A "Something like Safe" oneshot
Chimera/Hybrid au | Yunho x Reader
Warnings: explicit content, mndi female anatomy for reader, smut, nipple play, fingering, dirty talk, breeding kink, creampie, chimera!yunho, alpha!yunho, kinda soft dom yunho, mentioned oversensitivity, multiple female orgasms, alpha kink for both, mentions of knotting and rut, praise kink, no use of y/n, mentioned aftercare, briefly mentioned size kink (blink and it's gone)
4.3k words
Tag list: @woosmaid (let me know if you’d like to be added!)
You’re both in his room, warm light pooling from the bedside lamp, music playing low in the background—one of his playlists. The mellow kind, all soft drums and slow bass and steady rhythm. You’re tucked against him on the bed, your back to his chest, your fingers laced together where they rest against your stomach.
It took time to get to this place. To let him cradle you this close and intimate. To be in his bed with him. Now, it’s comfortable. Easy as breathing.
Your gaze drifts to the mirror across the room—angled enough that you can see both your reflections. You, loose-limbed and tucked under his chin. He, all solid warmth, soft focus, and steady hands. He’s so gentle with you. Always is. Even the expression of contentment as he rests with his eyes closed is gentle.
But you’re aware there are other facets to him; Sides he hasn’t yet handed to you. Not because he’s hiding them, but because he likes being gentle and safe and warm and easy to fall into.
Now that you’ve fallen, you’re curious. And that safety makes it easy to voice the curiosity.
“Hey,” you murmur, your voice just above a whisper. “You remember that video Mingi posted? The one where you were all… intense?”
He stiffens slightly behind you. You feel his chuckle before you hear it, a vibration against your back.
“I’ve made a lot of videos with Mingi.”
“The one I saw before we met at the café. The one I accidentally liked.”
You’re still a little embarrassed by that.
He groans, the sound half mortified, half amused. “That one?”
You nod. Looks like you aren’t the only one. “Yeah. That one.”
His arms tighten around you just a little, but he doesn’t reply. You twist in his hold until you can look at him. He’s watching you, curious. There’s a little flush along his cheeks, like he’s recalling that brunch interaction with as much clarity as you are.
You look up at him, your own flush a tingling heat in your cheeks. “Is it…is it weird that I kinda want to see that side of you again?”
The question—or is it a request?—hangs in the air. His brow furrows, lips parting slightly, the flick of a canine ear betraying surprise.
“You do?” he asks, carefully. Not doubting you; just surprised.
You nod, feeling the way his arms tense around you. “I love how safe you make me feel. I love how careful you are with me. And…” You take a breath. “I also remember how I felt watching that video. How I couldn’t stop thinking about what it would feel like if you looked at me that way.”
His gaze sharpens, and he inhales quickly. From this close, you can see the way his pupils blow wide. He likes the idea. Knowing that makes the warmth turn from soft to something more poignant.
You squeeze his hand, if only to stop your own from trembling. “I’m not even really sure what I’m asking,” you admit, “But…it was hot. And I want to see it…here.”
In real time, while he’s touching you. The thoughts finish themselves, and that blush intensifies. Fuck. You realize in that moment, as you ask, what it is you’re asking for. You want him to undo you. To confidently unravel you and catch you when you come apart.
His throat bobs as he swallows.
For a long second, he says nothing. Just watches you—eyes flicking over your face, searching, reading every micro expression like he’s checking for any hint of doubt.
“You’re sure?” he asks again.
Your heart gives a hard squeeze before beating faster. Because that care is what made you love him in the first place, the twitch of his ear tells you he can hear it. Reminds you that those senses that make him more than human are picking up on your responses to him.
“Please,” you murmur.
Something changes in response to that one word.
It’s not dramatic. He doesn’t shift suddenly or pin you to the bed or growl like the characters in those dramas Wooyoung mocks. It’s subtler than that. His expression settles. His posture straightens. His grip on your waist tightens, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you just how wrapped up in him you are.
“Okay,” he says, voice lower now. A thread of heat curling through it. “But you say stop, and I stop. Always.”
You nod. “I know.”
His hand shifts from where he’s been cradling you to slide along your jaw. His thumb traces the edge of your bottom lip. Then he leans in—close enough that you can feel the words when he murmurs:
“You’re always on my mind. I’ve been trying to be good. Careful. Soft. Didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
His nose brushes along your cheek. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he releases his hold on your hand. His touch is soft but unrelenting when he guides you to turn fully to face him. His voice dips even lower.
