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@sunkisskim
── yeah, I heard you get drunk every weekend, no I heard you and your friends have been geekin' out, yeah. don't freak them out, the weed is loud, yeah
── find me on the deep end, I don't need friends I've been swimmin', swimmin', I got steep ends. I don't really care about your life if you ain't talking money get the fuck away, yeah
y'all ever wonder how many people would notice if you were to just disappear?
deciding one day that you want to build a life for yourself is so scary. like damn I really want to live… I’m new to this. where do I even begin
I fear I've done lost my mind...
hello everyone, I know this isn't my normal kind of post but I'm trying to share this as far as I can go, but this is our 9-week-old puppy, sky, and she has just been diagnosed with parvo. this news has devastated our family, but we swore we would fight like hell to make sure that she pulls through. however, the emergency vet bill has taken most of our funds, and we could use the help to gather supplies for her throughout these next few crucial weeks, things like pedialyte, puppy pads, chicken-flavored baby food, and drinking water! we just want the best for her, so we can see to it that she gets that love and care she needs and deserves during these next few rough weeks ahead of us. thank you so much for taking your time and reading this, anything helps, even if it's just five dollars!!
you can help me out by sharing my gofundme, even reblogging this post works, donate money or if you would like to donate just the supplies, reach out to me and we can discuss!! literally anything and everything helps, thank you all so much for your time 🖤
Hello everyone, this is our 9-week-old puppy, Sky, and she has just been diagnosed with … Kayla Green needs your support for Support Sky’s F
CLOCKWORK °˖➴ jwy
[ex-husband!wooyo x ex-wife!reader] 𓈒𓏸.°• part two to wifey | smut minors dni 18+, raw p in v, creampies, breeding, sweet talk, dirty talk, mommy/daddy, nothing too crazy i turned up the plot this time | 9.7k there are some special appearances in this from @chimivx 's friends ᢉ𐭩 if you're curious about yunho's wife n kids, read tcmc ‼️ if you wanna know everything about wooyoung and aurora, how yunho and aurora came to be, if you're curious about the lore at all, pls start here :) thank you plum for letting me write a story from your story, i love your people very very very much, almost as much as i love u u terrifying mastermind genius ₊˚⊹♡
Like fucking clockwork.
You close the door to Kyungmin’s room quietly, hearing the soft noise of the latch clicking into place, face scrunching together, silently praying that you don’t hear his small voice call you back inside.
At the same time, Wooyoung’s key turns in your front door, heavy, deep brown wood groaning open. On silent feet he ushers himself inside, closing the door quietly behind him, lips tucked between his teeth to enforce the silence.
From the top of the staircase, you see him dressed in oversized charcoal at the bottom, kicking his sneakers off his feet while throwing his phone, wallet and keys on the entryway table. Skipping down the stairs, you forgo greeting him, whispering, “Be quiet, he just went down.”
“He’s eight,” Wooyoung whispers back, “you still tuck him in?”
“He begs me to,” your brows knit together, “he doesn’t beg you?”
“No,” his lips spread in a grin, “he’s a big boy at my house.”
You scoff, “Shut up, he’ll always be my baby.” Leading him into the living room, you keep your voice low, louder than a whisper, “We have to be quiet.”
“You have to be quiet,” he corrects you, tone teasing, smirking as you lay back on the couch. The TV is on but muted, the lamp in the corner coating the living area in dusky orange even if the sun had gone to sleep hours ago.
“I am quiet,” you pout as he crawls over you, wasting no time, crouching between your parted legs, a hand falling to the back of the couch for purchase as he pecks a short kiss to your lips.
“Don’t tease tonight,” you grab hold of his hoodie, pulling him close enough for your lips to touch, “I don’t have it in me to fight for it.”
He smiles, kissing you again, parting your lips with his own, hands moving to the armrest to keep him steady as he lowers his hips into you. You gasp into his mouth at the friction, your tiny shorts doing nothing to shield you from his weight.
“Then don’t fight,” he moves to kiss your jaw, your head tilts to let him in, his breath is hot against your skin, “lay there and behave for once.”
Your hands find his neck, his cheeks, pulling him back up to kiss you deeper, head lifting off the pillow, calves hooking over the back of his thighs. He makes a grumbled noise, tongue licking into your mouth like he was searching for something, one hand falling from the armrest to tug at the hem of your hoodie, pushing it upward.
“Off.”
One word, a singular order, you sink further down the couch after pulling it off your body in a rush, throwing the pillow beneath your head to the floor, giving him space to plant his elbows above your shoulders.
“Don’t wait,” you murmur into his mouth, “I can take it.”
He hums, taking your bottom lip between his teeth before he answers, “You don’t know how to take it.”
“Then I’ll fucking learn,” your feet tug at his sweatpants, spine bending toward him, “get inside me.”
“Antsy,” he sits back on his knees, pushing his sweatpants and his briefs down in one quick motion. “Like I haven’t been fucking you right or something.”
“You haven’t been here in a week,” you argue, pushing your shorts down to your ankles, kicking them on the floor, “you haven’t been fucking me at all.”
“I had our kid for four of those days,” he pulls your thighs over his, sliding his cock through your folds, “I didn’t see you at my door after he went to bed. On his own, might I add.”
You loose a shaky breath as his tip collides with your clit, hips bucking up towards him, “Shit, I was busy, Wooyoung. What about those three days then?”
He pauses, glancing up at you, “You serious?”
“Yes?” You blink, “What were you doing? You had Friday, Saturday and Sunday.”
He laughs, lining himself up, holding his breath as he pushes inside. Your lips part in a silent scream, head tilting backwards to dig into the couch cushions, hands clawing at your own thighs for something. He stills once he’s fully seated, chest heaving, veiny forearms reaching for your ankles.
“So fuckin’ tight,” he grinds out, voice tight with restrain, pushing your knees up to your chest. “Careful what you say, wifey. Might think you want me for real.”
“Regretting,” you squeak, eyes screwed shut tight, “s’big.”
He’d laugh again if your pussy didn’t look so pretty trying to keep him in. Walls fluttering around the base of him, your clit pulsed, begging for attention already, he started a slow, deep grind of his hips, making sure he filled you up all the way with each one.
“So wet for me, mommy. Didn’t even have to touch you,” he keeps his palms splayed on your thighs, bearing his weight as he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the arch of your foot that dangles in the air.
You whimper, face scrunching in pleasure, core clenching around him, he kisses up to your ankle, grazing his teeth against your skin, your hands shoot for his wrists, his forearms, just to hold them. Forcing words out, you say, “Been waiting for this, for you.”
“A whole week,” he picks up the pace, voice leaning into condescending, “must have been so hard.”
Your breath catches, eyes rolling back, a soft moan tumbling off your tongue, “Fuck, ‘t was. It was.”
“Quiet,” he reminds you, “or I’ll stop.”
“You won’t stop,” you mutter, fingers tightening over his wrists, a challenge.
At that he stills, sitting back on his calves, leaving just the tip inside. “I won’t what?”
Jaw clenching, your hips follow him, he lays his palms over bone to keep you still. You stay like that for a moment, a game of chicken, eyes locked on his that stare at you expectantly. Obedience, silence, submission, he loves you bratty, he’s a brat himself, but when it comes to fucking you open on your couch just past nine at night, he expects you to listen.
“Fine,” you shift against the cushions, “fine, you win.”
He pulls you onto his cock by your hips without a word and you have to slap a hand over your mouth to force yourself silent. The angle, the ease in which he mounted you onto him, your eyes slammed shut, gasping out a broken sound into your palm, he fills you up perfectly, carving into you like you were built to take him and him only, it’s war to not cry out in pleasure.
“Fuck,” under his breath, low, he tells you how good you feel in one blurted word. You roll your hips against him, meeting his thrusts, curved cock dragging along the front of your walls with each grind.
“More,” you plead, grabbing for him, “kiss me.”
He crawls over you, elbows beside your ears again, pressing his lips to yours with a softness reserved for you. His hips slow, your ankles crossing over his back, pushing his hoodie up with your heels just to feel more of his skin against you.
“Yes,” you whisper, breathing the same air, bodies moving together now, “just like that, daddy.”
His forehead meets yours, a quiet noise of pleasure rumbling from his chest, “‘m not gonna last.”
You kiss him again, tongue slotting between his lips, hands tugging at his roots, body moving in the shape of his, the only thing you can hear is your breath singing in harmony and the slick sound of your bodies conjoining.
Six weeks of Wooyoung breaking you down on your couch, your kitchen counter, your living room floor, once against the wall just outside of your hallway bathroom. You don’t know what it is, you haven’t spoken any more of what it means, what comes next, the only thing you know is that you can’t stop.
“Want me to fill you up? Fuck you full?”
You’re nodding, tongue catching on his lips, delirious with pleasure, your body ached for him. Burned for him. Only him. Always him– till death do you part.
“Yes, daddy,” you whisper, voice pitched and whiny.
His hips stutter, he tucks his head into your neck to muffle his groan, fingers tightening in your hair that’s sprawled out around your head like a blanket. Losing his rhythm, his slow deep strokes turning shallow, quick– chasing a high he found so easily with you.
Your toes curl over his back, chin tipping up when you feel the warmth spread, the heaviness, the feeling was indescribable. Claimed, owned, like he was marking his territory, it made your stomach swirl with affection, enough to pick his head up by his hair and kiss him again.
