itself started as a way for him to make someone soft around the edges for him, to find a sure fire way for them to defer to him, and he just happened to like the kink as well. I do think puppy here is the first person he's ever felt this way about though, the first one to bring out the obsession in him.

Cause I really do think he loves her in his own fucked up way, he just sees her differently than she sees herself and he's helping her become what he knows she can be, even if she doesn't want it for herself. Cause isn't a partner supposed to make you better?

[sancerely-yours]

…i am WEAK because wait. wait! WAIT!! as toxic as he already is on his own? her being the first one to bring out this obsessive love in him frames them as almost? mutually destructive?? that doesn’t sound quite right with the power imbalance and her dubious consent but something about this being a cycle of Bad /compounding/ itself, like he loves her so he wants to train her better (to keep! her!!) all while she brings out the worst in him, especially when she’s disobedient (read: sane! reasonable! critical)? then again! if a partner is supposed to make you better! she makes him want to be a better /owner/ for her, doesn’t she? after all, it’s never happened before! he just wants what’s best for her!! by being even firmer when she resists, asserting even more control over her, strengthening? reinforcing? his need to possess her /entirely/ because (she doesn’t need anyone except him! he’s loyal, isn’t he?) THAT’S! LOVE! helping her become what he knows she can be, because it’s not /her/ failure at stake, it’s /his/! failing to train her means /losing/ her because he doesn’t break her ENOUGH doesn’t break her IRREPARABLY doesn’t have her completely, helplessly dependent and starving for his love the way he feeds off HER!! (or well, at least her submission ha) …except his love is poison and i’m talking in circles but THAT’S! LOVE! he makes me sick and i’m all for it

no but seriously, what IS that final straw that makes her walk away because he’s pushed her so! far! like how can he get worse 👀 your latest update! I’M!!

[fadedtoneverland]

d&g’s prince | c.sn

❤︎ synopsis — your boyfriend is away at milan for another fashion show. you’re lowkey (highkey) missing him very much, until he facetimes you to check in on you… wearing something a little too sexy

pairing: choi san x fem!reader

theme: fluff ✿ , suggestive ❤︎, slight crack ✦ (if you squint)

a/n: seeing the clips of him circling around online in this outfit …. i went a lil’ too crazy … i didn’t want to post another smut fanfic of san, so i just went for the suggestive route

cw: reader makes lots of sex jokes cuz they’re feral. implied sex at the ending. mostly teasing and shi

you never knew true boredom and desperation.

well, at least not ‘till this week.

your absolutely stunning, gorgeous, panty-dropping enigma of a man, choi san, had left your poor self all alone in your apartment. not intentionally, of course. being a hot idol that’s constantly in the spotlight, was a busy lifestyle that you completely understood.

and san just so happened to get invited to one of dolce & gabbana’s latest fashion week shows, a brand that san has modeled for numerous times.

he was over the moon, absolutely beaming about going to milan again. you were happy for him too. only problem is, he couldn’t take you with him. san being san, wouldn’t stop whining about how he couldn’t take his “absolute unit of a partner” with him, but you reassured him everything would be fine back home in seoul, and you’d regularly text.

even then, sending off san with kisses and goodbyes at the airport didn’t stop you from missing him. because, he’s choi san. who wouldn’t miss their boyfriend if he was choi san.

so now here you were, curled up in your plush, king sized bed underneath the duvet. a jellycat goose tucked underneath your chin while you scrolled through your texts with san.

sannie <3 [12:03am]: baby

sannie <3 [12:03am]: are u up ??

sannie <3 [12:03am]: just finished a pop live

sannie <3 [12:04am]: come facetime me i wanna say hiiii :33

sannie <3 [12:05am]: do it >:((

you couldn’t hold back your smile. oh san, that lovable little dork. despite being the hottest person to literally grace god’s green earth, he was still a clingy goofball of a man.

