when your super sexy hot boyfriend comes home tipsy after not calling you for fourteen hours and you can’t help but be pissed off — wc 4.3k, jyh x fem!reader, smut minors dni, ANGST (hehe), idol au, dom!yunho, degradation, raw (my bad), spanking, dom yunho agenda lives on. mentions of yungi bc im insane! last shottie before kinktober starts 🫡
You haven’t heard a singular word that’s left the TV screen in an hour. Sitting with your knees bent up to your chest, your arms crossed over them, your hair tied up, jaw set in anger, the silly sitcom on the screen couldn’t even pull a huff of amusement from your nose.
He was late. Again. Hours this time.
It seemed to be happening more often than not lately, with a comeback right around the corner he was holed up at the company building every day, dance practice, meetings, last minute promo recordings. You understood, being with him for years now, this isn’t your first comeback with him, nor is it your last.
But for some reason, this one had steam coming out of your ears, your mind betraying you, telling you he was out with his friends for drinks, he was hanging out in the practice room doing overtime, all because he didn’t want to come home to you.
It didn’t have sadness sitting heavy in your gut. It had ice cold rage burning through your veins, sweat nipping at your neck, your fingertips ice cold. How dare he leave you at home by yourself for hours while you waited for him? For him to be out at a bar, with friends? For him to be lingering at the studio without a care in the world that you were home, on the couch, patiently waiting for his arrival?
You were mid-sigh when you heard the keys in the door handle. You stood on socked feet as the door groaned open, the knob bouncing off the wall. You barely reacted, arms so tightly bound over your chest, mind whirling with your starting accusation.
Your six-foot oaf of a fucking boyfriend tumbled through the doorframe, already smiling, pink dusted over his cheeks. Your eyebrows shot to your hairline– You thought him being drunk was a long shot, your mind jumping to conclusions because you couldn’t get a hold on your emotions, but you were fucking right!?
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” your arms uncurl from your chest as you make your way towards him, feet sliding over the hardwood in quick steps.
“Baby!” His grin widens, throwing his bag to the floor, his jacket falling on top, completely missing how your eyebrows were slanted downward, how your lips pursed in a heart at the center of your face. “I missed you, today was so long. Mingi, Wooyoung and I went to the bar across the street and had a few beers to unwind after work, talk about the day.”
You keep your distance, a few feet away, arms curling over your chest again, weight shifting to one leg. You tilted your head, voice coming out in a tone of false amusement, “Have fun?”
He giggles, a soft sound, light and bubbly, your favorite song of his. Not right now.
“Yeah,” he nods, “Wooyoung and Mingi are so fucking funny when they’re together, I swore I was gonna pee my pants at one point.”
You nod slowly, lips pursed atop each other, eyes low and pointed, “That’s great.”
He pauses where he stands, one shoe off, the other halfway on. He furrows his brows, “You’re pissed.”
“No shit I’m pissed.”
His head tips back in a groan, arms falling limp at his sides as he kicks his other shoe off. Your hands start flying. “I don’t understand, Yunho, do you even think of me during the day? No text, no call, no nothing while I sit here and wait for you!”
He starts for the kitchen, long legs quickly carrying him there, you follow on his heel. “Do you even think of maybe letting me know?” He opens the cabinet, grabbing a glass of water. Your eyes follow him. “Tell me, Yunho, am I even a thought in your mind?”
“I think about you all the time, you know that, I’ve told you a thousand times,” his words have a soft, tired bite to them as he places his glass in the fridge, water pouring from the dispenser built into the door.
“Then why don’t you let me know you won’t be home so I don’t make double the dinner I made for myself?” Your voice raises, each word emphasizing the rage slicing through your body, “Or I don’t sit here on the couch like a fucking idiot, waiting for you to walk through the door to watch our show?”
He turns on his heel, droplets of water landing on the hardwood surrounding you. His voice matches yours, loud, strong enough to cut steel, “I just worked,” his tone lowers, punching every single syllable, “Fourteen fucking hours.”
“And I didn’t receive,” you raise up a hand, counting on your fingers, “A call, a voicemail, a text, a fucking Instagram DM. Did you message on Fromm today? Did your fans get a message when I didn’t?”
His eyes widen, lips curling at the corner, a laugh falling from his lips so empty that it hurts like a slap to the face. He walks away, a hand flying in the open space over his head as he heads for the living room, “Oh, you’ve fucking lost it.”
“I’ve lost it!?” You yell, still on his heel, “Excuse me for wanting to hear from my boyfriend of four fucking years while he’s gone for fourteen hours of the day!”
He sits down on the couch, knees spread, drinking from his glass. You stand before him, hands on your hips, rage steaming your skin, the room feeling ten degrees hotter. He chugs the glass, head leaning back into the couch, staring at you through lowered brows. His voice drops, low and steady, the type of anger that makes him calm. You don’t let it phase you.
“You need to stop yelling at me,” he said simply, “You’re being ridiculous.”
“What’s ridiculous is you not giving a fuck about me,” your tone is harsh, and as much as in your soul you know your words aren’t true, you say them like you mean it. “But by all means, go to the bar after work, get some drinks with your friends! Maybe you can even find a woman there to fuck you, or better yet, maybe you should have gone home with Mingi.”
“You’re losing your fucking mind,” he shakes his head with another laugh, “I worked my ass off today, I’m exhausted, I wanted a few beers to decompress so I didn’t come home and put a load on you when you’ve been waiting for me.”
“That’s what I’m fucking here for, Yunho,” your hands find your hair, tugging at your roots, head tipping up to face the beige, popcorned ceiling. “I’m here to help you decompress, I’m here to share your struggles, your hardships. What the fuck am I to you?”
“You’re my girlfriend that has her own struggles and hardships,” he leans forward, his eyebrows in his hairline, his words coming out strained. “You’re not here for me to put all of mine on you! I have coworkers and friends for that, I come home to forget about the bullshit–”
“You come home to get fucked,” you’re seething now, words harsh and low, “You go to work, sing and dance all day, and come home after a few beers looking for a hole to stick your cock in.”
His eyes nearly bulge out of his head. “You did not just say that.”
You point to the floor beneath your feet, “And I meant Every. Fucking. Word.”
Within a blink he’s standing before you, so close you can feel his breath on your skin, pink-tipped, long fingers wrapped around your jaw. He’s staring at you through lowered brows, his eyes heavy and cold, a darkness within the deep chocolate that sends a shiver down your spine, breath catching in your throat.
“You think I’ve been with you four years just for sex?” His voice is quiet, low, terrifying, his torso pressed to yours. Your eyes flare with anger, subtle excitement, socked toes curling into the hardwood, but you don’t answer. His smile is dangerous, it should have you nervous, scared, anything but the rush of adrenaline that floods you. “You think that’s all you’re good for? A hole to stick my cock in?”
“Fuck no,” you hiss, lips squished from his fingers cutting into your skin, “I think that’s all you’re good for.”
He drops your jaw, knees bending to grab you by the thighs, throwing you over his shoulder in one quick motion. Your stomach drops, a high-pitched yell leaving your throat as his legs bring you to the bedroom in long, quick strides, heart rising to your throat when he throws you on the perfectly made bed, his six-foot built towering over you.
You sit up immediately, jaw locked, steam pouring from your nostrils, “Don’t even think about touching me.”
His lips curve in a smile, amusement in his eyes, piercing through the irritation that squares his shoulders. “That’s all I’m fucking good for?” He takes a step closer to the bed, leaning down until his pink-dusted cheeks are centimeters from yours. You don’t move, eyes locked on his and jaw set, heart pounding against your chest. He smiles. “I work every damn day to make money for you, and that’s all I’m good for?”
Your lashes barely touch in a fast blink, ignoring how your stomach drops. That smile, his tone, he’s pissed. Fear licks up your spine, your forehead feeling damp under his gaze. You tilt your chin up, voice losing all its bite, “Yes.”
In a navy hoodie and sweatpants, black hair messily sprawled across his forehead, eyes crazed and wild and maybe half-deranged, the fear that nipped at your spine got confused with the excitement rippling on your skin. His grin spreads wide, and before you know it he’s pushing you back by your shoulders, head bouncing against the mattress. A hand curls under your torso, flipping you onto your stomach, and your eyes squeeze shut. Fuck.
“If that’s all I’m good for,” he starts, thumbs curling into the yoga pants on your waist, pulling them down just enough to expose your ass. “Then maybe I’ll remind you who the fuck I am. Who it is you’re speaking to like that.”
“I know damn well who I’m talking to,” your words come out airy, shuddering as he lifts your hoodie up to mid-back, pulling your pants down just a little more, chuckling when your squished thighs show him a peek of wetness between your legs, no panties to hide it.
“Hmm, I think you like it,” you can hear his smile as his warm palms run over your ass, squeezing the skin, “Being the hole I use when I come home. Being nothing but my fucking cocksleeve.”
You bite your lip to hide your whine, voice strained, “Fuck you, Yunho.”
“Fuck me?” His hands mid-squeeze, grip firm, “I thought you told me not to touch you. Didn’t think you wanted to fuck me.”
Your lips purse, fingers digging into the sheets below you, anticipation biting every inch of skin exposed, “I don’t. I don’t want anything to fucking do with you.”