“Then you ask me for it. Mm,” he hums against your jaw, seeming to breathe you in, “I’m so proud of that. You’re my brave girl.”
It’s not just the words; it’s the voice behind them. Velvet and heat and want. The praise goes straight to your core, and you hold in a soft sound. Yunho’s never talked to you like this. Not even in the video was he this intense.
That had been choreographed intensity. This is something else entirely—like an unfurling of carefully kept desire—something slow and deliberate and for you.
His eyes flick to your lips. Stay there. You don't move; keep your hands where they’ve locked onto him. One on his side, the other on his chest. You can feel the steadiness of his breathing, the soft expansion of his ribs with each inhale—the unfaltering beat of his heart.
He leans in, and even though he stops just short of kissing you, the weight of it is devastating. His eyes are unrelenting as he watches you, cataloging everything.
“Do you want me to touch you, sweetheart?” he murmurs, fingers tightening on your waist, “Do you want me to make you feel good?”
His hand skims down your side, stopping just above your hip. Long fingers follow the curve of your body, digging into the swell of your backside. Heat blooms across your skin, your breath catching as his grip flexes—light, then firmer. You’re not sure if you shiver, but his ears twitch, and you know he noticed the way your breath stuttered.
His free hand lifts, palm warm as it cups your cheek. But there’s no hesitation in it, no tentative testing of boundaries.
“Use your words, love.”
There’s wetness between your thighs. You can feel that tingling warmth and the dampness that follows. He’ll give you everything you want, as long as you ask for it. As long as he knows it’s truly what you desire from him.
Your tongue flickers over your lips to wet them.
“Please, Yunho,” it’s barely a whisper.
Only because of the nearness do you feel the way his hips twitch at the plea. Oh. He likes that, too.
He’s touched you before. You know the feel of him enough to daydream about how his fingers and cock feel against you and inside you. But those have been soft, slow affairs—exploratory and few. He has never surrounded you like this. Never whispered ‘good girl’ against your lips like now.
Yunho kisses you languidly. Not the careful slowness of before, but like he means to taste you thoroughly. His fingers dip under your clothes, tracing heat over your skin with slow certainty. Sliding up your belly to cup over your bra.
One of his thighs presses between yours, unrushed but inevitable. Firm as he grinds it against your center. You suck in a harsh breath through your nose, shivering in his hold.
“Still okay?” he asks, voice husky, careful even when he’s already making you hazy with want.
You nod. “Still okay.”
He smiles. Not the sunshine grin, nor the bashful one he wears when he’s flustered. This one’s slower. Hotter. Intent.
“Good.”
He kisses you again, pushing his thigh up into you. The hand at your breast slips to the bottom of your bra—a soft, cupless thing you’d worn for a day in. You’re glad for it as he bunches it and pushes it above your breasts, exposing them to his touch. A soft, warm thumb rolls over your nipple, drawing a soft moan. He hums against your mouth, the sound low and pleased.
“You sound pretty,” he murmurs against you, “Always so pretty.”
He repeats the touch, kissing your cheek softly and slowly. Leaving your lips unattended as another soft sound escapes. He inhales again, breathing in against your skin.
“And you smell like mine,” the words are almost smug, “My pretty, brave girl,” another slow, sensuous drag of his fingers over your peaked nipple. A soft pinch and tug that has you grinding against his thigh just a little, “My good girl.”
Your breath stutters when he says it.
It echoes in your chest, beneath your skin, in the pulse that pounds through your veins. He feels it, you know he does. The way you lean into his touch instead of bracing against it. The way your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself there like you might drift without him.
He exhales slowly and deeply, nose still pressed to the curve of your cheek. His voice is quiet when it comes again, but lower and more certain—wound tight with restraint and something almost sweet.
“Tell me what you want.”
You don’t answer right away. You can’t—not when your whole body feels like it’s humming in response to the question.
His lips find the edge of your jaw, feather-light. Barely there.
“I’ll stop,” he says, and his hand starts to ease back. “If this is too much—”
Your fingers tighten.
“Don’t,” you whisper.
That stills him completely.
You draw in a breath, swallow your nerves. Find the words.
“Touch me,” you say. “Please.”