your fingers glides across your screen as you typed back

y/n [12:07am]: omg i will

y/n [12:08am]: so needy, ur lucky ur cute

sannie <3 [12:10am]: ik i am <3

sannie <3 [12:11am]: open ur laptop, baby. i’ll be on soon

and you did as you were told, getting comfy underneath your duvet while pulling out your sticker-infested laptop. snuggled in san’s favorite hoodie that had a faint scent of his sandalwood cologne, you eagerly opened the screen and clicked on the bright green facetime icon, waiting for him to call you up.

you were incredibly giddy too, trying to act like you weren’t delusional and the most sane person on planet earth. and well- you weren’t really being delusional, considering that you were dating the choi san himself.

the incoming call icon popped up on your screen, and you quickly shifted to sit up while hovering your cursor over the green button, clicking it, and watching as the screen expanded to reveal your stunning boyfriend.

“hi, baby!” san called out, waving to you. his voice smooth as honey. ugh, you could listen to him forever, especially when he sounds so happy.

“my man,” you sighed dreamily while giving him a little finger wave, resting your cheek on your palm. “i seriously felt like i was gonna die if i went another day without hearing your voice.”

san laughed, the sound light and teasing. “oh, really? and you’re calling me needy? can’t even go a week without hearing my angelic voice, y/n.”

“yeah? well—“ you were about to retort wittily to his teasing, but the grainy web camera on san’s end cleared up a bit more, showing off a bit more details of the black outfit he was wearing. the sight made you effectively stop talking, which san took notice of.

“baby?” san called out, smirk faltering a bit from concern. “you alright—?”

“stand up.” you suddenly said.

your boyfriend blinked.

“i- wha—“

“i said stand up, choi san,” you interrupted firmly. “show me what kind of slutty fit you have on.”

san blinked once. then twice. he did a little head shake before chuckling, slowly standing up from his swivel chair and adhering to your hasty demands.

“whatever you want, angel.” san sang teasingly, pushing the chair away from his desk and stepping back to give you a tantalizing view of the outfit. the camera cut out his face, and the desk cropped up to his thighs, not showing you the full body, but showing just enough details to make you go feral.

san always looked good in black, made his features pop more, and just dripped him out in sin and scandal. but your eyes roved hungrily over the expanse of his muscles that were very much defined by his shirt.

his top, thin cotton fabric in the form of the sexiest blouse you’ve seen him wear. the middle part dipped down just enough to reveal a flirty little chest window for your lucky eyes. some black stringed ribbon was tied together nearly at the front of his shirt, creating a more sinful feel, knowing he can just untie those strings and flash you with his glorious tits at any given moment.

and the jeans? tight, leather, and fucking whorish. even when he did a little spin in front of the web cam to give you the whole galore of his outfit, you couldn’t stop thinking about how those jeans fitted perfectly along his hips and curve of his ass.

you were destroyed completely, reduced to nothing but a horny little dog who felt like they were gonna howl at the moon any second. and san seemed to notice, due to your lack of speaking after he showed off his stripper fit.

“uhh… y/n?” san called out while leaning down so his face was in view of the webcam. “are you okay?”

a beat of silence. one breath. then two.

and…

“you little shit.” you suddenly blurted out.

san was baffled. “… huh???”

“who told you that you could dress up like a hooker??”

silence.

then san shook his head, blinking furiously. “i— w-what?!”

your devastatingly hot boyfriend practically lurched himself back in the rolling chair, completely bewildered by your bold, yet astronomically down bad statement for him. meanwhile, you just stared at the camera, completely serious.

“babe, this is so unfair. you can’t dress up looking like a full-course meal and not expect me to go feral,” you said, practically whining with how devastated you were. “and you’re in milan too? ugh, even worse. who’s gonna suck your dick ‘till the skin falls off now??”

san choked on his own saliva. “until the skin falls off—?! baby- it’s just a shirt!!”

