Criminal!Donghyuck x Reader (Smut - repost)
Y/n has the best most filthy hookup of her life with a mysteriously hot guy, only realizing he's a criminal weeks later when she hears his voice on the news...too bad he comes back for more...
WC: 7.2k (total), unprotected sex, rough sex, dirty talk, degradation, oral sex, semi-public oral sex
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The bar was alive in that kind of way it only got on weekends—dim lighting, low bass thrumming through the floorboards, bodies pressed together in slow, lazy movements on the dance floor. Y/N sat at the counter, one leg crossed over the other, nursing a drink she didn’t even like. The ice clinked softly every time she swirled the glass, her eyes lazily scanning the crowd, pretending she wasn’t bored out of her mind.
She didn’t notice him at first. Not until the air seemed to shift—subtle, but undeniable—like someone had just entered the room and taken up more than their fair share of it. Her gaze flicked toward the door, and that’s when she saw him.
He didn’t move like the others. Didn’t shove his way through the crowd, didn’t glance around to see who was watching. He knew people were watching. He was tall, lean, dressed in all black—dark jacket over a fitted shirt that did nothing to hide the cut of his frame. His hair was dark, messy in a way that looked intentional, and his eyes… sharp, unreadable, scanning the room until they landed right on her.
It was like being hit with a jolt of static.
She looked away first. She didn’t know why. But a few moments later, she felt the empty barstool beside her shift.
“You always look this bored,” he asked, voice low and smooth, “or is tonight special?”
She turned her head, finding him much closer than she expected, his arm resting casually on the counter, his eyes locked on hers like he already knew her answer.
“Depends on who’s asking,” she said, matching his tone.
His mouth curved into something between a smirk and a dare. “Haechan.”
He didn’t offer a hand. Just a name, like it was enough.
The bartender appeared, and without looking away from her, Haechan ordered something—something expensive, judging by the slight raise of the bartender’s brow. Then he turned the glass toward her instead of himself.
“You strike me as someone who could use something stronger than… whatever that is,” he said, nodding at her drink.
Normally, she would have bristled. But there was something about him that made her lean into it instead of away.
One drink became two. Two became three. By the time they were leaning in close, shoulders brushing, his hand resting dangerously near her thigh, she’d stopped wondering why her pulse wouldn’t slow down.
When he finally said, “Wanna get out of here?” it wasn’t even a question.
They didn’t speak much on the walk to the hotel. The silence wasn’t awkward—if anything, it was charged. Y/N’s heels clicked against the pavement in quick rhythm, but Haechan’s steps were slower, confident, like he knew exactly where this night was going and didn’t need to rush.
By the time the elevator doors slid shut, his hand was already at her waist, pulling her in until her back met the mirrored wall. His breath was warm against her ear when he spoke.
“You’ve been looking at me like you want me to ruin you all night,” he murmured, his tone low, dangerous.
Her lips parted, but she didn’t get the chance to answer—his mouth was on hers, hard and hungry. His hands roamed like he had every right to touch her, sliding over her hips, gripping the curve of her ass through her dress. She gasped into the kiss when he squeezed, and he used the opening to lick into her mouth, deep and claiming.
When the elevator dinged, he pulled back just enough to smirk at her swollen lips. “Room 804. Move.”
She barely remembered the walk down the hall before they were inside, the door slamming shut behind them.
Haechan was on her instantly, spinning her so her back hit the door, his hands braced on either side of her head. “You like giving control away, sweetheart?”
Her pulse jumped. “Maybe.”
“That’s not an answer.” His hand slid up her thigh, dragging the hem of her dress with it. “Say yes.”
“Yes,” she breathed, and his grin widened like he’d been waiting for it.
The dress was gone before she could think about modesty, pooling at her feet while he drank in the sight of her. He didn’t bother hiding the hunger in his eyes as he pressed her against the door again, his thumb grazing her already-damp panties.