Your hips rock, he whimpers. “T-too much, jagi, no.”
So warm, you glide against him, too slippery for there to be any resistance. The sound you make is small but it says everything you can’t, that you need more, you aren’t done.
“D’you wanna sit on my face?" You hold his flushed cheeks instead, doe eyes staring up into his dilated pupils, begging. He shakes his head, “Can’t fuck you again, can’t.”
“Pussy,” you smack your teeth, “are you serious?”
“I’ll make you cum in under three,” he feeds you a peck of his lips, “promise.”
“Mommy?”
Both of your heads turn toward the staircase, the small voice that couldn’t see you from the platform at the top. It takes all of a millisecond for you to push Wooyoung away from you and jump off the couch.
“Coming!” You call, grabbing your shorts from the floor. Pulling them up your thighs, clenching hard to keep Wooyoung inside, you hiss at your ex, “Don’t fucking leave, you owe me.”
“Yes, mommy,” he nods, grin amused and lazy, “duty calls.”
You run up the stairs to find your brown-haired boy standing at the top, one of his fists rubbing at his eye, his favorite Frozen pajamas already pulled up and twisted at each and every hem. Before you have a chance to speak, he asks, “Who’s here?”
“No one,” you speak quietly, softly, turning him around by his shoulders, guiding him back into his bedroom. “Come on, baby, bed time.”
Five minutes of staring at the ceiling feels like a fucking lifetime until his tiny breaths turn slower, deeper. Creeping out of his bedroom once more, closing his door even softer than you did the first time, you nearly sprint down the steps to find Wooyoung still half-clothed.
“Now what if I brought him down here?” You stand before the couch, hands on your hips.
“Why the hell would you do that?” He quips, leaning forward to grab you by the hips, pulling you back down to him. “He’s asleep?”
“Out like a light,” you throw your arms over his shoulders, taking your spot in his lap. “You promised me something.”
“Is that all I’m good for?” His brows raise and the question takes you by surprise.
Wiping the smirk off your lips, your arms lower a little, disarmed. “Sex?”
“Yeah,” he sits up a little, shifting where you sat on his lap. “We’ve been sneaking around for over a month, I haven’t pressed the date thing because you’ve never been one to break your promises and–”
“You were serious?” You push your brows up to your hairline, cutting him off. To make it clear, you repeat, “You seriously want to take me on a date.”
His head cocks to the side, “You didn’t think I was serious? Of course I want to take you out.”
“We’re divorced,” you argue, leaning back, adding space between you.
“I’m aware,” he says, as if he really means no shit. “You’re on my lap right now, I’m still dripping out of you, are you planning on fucking me after the sun goes down for the rest of our lives?”
“Not for the rest of our lives,” you shake your head a little, brows knitted together, confused.
“Oh, then until you’re over it?” He blows amusement through his nose. “We made a tiny human who’s upstairs right now and I’m suddenly disposable?”
“That’s not what I meant,” you rub your palms over your face, sucking in a deep breath. “I just thought this was, like, an agreement. I didn’t think either of us wanted anything more, I’m sorry if I misread the situation.”
“We’d have a chance to talk about it if you didn’t kick me out as soon as you came.”
“Wooyoung,” you gasp sharply, offended, “I do not do that.”
His brows raise, forgoing a verbal response. You think back on the past six weeks, remembering each and every night you’ve shoved him out of your front door as soon as he pulled his pants up, the memories flash through your mind like a medley. Your lips flatten, cheeks heating, guilt and shame forming in the pit of your belly.
“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, just above a whisper.
“You really don’t want anything more?”
He sounds wounded and your heart cracks beneath your ribs. His brows are upturned, mismatched eyes rounded out, pink lips still swollen from earlier almost pouting. You swallow, taking a second to be honest with yourself and your feelings… This works. The last six weeks have worked so effortlessly, so easily, you’ve been spending your days bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, so fulfilled you haven’t even considered what comes next. If anything comes next.
“I haven’t been this happy in awhile,” you reply honestly, “I think I don’t want to fuck anything up, our sex life wasn’t this consistent when we were still married, it’s nice.”
His fingers squeeze your hips, pulling you closer to him, a small smile forming on his full lips. “All I want to do is take you out one time, jagi. We don’t have to put any pressure on it, let’s just go out for dinner, have a few drinks and talk. It’s been a long time since we’ve just talked.”
It puts a smile on your face, too. You run a hand through his hair, locks of coal soft between your fingers, “Okay, let’s go this weekend.”
His face lights up, “Really?”
You snort, “Yes, really. I’ll get a babysitter for Saturday and–”
“I’ll bring him to Yunho’s,” his hands slide up to your waist, under the hem of your tank, leaning forward until his chest brushes against you. “He hasn’t seen Aden in awhile, maybe they can have a sleepover.”
Your hands find the base of his neck, pulling him flush to you, “A sleepover?”
Wooyoung’s lips find yours, a small kiss, his hands traveling upward, cupping your breasts beneath your tank, “Maybe we can have a sleepover of our own.”
You gasp into his touch, brows furrowing in pleasure, “Please.”
“You can have me all night,” he reaches for the hem of your tank, pulling it swiftly over your head before his hands go right back to toying with your chest, pressing his thumbs over your nipples as he says, “We can fuck in our big, comfortable bed, all night if you want to. Just like old times.”
You moan softly, quietly, head going fuzzy like he’d cast a spell on you, “Let’s go up there now.”
He keeps his eyes on yours as he leans forward, tongue poking out to circle over your nipple before his lips wrap around it, sucking harshly. You suck in a sharp gasp, face twisting in pleasure, hips grinding into him beneath you, “Fuck, Wooyoung.”
“Saturday,” his voice is low, gravelly, it sends a shiver up your spine. “Tonight you get to ride my face.”
You can’t argue. Not when he brushes his nose over your spit-soaked nipple, giving you a perfect view of the curve of cartilage, already imagining bucking your hips against it.
Immediately you’re climbing off of his lap, pointing to the rug beneath your feet, “On the floor.”
“Whatever you want, mommy.”
“Damn.”
It’s loud enough for the neighbors to hear. On your porch, fist over his lips, his brows are scrunched like he can’t believe his eyes, he looks you up and down three times before he whistles.
You snort, rolling your eyes, pulling your front door closed behind you. “Shut up, Wooyoung.”
He steps backwards, down one of your cement stairs, watching as you bend over slightly to lock your front door. Voice amused, he continues, “All dressed up for lil’ ole me? The dreaded ex?”
You turn around with a smile, “I’m keeping my word.”
His hand goes over his heart, frowning, “That hurt.”
“Shut up,” you shake your head, fighting your amusement as you move to step down, following him, he keeps his feet planted where he stands, an unmovable force.
Then he cracks a grin. “What, you’re not even gonna kiss me hello?”
You cross your arms over the front of your dress, sleek and red and hugging every inch of your body you want to be hugged. You got it on sale, an outfit you’ve been saving for the right occasion, you can’t believe tonight, of all nights, is the night you took it off the hanger.
You can’t believe you pulled it out for Wooyoung.
“Good things come to those who wait,” you sing, “if you’re on your best behavior maybe you’ll get a kiss goodnight.”
He groans, head tipping backward, eyes squeezing shut, “You’re gonna make me hard.”
“I hate you,” you laugh, pushing on his chest, making him tumble backward a step. You follow him down the staircase, towards his still-running SUV in your driveway, “Where are we going?”
He said to dress nice, two days ago in a short text-exchange that started off with you asking if he forgot to drop off Kyungmin’s backpack, which you found in the corner of your living room approximately nine seconds later. Two texts back and forth before he reminded you of your date tonight, that he’d already made the plans with Yunho and Aurora, Kyungmin would stay over at their house tonight to have a sleepover with their son, Aden.
Yunho was Wooyoung’s friend from college, living only fifteen minutes from where you lived on the outskirts of the city, suburbia with a good school district, which is where Kyungmin had met their son, Aden, the second of four. You wondered how they did it, you had your hands tied with only one.
“It’s a surprise,” he walks to the passenger side, opening the door for you.
“Wow,” you raise your brows, “such a gentleman. Who even are you anymore?”
He holds an arm out for you to grab as you climb in, “I’m just a husband taking his sexy ass wife out to dinner, that’s all.”
“Ex-husband,” you correct, “ex-wife.”
He leans against the door with a smile, “Whatever you say.”
He looks good. Dress pants on his legs, tailored, all his dress pants are. A button-up, rolled up on his veiny forearms, showcasing his tattoo, the top two buttons undone. Dressed in all black so his golden skin gleams in each pocket where it shows, fuck he knows how to dress himself and God it pisses you off. His hair is styled, down, tucked behind his ears, it frames his face effortlessly, beautifully, part of you wants to ask if you can make a pit-stop in the backseat.
It’s a thirty minute drive, filled with the same soft rock playing from his speakers, he talks over it the whole time. From Kyungmin to work to his apartment, which he nags at you that you still haven’t seen the inside of, the conversation is as easy as it always is. Bickering, of course, but you’ve been bickering since you were twenty-two. Fifteen years of partnership, of friendship, of learning each other down to particles and atoms, awkward silence has never existed between you.
A fancy restaurant, one that just opened in the city, dim lighting and red velvet and black leather, you couldn’t tell if you were supposed to eat dinner or each other. Side-eyeing Wooyoung as the hostess brought you to your table, the moment she left you quirked a brow, “Is this foreplay?”