He laughs and it’s a low, gravelled thing, laced with mischief like he could taste the lies on your tongue. He digs a knee into the bed, leaning down close to your ear, breath hot on your cheek, “You think I have the energy to put you in your place tonight?”
Your thighs clench together, a small whimper escaping your lips. You squeeze your face together, pissed that your body betrayed you, anger and anticipation and arousal mixing together to a cocktail between your legs.
He kneels off the bed, voice steady and sharp, “Count, or I won’t go any farther than this. You won’t get the privilege of being the hole I use tonight.”
Your eyebrows furrow before the first harsh smack lands on your ass. You cry out, head jerking up, bottom lip dragging against the sheets, the word count doesn’t process in your overstimulated mind.
“Oh, I must have misread the situation,” his voice is taunting now, the inflection of his tone rising and falling. “Thought you were just being a brat. You really don’t want to get fucked tonight, huh?”
Your mouth moves before you can think, “I- I do, I do.”
He lands another, right below your ass, the sensitive skin of your thigh. You cry out again, face hot, throat tight.
“Yelling at me on some stupid shit right when I get home, are you really that stupid? Did you forget how to count, too?”
“Two!” You squeal, legs bending at the foot of the bed, your toes just barely gripping the floor to hold you up.
“There you go, baby,” his hands running over where he had just hit you, a stinging heat in his palms now as he attempts to soothe the skin. “Knew you weren’t completely stupid.”
You choke out a quiet moan, body betraying you, temple falling to the mattress again. You have only a moment of recovery before he’s striking you again, harder this time, on the opposite, unmarred cheek, the loud slap ringing through the room.
You whimper, voice quieter, nearly broken, “Three.”
“You can take more,” he’s squeezing the skin again, voice a song of amusement and faux encouragement, “Keep up so you can earn my cock.”
He hits you again, followed by Four. Then again, followed by Five. He gets all the way to Ten before tears are streaming down your cheeks, darkening the comforter beneath your face, sobs shaking your shoulders. It hurts, but it hurts so fucking good you’re left confused and utterly brainless. Pain and pleasure morphing together, you wanted to cum, you wanted to sit in ice-cold water, you wanted him to tell you that you did a good job. You wanted your reward.
Why did you want a reward? Why did you get punished in the first place? You’re the one that’s mad at him.
He’s already tugging you towards him before you can get the words out, shaky and harsh but weakened by the tears streaming down your face, “F-Fuck you, Yunho.”
Pulling you into his lap, his lips bend in a pout as he wipes the tears from your cheeks with two thumbs, “Hm? Still? Thought for sure I would have spanked the brat out of you.”
“You heard me,” your voice is raw, anger returning with how your burning cheeks sting, “Fuck you.”
“Oh,” is all he says as he lays you on your back again, you hiss when the comforter hits your behind. His face reads nothing while he moves you as if you didn’t have any will of your own, pulling the hoodie over your head, ripping the hair-tie from your bun.
“I said don’t fucking touch me,” you bite as your hair falls around your face, “I’m not yours to use.”
He laughs at that, genuine and bright, “That’s exactly what you are, my love, you’re mine. I can do whatever the fuck I want to you.”
“No you can’t,” you move up the bed, wincing as your ass drags across the sheets, “I’m not playing this game with you tonight. All I wanted was a text.”
“Do you not hear yourself when you speak?” He crawls over you, hands sliding your yoga pants down your legs, “Remember when I asked you if you wanted to be fucked and you said yes?”
Your cheeks heat as he slides you down the mattress again, head landing in the pillows. You tip your chin, “It was a moment of weakness.”
“It was you giving in like you always do,” his hands land on your thighs, one sliding down to your pulsing core, “Because at your core you’re nothing but a fucking slut.” His fingers slip into your folds, spreading your wetness, “Ain’t that right?”
Your back arches involuntarily, catching your lip between your teeth to fight a moan. His thumb circles around your clit, tongue poking out to wet his lips, staring at you through lowered brows. He tilts his head when your breath catches in your lungs, “Answer me. Aren’t I right?”
Your hips buck into him, eyes dancing between his hand between your legs and his gaze that was cold and pointed. He smacks his teeth with his lips, pulling his hand away from your core to land a quick slap against your center. You gasp a moan, hips jerking, and his lips curve in a smile, “You answer when I speak to you.”
“Yes, fuck, Yunho, you’re right,” you gasp out, body twitching now, fingers twisting in the sheets below you.
“What am I right about?”
“I’m a slut!” You cry out as his thumb meets your clit again. Your head digs into the pillows, eyes fluttering shut at the pleasure, how his finger moves at the perfect pace with perfect pressure.
He uses his other hand to slip a finger inside you, curling slowly, his lips parting as he watches your body arch, relaxing into the bed, face morphing into sweet pleasure.
“That’s right,” he nods, voice taunting, “You’re a slut, my fucking slut. You don’t talk back to me, you don’t speak to me disrespectfully, do you?”
You shake your head quickly, eyebrows twisted in pleasure, hips bucking against his fingers. The sting in your ass adds to the pleasure at your core, mixing together in a bubble of euphoria, the pit in your stomach tightens. He adds another finger and fucks into you faster, thumb circling with harder pressure, voice still taunting as he asks, “Do you have anything you want to say to me?”
“I’m sorry,” you open your eyes, words coming out in a rushed, strained breath, “I’m sorry, Yunho.”
His grin spreads wide. He slips his fingers out, maneuvering you onto your front again, grabbing a pillow from beside your head to slide under your hips. “You don’t get to be stretched out.”
“Fuck,” you mutter absent-mindedly into the cotton pillows, hands coming up to grip at the plush. The stretch was always so much worse without an orgasm first, his cock was too long, too thick.
“Maybe if you’re good for me I’ll pretend you never said a word, maybe I’ll even let you cum,” his hands curl into your cheeks, spreading you open, ignoring how you hiss at the sting. He leans down, landing a fat glob of spit to drip down your folds before you hear him pull down his sweats, his briefs, no doubt just low enough to get his cock out, scrunched around his thighs.
“Take a deep breath for me baby,” his voice is soft for the first time tonight as he lines himself up, his tip spreading his own spit along your core, slapping his cock against you twice before prodding at your entrance.
You suck a deep breath in as he pushes into you slowly, whimpering at the stretch, at the sting. Always so fucking big, even after four years, you weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to it.
“Hah, fuck,” he drags out the words, low and velvety, his pleasure verbal. “Sucking me in like you always do, piss me off just to get fucked like a slut. I know you.”
You cry out a choked moan as he sheathes himself inside you slowly, letting you feel the curve of his cock, each pulsing vein, the mushroom tip settling deep inside you. You feel his hair on your stinging cheeks, eyes screwed shut, rolled back behind your lids, the pain so hot it sears your skin.
“Not gonna fight back?” He huffs a breath of pleasure and amusement, “Too fucked out to speak already?”
Your knees dig into the mattress, hips pressing back against him, “Move.”
He lands another harsh smack on your ass, your wail is immediate, piercing through the room. His voice is sharp, “Thought we went over how you fuckin’ speak to me. You wanna be used, left here without an orgasm and a cunt pumped full of cum?”
You shake your head, tears stinging your waterline again, “No! No, I’m sorry.”
“Act like it,” he pulls out just to slide back in, harsher this time, “Don’t just fucking say it.”
“I’m sorry,” you wail as he picks up the pace, building a rhythm as your fingertips claw at the pillows beneath you, “I’ll be good– I’ll be good, I swear!”
“I know you will,” his hands run over your hips, watching as your hot-red ass bounces against his cock, “This pussy wants to cum, that’s why you were acting up, right? Just missed me?”
Tears dampen the pillows beneath your cheeks, sobs racking through your chest, shoulders shaking as much as your ass bounced against him, “Y-Yes, Yun, just missed you, miss- missed your cock.”
His fingers tighten around your hips, a low groan tumbling through his lips as he fucks into you harder, “I know, baby, I know.”
Your hips fuck back onto him, accepting every inch of his cock, letting the overwhelming pleasure settle into your core. Tears spill down your cheeks as moan after moan slips from your lips, his cock bruising your cervix, curving so deliciously against the front of your walls.
“Fuck, Yunho,” you whimper, voice muffled by the pillows, “Wanna see you, need to see you.”
“Yeah?” He asks, taunting tone dulled by his pleasure-filled breath, “Gonna be a good girl?”
“Yes,” you cry, choking on the spit in your throat, “Gonna be good, g-gonna be your good girl.”
He pulls out at that, slipping the pillow from beneath you and throwing it off the bed, flipping you for the final time tonight. With one look at your splotchy, tear-stained cheeks he’s leaning down, connecting his lips with yours. It’s messy, hot, wet, teeth colliding and tongues trying to swallow each other whole. Your hands immediately slide under his hoodie, feeling the muscled, chiseled abdomen beneath, beckoning him to take it off.
He pulls it over his head and your arms slide over his shoulders, fingers twisting together at the base of his neck, tugging at the hairs that curl around his ears. He moans into your lips, cock grinding against your slippery folds, tip catching on your entrance.