A fleeting smile flickers over his mouth, and he rewards you with a soft roll of his thigh over your wet heat.
“Like this?”
You can’t tell if he’s teasing or trying to be careful. Whatever the case, it isn’t enough. Not when his fingers still linger near the swell of your breast and your legs are clamped around his. You wet your lips again, tugging at his shirt.
“More. Need your fingers again.”
He groans, soft and wrecked, like the edges of his restraint are starting to fray. His mouth returns to yours, this time deeper. Not urgent, not demanding, but wanting in a way that makes you gasp into it.
Again, his hand takes your hip and guides you. He situates you into a position that will be more comfortable, and you whine softly at the loss of his thigh against you. Yunho hushes you, almost absently. Then his mouth is back on yours, encouraging your lips apart in a devouring kiss.
You jolt a little when he pulls off your lounge pants and underwear, tossing them aside. Cool air nips at the exposed skin, and you shiver a little.
The sensation doesn’t last. A moment later, his hand cups your mound, his middle finger pressing into your slit. He groans softly against you, shifting to allow that fingertip to sink into your opening.
“Already this wet,” he murmurs, pulling back to watch, “Sweetheart, I’ve barely touched you…”
Something akin to embarrassment flushes through you, and your thighs attempt to close. He keeps his hand where it is, one finger breaching you, and kisses your temple.
“Shh, it’s okay. I like it,” another kiss, “Spread your legs for me, love.”
The command is soft, but a command nonetheless. It surprises you how much it makes you throb.
“Good girl.”
Again, the words jolt through you. Yunho makes a soft sound as you clench slightly, slipping that finger further into you as though to better feel you.
“Oh? You like that? You like being my good girl?”
Fuck. That same almost-embarrassed feeling swirls in your belly. He lets you remain silent for only a moment, watching as he slowly sinks into you up to the last knuckle.
“Words, love.”
You tremble as you answer.
“Yes. I like it. I like it when you…praise me.”
The confession feels too much like handing over something vulnerable. And Yunho does what he’s always done with your vulnerability—he takes it and tucks it in close. Cherishes it. Treasures it. Guards it.
His hold on you tightens, secures you more against him. You can feel the way his cock twitches against you, large and hard and wanting. You can’t smell his arousal the way a Chimera could, but you’re aware of it anyway. And still, you feel safe. And, more than that, wanted.
“You don’t know,” he breathes, lips brushing your jaw again, “what it does to me when you let me in.”
Slowly, he guides his touch out and then back in.
“I think I’m starting to,” you murmur, eyes fixed on the way his hand flexes.
“Mm?” he hums, carefully aligning his ring finger and pressing it in as well.
The soft stretch has you biting back a moan. You’ll never tire of how good his fingers feel inside of you, how their length and subtle breadth are perfect as he works you gently.
“F-feels good,” you breathe, tilting your head to kiss his jaw in return, “Always feels so good.”
He groans lowly, his pace picking up a little. His thumb presses into your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts and causing your thighs to jolt. Gently, his other hand brushes your hair from your face and tilts your head so he can meet your eyes.
“I want to see you come like this,” he murmurs, looking at you fondly, “I want to feel you fall apart on my fingers. And then I want to fuck you until you come on my cock.”
Heat sparks through you at the directness of his words. There’s a smirk playing at his lips, like he knows how obscene he sounds and the effect it’s having.
“Do you want that, sweetheart? Want me to fill you up?”
You’re sure he means with his length. It’s taken a good deal of preparation the few times you’ve had him inside you. He’s too big for anything less. But the thought of him being inside you and filling you with his come has you clenching hard on his fingers. Hard enough that he startles a little. Interest lights his dark eyes.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, gaze flickering over your face and taking in your slightly hazy expression.
You swallow, rocking your hips to meet the movements of his fingers.
“Thought about…you coming inside,” you admit quietly, “Filling me up,” your eyes slide to where his hardness presses against the front of his sweats, tenting against your leg. The last confession comes even quieter, “Knotting me.”
That impressive cock jerks. His fingers jolt inside you as he sucks in a breath, body tensing. Then he stills, letting out a long, slow exhale.
Yunho’s voice is raspy when he speaks again.
“Fuck, love. You can’t just say these things.”
Something like pride mixes with the arousal. You rarely make him stumble like this, and it’s exciting to have done so now, when he’s been in control of the pace. Deliberately, you squeeze around his fingers. He sucks in a hard breath, eyes narrowing.