He grabs the drink menu, “It can be if you want it to be.”
So shameless it makes your lips part. “Are we in a restaurant or a sex club?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s a restaurant,” he doesn’t look up over the menu, “but we could make it a sex club if you want to make it a sex club.” You snort, reaching over to steal the drink menu from his hands. He scoffs, “No way you’re reading that as if you aren’t gonna nurse one margarita until it’s tequila-water.”
“Shut up,” you grumble, “maybe I’m in the mood for something different.”
You quickly scan the specials, the list of bottles they carry, different brands of wine they have. Pursing your lips, you quickly realize you’re not in the mood for something different.
Shoving the menu back into his hands, you mumble, “Fine.”
He laughs, a high, amused giggle, “You’re so predictable.”
“You just know me,” you huff, “not predictable.”
When the waiter comes by, Wooyoung not only orders his beer, but he orders your margarita, too. Casamigos, salt on the rim, you don’t correct him because you’re as predictable as they come. Your cheeks heat up anyway, you might be predictable but he remembers and it sends a streak of heat up your spine. Whatever.
You’re reading the menu, or trying to with your bottom lip caught between your teeth, seeing words but not ingesting any of them. Maybe you should just let him order your meal for you, too.
“What’s bothering you?” He asks, and you glance upward like he’s ripped you out of a trance.
You purse your lips, shaking your head a little, defensive. “Nothing.”
“I’ve known you for over a decade,” his lips curl at the corner, “I’ve lived with you, I’ve loved you, you’re the mother of my son. Is it so crazy that I know you? One year spent apart out of fifteen is nothing.”
You can feel the heat in the tips of your ears, you forgot he knows you down to your thoughts, too. A small sigh escapes you, “Do you wanna start now? Before there’s even any food on the table?”
He leans forward, smile mischievous, “Hey, there’s bread.”
You push air out of your nose, amused as you sit back in the upholstered chair. “It’s just stupid. We’ve only been divorced for a year, and look at us. We’re in a sex club that has a kitchen.”
His lips thin before he answers. “Did you really think we’d stay separated?"
“Yes?” Your head tilts with the question. “Did you not?”
“No,” he answers honestly, “I’ve been working on myself a lot this past year. All the time spent away from you, Kyungie, it’s given me space that I never wanted. Space I’ve filled with things to better myself, for him, for you.”
“What, did you get a promotion or something?” You quirk a brow, “Work stuff?”
He smacks his teeth, “I went to therapy.”
“You went to therapy?” Your brows meet your hairline, “Like, the couch and everything?”
“No, she made me sit on the floor,” he muses. “She actually has a brown, leather chair. She helped me figure a lot of my shit out, that way when it was time for me to propose the idea of us seeing each other again, it’d be different. I’d be different.”
“Woo, I had no idea,” your heart picks up speed in your chest. “I didn’t even know that you were this… bothered about us separating, to be honest.”
His face scrunches up in disbelief, “That’s bullshit.”
“I’m serious!” You argue, “The divorce process was so smooth, I guess over time I got it in my head that it was smooth because it was mutual.”
“It was never, not even for a second, mutual.”
“You made it easy,” you shrug, picking up your margarita, taking a sip. “You never told me the details, I only knew what I found out from your mother. She never mentioned therapy.”
“You knew what I wanted you to know,” he sets his menu down in front of him. “It’s not like we were exactly on speaking terms, you didn’t give me the opportunity to fix anything while we were still together, either.”
Your stomach churns. “I gave you a lot of chances, Wooyoung.”
“Not enough,” he argues, not sternly, earnestly. He picks up his beer. “You gave up on me.”
“I gave up on being a single mother in my own marriage,” your voice is low, quiet. Your throat feels tight.
The waiter comes, Wooyoung orders for the both of you, something you would’ve chosen for yourself. Your thoughts are too loud for you to pay it any mind.
“I’ll have to live with the fact that I made you feel that way until the day I die,” his face is solemn, his words so honest your heart feels like stone in your chest. “But I thought I was doing the right thing, setting us up for our future, setting our son up for his future. For a long time I couldn’t understand why that wasn’t enough for you.”
“But you understand now?”
He nods, “Strangely enough, you making that deal with me at the conference, about having San speak, it might’ve been the final piece that put everything together. I feel like I can see it clearly now, and it feels so fucking stupid looking back.”
“Yeah?” Your lips curve at the corners, “Did your therapist enjoy my ultimatum?”
“I think she thinks we’re childish,” he laughs a little, “she doesn’t say that, but I can kinda feel it. Like we’re still kids playing at being adults.”
“We are,” your smile widens, “but now I keep wipes and snacks in my purse instead of lipgloss and condoms that we never used.”
“Don’t talk mommy to me right now,” his face scrunches together like you pressed your foot against his crotch. “We’re still in public.”
You stare at him over the salt on the rim of your glass, taking a sip of your margarita before you mumble, “I don’t think anyone here would be bothered.”
“I want to try again,” he wipes the smile off his face, voice a little louder, stronger. “Just to lay everything on the table, I’ve been wanting to try again and if a hookup at a work conference is the start of it unfolding, then so be it.”
You take a second before responding. “Do you really feel like I gave up on you?”
“Yes,” there’s no room for uncertainty, the agreement is crystal clear. “But I know I pushed you to that point, and I know in the end it was my fault. I should have been around more to help you. Just to have been there.”
Your bottom lip quivers, he catches it as soon as the first twitch tugs at your mouth.
“No, no crying,” he reaches his hand across the table, searching for yours. You tangle your fingers with his, his palm warm, fingers encasing your hand within his own perfectly like you were made for each other. “If you’re open to trying again, to giving me another chance, it’ll be different this time. I’m different, but I still love you, I still want to be beside you.”
You wipe at your eyes before tears fall past your waterline, “I love you too, but I did my makeup for this.”
“And it looks beautiful,” his lips curve, “but it’s just gonna get ruined later, anyway.”
“Why would it–” You meet his eye, the mischievous glint. “Oh, fuck you.”
“Hopefully I’m lucky and you will fuck me.”
“Is sex all you think about?” You laugh, then tease him, “Is that all I’m good for?”
He glares across the table, “Too soon.”
“You’re the one who said we were gonna roll around in my bed all night.”
“Once upon a time, it was our bed,” he releases your fingers to point at you, “and I know it’s lonely in that big ass bed without me.”
“Who’s to say I’m lonely?” You taunt, “Maybe there’s been plenty of men warming my bed since we separated.”
“You,” he says it like it’s obvious, “at the conference you said there was no one else, so unless you lied, you’ve spent over a year alone, in that bed, playing with yourself and wishing it was me.”
You think everyone in the restaurant could hear the gasp that erupted from your chest. Wooyoung’s head tips back in laughter and you curse under your breath, whisper-shouting, “We’re in public, Jung Wooyoung.”
“The mom-voice makes it funnier,” he’s still laughing, a hand over his mouth, “scolding me like I’m five. Fuck, do you remember when Kyungmin drew all over the wall in the living room? With fucking Sharpies?”
You groan, digging your head into your palms, elbows propped up on the table. “Still to this day I fucking hate the feeling of Magic Erasers.”
“You sounded just like that,” he takes a deep breath to control his laughter, then puts on his best you-voice to mock you. “Jung Kyungmin, we color in coloring books, not on the walls.”
The memory makes you smile, even laugh a bit under your breath, “It’s only funny now because I got the Sharpie off the wall.”
“It was funny then, too, trust me.”
The food comes hot and perfect, neither of you speak for the first few bites, until Wooyoung catches you staring at his plate, at his food. Mid-bite he pauses, popping a brow, “Want to try?”
You smile, and he smiles back, reaching over, fork in hand. The sound that leaves you is almost fitting for the restaurant you’re in. “I like yours,” you mumble, putting on your best doe-eyed look, making him snort.
“I’d be mad, but I’m too nostalgic,” he hums, satisfied with a smile on his cheeks he reaches over to grab your plate, switching it with his own. “Can I pretend I ordered mine for the sole intent of giving it to you?”
“No,” you hum happily, “it’s better that you gave yours to me. More romantic that way.”
He shakes his head, “First day back and you’re already spoiled.”
“Technically I still haven’t agreed,” you shrug, eyes on your food, about to take another bite before you realized Wooyoung had paused entirely. Looking over the table, you giggle at his deadpanned face, brows flat, lips flat, his entire face flat.
“Not funny.” He tightens his lips again. “Are you agreeing? Do you want to give me another chance?”
“Is this an immediate answer kind of thing?” You ask, food still halfway to your mouth, “Or can I get back to you on it?”
He purses his lips like he’s deciding the answer for himself before he gives you one. Eventually, when your bite is swallowed, he answers. “I guess you can think about it.”
“You guess?” Facing your plate, your eyes flicker across the table.
“Do you understand how long I’ve been waiting?” He doesn’t sound aggressive or forceful, or like he’s urging you towards an answer. “I had you for fifteen years and I just spent over an entire year without you.”
“You say that like I didn’t spend a year without you, too,” you argue, “you aren’t alone in that feeling, Wooyoung.”
“I just want my life back,” his voice settles into something just above a whisper, too raw for the crowded restaurant. “I want you, I want Kyungminnie, I want to come home.”