“Please,” you whisper into his lips, a string of spit connecting your lips, “Inside.”
He reaches down, shimmying his sweats down to his ankles, then uses one hand to line himself up and you both watch as he slowly pushes himself inside, eyebrows twisting together and lips falling open in a silent moan.
“So fucking good,” he groans into you, “Pussy so sweet, missed it, missed you.”
You whine as he reaches the hilt, “So fucking deep, Yunho, fuck.”
“All yours, baby,” he catches your lips again, his skin pressed to yours, pelvis so heavy against yours as he builds a new slow, antagonizing rhythm, “All fucking yours.”
Your thighs wrap around his, hips meeting his thrusts, his cock barely sliding out of you with how close you keep him. So close together you don’t know where he ends and you begin, your moans pour into one melody, breaths hot on each other’s faces. Your nails claw into his skin, cries growing higher in pitch as his cock drags against your walls, massaging that spongy spot just behind your clit.
“Right there,” you breathe, head tipping back, and Yunho dips his head down to press his tongue to the column of your throat. Your toes curl, whining, “Shit, Yunho, fuck, missed you s’much.”
“My good girl,” he mumbles into your skin, picking up his pace, never missing the spot you think he was built to hit. “So fuckin’ bratty when she doesn’t get her way, just needed something to fill this tight lil’ pussy up.”
“Yes,” you’re reeling, gasping, your orgasm building steadily in your gut, “Needed you, needed this.”
“I’m sorry,” he finds your mouth again, kissing you harshly, muffling your moans. “‘M sorry I didn’t call.”
“It’s okay, shit,” you gasp, “I’m gonna cum.”
Your thighs unclasp from his back as he fucks into you harder, cock bullying that spot inside you, and your breath hitches in your throat as the pleasure finally spills, clenching around him, nails clawing into him so hard you’re sure you’ll leave red crescents in his back.
“Fuck,” he hisses, “So good for me baby, so tight, you want me to fill you up?”
You nod against his lips, mouth hanging slack against his, body still clenched tight around him, orgasm still flowing through you. “Yes, yes, need it.”
He chokes out a groan, staggered and broken, hips twitching as he loses his rhythm, fucking into you wildly. You cry out, “Yes, baby, so good– so good, stretching me out, cum inside.”
He moans at that, head dipping into your shoulder as he pounds his cock into you, broken thrusts turning to a nasty, slow grind. He whimpers as he spills into you, “I love you, I love you– so much.”
Your hands slide into his hair, scratching at his scalp as you feel his load fill you up, “I love you too, baby.”
Warm, heavy, full. You both catch your breath for a few, he lays with his head in your neck, your thighs lazily thrown over his, both of you ignoring the stick between you.
“Sorry for flipping out when you got home,” you finally mumble, voice coy.
He smiles into your neck, a warm, close-mouthed grin, “It’s okay, I gave you a valid reason to.”
“You should do it more often,” a smile grows on your own cheeks, “If it means you’ll fuck me like this.”
He laughs into your neck, sweet and light, your favorite song. “I fuck you like this without you being mad at me.”
“It adds to it tho, yanno?” You turn your head, kissing his hair. “Maybe next time you’ll have someone else with you when you walk through the door and I can berate him, too.”
“Like who? Mingi?”
You shrug, a smirk on your lips. He lifts his head, meeting your eye, reading the amusement but seriousness laying behind them. He blinks at you for a second, before his lips curl in a nasty smirk, too.
you're — stomping around in your bra & panties, ranting about a girl you almost killed. yunho's smoking, watching. hungry. and the second you turn your back? his patience snaps. one slap, and you're bent over. right in front of the mirror.
wc : 2.6k
tags : explicit content, mirror sex, married couple smut , posessive/obsessive!yunho , filthy, choking, praise & degradation , dom!yunho , overstimulation, "eyes on me" kink , soft aftercare.
a/n : theres basically NO plot and yeah yeah i know i’m a day late to the mirror sex prompt for kinktober BUT i write when i want, not when the calendar tells me to. anyway here u go!!
You’re pacing the room, pulling your dress over your head and tossing it across the floor.
You don’t even think twice about the fact that you’re standing there in nothing but your bra and panties in front of your husband — because you’re too busy fuming.
“And the audacity! Like she’s really gonna sit there acting like I’m the problem? I should’ve dragged her across the table, Yunho, I swear—”
He’s sitting back on the edge of the dresser, cigarette hanging from his lips, just… watching.
His eyes drag slow, lazy, over every inch of you — top to bottom, then back up again — and you catch the way his jaw flexes.
You spin back toward him, throwing your hands up.
“Like what did she think was gonna happen?! You know me! You know how I am! She—”
“Fuck, baby.”
The words slip out so low, almost a growl under his breath.
You freeze, brows knitting. “What?”
He smirks now, finally flicking his eyes up to yours. His hand drops casually to his crotch, palming himself through his slacks.
“What’s that?”
Your head tilts, confused. “What’s what?”
And in two strides, he’s behind you — his hand cracking across your bare ass. The sting is immediate, sharp enough that your knees buckle and you fall forward onto the bed with a yelp.
“Yunho!”
He just laughs — deep, unbothered—as you scramble up, cheeks burning.
You storm over to the mirror, about to yell again, when you see it: a handprint blooming across your skin.
Your jaw drops. “Oh my god.”
He’s already behind you again, his body crowding yours, his hands hot and greedy as they slide up your stomach, over your ribs, cupping your breasts through the lace. His mouth finds your neck, sucking bruises into your skin as he drags your hair over one shoulder.
“Look at you,” he murmurs against your ear, eyes locked on yours in the mirror.
“God, you’re so fuckin’ pretty when you’re mad. My little firecracker… always ready to throw hands. Reminds me of that night in high school — when you made that girl eat dirt for talking shit? Yeah, this is exactly the same.”
You let out a breathless laugh, still trying to hold onto your rant, but his grip tightens — his arm sliding up, wrapping around your throat.
Not choking, just holding you, his bicep thick and hard against your cheek as his free hand roams your body.
“You don’t even know,” he whispers, kissing along your jaw, “how fucking hot it is — watching you tear into them like that. Everybody else scared, but me? I’m just thinkin’ about how bad I wanna bend you over this damn dresser.”
His words mix with his touch, heat pouring off him, and all you can do is meet your own wide-eyed reflection in the mirror — his hand big around your throat, his smirk pressed against your skin, his body all over yours..
“Look,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Look at what’s mine.”
His other hand drags down over your stomach, thumb grazing the soft dip of your belly before sliding lower, slipping between your thighs over the thin cotton.
You gasp, trying to squirm, but his grip around your throat just steadies you.
“Don’t run from it, baby. Don’t you dare look away.” His voice drops, all gravel and heat. “You see that? That body… the bruises, the handprint, all of it — belongs to me.”
You’re trembling, knees weak, as he kisses down your neck, teeth scraping, tongue soothing the sting.
His palm cups you firmly, dragging slow circles that have your mouth falling open.
“God,” he groans against your skin, “you should’ve seen yourself tonight. All fire, all claws, tearing that bitch apart… my perfect girl. Nobody knows how bad it turns me on when you lose it like that. Nobody but me.”
You whimper, his words unraveling you as much as his hands. He chuckles, low and cocky, and presses his hips into you so you can feel just how hard he is.
“See what you do to me?” he says, guiding your hand down to feel him. “All it takes is you, standing there, yelling at me in your little bra and panties, and I’m fucking done for.”
You bite your lip, eyes flicking to his in the mirror — and the raw, greedy hunger staring back at you makes your breath catch.
He kisses your shoulder, slow, reverent now, before murmuring against your skin:
“I’m in love with every fucking piece of you. The sweet, the mean, the crazy, the messy… all of it. You’re mine, baby. Always.”
His hand slides higher, palming your breast, squeezing with a roughness that makes you moan. He smirks at your reflection.
“You love this, don’t you? Love when I put you in your place. Love knowing you can scream and fight anyone else, but for me? You melt.”
His free hand drags lower, slipping under your panties, fingers immediately finding your wetness. His groan rumbles in your ear, deep and dark.
“Eyes on me.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “Don’t you dare look away, baby. You’re gonna watch me break you down piece by piece.”
You gasp when two of his fingers slide into you, slow, curling just right. He smirks at your reflection, watching your face twist.
“Look at you,” he taunts. “All tough until I’ve got you spread open on my fingers. My mean little girl, whimpering in front of a mirror. Pathetic, baby… and so goddamn beautiful.”
His pace quickens, the wet sounds increasing as his thumb circles your clit. Your knees threaten to give, but his arm tightens around your throat, keeping you upright.
“Don’t fall,” he growls. “You stand there and take it. You take what I give you, and you thank me for it.”
Your moans grow louder, choked, and he dips his head to bite at your shoulder, marking you up as his hand works faster.
“Say it,” Yunho snarls into your ear. “Say who owns this pussy.”
“You — oh my god—y-you, Yunho—”
“That’s right.” He grins, feral, pulling his fingers out just to smear your slick messily against your inner thigh. “Mine. Every drop. Every bruise. Every sound coming out of your pretty little mouth — it’s all mine.”
He shoves you forward against the mirror, your palms flat against the glass.