“Look at you,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. “So wet for me already. You want me to fuck you?”
“Yes,” she said again, her voice breaking slightly.
“Not good enough.” He hooked a finger under her chin, tilting her face up until their eyes locked. “Say it like you meanit.”
“I want you to fuck me.”
That earned her a kiss so deep it stole the air from her lungs. He pulled her toward the bed, stripping off his own jacket and shirt on the way. His body was lean, toned, and every movement screamed cocky self-assurance.
When she reached for his belt, he caught her wrists, pushing her down onto the mattress. “Uh-uh. You don’t touch unless I say you can.”
He knelt between her thighs, dragging her panties down slowly, like he wanted her to squirm. When he tossed them aside, he spread her knees wide, his gaze dark and heavy as it roamed over her.
“Open up for me, sweetheart.”
The words made heat pool low in her belly. She obeyed, and he smirked like she’d just handed him the win. His fingers were on her first—slow at the start, teasing—then rougher, curling deep until her back arched off the bed.
“Such a good little thing,” he murmured, watching her writhe. “You take my fingers so well. Can’t wait to feel you wrapped around my cock.”
When she was a mess beneath him, he finally freed himself, the sight of him making her mouth go dry. He didn’t rush, just stroked himself lazily while looking her over like she was something he owned already.
Then he was over her, one hand braced beside her head, the other guiding himself to her entrance. “This is going to ruin you for anyone else.”
And he was right. The thrust was deep, hard, making her cry out. He fucked her like he had something to prove, his hips snapping against hers, each thrust punctuated by filthy praise and taunts—telling her how tight she was, how perfect she felt, how she was made for him to use.
When she clawed at his back, he caught her wrists again, pinning them above her head. “Stay still. Take it. That’s all you have to do.”
Her moans filled the room, mixing with the slap of skin and his ragged breathing. He bent down to bite her neck, licking over the mark after. “Gonna cum for me, sweetheart?”
“Yes—oh god—”
“Do it. I want to feel you fall apart around me.”
When she did, it was intense, shattering, her body tightening around him in pulsing waves. He fucked her through it, groaning when he spilled inside her, his thrusts finally slowing.
He kissed her once more—slow this time—before pulling back, that smirk returning. “Told you. Ruined.”
Y/N woke to an empty bed.
For a moment, she just lay there, staring at the dent in the pillow where his head had been. The sheets smelled like him—clean soap, faint cologne, and something darker she couldn’t quite place. The memories from last night flashed back in sharp, heated fragments: the elevator, his hands, his voice in her ear telling her exactly what to do.
Her thighs ached in the best way.
Rolling onto her back, she caught sight of the clock. Late. She groaned, dragging herself up and finding her dress crumpled on the floor. There was no note. No phone number. Just the echo of his smirk burned into her brain.
By the time she slid into a booth at the little café near her apartment, her best friend, Mina, was already there—iced coffee in hand and a knowing grin on her face.
“You’re late,” Mina said, eyes dropping to Y/N’s oversized hoodie and messy hair. “And… you look like you just rolled out of bed. From someone else’s bed.”
Y/N bit her lip, sliding into the seat. “Okay, so… I might have had a night.”
Mina’s eyes widened. “Tell me everything.”
Y/N leaned in, lowering her voice even though the café wasn’t crowded. “Met him at the bar. Tall, hot, this stupid cocky smirk that should have been illegal. He bought me a drink and—” She stopped, heat rushing to her cheeks. “Mina, it was… the best sex of my life.”
“Oh my god.” Mina covered her mouth, then dropped her hand. “Details. Now.”
Y/N looked around once more before continuing. “He was… rough. But perfect. Said all the right things, like he could read my mind. At one point—” She paused, shivering at the memory. “At one point he looked at me and said ‘open up for me, sweetheart’. And I did. Like instantly. I didn’t even think.”
Mina fanned herself dramatically. “Okay, keep going.”