You swear you can see an entire year of pain in his eyes. Chocolate that’s usually melted, milky sweet, a delicacy, is deepened into something dark; hardened with time spent apart, changed with a life lesson that needed to be felt in order to be learned. He’s the same but he’s different, you can feel it, you know it.
All you can do is pray he doesn’t disappoint you again.
He keeps his hand on your thigh the entire drive home.
Quiet for once, the calm before the storm, you use the silence to think about your time spent apart, how it affected you. He was right, alone in your king-sized bed, but more than that you’ve learned so much about yourself in the year spent away from him. Kids fresh out of college, thrown into the workforce, pregnant before your first paycheck, court-signed documents without a big party to follow, your adult life has been spent entirely by his side.
You’ve learned strength. You’ve learned to trust yourself. You’ve come to fall in love with yourself, by yourself, the you that wasn’t half-Jung. Despite the tears, the nights drowning in self-doubt, of not knowing what the next day would look like, you did it.
And now he’s back, and he promised that he changed.
You don’t know whether or not to trust the tiny voice in the back of your mind, you don’t know if it’s nerves or a gut-feeling. But when you turn your head to the side, to the man you’ve spent fifteen years loving, adoring, his chiseled jaw and his curved nose and the veiny, tattooed forearm that’s attached to the steering wheel, it’s easy to admit that you want him to come home, too.
You missed him. You miss him, and he’s beside you.
You miss him making the bed in the morning, having coffee on the pot downstairs, already prepped for you. You miss him shoveling the driveway in the winter, mowing the lawn in the summer. You miss him taking out the trash. You miss him fixing a toy when Kyungmin breaks it. You miss him doing your fucking taxes. You miss him doing the dishes after you cooked dinner, you miss him stealing the dishes out of your hands when he cooked dinner.
You miss the mundane things.
You miss the way he kisses you goodmorning, when he gets home from work, before bed, randomly, mid-day on a Saturday. You miss him making Kyungmin laugh. You miss the way his skin feels on yours, the way he finishes your thought before you’ve finished it, the way he makes it so easy to believe that it’s possible to love another human so much.
You miss him present most of all.
“If I agree,” you speak into the silence, his fingers add the slightest pressure onto your thigh. “You swear you’ll be around?”
“Yes.” The word is final. “I’ve made the changes already. You’re my priority.”
You don’t answer, you let the words sink in. It’ll take time, learning to believe him, learning to trust his words again, but something settles in your chest, in your gut, something calm. It reminds you that you can still be yourself, you can still be strong, you can still trust yourself, you can still be in love with yourself– but he’s here to love you, to trust you, to lean on you for strength, too. There’s something about it that’s comforting, that’s right.
The house is dark when you walk through your front door. You forgot to leave the lights on, the lamp in the corner of the living room, the one above the kitchen sink. So scatterbrained about being out with Wooyoung, about your kid sleeping at someone else’s house, you huff a curse as soon as the darkness welcomes you home.
While you turn the lamp on, without a word he’s in the kitchen, turning on the other above the sink.
And for some reason that’s enough.
Maybe it’s how he looks, doused in twilight, standing in the kitchen he designed. Shadows finding home in the structure of his face, the tattoo on his forearm, the veins that swirled around it, blending into the vines, rippling each thorn of the rose. Maybe it was just the fact that after all this time, seeing him here, in your kitchen that you left exactly how it was the day you kicked him out, reminded you just how deeply you love him. That even though you’ve spent a year apart and you’ve learned to love so much about yourself, the part of you that you love most, is the half of you that’s him.
You hope he feels it as you kiss him, standing in the space between the two counters, the long, skinny walkway between the sink and the island. Your arms around his shoulders, his find your waist, sliding down to your hips, then behind you, taking two fistfuls of your ass.
You squeak into the kiss and he turns you, scooping under your thighs to lift you, placing your ass on the kitchen counter. You don’t break the kiss, feet hooking around his back, fingers curling into his roots, tongue sliding between his lips like you were the one coming home.
He hikes your dress up, warm palms searing the skin beneath fabric, slipping under the hem just to rest there like he couldn’t deny himself feeling you any longer. You’re panting into his mouth, sizzling under his touch, you whisper, “I need you.”
He pulls away, putting an inch between your faces, “Here?”
“I don’t care where,” your hands find his cheeks, holding him close, “I need you, Jung Wooyoung.”
His eyes flicker over your features like he’s reading your thoughts and it takes him all of a second for his fingers to dart to the hem of your dress. You lift yourself so it pools around your hips, reaching forward for his button-up, getting only three unbuttoned while his fingers work the button and zipper of his pants. Both of you panting, heartbeats uneven, your feet stretch to reach the opposite counter, palms planted on the one you sat on, shifting yourself to the edge as Wooyoung frees himself from his briefs.
Your tongue pokes out to wet your lips, tasting remnants of your lipstick and his saliva on your tongue. The lack of a rebuttal from him, of snarky, taunting comments– this was different than him filling you silently on your living room couch. One hand moves your thin, lace thong to the side as the other grips his length, prodding at your entrance, making you gasp.
He fills you quickly, slipping inside with barely any resistance, the two of you moaning out in relief and pleasure. He grumbles out a curse, reaching the hilt, hands finding your hips, fingers bruising into your skin.
“Jagi,” he whispers. “Wanna give you a baby.”
Your eyes meet his and he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the world. Like nothing else matters except you and him, like the outside world melted away, like you haven’t built and ruined a life between you. Like it was fifteen years ago and you’d just opened the first page of your love story.
“Do it, then,” you whisper back, eyes glossy, throat tight. “Give me one.”
“Can I?” He asks, face stone, as if you couldn’t feel his cock twitch inside you. He wasn’t asking permission, he was questioning the possibility.
Counting in your head, you wait a moment to reply, “Yes. Slim, but yes.”
He grins ear to ear, that same shit-eating grin he wears when he gets what he wants whether he fights for it or not. Then he moves, a shallow, promising thrust, grinding into the deepest spot inside you, making you hiss out a curse.
“Have to fill you,” his eyes find your meeting, watching himself as he barely thrusts, keeping himself buried. “Nice n’ deep. Make sure it takes.”
Your head dips backward, arching into him, skin catching on the glossiness of the counter you’d wiped down before you left the house. “Please.”
He grunts, fingers searing your skin, picking up his pace. “Fuck, need to see you pregnant. Belly full of my fuckin’ kid.”
“Wooyoung,” your voice is breathy, shaky, full of arousal as you moan his name, it makes him grunt out a curse, hips slapping against yours, reverberating through the room, bouncing off the stainless steel appliances.
His hands on your hips use the strength of his arms to lift you, pulling you off the counter with too much fucking ease. He slips out of you before your feet hit the floor, but he’s back inside you as soon as your back presses against the cool wood of the kitchen floor, freshly mopped this morning, knowing he’d be here tonight.
His lips are on yours, your legs hooked over his back, panties thrown somewhere you didn’t care to see. His shirt is open, still over his shoulders, trapping you between the open panels like it was shading you from something, anything that wasn’t him.
His hair feels silken between your fingers as you tug at his roots, keeping him as close as possible, never close enough. Murmuring words into each other’s lips, the sound of his skin hitting yours muted it, like the two of you were stuck in a time-warp, a lovesick bubble you entered fifteen years ago.
Pressure builds with each thrust, your moans growing in pitch, and Wooyoung keeps his eyes on yours, his bottom lip touching yours, assessing, watching, feeling, waiting for you to crest your peak without any stimulation to your clit. His eyes flare when your breathing catches, keeping his rhythm unfaltering, his angle locked, muttering yes, yes as you approach the high only he can give you.
He groans when he feels the pressure blow, as you clench around him, the heels of your feet digging into his back, he catches your lips between his own to feel everything, all of it, all of you.
The silence says everything. You’re stuck in euphoria as his cock drags over that same spot inside you, his head dropped down to your shoulder, your nails clawing at his back as he takes you for everything you’re worth. Every drop of pleasure, every emotion, you handed everything over to him, put it in his palms, let him cradle it– had you ever even taken it back for yourself?
“Gonna give you a baby,” he mutters into your skin, voice jagged like the edge of a blade, a man slicing a promise into your skin. “Gonna give you a girl this time. Pretty like her mama.”
“Yes,” it’s a whimper, a plea. “I love you, please– I love you.”
He grunts, heavy and rough, hips smacking yours with fervor, picking up his pace, weighting his thrusts. He picks up his head, palms finding your cheeks, holding your scrunched up face between them before he presses his mouth to yours, and you can taste the I love you too on his tongue.
Into his mouth, weak, soft, you utter, “I missed you.”
And why the admittance brought tears to your eyes, you aren’t sure. But they fell to his thumbs and he seemed to understand even if you didn’t, kissing you deeper, tongue slotting into your mouth as if he was soothing your scars.
He finished inside you with a low grunt that vibrated through you and into the hardwood beneath, cock hilted, buried so deep you weren’t sure where you ended and he began. You wanted to stay there, full of him, in the bubble you’d fucking missed being in, but his phone ringing on top of the counter had you both moving before you could breathe.
“Yunho,” is all he said before he pressed the phone up to his ear, still panting, brows furrowed. You stood up, dress falling over your hips, thighs wet and legs jelly, you leaned an arm over the counter for stability, silent enough to hear Yunho on the line.
Yeah, he threw up… Asking for you… Rory took his temp, he has a fever… He’s on the couch now… Okay, see you soon…
Wooyoung hung up with a sigh, “Rain check for rolling around in our bed?”