Your reflection is flushed, ruined, hair falling everywhere. Yunho presses up behind you, grinding into you hard.
“Look at yourself,” he orders, yanking your hair back so your eyes can’t stray. “Look at what I do to you. Look how fucked-out you already are, and I haven’t even given you my cock yet.”
He slaps your ass, right over the fading handprint, and you cry out. His grin widens.
He slides your panties down and kicks them aside, lining himself up, his tip pressing against your entrance. His reflection catches your eyes again, and his smirk sends shivers through you.
“Keep watching, baby. Don’t blink. I want you to see exactly how I make you come apart.”
Then he thrusts in, hard, and your gasp fogs the mirror. His grip never leaves your hair.
“You’re gonna scream my name into this fucking glass ‘til the whole house hears you,” Yunho growls, pounding into you, his words filth and devotion wrapped into one. “Let ‘em all know who you belong to.”
Your moan bounces back at you from the glass as he slams into you again and again, relentless. The mirror fogs with your breath, smears with your desperate hands clawing for something to hold onto.
“Don’t you dare close your eyes,” Yunho snaps, eyes blazing, lips curling with cruel amusement. “Look at yourself. Look at how messy you are. My dirty little whore.”
He fists your hair, jerking your head back so you can’t escape the sight of yourself — your face wet with tears, your mouth dropping open on broken cries.
“God, you’re so pathetic like this,” he groans, hips snapping with sharp, punishing thrusts. “Actin’ like you can fight anyone, but here you are — crying on my cock like it’s too much. Can’t handle me, can you?”
You whimper something incoherent, and his laugh is low, cruel. He pulls out almost all the way, only to slam back in hard enough that your whole body jolts forward against the mirror.
“Say it,” Yunho demands, voice dark. His hand tightens at your throat, just shy of cutting off breath, his lips grazing your ear. “Say you can’t take it. Say you’re mine to ruin.”
“I—I’m yours—mmmf-fuck—yours! Yunho, please—”
“That’s right,” he snarls.
He drags the fingers of his free hand down your stomach, slow, almost tender, until he reaches your clit again.
He circles it brutally, the sensation tipping you toward the edge too fast.
Your thighs shake violently, your cries breaking into sobs, but his thrusts only grow rougher, his grip tight around you.
“Look,” he hisses, slamming into you so deep you see stars. He forces your gaze back to your reflection, his hand tightening at your throat. “Look at how fucking wrecked you are. Look at the tears, the drool, the marks I left on you. That’s mine. All of it.”
You try to shut your eyes against the overwhelming pleasure, but his growl is sharp and punishing.
“Don’t you fucking look away. Watch yourself cum for me. Watch how disgusting you look falling apart on my cock.”
His fingers rub faster, and your body snaps, a sobbing scream ripping out of you as your orgasm crashes through, hard and violent.
Your reflection trembles, ruined, every part of you unraveling under his hold.
Yunho doesn’t slow. His laugh is breathless, dark, satisfied.
“Good girl. Scream for me. Let everyone hear it. Let them know exactly who owns you.”
He fucks you through it mercilessly, holding you up when your knees collapse, tears streaming down your cheeks. His mouth grazes your jaw, voice low and cruel in your ear:
“Pathetic little mess. Crying in front of a mirror while I break you. God, I fucking love you like this.”
His cock’s twitching inside your overstimulated body, his palm flat on your stomach, pressing you into the mirror.
“Don’t even think about running from me,” he snarls when your legs buckle. His reflection grins down at your ruined state, merciless. “We’re not done. Not even close.”
“I can’t—”
“You can. And you will,” he cuts in, voice sharp as his thrusts start again, deep, deliberate, devastating. He pins your wrists to the mirror above your head when you try to push him away. “Don’t fight me. You wanted this. Now take it.”
The glass rattles with every slam of his hips, and you sob, trying to twist, trying to crawl away from the overwhelming friction. His grip on your throat and wrists keeps you in place, trapped.
“Look at you,” he growls, teeth sinking into your jaw sucking a bruise there while his reflection smirks at your breakdown.
“Trying to run from my cock like you don’t fucking crave it. Like your pussy isn’t sucking me in every time I try to pull out.”
You cry out, shaking your head, tears streaming, body fighting between pleasure and desperation. “It’s too much, Y-Yunho, please—”
He laughs, dark and cruel, his hips never faltering. “Too much? Baby, we’re just getting started.”
He drags one hand down from your throat to your clit again, rubbing mercilessly while pounding into you. Your scream shatters against the mirror.
“Stop—, I can’t—” you wail, trying to push his hand away, your nails scratching at his wrist.
“Yes, you fucking can,” he growls, voice dropping into a filthy snarl. “You’re going to watch yourself cum again. And again. Until this mirror knows every fucking sound you make.”
You thrash, trying to twist away, but he cages you in tighter, his chest to your back, his arm locking around your waist like steel. He buries himself deep, hitting that spot over and over until your legs give out completely.
“Don’t fight me,” Yunho pants, almost manic now, his own composure fraying. His eyes meet yours in the reflection — wild, hungry, dangerous. “I said fucking look at yourself.”
His thrusts grow harder, rougher, his free hand shoving your jaw forward so you can’t look anywhere but at the reflection of your wrecked, crying face.
“See that?” he grits out, his own voice breaking with pleasure. “That’s mine. That’s my slut, my good fucking girl, falling apart when she swore she couldn’t take more.”
Your body betrays you, convulsing, another violent orgasm ripping through you, even as you sob and claw at him, begging weakly for it to stop.
“Fuck—fuck, that’s it, cry for me,” he groans, his thrusts losing rhythm, hips grinding desperately into you now. “God, I can feel you milking me — gonna come so deep in this pussy, fill you ‘til you can’t walk.”
Your reflection is wrecked—tears, drool, bruises, handprints — Yunho’s mark on every inch of you. And when you finally sag forward, unable to hold yourself up anymore, he still doesn’t let go, his body crushing you into the mirror as his thrusts grow frantic.
“Take it,” he snarls, his own voice cracking into a moan.
“Yeah, fucking take me.”
And then he breaks — burying himself deep and holding you there as he spills inside, groaning against your neck, still holding your tear-streaked face against the glass so you watch the way he finishes inside you, the way he leaves you destroyed, ruined, his.
For a long, long moment, the only sound is your uneven crying and his heartbeat pounding against your back.
You try to slide down, legs trembling like jelly, but his hands catch you before you can move an inch.
“Shhh,” he murmurs now, his voice ragged but softer.
His lips find your temple, your wet cheeks, kissing the tears as his hand gently cups your face and presses it back to the glass.
“Don’t look away from her. Look at my pretty girl. Look at how good she took me.”
You sniffle, a watery laugh breaking through as he noses along your jaw. “You’re insane.”
“And you love it,” he hums, dragging his thumb across your ruined lips, smearing spit and tears all over them. “Cried so pretty for me. Cried so fucking sweet. God, I’m — fuck — I’m never letting you go.”
You giggle through the tears, half-broken, half-blissed out, and he kisses you — messy, tender, still too much.
Every time you try to turn your face away, he’s chasing your mouth again, kissing, praising, growling little soft filthy words like my angel, my slut, my everything.
He scoops you up and hauls you to the bathroom.
The shower hisses on. Steam fogs up the room.
And there’s Yunho, peeling your sticky body against his, washing you down with careful, grounding touches… until you, wicked little thing, glance down and deliberately run your nails across his balls.
His whole body jerks. That slow, dangerous look cuts down at you through the steam.
“Oh, you’re brave today, huh?”
You grin up at him, eyes still watery but playful now, and trace your finger up the underside of his cock. Right to the tip. Just a little tickle.
“Y/N.” His voice is a warning growl.
You do it again.
And that’s when he bites your shoulder. Hard enough to make you squeal.
“Yunho!” you yelp, smacking his chest, but he’s laughing now, shaking his head, muttering, “Fucking menace.”
By the time the water runs cold, you’re both clean, skin bitten and marked, and when you get dressed again, your body’s still buzzing, and you feel .. loved.
☆ ── tw. ; established relationships, kissing, petnames (baby, love, princess...), some mention of anxiety, a pinch of them getting handsy, just a lot of fluffiness, lmk if I missed anything!!
홍중 ── HONGJOONG
you had just gotten back from a shopping spree with your friends, and while you were with them, they were telling you about this trend that's going around where girls are calling their boyfriends their husbands. yeji even went as far as to show you a few of the videos, all three of you giggling at some of the guys' reactions. soojin then went on about how you should try it on hongjoong, and your heart flipped a little, already knowing how flustered he would get.
"c'mon i wanna know what his reaction would be!" yeji excalimed, dropping her phone and nearly shaking you like a ragdoll while you tried to stiffle your laughter.
"okay, okay, i'll do it," you told her through your fit of laughter, and both of the girls broke out into cheers, earning a few glares from those in the cafe, and you quietly apologized before scolding them.
so you went home that evening with a small pep in your step, ready to enact your little prank. hongjoong was already home when you got there, in his studio, working on yet another soundtrack. however, you knew that he would be in there for a while, so you decided to make dinner and take it in to him.