“He wouldn’t let me touch him unless he said so,” Y/N admitted, smirking a little. “And when I came, he—god—he told me he wanted to feel me fall apart around him. It was filthy. I loved every second of it.”
Mina shook her head, grinning. “So when’s round two?”
Y/N’s smirk faded just a little. “That’s the thing… when I woke up, he was gone. No note. No number. Nothing.”
Mina raised a brow. “Mysterious. Maybe he’ll pop up again.”
Y/N stirred her coffee, trying to hide how much she hoped so. “Yeah… maybe.”
But even as they switched topics, she knew she’d recognize that smirk anywhere—and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to find him, or if she should run the other way if she did.
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The sizzle of garlic in the pan filled her small kitchen, the scent curling warm and familiar through the air. Y/N moved lazily between the counter and the stove, wooden spoon in hand, humming faintly to herself. The TV was on in the living room, volume low—background noise she barely paid attention to most nights.
“…in other news, police are still investigating the underground street racing gang suspected in a string of high-end car thefts across the city…”
She half-listened, tossing the pasta into the pot, steam clouding up in front of her.
“…the group is believed to be highly organized, with members able to bypass advanced security systems in minutes. Authorities have yet to identify any suspects, but earlier this week, surveillance audio captured what they believe to be the gang’s leader…”
Her hand froze on the spoon.
“…the voice was recorded whispering something to himself while working to unlock a car. Investigators say it could be a personal quirk—possibly a code phrase. We warn viewers, the clip is faint but clear.”
She turned toward the living room without meaning to, her brows knitting together as the reporter continued.
And then—
“Open up for me, sweetheart.”
It wasn’t grainy enough to hide the tone. That deep, low rumble. The way the word sweetheartcurled at the edges, dripping with command.
Y/N’s whole body went rigid, the steam from the stove curling around her as her mind stuttered.
No. No, it couldn’t be—
But the moment it hit her ears, her body remembered. The weight of him above her. The heat of his breath against her ear. That exact same line, whispered while she lay beneath him, trembling, her back arching into his touch.
Her knees felt unsteady.
The anchor kept speaking, explaining how police hoped the clip might lead to tips from the public, but she barely heard a word. Her heart thudded in her chest as they played it again.
“Open up for me, sweetheart.”
She stumbled toward the couch, grabbing the remote with shaky fingers, rewinding. Playing it again. And again. Every repetition sent a sharp shiver down her spine.
It was him. It was Haechan.
She sank onto the couch, her dinner forgotten in the kitchen, the only thing she could hear was his voice filling the quiet apartment—over and over—until it was impossible to deny the truth.
The man who’d given her the best night of her life was the leader of a gang the police couldn’t catch.
And she knew that voice better than anyone.
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The garage smelled like motor oil and adrenaline. The hum of a stripped-down Nissan idled low in the background, the hood up, exposed wiring glinting under the harsh white lights. Haechan was crouched beside it, a smudge of grease on his forearm, his focus razor-sharp on the delicate lock bypass he’d been perfecting.
The metallic click of the door opening announced Mark before his voice did.
“They got your voice on tape,” Mark said flatly, stepping inside.
Haechan didn’t look up right away, just kept working, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “Cops get lots of things on tape. Doesn’t mean they know what they’re listening to.”
Mark leaned against the workbench, arms crossed. “This time, they’re playing it on the damn news.”
That made Haechan pause. Slowly, he straightened, wiping his hands on a rag. “Let me hear it.”
Mark pulled out his phone, scrolling, then hit play.
“Open up for me, sweetheart.”
The voice—his voice—rolled out into the garage, low and intimate even in the grainy recording.
And Haechan froze.
Because he remembered saying it. Not here. Not to himself over a lock. But to her. Weeks ago, her knees open under his hands, her eyes glassy with need, the little breathless yes she’d given him right after.
Heat flared low in his gut, memory slamming into him so hard it stole his breath.