You cracked a smile, “What’s your schedule looking like on Monday?”
Wooyoung snorts as he tucks himself into his slacks, fingers working his buttons, “I’ll drive.”
Aurora had the door open before you’d made it up the steps of their front porch. “Sorry for cutting the date night short.”
Her sad smile was full of apology, she had one arm on the door as she held it open for the two of you. Pajama pants on her legs, slippers on her feet, her oversized tee that said Nasara University had one shoulder cut off. Hair tied in a bun on top of her head, bare-faced, so effortlessly gorgeous you felt self-conscious even if you were still in your red dress.
“Thanks for taking care of him, Ro,” Wooyoung replies. “Yunho said he’s on the couch?”
Ro. A nickname you haven’t heard before. Storing the info for later, you followed Wooyoung inside, taking note that their house was full of everything warm and cozy. Toys littered the floor, picture frames on the walls, nothing was tidy or put together. Not dirty, but… Lived in. Like six people lived here and not one of them was hiding the fact. The TV on and playing an old cartoon from when you were all kids, three out of Yunho and Aurora’s four sat on the living room floor just before Kyungmin who was curled up on the couch, blanket covering his body.
You stayed back while Wooyoung crossed the room, saying hi to the kiddos before scooping Kyungmin up in his arms. Aurora spoke while you watched him, “Yunho’s upstairs with the baby, she woke up when the kids started screaming about throw up.”
“Sorry,” you scratched the back of your head, cheeks flaring heat. You hoped you didn’t smell like sex. You also hoped she wasn’t thinking about the fact that you and Wooyoung are divorced and together right now.
But she just waved her hand, “Please, don’t be. She’s a terrible sleeper anyways, and all four of them were playing dress up in June’s room. She was bound to wake up sooner or later.”
“Dress up?” You cracked a smile.
“June has the time of her life dressing up her siblings,” she smiled with you, “and I think Aden enjoys it more than she does. They call it Fashion Runway, and Kyungmin was the star tonight, just so you know. June and Aden said he’s their new muse.”
You snort, not a lick of surprise on your face, “I need to see this.”
“You guys should come over more,” she offers, looking at Wooyoung as he returns with your gray-faced son’s head on his shoulder. “We should do the things the cool families do, hangout while the kids hangout, conjoined vacations and shit. We live so close and we never do anything.”
You look at Wooyoung who nods like he was brushing her off. “Yeah, sure. Don’t you wanna wait til’ Sunnie gets a little older?”
Her brows furrow, “No?”
“Sunnie’s a cute name,” you turn to her. “I didn’t know that was her name. How old is she?”
“Her first birthday is next month, I invited you guys, he didn’t tell you?” Her brows furrow further as you shake your head. Her eyes thin as she glances at Wooyoung, “Sunnie’s short for Woosun. Named after her godfather who apparently doesn’t want to come to her first birthday party.”
You will your face into staying neutral, like you knew Wooyoung was Aurora’s daughter’s godfather. “Woosun’s a gorgeous name.”
“Yunho came up with it,” her smile is proud, and if she could see yours, the one you’re hiding behind your stone features, you think she might be terrified of you. Your eyes find Wooyoung’s and he looks as gray as Kyungmin, face dropped, fear rippling in his chocolate brown eyes.
“Thanks again for taking care of him, Aurora.” You barely hear her response as she gives you a side-hug. She smells clean, like grapefruit and vanilla, a hint of baby formula like she’d just finished feeding Woosun. Woosun.
You don’t speak until after Wooyoung buckles in Kyungmin, your son still somehow knocked out in the backseat, head lolled to the side. Wooyoung tugged on the seatbelt twice, making sure it was locked, keeping him in place. You see the glitter on him then, on his eyelids, his cheeks, his hair, he’s in clothes that aren’t is. God, did he throw up on his own clothes? You didn’t even notice, nor did you ask for his clothes back. You’d have Wooyoung text her tomorrow.
Seated in the driver’s, he flips the engine, eerily quiet. Waiting for you. So you start.
“I thought Yunho was your friend from college.”
He takes a steadying breath before he speaks, “He was, is. But I’ve always been friendlier with Ro.”
“Ro,” you repeat, lips scrunching together. Your head shakes slowly, “Define friendlier.”
“Baby, we went to college together–”
“Don’t baby me,” you snap, keeping your voice quiet to not wake up your son, “you just tried to give me a daughter and then I find out you’re the godfather of someone else’s?”
“I was going to–”
“You were going to tell me nothing,” you snap again, hearing your heartbeat in your ears. “You used to fuck her, then? In college? Is that why we’ve never hung out with them?”
“It was more than that,” his voice is defensive, curt. Your lips snap shut, eyes widening a fraction. “We were together for a while, but it was… complicated. Everything about that time was complicated.”
“She named her fucking kid after you,” your voice is quiet but not any less venomous. “You know everything about me. Everything. And after fifteen years, I’d expect to know everything about you. Why keep it a secret?”
He keeps his eyes on the road, even if they blaze with emotion; fear, guilt, shame, remorse. “I don’t know if I can even explain it, she’s– she’s special. Different from a girlfriend or a hookup, we went through a lot of tough shit together.”
Eyes widening further, throat tightening, you can taste the salt lining your eyes. Your voice comes out hoarse, “She’s so special that you couldn’t tell your wife about her?”
“There’s nothing I could say that wouldn’t make you feel like this. She’s married, happily, with four kids. If you knew our history you wouldn’t want me around her.”
“And that’s more important? Being around her? Than me knowing the truth?”
“No,” he shakes his head tight. “No, it’s not. I spent a lot of time at their house while we were separated, and the three of us got really close again–”
“So that’s why she said we should all hangout,” you laugh a little, it’s dry, lacking amusement. “She wants to know what the wicked ex-wife that divorced you is like.”
“No,” he counters, voice raising, exasperated. “I never said anything bad about you, fuck. After the conference I talked to them, and she needs a girlfriend. I basically pimped you out to her, to be her friend.”
“Pimped me out to a girl you used to date. Fuck. Go through tough shit with.”
“We weren’t close during our marriage,” he argues, eyes flickering up to check on the still-sleeping Kyungmin through the rear-view mirror. “I sought them out after you divorced me, I needed a friend, and I knew Kyungmin and Aden were in the same class, I– they helped me.”
“Your ex-girlfriend and her husband helped you. Did they invite you into their bed? Help take your mind off your sad, divorced heart?”
“I’m not going to talk until you stop seeing red. Calm down and then speak to me like an adult.”
Crossing your arms over your chest, you stare out the window, and let the tears fall.
Kyungmin lay on the couch, asleep again after another round of emptying the contents of his stomach into the same stained bowl you use for popcorn on movie nights. You and Wooyoung sat on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, staring at him. So small, his face looks so peaceful, in a deep, hopefully dreamless sleep. He changed your lives eight years ago. Forced you into an adulthood you weren’t prepared for, the greatest blessing you didn’t ask for. A gift.
“Think he has the flu?” Wooyoung asks after too long of staring at the boy you created in silence. His hands stretched behind him, legs in front of him, body sagged with exhaustion. It’s been a long day.
“Maybe a stomach bug,” you reply through a sigh, sitting with your arms curled around your knees. “Time will tell. If his fever’s still up tomorrow, I’ll take him to the doctor.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“You don’t need to.”
“I’m his father, I want to.”
You swear, it’s grumbled, irritated. You can still feel the stickiness between your thighs, almost like it’s taunting you now. Telling you good job, you get to have another baby with a liar!
“I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Wooyoung’s voice is grave. “Aurora is harmless. I don’t love her, I’m not into her, there’s nothing left between us but friendship.”
“You’re missing the point, Wooyoung. It’s not about her, it’s about the fact that you kept it from me for fifteen years.”
“It wasn’t relevant for fifteen years. But it’s relevant now, and I’m telling you.”
“Because you were put in a situation where you had to tell me,” your head snaps to the side, glaring at him. “You should have told me when we had the whole exes conversation over a decade ago, or maybe when you found out Aden was in the same class as Kyung, or when she named her daughter after you, or when she made you the fucking godfather. You had a million-and-one chances to tell me.”
Wooyoung sighs, “It was a wound I didn’t want to reopen back then, but I should have. I’m sorry.”
“It feels wrong,” you look back at Kyungmin, a frown on your lips. “Knowing you had a relationship with these people deep enough for them to name their child after you, and I don’t know any of it. It makes me feel like I don’t know you, like there’s a side of you that you’ve kept from me all these years.”
“Do you want to know the full story?” He glances sideways, and the look you give him is an obvious yes. He sighs, “Fuck. Alright.”
And you sit there, for an entire hour as he reveals a side of himself that you’ve never gotten a glimpse of. Partying, threesomes, Aurora, men– so many men, and even though that part didn’t take you by surprise, it did make you wonder. The tough shit was about her, Yunho surprisingly, her father, her own personal issues that Wooyoung had adopted like his own and helped her through. Living with his cousin, switching his major, supporting his mother, all the fucked up people who went to his university that married each other. You wondered how well they turned out.
“Her and Yunho, made for each other. Their kids were a blessing, and they started younger than we did. Then kept fucking going.”