"oh baby, i didn't know you were home." hongjoong's head perked up as he caught sight of the door opening from the corner of his eye. you just offered him a sweet smile, saying it was okay, and holding up his plate of food. "thank you, my love."
"of course, baby, what are you working on?" you asked, moving to stand behind him and letting your hands drop to his tense shoulders after setting the plate down.
"finishing up this track and will sen—" the shrill sound of his ringtone filled the room, and hongjoong let out an annoyed sigh when he saw that it was the new intern who would not leave him alone. he had told you about her before, and she ground your gears to the point where you were tempted to go up there to talk to her.
noticing the annoyance that twisted on your face, hongjoong couldn't help but smile inwardly before grabbing the device and handing it to you. to say you were surprised would be an understatement, but you weren't about to pass up this opportunity to get this chick off your man's back. it was also the perfect time to play the little prank you had been planning.
"hello?" you answered the phone curtly, placing the device to your ear, and even the sound of her voice when she asked who you were made your nose scrunch up. taking a step away from hongjoong, so he could eat, you let out a small scoff, "this is his wife, now why do you keep calling my husband's phone?"
hongjoong nearly choked on his food when he heard those words fall from your lips, wide eyes snapping over to land on you. you bit the inside of your cheek to suppress the shit-eating grin that was threatening to pull on your lips. you hadn't even heard whatever the girl on the other side of the phone was talking about, but you couldn't care less with the way hongjoong was staring at you, as if you had just hung the stars in the sky.
"listen you have no reason to be calling him personally, if it's work related keep it to work hours. if it's anything else, find someone else to bother and leave my husband alone," you told her plainly, annoyance dripping from your tone, and hongjoong nearly melted in his seat.
you then hung up the phone before she could even get another word in, silencing her contact. once all was said and done, you moved back to your dark-haired boyfriend, your smile finally breaking through when you took in his expression. without a word, he pulled you towards him so you were standing between his parted legs, his chin resting on your stomach as he looked up at you.
“you would want to marry me?” the genuine shock in his tone made your heart drop; had he really thought that you wouldn’t want to marry him?
a small pout formed on your lips as you brought your hand to his head, combing your fingers through his messy hair, stopping at the nape of his neck. his grip on the back of your thighs tightened as you pressed your fingers into the back of his neck comfortingly, a soft smile on your lips.
“of course, i’d wanna marry you; don’t be so silly,” you told him, and his face flushed as he pulled you closer, his arm now hugging your hips tightly as his head filled with thoughts, and the small velvet box that sat in his desk drawer felt lighter.
성화 ── SEONGHWA
it was friday, and that meant that you were going to be doing your weekly review of the makeup products that you had used throughout the week. however, this week was going to be a little different; you were going to be doing seonghwa’s make-up as a milestone reward for your followers. you had spent quite a bit of time on tiktok and just happened to see the videos where all of the girls were calling their boyfriend’s ‘husband’ and recording their reaction. they all made you giggle, and you just knew you had to try it on seonghwa, and this just seemed to be the perfect time for it.
you were in the middle of setting up the camera for the video when there was a knock at the door. before seonghwa peeked his head through the crack, “hey, love, i brought some fruit.” you couldn’t help but smile, seeing the small bowl of fruit that was in his hand.
“thank you, hwa,” you motioned for him to join you on the ground in front of the camera, “come sit. i’m almost done setting up.”
seonghwa happily made his way over to you and sat down, his legs crossed underneath him, and handed you the bowl. his hand then found your knee as you set the fruit down on the table in front of you before grabbing a blueberry and popping it into your mouth.
“are you ready?” you asked him, and he nodded with a bright smile on his face. you had to fight back the huge grin that was threatening to pull on your lips as you reached forward to turn the camera on.
sitting back down on your knees, you smiled at the camera, “hello everyone! as mentioned on my twitter, i am going to be doing my husband’s makeup.”
a look of shock morphed on seonghwa’s face as he looked away from the camera lens to look at you, “husband?” he exclaimed, causing you to jump slightly and look over at him, trying your best not to smile.
“what?” you asked, holding back a giggle when he looked from you to the camera lens before pointing to himself.
“are you talking about me?” he asked with a cheeky smile on his face, causing you to giggle.
“yes, who else would i be talking about?” your cheeks had started to hurt from smiling so hard as he looked at you in pure astonishment.
“you,” seonghwa pointed at you before pointing down to his hand, “marry me?”
“yes,” you laughed, glancing over to the camera once more before letting your eyes fall back on him, “that’s what makes you my husband.”
seonghwa looked at you for a second before holding his left hand out to you, “i do,” he looked around the room, “i just wish the scenery was a little bit better, but i do.” you couldn’t help but playfully roll your eyes at the sassiness in his tone before reaching over to your vanity to grab a ring.
sitting back down, you held your hand out for him, and seonghwa happily placed his hand into yours, allowing you to slip the ring on his ring finger. you then placed a kiss on his knuckles before looking up to capture the bright, sassy smile that played on his lips.
you couldn’t help but laugh as he grabbed your hand to pull you closer, placing a chaste kiss on your cheek. "don’t worry, my love. i’ll get you one as well,” he whispered sweetly, relishing in the blush that dusked your cheeks as you continued your recording.
윤호 ── YUNHO
it was the end of the week, which meant that yunho always went to the internet cafe to play his games with friends. normally, you would just wait for him to finish and come back to your apartment, but today you just wanted to be with him. so you found yourself sitting in an empty chair next to him while his gamed his little heart out. you scroll through tiktok and instagram reels, perfectly content to just be in yunho's company. yunho, of course, wasn't oblivious to you; he had one headphone slipped back just in case you talked to him.
your eyes glanced over at yunho when you came across a video of a girl sitting in her car with her boyfriend and calling him 'husband'. his reaction was cute, and you started to wonder what yunho's reaction would be, and a sly smile spread on your lips.
then one of the workers came up to you and your hyperfixated boyfriend, asking if there was anything you needed. it was then that you decided that now would be as good a chance as any, so you gave her your order before glancing over at yunho.
"babe, did you want your usual?" you asked, and he spared you a quick glance before humming. you turned back to the worker with a smile, "and my husband would like the spicy ramen bowl." a laugh threatened to break through as you felt yunho straighten his body next to you, his now wide eyes looking at you.
"what did you just call me?" yunho asked in astonishment as you thanked the worker before watching her walk away, then met your boyfriend's shocked eyes.
"my husband." you repeated yourself, and yunho was sure that he had died and gone to heaven with how easily the name fell from your lips, but he still couldn't fully wrap his head around it.
"me?" he pointed at himself before pointing at you, "your husband?" he asked, ignoring the screams from his teammates as the 'game over' screen flashed on the desktop.
"yes, you goof, who else?" you asked, giggling, but quickly let out a gasp when he turned and pulled your chair closer to his, hands on either side of it. you bit your lips as you tried to suppress the smile, stomach fluttering at the light blush that dusted his cheeks.
"say it again," he whispered, heart racing in his chest as he watched you giggle at his reaction.
"you're. my. husband." you reached up to grab his face in both your hands, the warmth of his cheek seeping into your skin, "my hubby wubby." you cooed in a baby voice as you shook his head softly, and a wide smile spread on his lips.
"you really wanna marry me one day?" he asked, a hint of hesitancy in his tone, causing you to pout, pinching his cheeks until he was pulling your hand away from his face, placing them in his lap.
"why wouldn't i want to marry you, yunho?" you asked, pout still very much on your face, causing him to chuckle, "you're the only man i'd ever want to have as my husband. point blank period." you told him, sas lacing every last syllable in the end.
"that has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" he asked, softly cupping your face, and you turned into putty in his palm, heat creeping up your neck, "can't wait to make it official."
여상 ── YEOSANG
you had seen the trend of the girls calling their boyfriends their husbands for shits and giggles all over your for you page, and you knew you wanted to try it. already imagining what yeosang’s reaction would be, and suddenly felt super giddy. so you ran and told your friends all about your idea, and they encouraged you, already knowing that your boyfriend would love it. you had everything planned, knowing that you would do it when you went out to lunch with him this weekend.
but then you saw the viral video of the guy who rudely cut his girlfriend off, telling her that he wasn’t her husband, and doubt started to cloud your mind. what if yeosang reacts the same way? or what if he just laughed at you because he thought it was stupid?
so when you told your friends that you weren’t going to do it anymore, they asked you why until you finally spilled the reason behind your hesitance. your best friend just shook her head with a small laugh.
“girl, that man is far too lovesick; there ain’t no way he’s gonna react like that,” she reassured you, and the other agreed with her rather quickly.
“yeah, and that guy in the video was just an asshole, you can tell,” another of your friends added in, causing you to laugh before saying that she was right.
nodding with a newfound confidence, you told them that you were going to do it, and they all cheered, causing you to laugh. your best friend then grabbed your attention once more with a reassuring smile.
“and if, for some very unlikely reason, he does act like that, my door is always open, and we can eat some ice cream.” she patted your hand, and you nodded again before telling her thank you.
when the day came around that you went to pick up yeosang, you kept telling yourself that everything was going to be okay. the two of you had already talked about just picking up food through the drive-thru and going to eat at the park, seeing as it was a nice day.