“yeah, a shirt that’s making my pussy way too wet. there’s a whole damn tsunami down there.”

“princess—“

“if i was a man i’d be popping the biggest boner right now, i’m just saying.”

san was crying with laughter. laughter from both disbelief and amusement. he’s heard you say all sorts of diabolical stuff regarding many things, but never to this level of down bad. maybe this was your glorious way of reminding him who gives him the best blowjobs while he’s gone.

“baby— honey—“ san laughed, rubbing the tears of joy out of his eyes. “you- you can’t just say stuff like that! it hasn’t even been that long since i left korea.”

you scoffed, and turned your head dramatically away from the virtual image of your boyfriend. “yeah, but it’s been long enough since i last saw you, and you have the audacity to come on here and flash me??”

san blinked. again.

“flash you???”

“uh, yeah? i’m getting the whole front row view of your twelve inch dick through those slutty pants, babe.”

“i— twelve inches!?”

“god created men and sent you as an apology, baby. you’re the whole package and i’m about to unwrap your boxers like one. i’ve gone too long without your glorious presence.”

san’s jaw was practically on the floor with that one, and you looked unfazed. composed, cool, collected, despite the sheer diabolical-ness of your filthy words.

remind him why you were his girlfriend again?

“okay, okay. if you really want to come see me, you can catch the closest flight to milan,” san said, leaning closer to the screen, flashing those cheeky dimples, “but it won’t be any cake walk trying to get alone time with me, baby.”

“fine by me,” you declared, smirking back at him. “i can be stealthy.”

san raised an eyebrow, amused. “i doubt it.”

“are you saying you don’t trust me?” you retort teasingly.

“no~ im just stating the facts, the fact that your chances of sneaking past all the guards and paparazzi and staff to be with yours truly is slim.”

“slim but never zero, baby. come on, i’ve done this plenty of times during tours. i can do it again for fashion week~”

and you just had to pull out those sparkly, mischievous eyes that you know san loves so much. god, he was a weak man when it came to you. but who could blame him? he was also dying to have you near him soon, especially with how busy the d&g fashion week as gotten him.

“i better see you here soon then, baby,” san said, grinning ear-to-ear while leaning back. “and wear an outfit that’s easy to rip off.”

you smiled devilishly, knowing you’ve won.

“already looking for tickets to milan, prince.”

▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆

fadedtoneverland © 2025 | do not steal, modify or repost ANY of my work.

[sancerely-yours]

god created men and sent you as an apology, baby.

am cackling because she is right and she knows it! every point! valid!! every indignation! justified!! the /audacity/ of him to act like nothing’s wrong with his outfit (though the cheeky dimples say otherwise!)

[themidnightobsession]

Exactly Like This

Summary: Yeosang has planned the perfect proposal for months. Yet every time the moment arrives, something tells him to wait.

The ring had been in Yeosang’s pocket for nearly six hours. By now, he was convinced it had somehow doubled in weight.

Every time he moved in his chair, he could feel the small velvet box pressing against the inside of his jacket, serving as a constant reminder that tonight was supposed to be the night.

Months.

He had spent months planning this. He had secretly spoken to your parents. Asked the members for advice, ignored San’s suggestion of proposing on stage because absolutely not.

Listened to Hongjoong explain that there was no such thing as a perfect proposal. Listened to Wooyoung insist that there absolutely was.

Changed restaurants three times.

Bought flowers. Changed the flowers. Bought different flowers.

Practised what he wanted to say in front of the bathroom mirror until even he was tired of hearing himself.

Everything was ready it seemed like, except for him.

“You’ve been staring at the menu for five minutes.” Your voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“What?”

“The menu.”

“Oh.”

“You already ordered.”

“I did?”

“You did.” You laughed as he looked down. There was indeed a menu in front of him.

“Oh…”

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You seem nervous.”

“I am not nervous.”

“You’ve knocked your fork onto the floor twice.”