It made you laugh a little, and as the sound hit his ears, he finally cracked a small smile. Glancing at you, he muttered, “I did love her, I loved everything about her. But our relationship, me in her life, it was for a purpose, y’know? And when it was fulfilled, after I’d done what I was… destined to do or whatever, her life got a lot better. She got better. Everything got better, actually.”
“You were all too young for all of that shit.” It’s all you could say. All you could muster up seeing Wooyoung’s life twenty years ago pass through his eyes, listening to him describe it like it happened yesterday.
“I know,” he heaved a sigh, laying back on his elbows. “But then I met you and I thought it was my turn to be happy. To feel like I had it all figured out.”
“Then I got pregnant.”
He laughed, a rich, light sound. “Then you got pregnant.” He sat in silence for a moment, glancing at your son on the couch, before he bit his lip in contemplation. “I have something else to tell you. Since we’re being honest.”
Your heart dropped, skin feeling icy-hot. Nervously glancing at him, your voice comes out shaky as you ask, “What?”
“We’re still married.”
You blinked. “No we’re not.”
“Yes we are.”
Fingers meeting the floor on either side of you, you shook your head, warning, “Wooyoung.”
“That’s why the divorce process was so easy,” he isn’t looking at you, his eyes stay on Kyungmin, unblinking. “Because I never filed for it.”
“I filed for it,” you counter.
“With my lawyer,” his eyes meet yours. “Who I paid generously not to file.”
“What? I–”
The walls felt like they were closing in. He continued, “I thought it was hasty. That you would regret it, or that you didn’t mean it, or that I’d fix it, I don’t know. I couldn’t stomach the idea of us not being together, so I faked it.”
“You pay me child-support, Wooyoung.”
“I know,” he shrugs, lips thin. “I just… I don’t know. I didn’t think we’d stay apart forever.”
You stare at him for a moment, a thunderstorm brewing beneath your skin. “Get out.”
His head snaps to the side, eyes wide, “What?”
“Get out,” you repeat, firmer. “Get the fuck out.”
“Wait– Let me explain, I–”
“Jung Wooyoung get the fuck out of my house.”
“I love you,” he argues, voice strained, turning his entire body to face you as you start standing up. “With my entire heart and soul. I can’t live without you any longer, without him, please talk to me– please talk this out, please–”
“I’m filing first thing tomorrow morning,” you bite, voice so fucking harsh and venemous you can’t believe it came from your lips. “With a different lawyer, my own fucking lawyer. You better hope and pray that I’m not fucking pregnant.”
sorry lol my masterlist & plum's masterlist
𝕬𝖚𝖗𝖔𝖗𝖆 𝕸𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖗
★── Pairing: Hybrid!Seonghwa x Female!Reader
【Summary】: To prove to your college friends that the haunting rumours about the Aurora manor were nothing more than fictional tales, you venture into the abandoned estate... But what you stumble upon was a way bigger secret than indented, and it changes your life forever.
『Word count』: Loading
-> Genre: Supernatural. Romance. Triller. Gore. Smut. Fluff.
[Warnings]: Blood. Gore. Swearing. Pet names. Blood drinking. Shitty friends. Mention of abuse. Unprotected sex. (Warnings will update the more the story updates)
Notes: Welcome to the Aurora Manor. Where creatures run the show and humans either fear them or beg to be them.
୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧Masterlist୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧Navigation୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧
★── Chapter One : The Manor
★── Chapter Two : The Monster
★── Chapter Three : The Brothers
★── Chapter Four : Catacombs
★── Chapter Five : Shh...Quiet
★── Chapter Six : Mysterious
★── Chapter Seven : Drink You Dry (19th March 2026)
★── Chapter Eight : Forgive Me (21st March 2026)
★── Chapter Nine : Be Mine (25th March 2026)
★── Chapter Ten : Until The End (28th March 2026)
or, when the stars mysteriously light your way to an odd church...
pairing/au: priest! yunho x non-religious! fem reader, nonidol! au general content/summary: on one of your late night walks, your phone dies. you simply decide to walk until you reach a convenience store—it couldn't be that far, right? well, you end up following the stars to the weirdest church you have ever seen... and walking in seems to bring you to a new world. notes: NO race specific descriptors (skin colour, hair texture, etc.), NO body type specific descriptors (size of reader body parts, weight, etc.), though reader is vaguely referred to as being smaller than him (really just talk about him being tall with large hands...) genre: smut, BLASPHEMY, religious/religion play, slightly psychological
⚔︎ sexual content warnings (explicit): this is lowkey quite nasty chat i'm not gonna lie... blasphemous af again, spit, sweat, f! oral receiving, dom! yunho, some soft dom! yunho, desperate! whiny! needy! yunho (and reader), sub! reader, a singular clit pinch (blink and you'll miss it), tummy bulge, fucking with the rosary on (i am so sorry), dry humping and regular (?) humping, light manhandling, reader calls yunho father (oh my who would write something like that, craaazyyyyyy)... i think that's it?
~5k word count; ~20 minute read author's note: i finally finished this idea which has been rotting in my docs for ages... enjoy! may or may not feel the need to beg God for mercy after (i may or may have not...) also not really proof-read... sowz!
“speaking in tongues, yeah, we ain’t done yet”
“tell me your confessions, baby, what’s the worst?”
religion has never been quite your thing. there isn’t a serious reason as to why—no religious trauma or hate towards it; it just isn’t for you. none of your family was religious, so it was natural for you to fall in line. you lived your life day to day not praying or worshipping a god, you have never put on your sunday’s best to sit and stand alternatively for hours listening to a priest go on about verses. you have never bowed your head and clasped your hands tight in hopes for the man in the sky to hear your pleads—until the day you did.
walking late at night, headphones in your ears blasting music as you graze through the empty sidewalks. another lonely friday night, yet you couldn’t feel more content. the spring breeze hitting your cheeks and blowing kisses at your lashes as your feet repeatedly tapped away at the ground. there was no destination in mind, just aimlessly walking under the night sky with the stars lighting your path.
a bit of time passed, maybe a bit too much time. the once navy blue sky turns dark, and the only light illuminating your way is the full moon and distanced street lights. you look around, searching for somewhere to take shelter for a bit until you figure out where you are and how to get home. after just a bit more walking, you come across an old chapel, and it looks straight out of the victorian era. it has large, pointed pillars which seemed to never end, dark stained glass of scenes you couldn’t quite make out. and in the front was a large cross with the man himself on it. standing in front of the large sculpture, you were memorised. of course, you were familiar with catholicism, you knew the story and have seen the symbols, but for some reason… you were stuck. you examined the very detailed art piece by piece, the sculptor made the cross look like actual wood, and the cloth hanging seemed soft to the touch.
stuck in your trance, the only thing that got you out was a small movement on the other side of the stained glass. you caught the dart out of the corner of your eye, and it was enough to lure you into the building.
now, have you ever been in a church or temple before? honestly, you can’t say so. you walk through the middle aisle slowly, taking in the new sights before you. the real wooden pews, the green cushions underneath, bibles at every seat, gold adornments everywhere–you didn’t know where to look. this place was almost overwhelming in a sense. everything around you felt so sacred and too precious to even look at for too long. you were still making your way down the long aisle, but this time when you finally fixed your sight ahead of you, you saw someone.
well, someone is a bit of an understatement; you saw a man. tall, almost too tall to be real. he wore a simple three-piece suit with a clerical collar neatly around his neck. his dirty blonde hair was a bit long, but groomed well and fell perfectly over his forehead. he stood a bit off centre to the right at the end of the aisle holding a bouquet of white roses. as you stop in your tracks to take in the man ahead of you, he lifts his head to look at you. you stay still, heart racing as his eyes bore into the pits of your soul. he reaches out his hand, and you trace his veins up all the way his clothing will allow, you finish the trail yourself wandering up his chest. and for some reason, though you feel anxious, you don’t feel scared. in fact, you feel somewhat at ease, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were meant to be right here, with him.
“my love, do not be shy.” he has the gentlest smile on his face as he urges you to keep walking—which you do. you can’t keep your eyes off of his as you make your way up the aisle to him. your pace is steady as your eyes stay locked on each other, basking in whatever presence magnetises you together. you feel, hypnotised? in your proper sense of mind, you would have ran at the first sight of him, and especially his words. but, instead you found all your thoughts subjected to the man who you want to come to know. as you near the mystery priest, you take hold of his outstretched hand as he helps you step up to the platform. he takes both your hands in his one and looks down at you, love and adoration filling his eyes. you cannot help but return his gaze, fully trapped under whatever spell he has on you.
“i have been wanting so long for you, my beautiful bride.” he lets go of your hands in favour of cradling your face, and you weren’t sure when you started to cry, but you taste your salty emotions at the seam of your lips. though, your tears served as an antidote, ‘bride?’ it’s like your mind suddenly snapped out of the puppy-love daze and back to reality.
“yes, God gave me a vision of this night long ago. in it, i saw you, walking down the street in the rain and cold. i’ve waited for this night for so long, my love.”
you have no words, what does one even say to that?
you stand still, hands fallen limp at your sides. you are unsure if you are frozen from confusion, fear, or just lovestruck (probably a mix of all of the above). suddenly, you feel his hand on your face shift, this time to your chin, thumb lightly pressing into the plush of your bottom lip. the mixture of his cold hand and your sodium flavoured tears mesh together in a new pleasant unknown.
you look at him, wide eyed and full of fear—you look like a deer in the headlights. all he does is smile at you and closes his eyes to press his forehead against yours.
he starts speaking in a low, hushed tone, as if there’s others in the church and these words are only meant for you two to hear.