“hey angel.” yeosang greeted you as he opened the passenger door of your car, bending down to give you his cheeky smile, “are you sure you wanna drive? i’m more than happy to.”
you couldn’t help but smile at his offer, but you shook your head, “it’s okay, yeo, you’re always driving; i got it this time.”
yeosang just chuckled before taking his seat in the passenger seat, situating it so his long legs could fit in front of him before turning towards you. he leaned over the middle console, waiting for you to lean forward, which you did not long after, capturing his lips in a sweet kiss. pulling away, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes playfully at the wide grin that took your place on his lips.
“you ready?” you asked him, and he just hummed before sitting back in the seat, his hand going to your thigh.
it didn’t take too long before you made it to the restaurant; pulling into the drive-thru, you made a quick decision of what you wanted before going to the speaker. the worker greeted you, and you told them what you wanted before looking over at yeosang, who was still looking at the menu.
“just get me whatever you got, baby,” he told you before sitting back and returning to the game he was playing on his phone. you shook your head, a smile tugging on your lips as you turned towards the speaker once more, ready to put your plan into action.
“then my husband wants the same thing,” you told the worker; however, yeosang had stopped playing his game to look over at you, a goofy grin adorning his face. after you made sure that your order was correct, you sat back in your seat to move forward, sparing him a quick glance, “what?” you tried your best to act clueless despite your heart racing under your ribcage.
yeosang just sat there, silent, letting your words fully sink in, the smile never leaving his lips. however, his silence was starting to worry you, even if he was wearing a humongous smile. you swallowed thickly as you paid for the food and took the drinks.
he waited until you finished handing him the food before taking your hand in his, intertwining his fingers with yours, and placing a soft kiss on your knuckles, “husband, huh? i like the sound of that.”
산 ── SAN
whenever you had gotten a message from your best friend telling you about a trend that she had seen floating around, you knew that it would be the perfect prank to pull on san. you knew that it could end one of two ways, either he would get shy and just cling himself onto you for the rest of the night, or he would get smug and start teasing you relentlessly. though you would be fine with either of those outcomes, you hoped that he would opt for the first.
you and your friend hadn’t talked in a long time, so you decided to call each other over the weekend. you decided that it would be the perfect opportunity to pull the prank, seeing as she has yet to meet your boyfriend.
so when the weekend rolled around, you told her to call during the time that you knew san would be on his way home from the gym. you sat down at the dining table, talking to her, catching each other up on your current life events, before you heard the front door open.
“is that him?” your friend asked, muffling her giggles when you placed your finger over your lips, but you nodded nonetheless. san walked into the kitchen with a smile spreading on his face when he saw you sitting at the table, his dimples on display.
“hey, baby, how was the gym?” you asked him, a small smile adorning your lips as he set his water bottle down on the counter before walking over to you.
“it was good,” he leaned down, kissing the top of your head before glancing at your phone screen. "what are you up to?”
you moved your phone up enough for him to see your friend, who waved at him, “remember i was calling my friend this weekend?” he nodded, standing behind you, his hands resting on your shoulders.
“who’s this?” your friend asked in mock curiosity as she bit the inside of her cheek, and you had to bite back a smirk of your own.
you looked up at san for a moment before going back to your phone, “this is san, my husband.”
san’s eyes widened in shock as he looked down at you, but you just continued your conversation as if it were a normal day. he had been fully prepared for you to say boyfriend, but he definitely was not prepared for the word ‘husband’ to leave your lips.
you couldn’t help the silly smile that pulled on your lips when san wrapped his arms around your shoulders, burying his face in the crook of your neck. you could tell he was flustered by how warm his cheek was against your skin.
“i’m your husband?” his voice came out in a hushed tone against your skin, causing a shiver to run down your spine, but you just hummed, leaning further into him before reaching up to run your fingers through his slightly damp hair as you continued your conversation with your friend while he clung to you.
민기 ── MINGI
it was saturday night, and you were spinning around in your gaming chair, waiting for mingi to send you a message letting you know that he was ready to hop on. you had made a plan to livestream a new game with mingi for all of your subscribers to watch because that had practically begged you to make another video with your boyfriend. you were almost sure that your subscribers liked him more than you.
just as you were getting ready to grab your phone to message him first, his name popped up on your screen, causing a wide smile to erupt on your face. quickly opening your phone, you went to your and mingi’s chat, seeing that he had said he was ready to go with a little sunglasses emoji. laughing softly, you moved closer to your desk and grabbed your headset before calling mingi.
it didn’t even finish ringing for the second time when mingi picked up, “hey baby.” his voice flowed through your headset, causing a smile to pull your lips even wider.
you greeted him before pulling up the game and making sure everything for the live stream was ready. “ready to go?” you asked him, and you could hear him hum from the other side. taking that as a green light, you started the stream.
after quickly doing your intro, you waited for more people to join the stream before starting the game. a laugh fell from your lips as you read the comments asking if mingi was still going live with you.
“don’t worry, guys. mingi is joining us today. he’s actually here right now.” you clicked a few buttons before letting mingi pop up on the screen next to you.
then came the influx of comments about how cute he was and how he played games so well, or there were the occasional few comments about how cute the two of you were. smiling, you answered a few questions. unbeknownst to you, mingi was watching you through the screen, missing the comment that popped up about someone claiming him as their ‘husband’. rolling your eyes playfully, you situated yourself in your seat before speaking.
“he’s my husband, actually.” your tone was playful, but your words had completely caught the male off guard.
mingi could feel his ears burning red as he tried his best to remain stoic as he watched you move to start the game. his eyes flickered over to the comments, seeing a few about how they would fight you for his attention, and he could tell that they were starting to annoy you, so he tried to push what you had said to the side
“let’s start the game, ya?” he cleared his throat before letting his eyes flicker over to you, and you nodded, getting ready to hit the start button as soon as mingi was in the lobby. however, mingi had completely missed the small smirk that was pulling on the corner of your lip, wanting nothing more than to tease him, knowing that you had made him slightly flustered.
우영 ── WOOYOUNG
it was the end of the month, which meant that you were going to be doing your monthly livestream for all of your fans; however, your boyfriend, wooyoung, decided he was going to join you. it wasn't very often that you were able to have him join your update lives, so you were going to take full advantage of it. you had been doomscrolling on tiktok for the last week and saw the trend of girls going and calling their boyfriends 'husbands' just to see what their reaction was. all of them made you giggle, and you instantly thought of how your dramatic boyfriend would react, so you made a small mental plan ready to capture his possible outburst.
you were in the middle of setting up the camera for the livestream when there was a knock at the door, and wooyoung was peeking into the room. he smiled widely upon seeing the camera that sat in your hand, "almost done, babe? i brought snacks." he told you as he pushed the door fully open to show the bag in his hand, and you couldn't help but laugh.
"you're making it seem like we'll be here all day, woo." you giggled, and he just shrugged with a smile, walking towards you after shutting the door.
wooyoung sets the bag down on your desk, careful not to mess up anything you had prepped, then takes a seat in your chair, legs spread out as he leans back, "for all i know we will be." he teased, and you rolled your eyes before turning to finish setting the camera up before starting the livestream.
you bumped wooyoung out of the way so you could bring the extra chair to sit in, but before you could sit down, your boyfriend stood and took the seat for himself with a smug smirk on his lips as you glared. playfully rolling your eyes, you sat in your chair and clicked a few buttons on your desktop before looking over at wooyoung, "you ready?"
he tugged your chair closer to him as he looked in the camera to fix his hair while you waited, a ghost of a smile on your lips. once he deemed himself presentable, he nodded and sat back, telling you he was good to go.
shaking your head softly, you started the livestream, a wide smile on your lips as your followers started to flood in almost instantly, "hello, everyone! it's so good to talk to you all again and give a life update on my husband and me."
wooyoung's head snapped towards you mid-bite, a look of utter astonishment plastered all over his face. you continued to talk, trying to hold in the laugh that was threatening to break through as you felt his gaze on you.
after a few more short moments, the shock wore off, and he pointed to himself, "did you just call me husband?" he asked loudly, the corner of his lips twitching as you turned to look at him.
"yeah, who else?" you asked, holding back a giggle when he looked from you to the camera lens back to you.
"what? now i'm the one that normally calls you wifey, you don't—haven't called me hubby. husband?" he started to ramble with a smile so wide you were sure it was hurting his cheeks.
"i called you husband just now." you told him like it was a matter-of-fact, lips curling inward to hold in a laugh. eyes flickering over to the comments that were flooding in, your fans were just as excited as wooyoung.
"okay, okay, continue." he nodded towards the camera as he turned to look, but just as you started talking, he interrupted you. "say it again."
"oh, okay." you laughed, fixing your hair before continuing, "me and my husband—"
"husband!" he exclaimed, and you burst out laughing as he continued to freak out over it, the smile on his lips making your heart melt. then he was looking at you expectantly again, "one more time."
you were laughing so hard that it was making your chest hurt, tears pooling in your eyes. wooyoung leaned closer to your desktop to read the comments, his smile never fading, not even an ounce, "husband." he stated, pointing to himself as he leaned back, looking over at you with nothing but adoration in his eyes.