“…”

“And you’ve apologised to the waiter for absolutely nothing.”

“I’m just tired.” Yeosang rubbed the back of his neck.

“You’ve never apologised because someone else walked into you before.”

“…Maybe I’m very tired.”

You smiled, reaching across the table to gently squeeze his hand.

“We don’t have to stay long if you’re exhausted.”

No.

It was supposed to happen here.

The candlelight.

The music.

The flowers.

The dessert.

Everything had been planned perfectly. He glanced around the restaurant. Every table suddenly felt too close.

Too many people. Too much noise.

Someone would notice. Someone would film. Someone would clap.

The thought alone made him want to disappear under the table.

Not here. Not like this.

He quietly closed the ring box inside his pocket.

“Should we head home after dessert?”

“Of course.” You nodded.

—

The evening air was cold, it made your fingers instinctively find his for warmth.

You walked through the quiet streets without much thought, passing cafés that had already closed and little shops.

This…

This was better.

Much better.

No audience.

No pressure.

Just the two of you.

He slowed as you reached the small bridge overlooking the river. You leaned against the railing, looking at the reflections dancing across the water.

“It’s beautiful.”

He smiled.

“It is.”

This was it.

He could do it now. He should do it now. 

His hand slipped into his coat pocket. His fingers wrapped around the ring box.

He took a breath. You turned towards him.

“What are you smiling at?”

“You.”

“You’ve been looking at me like that all evening.”

“…Have I?”

“Mhm.”

“Is it obvious?”

“A little.”

You stepped closer and adjusted the slightly crooked collar of his coat. Your fingers brushed his neck.

“You always forget this.”

His thoughts vanished completely.

You looked so focused, so gentle and so wonderfully you.

He couldn’t interrupt you. Not while you were standing this close. Not while you were smiling like that. His hand slowly left his pocket.

“…Thank you.”

You slipped your hand into his.

“Ready to go home?”

“…Yeah.”

—

When the front door closed behind you, both of you sighed in relief.

“Shoes.”

Yeosang pointed, you laughed.

“I know.”

Five minutes later the elegant clothes had disappeared. His carefully ironed shirt had been exchanged for an oversized hoodie. You had stolen one of his old T-shirts that nearly reached your knees, fluffy socks, your hair loosely tied back after removing your makeup.

The expensive dinner felt strangely distant already. You carried two mugs of hot chocolate into the living room.

“I put extra marshmallows in yours.”

“Thank you.”

“You deserve them.”

“Oh?”

“You looked stressed today.”

“I wasn’t stressed.”

“You absolutely were.”

He smiled into the cup. Maybe he hadn’t hidden it as well as he’d hoped. The two of you settled beneath the blanket on the sofa. Neither of you were really watching the TV.

You rested your head against his shoulder with a content little sigh.

“I love days like this.”

“What kind?”

“This.” You gestured vaguely around the room. “No makeup. No fancy clothes. No plans. No expectations. Just us. I know people think romantic moments have to be all dressed up. But honestly…” You snuggled a little closer. “This is my favourite version of us.”

Yeosang stared at you. Your fluffy socks. His oversized shirt. The mug in your hands. Your sleepy expression. The blanket tangled around your legs.

You looked… Home.

Without thinking, he set his mug onto the coffee table. He reached into the pocket of the hoodie he’d hurriedly changed into earlier.

“What are you looking for?”

“I…” His heart began racing. “…Actually…”

You watched as he pulled out the little velvet box.

Your eyes widened, Yeosang blinked.

“Oh.”

He hadn’t meant… This wasn’t… There was no speech.

No flowers.

No perfect lighting.

No carefully rehearsed words.

He looked at the box, then at you.

“I… wasn’t planning to do this right now.”

“You weren’t?”

“I’ve tried twice already.”

“You what?”

“I almost asked at dinner.” Your mouth fell open. “And again during our walk.”

“You did?”

“I couldn’t. It never felt right.”