“Lord, thank you for bringing us here together, at last. i have waited patiently for the bride you promised to me oh-so long ago, and she is more than worth the wait. may our union be one filled with happiness and the Lord’s forgiveness.”
he pauses, opening his eyes to meet yours,
“and to my wife, whom i promise to love, cherish, and protect with my whole heart. may you never know regret, pain, or anything of the devil as long as you stand by my side. i have waited my whole life for you, and i shall spend the rest of my days proving to you my unwavering loyalty. for as long as i live, and even beyond our mere human years, i shall be yours if you will have me.”
you still have no words, your world moving so slow yet so quick at the same time. he senses your hesitation, and guides you right back where he wants you,
“my love, did the Lord not guide you here?” you turn your head following his long, pointed finger out the window. the sky has seemed to place the stars in a circle around the church.
“did the Lord not light your way to me? did you not follow in line, step by step according to the Lord’s path for us?”
your mind is running at full speed, trying to make sense of everything. the worst part is, it is not necessarily the details which puzzle you, but the uncanniness of the man in front of you. his words are all correct, for your walk today did lead you to a place unknown, seemingly the stars acted as mere guide lights for you to end up on the church’s doorstep. the sculpture in front seemed all too real, for maybe it was the Lord himself who was giving you the confirmation to enter His home. the walk up the aisle straight into this priest’s vicinity seemed all too easy, despite your better knowledge to run away.
“He did, i suppose. it is just happening so fast.” you reply. looking up to truly meet his gaze this time—not just looking at his face, but in his eyes.
and oh, it feels like you could get lost in his eyes for the rest of your days. large and round, a deep brown colour where you could just barely make out your own reflection. his eyes bore into your own, and it felt as though he was transferring you the essence of his total being. his eyes poured out vulnerability and offered his very soul on a platter just for you.
and how could you refuse such an offer?
“what is your name?” you ask, quietly yet firmly. you were set in your decision, the flight part of your mind starting to grow dim.
“yunho, my love. though, everything which was once mine shall now belong to you.” he kisses your hand, and you feel goosebumps spring from under your skin at the contact.
“yunho, my husband.” you say, eyes still looking into his.
beside you both stood a small pillar, about half the height of him. a red, luxurious velvet cushion rested atop of it with a small black box. he takes a single hand to grab the box, slender fingers wrapping around the soft black material to undo its closure. he pops it open to reveal a set of matching rings, both dazzling silver light as they glisten in the aura of the starlight. he slips one on his finger, before gently taking your hand and sliding the other on yours. he interlocks your hands together with his, each of your rings kissing as your fingers intertwine.
you stand mesmerised by both the sight and feeling of his hand in yours. his palm alone was about the same height as your entire hand. his long, slender fingers wrapped around the back of your hand so gently, lightly pressing as if you were wet cement he wanted to leave his mark on forever. somehow, you weren’t opposed to it.
“it is time, my beautiful wife, if you will truly have me.” he motions toward a bed, one which you somehow missed upon entering. he pulls your hand toward it, a large bed which takes over the entire chancel. it is bloody red, same as the cushion. the soft velvet duvet laid slightly messy across the mattress, with matching pillows across the headboard. four pillars stood proudly tall at each corner, they seemed to never end as you followed their height upwards, apparently going into the star-filled sky through the glass ceiling.
yunho gently sits you on the bed, parting your knees to stand between them as he lifts your face up by the chin to look at him.
“you see the stars honey?” all you could do is nod, your entire vision being his ethereal face glowing with the star-filled sky behind him. he looks unreal, as if the starry night painting was a mere background to his face.
“good, the Lord is watching over us, making sure we seal our union for eternity tonight. i have to fully make you mine, in His name.” he smiles, leaning down to seal his lips over yours.
you feel the soft plushness of his lips slot between yours, teeth lightly biting into your lower lip. you part at the sting, and he gladly envelops the cave of your mouth with his tongue, swiping over any crevice and groove he can explore. you have no choice but to match his pace, letting him take control over your body. he places his hands over your body, one on your shoulder to gently press you into the mattress, the other on stroking loving patterns on your waist. his mouth continues his exploration in yours, starting to elicit small sounds of pleasure from you.
by now, his body hovers over yours, and you just stare at each other. lips parted and breath already ragged. light pants coming from the both of you. his lips are slick from your saliva, and you’re sure yours have turned swollen and bruised from his biting and kisses. his dark brown eyes blend in with the pitch black night sky behind him. the whole scene is grand, his rosary swinging over you as if it’s God himself pulling him closer to you. your hand takes ahold of the rosary, this time you being the one to pull him close to you, like the Holy Spirit is filling your body with the need of yunho.
this time, instead of attacking your mouth again, he decides on your neck as a surprise. still, with that same biting and licking tenacity. he nips at your skin, small bites of just a few centimetres of the skin of your neck before soothing it with the cool wetness of his tongue. his breath still feels hot despite the heat radiating off your body from his touch. his knee creeps its way toward your center, the light graze of his knee cap nudging your throbbing core. his hands make their trek all over your body—from your neck, over your chest, down your sternum, pressing over your stomach. they land just at your hips, the pressure from him keeping himself up is pressing you down, leaving you with no choice but to lie there and accept all he has to give—not that you even cared anyway.
the pressure from his knee however also gets stronger, where is now fully grinding it against you. your back arches at the sensation, and you match his motions as your need starts to grow even stronger for him. his lips travel down, now one of his hands pulling the collar of your shirt down to further his love bites down as far as he can go. eventually, he grows irritated at the fabric hiding you from him and picks at the hem, pulling it off over your head. he does the same with your bra, not even bothering with the pesky clasps and just yanking it off of you, the fastenings get pulled apart from the seams and land wherever they may. he has no hesitation as he now goes straight toward your breasts, tongue licking over the expanse of your flesh as he dives in head first. the feelings are all too overwhelming: his knee still circling your centre and his mouth leaving more bruises all over your chest. it builds up to be too much, and you whine at him to do something.
he chuckles upon hearing your pleas, his breath fanning over your perked nipples and making you shiver. he shuffles on top of you, removing himself from being your only view just for a moment to shed you of the rest of your clothes. as he takes off your panties, the physical evidence of your arousal sticking to the gusset and drawing strings, desperate to experience the first meeting of yunho finally skin to skin with you. you lie there bare, lips fattened and skin covered in bruising colours and the imprints from his teeth still tingling.
his fingers go to slowly undo the buttons of his pinstriped vest from their nestled home in the holes. he removes his own layers, piece by piece in an agonising pace, keeping you anticipating his final shed.
he gets to the clasp on his trousers, and moves with no more urgency than with his top. it’s a cruel punishment for you and a pleasant reward for him. he loves to see you bare in all your glory, your excitement poorly masked by the thin line of patience you have left for him to match your naked state of being.
after what feels like an eternity, he finally drops his trousers and lets his erection proudly stand as tall as it can within the confines of his boxers. you can make out the wet patch from his pre after the build up he has so meticulously crafted for you two. he leans back over you, his bare broad shoulders and wide chest this time covering your vision of anything but. his takes his hand and runs it gently down your side, all the way from your sensitive neck down to your hip bone. his long fingers casually make their way closer and closer to your soaking centre, crying in agony for him to touch you where you need him most.
“baby, i think she misses me. we’ve spent this entire lifetime so far apart, but i promise i’ll never leave you again.” he travels down to press sweet kisses all over your inner thighs, his cheek barely grazing your weeping pussy as it throbs and begs for him. finally, he meets you dead centre in front of the heaven which sacredly lives between your legs.
and for yunho was a priest, and has had more than his fair share of heavenly encounters with the Lord and his angels, but he swears no amount of prayer or worship to the Lord could ever be grander than what he’s about to experience from you.
his nose meets you first, sliding up the delicacy of your slit to meet your clit as his lips start another round at your entrance. he teases as he licks around your rim to collect all of your slick on his tongue before pushing into your pulsing hole.
you’ve never praised a higher power before, but you had to commend yunho's Lord for the way he was feasting on you.
it was all messy, cleanliness completely out the window. his tongue was embarking on journeys within you that you didn’t even know existed. you feel the extension of his love swipe through all of your crevices and he leaves you wiggling below him in his grasp—fully at his mercy.
and yunho may be a priest and an extension of God, but he is all but forgiving. the way his tongue pushes itself in and out of you had you looking at the sky and wishing upon the stars that he will never leave you.
he continues his affection on your lower half, alternating between his tongue fucking you, kitten licks all around, and light nibbles on your clit. eventually, all the pressure became too much to handle as you start clawing at his broad shoulders, pushing and pulling on his hair, and even your feet starting to kick in attempts to relieve yourself from the never-stopping force that was yunho.
he smiles against your folds at the way your body reacts to him, you seem unaware of your actions as your eyes roll back and your back arches aggressively. and just before he can tell you are about to come down, he yanks his face away. you are abruptly disrupted in your rising high as you look down to see why he stopped.
all you are met with is a smiling yunho, but not a teasing one—instead, it was actually quite sweet.