“You like it, though,” there’s no shyness in your voice, only certainty, “That’s why you keep telling me to use my words.”
Yunho stares back at you for a moment, something turning over behind his eyes. Then he nods, almost to himself.
When he moves again, it’s with a firm sort of decisiveness. He lays you back, removing his fingers from within you.
“Undress,” the word is nearly a purr, “Let me see you.”
You hurriedly take off your shirt and bra, aware that the faster you obey, the sooner his hands will be on you again. When your eyes find him again, he’s in the middle of pulling off his own clothes.
You’ll never tire of that either. The soft lines of him, the lean dancer’s build. His eyes find yours again as he slides his thumbs under his waistband. Oh. The heat there is new. Different in its intent and hunger. You can’t look away, even as he drags his pants off and his cock all but smacks against his abdomen, erect and drooling.
“I can’t knot you outside of rut,” he says, almost conversationally, “And I think you know that.”
A nod. You do. He smiles, kicking his clothes aside, completely bare now.
“Have you been thinking about it, sweetheart? Fucking me during my rut?”
You press back into the pillows, exposed under his hungry eyes. He steps to the edge of the bed, expression expectant. This is new, too. The insistence on hearing you speak—the questions.
Before, it was a constant check of ‘Is this okay?’, ‘Can I keep going?’. An unraveling as gentle and easy as falling into his arms. This time it’s hungrier, sharper. Like he enjoys every moment of your squirming and knows just how much that almost-embarrassment makes you leak for him.
“Yes,” you reply, “I think about it. About…about you being my alpha.”
You know enough to understand that ruts aren’t the romanticized things depicted in the bad smut the old ladies read on benches in the museum garden. They’re difficult. Uncomfortable. An alpha’s instincts go to caretaking, some of which is sexual. But the idea of surrendering to him, letting him have you and care for you in that way, is one that’s guided your own fingers down to your sex many times.
You feel like you blink and he’s over you, hips slotted between yours, cock pressed to your wetness, face close enough that his breath warms your lips.
“Fuck, love. Say it again.”
You blink up at him, surprised.
“I think about it?”
A fleeting smile crosses his lips and he rolls his hips slowly enough that your eyes flutter at the hot press of him.
“No, sweetheart. That last part. Call me that again.”
Oh.
If you weren’t already flushed with want, you’d blush at the comprehension.
Almost tentatively, you slide your hand into his, linking your fingers.
“My alpha.”
He rewards you with another slow roll against you, kissing you with a pleased groan.
“Good girl. Alpha is going to take good care of you. Going to fill you up so well.”
You’re caught off guard by the shudder that runs through you. Hearing those words spoken aloud is like a wet dream come to life. The knowledge that he enjoys it, too, sends heat sparking through your belly. Did he think about it? About having you during his rut?
It occurs to you that you can ask. So you do, hands holding onto him tightly as your voice strains around shortened breaths.
“Do you think about it, too?”
His eyes go dark and a little distant, a slow, delicious shiver passing through him. As though he’s imagining something enjoyable.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, “So often.”
You don’t have a chance to reply before his fingers slide back into you, eased by the slick wetness seeping from you.
“I think about the noises you make. The way your eyes get big right before you come. How perfect this hole feels around my cock. How small your hands look when you stroke me.”
His eyes never leave your face as he thrusts his fingers in and then pulls them back. You’re discovering a good deal about him today. Maybe you should have asked for this sooner.
“I think about filling you up until you’re dripping with me. Pushing it back in so that we don’t waste a drop.”
Fuck. You clench at the thought, the filthy image his words paint. He smiles when he feels it.
“And you want that too. You’re perfect. My perfect girl.”
You grip him harder, rocking your hips in time with his thrusts. His thumb finds your clit again, a third finger sinking into you, stretching you.
“Yunho.”
His lips find your neck, his panting breaths intermixed with wet, open kisses against your skin. His teeth tease, the threat of a bite heightening the building tension in your core. It’s too much and not enough, the relentless thrusts of his fingers and rough rubbing against your clit drawing soft sounds from you. The closer you come to the edge, the more you tremble. Your head falls back, mouth open, sounds unhindered as your nails dig into his skin.
You shatter with a cry, eyes indeed going wide as you quake. He keeps his fingers buried in you, groaning against your neck as you come apart beneath him. Your body trembles and jolts, your grip on him near-bruising.