종호 ── JONGHO
you weren’t entirely sure why you were here, to begin with. your friends had begged and begged you to come to the stupid class reunion, saying that it would be a lot of fun to catch up with one another and that they could finally meet jongho, the man that you had been dating for three years. reluctantly, you agreed and talked to jongho about going. thankfully, he didn’t mind going as long as you were with him.
however, now you are starting to regret your decision to bring your boyfriend along with you. every single time that you turned your back, even if it was for just a split second, you would turn to see yet another female flirting with him. jongho, of course, rejected their advances, pointing over to you, but they just couldn’t seem to catch a hint.
your friends were sure that you were bound to blow a fuse if you turned around to catch another girl trying to touch up on jongho. so they grabbed your arm, pulling you closer to them, causing you to look at them with a raised eyebrow.
“girl, you look like you’re about to behead the next person that so much as looks in his direction,” one of them teased, but you nodded softly before saying that you just might at this point.
laughing nervously, your other friend grabs your wrist before placing something in the palm of your hand. confused, you look down only to become even more confused when you see that she has given you a ring.
“put this on and go tell them to leave your husband alone,” she instructed you, motioning to the ring.
so you did just that. handing her your drink, you slipped the ring onto your ring finger before turning and making your way back to jongho, who was standing by the drink table, trying to ignore the four other women who had started to surround him.
“hey princess,” jongho greeted you as you walked up to him, wrapped your arms around his, and placed a kiss on his cheek. sensing that you were up to something, jongho just watched with an amused gleam in his eyes.
you looked over at the other women, who were either glaring at you or raising an eyebrow. offering them a fake sweet smile, you grabbed jongho’s hand, making a show of the ring on your finger before tilting your head slightly.
“thank you, ladies, for keeping my husband company while i was away, but i got it from here,” you told them, sas lacing your tone. none of them gave you any backtalk and walked away, not trying to draw attention. jongho bit back the smirk as he watched you tell the women off, loving when your jealousy seeped through.
once they were out of sight, jongho pulled his arm from your grasp, causing you to look over at him, getting ready to ask him what was wrong. but he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you into him. he then took your left hand into his, looking at the ring that sat on your finger.
“hmm…” he hummed, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss your palm, “why don’t we replace this with a real one?”
genre: slice of life, a little bit of angst w/comfort, established relationship, nonidol!au, other ateez members cameo!
word count: 8.4k
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
warnings: no use of y/n, valorant mentioned/described (sry it felt appropriate to warn you guys about that), graphic sexual scenes (mdni!!), explicit language, make up sex, oral (f!rec), multiple o's, switching from protected to unprotected sex (RAW! next question), fingering, creampie, lots of praising, body worship (yunho is so so down bad), cute aftercare!! / lmk if i missed any
author's note: do we fw the new layout?? i finally figured out how to do the gradient thingy, ty to the glorious @tonycries for linking a W tutorial. when i saw yunho play val last year i was like wtf my worlds are colliding?! so i definitely portrayed yunho as guys i know personally that play v*lorant and iykyk. hopefully i did eboy yunho some justice but i hope you guys enjoy this fic!
You kick off your heels at the door, groaning as your stockinged feet finally meet the cool hardwood floor of your apartment. The day has dragged on endlessly. Client complaints, your boss’s impossible demands, the printer jamming right before a deadline—but through it all, a single thought has sustained you: that tonight you and Yunho would finally be at home together for once. Your work schedules and day offs rarely line up so you will take any advantage to spend time with your boyfriend. Granted that he doesn’t rot behind his pc.
Everyone has an outlet to destress, for some it’s crocheting and others it’s baking. For Yunho, it was playing video games. You like to tell yourself that you don’t mind but sometimes it does get to you. It’s alright though, you’re just a girl at the end of the day and he’s just a boy that loves to play his silly video games.
Your tote bag slips from your shoulder, landing with a soft ‘thud’ beside the shoe rack. The apartment smells faintly of the jasmine air freshener you and Yunho bought last weekend at the farmers market. In your shared bedroom, you shed your work clothes like a snake shedding its skin, each discarded item feeling like a weight lifted. The soft cotton of your bathrobe embraces you as you wrap it around yourself. Your reflection in the mirror gradually transforms from a professional façade to a vulnerable reality. The dark circles under your eyes tell the story of three consecutive late nights working with egotistical clients that think they know better than you.
When you emerge feeling more human, you make your way to the kitchen. The kettle hums as it heats water for your tea—chamomile with a touch of honey, the way you always make it on hard days.
“Yunnie?” you call out, voice lifting with expectation.
“In here!” comes the distant reply from the direction of his office turned gaming room.
Cup in hand, you venture toward the rapid clicking and occasional muttered curses. The door to Yunho’s gaming room stands half-open. You nudge it wider with your hip; the steam from your tea momentarily fogs your vision.
He’s hunched at his pc, headset clamped over his ears, fingers dancing across the keyboard with practiced precision, his other hand gripped on the mouse as it glides on his mousepad. The blue light from his dual monitors casts an otherworldly glow across his features. His dark hair falls across his forehead as he leans forward, intense concentration etched into every line of his face.
“Hi,” you say softly, hovering in the doorway.
He holds up one finger, eyes never leaving the screen. “One sec—shit! Mingi bro, the Jett's flanking you,” His voice rises as his character on screen guns an enemy down that frankly means nothing to you.
You hear Mingi through Yunho’s headset cursing the game and the entire enemy team's bloodline because he died. You sip your tea and wait, watching the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches. You can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. His passion for everything and anything is one of the things you love about him, even when it’s directed at pixels on a screen. After what feels like several minutes (but is probably only thirty seconds), his character dies leaving his team in a 2v1.
“Damn it,” he mutters, then swivels slightly in his chair. “Hey, you’re home.” His smile is warm but distracted, his eyes already back on the screen. “How was work?”
“Pretty bad,” you admit, stepping further into the room. “Are you free—”
“Sorry baby, let's chat after this game,” he says to you before speaking into his microphone. “Let’s play A retake this time, I’ll lurk B.”
Your words evaporate into the air between you. The game resumes, and with it, his complete attention shifts away from you. You perch on the small loveseat he keeps in the room, tucking your bare legs beneath you and cradling your mug between both hands. The warmth seeps into your palms, a poor substitute for the embrace you’d anticipated all day.
Fifteen minutes stretch into thirty as you watch him play, occasionally commenting on an impressive kill or asking a question that yields a one-word answer. The ache in your chest grows with each passing moment. You really don’t want to be that girlfriend—the one who demands attention, who can’t let her boyfriend enjoy his hobby—but the weight of your awful day presses down, making you crave connection more than usual.
“You think we can order some food?,” you finally say during a break between matches.
“Yeah, we can,” Yunho says, eyes still on the screen as he opens the buy menu. “Just let me finish this ranked game.”
“How much longer will that take?” you ask, voice deliberately light.
He shrugs, the gesture sending a small ripple through your already fragile composure. “Not sure. A few games, maybe? An hour or two? You can watch if you want.”
The suggestion puts a sinking feeling into your stomach. The idea of watching him play a game you don’t understand for hours will somehow fulfil his promise feels like a tiny needle under your skin. Not painful enough to cry out, but impossible to ignore.
“No thanks, it’s fine. I’ll just go,” you say quietly in defeat.
You stand up from the loveseat, tea now lukewarm in your mug, and pause in the doorway. Part of you wants to remind him of his promise, to express your disappointment. Another part, the part conditioned by years of accommodating others, hesitates. He looks so content, so absorbed in his element.
Who are you to disrupt that?
As you turn to leave, his voice calls after you, unguarded as he speaks to his friends rather than to you: “No, I’m good to play all night.”
You can faintly hear one of his friends ask about you and if you were okay that he’d be out for so long, “S’alright, she can wait a bit we gotta grind to–”
You freeze in the doorway, your shoulders tensing. Heaven forbid you just wanted to unwind and spend some quality time with your boyfriend that you barely get to hang out with. The mug trembles slightly in your hand. The words fucking sting more than they should. Surely he means well, right?
You retreat to the kitchen, chucking your mug in the sink and a loud ‘CLANK’ as it echoes through the empty kitchen. In the refrigerator light, you stare at containers of leftover food that suddenly hold no appeal. Behind you, the muffled sounds of Yunho’s gaming fill the apartment like an uninvited guest that has overstayed its welcome. You close the refrigerator door and lean against it, eyes closed, breathing deeply. You weren’t in the mood to make anything extravagant for dinner, so you opted out for a simple sandwich.
You assemble a sandwich with mechanical precision—bread, mayo, turkey, cheese, lettuce—the ingredients coming together without thought or enjoyment. The knife scrapes across the ceramic plate as you cut it diagonally, the sound harsh in the quiet kitchen. Your stomach growls, reminding you that lunch was a granola bar eaten between meetings, but the sandwich holds little appeal. You carry your plate to the living room. The television remains dark as you eat in silence, the sandwich tasteless despite your hunger. Your apartment, usually a haven, feels suddenly too small, too empty despite his presence just rooms away.