“my love, i would love nothing more” his hot breath leaves goosebumps in its wake as his mouth travels back up your body, from your own heat, your hip bone, all over your torso, slightly blowing over your bruised chest and neck, making its way finally to the side of your cheek, “than to taste you come all over my mouth. but tonight is special, tonight we must complete our holy vows.”
he presses sweet kisses to your cheek, each one slightly more pressing than the last,
“i have to make you come on my cock, is that okay with you, darling?”
you stare back up into his eyes, the scene the same as before with him towering over you and overtaking your entire view. you have no choice but to nod as the stars behind him seem to swirl mockingly to put you in a trance—though yunho’s presence was more than enough to do so on his own.
“are you ready for our consummation, for you to finally become my wife in the eyes of our Lord?” he asks, straightforwardly this time as you see his hand reach to tug at the waistband of his boxers. you nod eagerly, ready to finally be able to feel him.
“i need you to say it, y/n.” he slightly whines, getting as desperate as you. at this point, his boxers are halfway off and you see the extension of him grow even taller as he stares at your naked, quivering form.
“yes, yunho, please—” you beg, becoming even more antsy and worked up. you see now he has fully gotten rid of his boxers, and he takes his angry, leaking cock to grind it between your folds. his pre mixes in your own slick, your heat cooking it together to create the perfect mixture of lubrication for what is soon about to follow. you can feel the way the head of his cock catches on the hood of clit every time he grinds upward—finding a home in the plushness of all your folds. he leans over, face hovering closely above your own to slowly part his lips and let his spit pool into your open, panting mouth. the feeling has you reeling and arching your back with your eyes screwed shut, it’s as if his saliva was honey and all the words you wish to speak were stuck in his honey trap.
“not my man-made name, my holy one.” he says as he licks his lips to clean up the remnants of his spit which didn’t land in your wishing well. your mind blanks, unsure of what he means. you look back up at him to spare him a confusing glance, but you get your answer as soon as you make eye contact with the rosary still swinging from his neck.
and here you were, lying naked under a religious figure whose sole duty was to serve the Lord and be fully dedicated to his congregation. yet, you lay under him as tears have flooded past the gates of his eyelids from his own desperation, mixing down with your arousal still coating his mouth and chin—all combining to drip down and hit your cheek in a salty mixture. you open your mouth just as a droplet falls, landing on your tongue, in a way drawing you to obey his recent command,
“yes, father—please, i need you, pleasepleaseplease!” you beg and whine, antsy for him to just do anything, anything at all. your body is wiggling around in an attempt to feel more of him, hips bucking up uncontrollably to try and slip his still growing cock inside.
he finally starts to match your level of distress, his own hips matching your own pace as he starts grinding even deeper and harder onto your centre. his breath starts to become even more ragged as he quickens his pace, losing sight of the self-control he previously had—way too lost in the pleasure your heat provides to even care. you have to snake your hand down and slip! his cock in yourself to provide you both with the pleasure you both have been craving.
his entire body stills at the realisation of just the top half of his erection inside you. you watch as he sucks in a harsh breath and his stomach contracts in surprise. his hands move to your hips, their hold bruising and keeping you pinned into place. you watch as different emotions seem to flash across his face, unsure how to feel at your actions.
eventually, he lands on a slightly pissed reaction. his brows slightly furrow and his forehead scrunches, a deeper dusting of red airbrushes his cheeks and his lips form a flat line. his hands move toward your waist, and before you can contest, he is picking you up and slamming you down in the middle of the bed. your hand graciously lands on a pillow, but not for long as he yanks you a bit further down. he grabs another pillow to place under your hips.
“my love, i’m trying to be patient, but you’re making it so hard for me…” his breath travels from your jaw, all across your cheek, and lands near your temple. he presses sweet kisses upon its journey, but something in your soul tells you his next movements are not going to be the same.
“this is supposed to be in the name of the Lord. for the text says ‘love is patient, love is kind.’ but what i want to do to you…” he trails off as he hand strokes down your body, lightly poking your entrance with his leaking mushroom tip, “is everything but.”
then, without another word, he fully slams into you. all of his length goes straight to your guts as he begins with such a fast, wretched pace. he has one hand on your breast, tweaking at your nipple, will the other fully supports his weight resting on your hip. you just lie there and take all he has to give you, eyes rolling back and your hands gripping at his biceps in an attempt to ground yourself against his rapid abuse. you watch as his rosary swings back and forth like a pendulum, putting you in yet another trance. meanwhile his eyes are watching you, all of you. the way your breasts bounce every time he slams in, your stomach sucking in at the gaping sensation of him burning you from the inside out, your thighs twitching and spreading even wider to accommodate his own lower half, your bottom lip tucked into your lip but the bottomless whimpers and moans still seeping out of you, and the last thing he landed on? oh, that one had him ruined.
his eyesight travels upwards until it lands on your own eyes, and he notices they aren’t on his, but on his chest. specifically, it’s on the ultimate symbol of his devotion whose length swings from well past his neck and nearly grazes your sensitive nipples.
he takes the rosary off, and places it around your own head. the long beaded jewellery travels down your sternum, and the symbol of the holy cross lands right between the valley of your chest.
and oh, yunho thought he understood why God sent his only son to execution just because he loved humans so much, but now he really gets Him.
yunho would nail his own limbs to a wooden cross if it meant you could spend even another minute in the sweetness that was your cunt.
you feel the coolness of the rosary fall on your chest, and your body can’t help but grow even hotter and the realisation of such a blasphemous act happening, especially with a priest nevertheless.
the sight below him makes yunho go even harder, as if that was somehow still possible. he hits every spot you have ever dreamed of with such expertise and perfection—his energy never faltering. his mouth reconnects with yours, this time in a sloppy wet make out session. he is restless as it is all teeth clashing and tongues flailing. he tasted you and fucked you at the same time with such vigor it was if he was trying to crawl into your skin.
“you are mine now, y/n, you know that right?” he is whimpering himself now, his tempo still steady but you can feel all of the previous play has him nearing the finish line.
“we’re sealing it now, we can never take it back. y-you’re mine, forever, even past till death does us part.” he is rambling now, his tongue is stuck outside of his mouth as he licks up the tears falling from your eyes. he moves a hand to pull the rosary even further down, coincidentally landing right at the bulging spot in your tummy where you can see him kissing your belly button from the inside. he takes his large palm, covering most of the expanse of your stomach from its sheer length, and presses. you feel both the pressure of his hand pressing down and meeting his cock, as well as the indent of the cross branding itself onto your stomach. the feeling grows all too much, and you start clawing red angry lines down his back.
“say you know. s-say you kn-know you’re mine.” he is kissing the corner of your mouth, trying to draw the words he oh so desperately wants to hear out of your mouth.
“y’yes! i’m all yours, father. all yours…” you trail off into oblivion as his free hand starts rubbing your clit fast and hard. you clench down around him, now on the verge of overstimulation and so close to hitting your high.
after a few more thrusts, yunho starts to lose his pace. he comes with a few extra grinds into you as he fills you up with his love. you hit your high at the same time, his fingers on your clit growing restless as they rub and pinch at your small bundle of nerves. you come undone with a squeal of his name, your knees cramping up to your chest, and your back arching to help relieve you of all the built up tension of the night.
your mind is in a daze and you both come back down from your highs. yunho gently guides your legs back down, withdrawing his now spent cock from you, causing you to wince at both the cool air and the emptiness taking over.
he immediately goes to pull the blanket over your quivering body, hand enveloping your cheek as he guides your eyesight toward him.
“i’m sorry, my wife, are you alright?” he asks, all of the snarky dominance and whiny desperation he once had now out of his system, simply leaving him with the mindset of a concerned lover.
you cannot even muster up the strength to speak, so you hope your small nod and smile is enough to convey your feelings of content. he seems to take it as such as his mouth turns upward in a smile of his own, his thumb caressing the apples of your cheeks just under your eye.
he leans down to press a gentle, romantic kiss on your lips. no rushing, teeth, tongue, or impatience—just full of his devotion to you.
he pulls away as you look up once more. this time, the stars are gone as the sky has turned into an all-consuming black. yunho cozies up next to you, pulling your head to lie on his chest, your leg thrown over his as you grab onto him like a koala.
one of his hands finds the rosary still hanging from your neck. he stares down at it, the gold and navy blue beads staring back at him. he fidgets with the cross pendant hanging at the very end, making eye contact with the figure. you notice him smile again as he turns his vision to you.
and yunho didn’t have to say anything for you to understand what he was conveying. the consummation has been accepted, your union finalised. you turn your head toward the front door, but you notice it’s not there anymore. panic almost starts to fill you being until yunho grabs your attention,
“none of that anymore, just focus on me, okay? we were made for a greater purpose.” and you accept it. every time you looked into his eyes it was as if you were staring through a window and seeing God himself.
and regardless of who God is,
who are you to deny Him?
don't forget, there's an immense amount of love in friendship as well.
fucking the loser TA for your college course so he'll get you an A <3 the dick is fat so it's a double win for you <3
this is giving me an idea and I will be pocketing it for when I have the motivation to write again 🤪☝
it’s scary to trust people again
Ive got some dark prince wooyo fic ideas now thanks to my beloved nephie and whisper :3
the way I'm about to clean this whole house outta spite bc I apparently 'don't help with anything' 🤪
damn it's been a hot minute since I've been on here 😮💨
Fate + in Jakarta
@heeslomll come get your man for real pls 😭😭
I am so astronomically down bad for this man that it's actually lethal 😩 like he's just sooo ughhhhhhhh omg I love him. jung wooyoung the man that you are 😻🧎♀️