Slowly, he brings you down. His kisses soften. His touch is gentle. He pulls back to watch your face again, that fond smile back in place as it takes in your dazed expression.
“Okay?” he checks.
You nod slowly, still hazy.
“Okay,” the word is muffled by the way your pulse pounds in your ears.
“Good,” a kiss punctuates the praise, “We’re not done, love. Are you ready for me?”
Another nod, this one faster. Despite the way your clit still throbs and your inner walls still spasm periodically, you still want him. You want to feel him inside you, watch as he loses himself in it.
Yunho’s smile turns blinding for just a moment.
“Words, sweetheart.”
This time, there’s no hesitation.
“Please, alpha. Need you.”
Yunho gently removes his fingers from you, absently putting them into his mouth as he retrieves the lubricant from his nightstand. The sight of him licking his fingers clean, only to use that same hand to slick himself, has the want rekindling within you. He groans softly as he strokes a few times, the head of his cock leaking.
You widen your legs without entirely meaning to, drawing them up a bit. Anticipation coils as his eyes drink you in. Every perceived imperfection is forgotten under that gaze and the sheer hunger in it.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, “So good for alpha.”
He shuffles forward until his tip kisses your entrance, wetness mingling. And then he presses in.
The stretch is expected but still uncomfortable at first. He sucks in a sharp breath, tensing as he forces himself to move slowly. Inch by inch, he sinks in, your body adjusting as he patiently sheathes himself. Then his hips are pressed flush, his expression tight as groans and soft sounds of pleasure escape him.
The stretch is still present, subsiding into something pleasant rather than sharp. Soon enough, you’re reaching for him again, squeezing his shoulder.
“Please.”
The first thrust jostles you. A slow withdraw and a quick, hard snap back in. Another follows. His movements now are entirely different from the slow, sweet way he’s moved in the past. Those thrusts had made you arch and sigh. These punch out moans and harsh pleas of his name. What doesn’t change is the way he gathers you close, his hold tight around you.
He is everything in that moment; all you can perceive. The heat of his body. The force of his thrusts within you. The sound of his harsh breaths and murmurs against your hair.
“Perfect. Perfect for me. Going to be good to you. Taking me so well.”
Your thighs hug him tightly, trembling.
“Good to me. You’re good to me. Yunho, please.”
As though something snaps within him, he pulls back. You don’t have time to question as he retreats from you. In a breath, he turns you onto your front and drags your hips up. A wheezing breath pushes from you at the manhandling.
Then his cock fills you again, and you gasp. Fuck.
He’s unrelenting, his grip bruising as he pulls you back to meet each thrust. The fingers of one hand find your still-sensitive clit and press against it. His front presses to your back as he leans over you, fucking into you with enough force that you grip the bed to keep from being pushed forward.
“Come for me, love,” he pants, “Come on my cock. Let me feel you. Come for me.”
A few more passes of his fingers have you doing just that, your walls spasming around him as you climax again. His grip on your hip is almost painful as he moans, panting harshly. His rhythm falters, and he thrusts once, twice, and a third time. Then he stills, a low sound of something like relief signaling his release.
You feel him twitching within you, his seed pressed in as far as he can manage. The knowledge has you clenching again, and he sucks in breath in response.
For a long moment, neither of you move. The only sounds in the room are your labored breaths and the occasional soft groan. Then, slowly, gently, he guides you to lie with him. His arm wraps around you, holding you to his chest. His cock remains within you, slowly softening.
“How do you feel?”
His voice is a low rasp near your ear, one of his hands sliding comfortingly over your hip and thigh, almost massaging.
It’s a serious question, so you take a moment to take stock. You’re a bit sore from his grip and pace. But good. So very good.
“Amazing,” you sigh.
Yunho huffs a laugh, pressing a kiss to your cheek.
“It wasn’t too much?”
You shake your head, covering his hand with yours.
“Mm, no. It was perfect.
“Good.”
He finishes his check and tightens his hold, seemingly content to wrap around you as much as possible.
“In a bit, we’ll shower. And then we’ll get food, yeah?”
You nod, already feeling sleepy in the aftermath. He jostles you a little.
“Not yet,” his tone is amused, “Shower, food, then sleep.”
A soft, displeased sound precedes your response.
“M’kay.”
Yunho chuckles, pressing his cheek to your hair.