Her soft gasps as he slid into her. The way she squeezed around him, so fucking tight it had him gritting his teeth. The sight of her arching under him, mouth falling open as she obeyed every filthy word he gave her.
He hadn’t been able to hook up with anyone since. Not for lack of trying—he’d had offers. But every time he touched someone else, it felt wrong. They weren’t her. They didn’t make his control slip the way she did.
He tossed the rag onto the bench and grabbed his jacket.
Mark blinked. “Where the hell are you going?”
“Out,” Haechan said, already heading for the door.
“That’s it? You’re not even gonna—”
“Lock up the garage when you’re done,” he cut in, not slowing.
Mark’s voice followed him out. “You’re not telling me something.”
Haechan didn’t bother answering. He was already in the driver’s seat, engine roaring to life. His mind wasn’t on the job, or the risk, or the cops—it was on Y/N. On the way she’d looked up at him that night. On the sound she’d made when he told her to open up for him.
And if she’d seen that news clip…
He pressed harder on the gas. He needed to see her.
It was nearly midnight when the knock came.
Y/N froze halfway through brushing her teeth, the sound echoing through her quiet apartment. No one came by this late. No one except—
Her pulse quickened. She didn’t need to look through the peephole. There was only one person who would knock like that—three firm raps, a pause, then two more.
She pulled on her robe, tying the belt tighter as she stepped into the hall. And there he was.
Haechan stood with his hands in his jacket pockets, hood up, shadows hiding half his face. But his eyes… she’d know them anywhere.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice low but steady.
He tilted his head slightly, studying her. “You know why I’m here.”
She crossed her arms, the robe tugging tighter across her chest. “Do I?”
His gaze sharpened. “I know you know it’s me. It’s all over the news.”
Y/N’s breath caught, but she didn’t look away. “The second I heard it… I knew.” She swallowed, fingers tightening on the robe belt. “It was you.”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.
“But I’m not going to tell anyone,” she continued. “I don’t care what you’ve done… it’s not my business. But it means we can’t—” She hesitated, the words catching. “We can’t see each other anymore.”
Something flickered in his expression—amusement, maybe, or defiance. Then he stepped closer, close enough for her to smell the faint trace of his cologne, the warmth radiating from his body.
“You really think I’m going to walk away that easy?” he murmured.
Before she could answer, he leaned in and kissed her.
It wasn’t gentle. His mouth was hot, demanding, pulling a sharp gasp from her before she melted against him. Her hands were at his chest, meaning to push him back—but instead, they curled into his jacket as his tongue slid against hers, his body crowding hers into the doorframe.
She kissed him back. Hard. Like she’d been starving for it.
When she finally broke away, breathless, her hand pressed lightly to his chest—not shoving, but holding him there. “You have to stop coming here.”
He didn’t move for a beat, eyes locked on hers, lips curved in that infuriating smirk. But when she stepped back, he let her go.
She turned, retreating inside without looking back, the door clicking shut between them.
In the dark of her bedroom, she lay staring at the ceiling, heart still pounding.
What the hell was going on in her life?
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The night air was thick with gasoline, smoke, and bass-heavy music that rattled the cracked pavement. Y/N stood near the edge of the crowd, hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket, watching the chaos unfold.
Mina had dragged her here, bright-eyed with her new boyfriend in tow, gushing about how “street racing is way more fun than it sounds.” Y/N had almost said no. But maybe, she thought, it was time to put Haechan firmly in the past. Maybe she could meet someone new tonight. Someone who didn’t vanish after wrecking her self-control, and definitely someone who wasn’t a walking red flag.
Engines roared at the starting line, headlights flaring against the dark. Y/N let her gaze wander over the lineup—sleek bodies of metal and chrome, paint jobs that gleamed under the scattered floodlights.
Then one particular car rolled forward.
It was impossible not to notice. Low to the ground, jet black with tinted windows that hid the driver completely—until the glass began to roll down.
Her stomach dropped.
Haechan.
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