You stared at him in complete disbelief.

“You’ve had that ring all evening?”

“…Yes.”

“You idiot.”

“I know.”

You laughed so hard you had to wipe tears from your eyes.

“I was wondering why you were acting so strange.”

“I thought I was being subtle.”

“You were terrible.”

“I know. But…”

He moved until he was kneeling on the rug in front of you.

“I think I understand now.”

You looked down at him.

“There wasn’t a perfect place. There wasn’t a perfect time. There was just…” His eyes met yours. “…you. Looking exactly like the woman I want to spend every ordinary evening with.”

Your eyes immediately filled with tears. He opened the box.

The ring caught the glow of the lamp.

“I don’t want the best day of our lives to be because everything was perfect.” His voice became quieter. “I want it to be because it’s with you.”

A tear rolled down your cheek.

“So… this is definitely not the speech I practised.”

You giggled through your tears.

“I had a feeling.”

“…Will you marry me?”

You didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, you slid off the sofa and wrapped both arms tightly around him, nearly knocking him backwards onto the rug. He laughed against your shoulder.

“Yes.” You pulled back just enough to look at him. “Yes.” Another kiss. “Yes. A thousand times yes.”

His own eyes became glassy as he carefully slipped the ring onto your finger. It fit perfectly.

You both stared at it for a long moment.

“You know…”

You intertwined your fingers with his, admiring the ring.

“I’m really glad you didn’t ask at the restaurant.”

Yeosang smiled.

“Me too.”

You leaned your head against his once more.

“This…” You squeezed his hand. “…was perfect after all.”

[sancerely-yours]

You looked… Home.

omg the romantic in me’s kicking and screaming!! i’ve always loved the idea of home not as a place, but a person, cozy and safe! how she quiets the anxiety from the restaurant, the pressure of other people and a grand gesture hanging overhead? and puts words to his feelings without realizing? how they simply understand each other subconsciously and want each other as they are 😭

His eyes met yours. “…you. Looking exactly like the woman I want to spend every ordinary evening with.”

[hnjowlf]

✶ SAME DREAM, SAME MIND, SAME NIGHT

PAIRING: reader x yeosang

CONTAINS: fluff, established relationship, wedding themed

SUMMARY: yeosang invited you to be his plus one for his sister's wedding, yet the romantic atmosphere makes him imagine a future of marrying you

AUTHOR’S NOTES: omg sorry for being so ia lately, been too lazy to write these days... anyways enjoy <33

MASTERLIST

An invitation suddenly slipped into his mailbox on a quiet afternoon, a cream envelope sealed with a gold stamp, the kind of invitation that hinted at something meaningful even before it was opened. Yeosang had been staring at the envelope longer than necessary. As it turned out, it was his sister’s wedding invitation. 

You found him sitting on the couch, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over the embossed letters of his sister’s name and her soon-to-be husband’s. “What’s that?” you asked him. 

“My sister’s getting married next week,” he said, looking up at you. There was a quiet thrill in his tone.

You grinned, “That’s huge! You must be really happy.”

He nodded–too quickly, unable to hide his excitement. “I was wondering if you’d come with me? As my plus one.” 

You smiled, you didn’t even need a second to think about it. “Of course, I want to be there with you.” 

The day of the wedding arrived faster than expected. Somehow, everything felt surreal when you’re standing next to him. Soft music floated through the air, blending with murmurs and light laughter from the guests. His attention moved around the room, but every so often, his attention would shift to you. 

“You keep looking at me,” you teased lightly while tilting your head. “Is there something on my face, or are you just admiring me?”

He let out a quiet sigh, “Maybe both?” 

You laughed, “Wow, you’re unbelievable.”

He smiled at the sound of your laughter, “and yet you still came with me,” he replied, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, making you giggle at the sudden gesture.

He led you to the banquet chairs, and he sat close next to you. His hand found yours naturally, fingers intertwining while he greeted a few of his cousins. 

When the ceremony began, the atmosphere shifted into something more intimate. As his sister walked in, with a glow of happiness on her face, Yeosang’s expression softened, seeing his older sister getting married to the person she loves. 

“She looks so beautiful,” you whispered to him softly, your eyes fixed on the bride. 

For a moment, his gaze almost unconsciously drifted toward you, “I know.” In that moment, his mind quietly wandered to you; he wasn’t seeing his older sister in the wedding gown anymore, he was seeing you.

The reception felt more alive, filled with laughter and the sound of clinking glasses as slow, gentle music filled the space. You sat beside him at your table, leaning close to hear each other over the noise. Still, you noticed how his attention kept drifting, how his eyes lingered on the dance floor where couples swayed to the rhythm together. 

“You’re definitely zoning out right now,” you said, lightly nudging his arm. 

He blinked, resurfacing to you. “Is it that obvious?”

“A little,” you chuckled, “So what’s been on your mind lately? You look like you’ve been somewhere else all night.”

His gaze dropped briefly to his hands, figedting, “I was thinking about something,” he admitted. 

In his mind, everything suddenly shifted again. The soft and slow music started to fade into the background. 

And then, he saw you. 

You were standing at the end of the aisle, dressed in a white gown, looking at him the same way you did when you first met him. Your smile was soft, and when your eyes met his, it felt like it was meant to be. 

The thought came naturally, and he quickly realized he wanted that, not now, but someday, with you. 

“Um, hello?” You waved your hand in front of his face. “You’re doing that face again,” you said, your voice pulling him back to reality as you tilted your head. “You know the kind of face when you’re too deep in thoughts.”

Yeosang exhaled softly, rubbing the back of his neck, “Sorry.” 

You leaned closer to him, “So tell me, what’s going on in that head of yours?”

He hesitated for a second, and he debated with himself whether to say it or not. “It's just… a little embarrassing.” 

“I promise I won’t judge,” you replied.

He let out a quiet breath, “I was thinking about what it would be like if… one day you were the one walking down the aisle.” 

There was a brief silence. Not because you didn’t know what to say, but because of how genuine he sounded. 

“Yeosang,” you said with a gentle tone. “That’s not embarrassing.” 

“I really kind of is,” he laughed quietly. “I mean, we’re at my sister’s wedding, and I’m already thinking about–”

“Us?” you finished.

He nodded, “Yeah. Us.”

You squeezed his hand gently as a consolation, your thumb slowly caressing over his. “I think I’d really look forward to that moment. Whenever it happens,” your voice is light but sincere. “But, if that day ever happens, you better not stand there staring at me like this.”

He laughed, warm and quiet. “I won’t. I’ll be focused on you.”

You gasped dramatically, “You’re definitely going to cry.”

“Hey!” he protested. “It's a big moment. I’m allowed to cry.”

“Okay, fair enough,” you conceded, laughing. 

As the music shifted into something slower, couples began to move around toward the dance floor. Yeosang stood, offering his hand to you, “Dance with me?” he asked, his voice quieter now. 

You placed your hand in his, letting him pull you up naturally. He drew you closer, settling his hands on your waist as you wrapped your arms around his neck. 

“You know,” his voice low enough only you could hear, “I meant what I said.”

“What? About you crying?” you teased.

He shook his head, smiling. “About wanting that someday.”

Your expression began to soften, “Me too,” you admitted quietly.

The future didn't seem far off at all as you swayed together under the cozy lights, surrounded by music and laughing. It seemed to be softly awaiting the two of you.

CURATED BY @hnjowlf

[sancerely-yours]

Your smile was soft, and when your eyes met his, it felt like it was meant to be. 

ys getting spellbound at the wedding, envisioning this in their future? so precious how he’s just struck by the Feels, that’s a keeper right there! he is most definitely allowed to cry when the time comes lol would be right there with him