You just couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just forfeit his game to come hang out with his girlfriend. You’ve talked about this issue with your other friends before, all of them agreeing that your boyfriend being too obsessive with his status in the games he plays puts not only a strain on you but a heavier strain on your relationship.
Three years you’ve been together. Three years of building a life: finding this apartment with morning light streaming through the bedroom window; adopting temperamental houseplants that thrive under his care; learning each other’s rhythms and needs. You understand his passion for gaming; it’s his way of unwinding, of connecting with friends scattered across the country. Most days, you welcome it as part of who he is. But tonight you need him. Not just his physical presence in the next room, but his attention, his comfort, the way he listens when you talk about your day, nodding at all you have to rant about and offering commentary that makes even the worst work situations seem manageable.
The plate sits empty in your lap. You check your phone: 9:45 PM. Yunho’s voice occasionally carries through the apartment—exclamations, strategic directives, laughter. The sounds deepen your solitude.
You carry your plate to the sink, rinsing it methodically, and place it in the dishwasher. The routine of tidying the kitchen provides hollow comfort, each task a distraction from the ache beneath your ribs. When there’s nothing left to clean, you move to the bathroom. The shower’s hot water beats against your skin, washing away the day’s physical remnants if not its emotional toll. You wrap yourself in a towel, droplets dancing down your legs onto the bathmat. Your reflection stares at you from the steam-covered mirror—a blurry outline, edges softened and indistinct. You wipe a clear patch in the condensation with your palm, revealing eyes red-rimmed from more than just shampoo.
“Stop it,” you sniffle. “It’s just one night.”
It never really is just one night though, is it?
Before you reach your bedroom, you take one last look into Yunho’s room. You debate on whether or not you should interrupt again but you’re exhausted from waiting for the chance for your boyfriend to pay attention to you for once. Something within you just snaps, you’ve had enough. You deserve so much better. You walk back into his room, you watch as the furrow between his brows deepen as he leans closer to the monitor, fingers moving in complex patterns. The headset has left a slight indentation in his hair; in any other circumstance, you might have found it endearing.
“Hey, can we talk?” you hate the note of hope creeping into your voice.
“Yeah, sure,” he says without looking away. “Just after this–.”
“No, I want to talk now.”
Yunho swivels in his chair, half of his headset pulled away. “Huh?”
“You promised.” The words feel childish as they leave your mouth. “After that last game we would hang out, remember?”
“I know, but I swear I’m almost–”
You scoff, “Almost done? You said that about three games ago.”
“Oh so we’re keeping tabs on me now? Real mature of you.” he snaps back.
Your jaw drops, never in your entire relationship has he ever talked to you like this. You were fucking livid.
“God, how hard is it to just ask my boyfriend to spend some time with me? Like—fuck sake—we barely spend time together as it is.” you ranted, your fists at your sides as your fingernails dig into the palm of your hands. There’s no universe that you are standing here arguing with your boyfriend over a fucking video game.
His eyes flick between you and the screen where his character stands idle. “I am spending time with you. You’re right here.”
“That’s not—“ You gesture at the space between you. “This isn’t hanging out. I’m so sick and tired of always waiting until you finish your stupid fucking game for us to be together.”
You cringe at the loud “ooh’s” and “oh no’s” from his headset.
“Fuck off guys, hold on,” he says into his mic before turning to face you. “Can we please just talk later? I’m busy and I promised the guys that–”
“You’re always ‘too busy’ for me but never too busy for the guys? Maybe you should just go be with them instead.” You laugh bitterly, Yunho takes his headset off and throws it somewhere on his desk.
“Are you serious? Do you even hear yourself right now?” he huffed out in annoyance.
“Do you?”
Your voice cracked on the last word, and you felt the hot sting of tears threatening to spill over. The pressure behind your eyes built as your throat tightened painfully. You blinked rapidly, trying desperately to maintain what little composure you had left.
“I don’t have the energy to argue with you,” you said, your voice suddenly small and wavering. “I just had such a shit day at work and—“ The words caught in your throat as your eyes welled up despite your best efforts. You turned away, unable to bear looking at him while falling apart.
“Whatever, fucking forget it,” you choked out, wrapping your arms around yourself.
Yunho’s expression shifted instantly, the annoyance melting away as he registered your tears. He stood up from his chair, abandoning his game without a second thought.
“Hey, wait,” he called after you as you moved toward the door. “Baby, hold on.”
But you were already halfway down the hallway, trying to escape before the dam broke completely. You heard the scrape of his chair against the floor, followed by his footsteps behind you.
“Please just leave me alone,” you managed, your voice thick with emotion. “Go back to your game. Your friends are waiting.”
You made it to the bedroom and closed the door, not quite slamming it but shutting it firmly enough to make your point. The tears came freely now, hot trails down your cheeks as you sank onto the edge of the bed. Your shoulders shook with silent sobs as you pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes. You reached for the tissue box on the nightstand, pulling out several and pressing them against your face to catch the tears. The cotton sheets felt cool against your legs as you curled them under you, trying to make yourself smaller. Part of you wished Yunho would knock on the door, that he’d come. He never did.
You slip into your comfy sleep clothes—soft shorts and one of his old t-shirts that hangs loose on your frame. The bed, when you crawl into it, feels vast and cold. You pull the comforter up to your chin, cocooning yourself on your side. Your phone’s glow illuminates the darkness as you scroll mindlessly through various social media apps. A notification from your friend asking about your evening with Yunho appears. You sigh as you close the app without responding.
The wall clock ticks steadily, each moment that passes you slowly feel a piece of your heart breaking. Your eyelids grow heavy, but sleep remains elusive, held at bay by the empty feeling in your chest. A tear slips from the corner of your eye, trailing across the bridge of your nose to dampen the pillowcase. Then another. You don’t bother wiping them away, letting them fall in silent testament to your disappointment. Tired of fighting to stay awake and waiting for your boyfriend, you succumb to slumber as you drift off into sleep.
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Yunho stared at the closed bedroom door, his hand frozen mid-air, unable to bring himself to knock. He walked back to his room as the game continued in his headset, abandoned on his desk—distant shouting and gunfire that suddenly seemed utterly meaningless.
“Yo, Yunho? You there, man?” Mingi’s voice came faintly from the headset.
“What the hell, man?” San’s voice crackled through not long after.
He returned to his desk in a daze and slipped the headset back on. “Yeah, I...fuck, I gotta go.”
“No shit you gotta go, are you fucking dumb dude?” Hongjoong’s voice was light, teasing but everyone knew he was serious.
“Man, that did not sound good,” Wooyoung chimed in.
Yunho winced, he knew that his friend was right. “Yeah, I said I’ll catch you guys later.”
“No, wait—“ Seonghwa’s tone shifted to something more serious. “Did you seriously just blow her off for a fucking Valorant match? After she said she had a shit day?”
The guilt that had been forming in Yunho’s chest crystallized, sharp and heavy. “I didn’t know—“
“You didn’t ask her, Yun,” Jongho cut in. “You kept cutting her off—we heard the whole thing, bro. You fucked up so bad.”
“Yeah, man,” Yeosang added, his usual playful tone gone. “If the love of my life ever talked to me like that when I was upset, I’d be out the door without question.”
“I didn’t mean to—“ Yunho started, but the excuses died in his throat. What could he say? That he’d been so caught up in a game that he’d ignored his girlfriend’s obvious distress? That he’d snapped at her for wanting his attention?
“Look,” Mingi said, his voice gentler now, “We love you, but you were being a dick. Get off the game and go fix your fuck up.”
Yunho pulled off the headset and tossed it back onto the desk, he reached over to his pc tower and turned everything off with a click. The familiar burn of anger flared in his chest—at himself, at his friends for calling him out, at the whole situation. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm brewing inside him. Getting angry at himself wouldn’t solve anything. It never did.
He’d fucked up. Plain and simple. The walk to the bedroom felt longer than usual, each step weighted with the knowledge of his mistake.
He knocked gently. “Baby?” he called, his voice carefully controlled. “Can I come in?”
When you didn’t answer, he pressed his forehead against the cool wood of the door. “Please? I want to talk.”
Don’t be defensive. Don’t make excuses. Just apologize, he coached himself, tamping down the reflexive urge to justify his behavior. He gently knocks a second time. Still silent. No response.
Leaving him with no other choice, he opened the bedroom door. He stands at the threshold, silhouetted in the dim light. He steps closer to your side of the bed, noticing the dried tear tracks on your cheek, the darker patch on your pillow where they pooled. His heart clenches. He hates it when you cry but knowing that he made you cry, he’s so disappointed with himself.
“My love,” Yunho whispers, settling on the edge of the bed. His hand hovers for a moment before resting lightly on your shoulder. “Please wake up.”
You stir, disoriented, blinking up at him through the dark.
“Hm? What time is it?” you murmur, voice thick with sleep.
“It’s late,” he replies, his thumb tracing small circles along your shoulder. “I’m so sorry, baby.”
Fragments of exhaustion cloud your mind as you push yourself up against the headboard. The ache of earlier disappointment seeps back in—why you went to bed alone. You rub your eyes, heavy with fatigue.
“Did you win your games?” you ask, though you don’t truly care.
“That’s not important,” he says softly, voice tight. He turns to face you fully. “I need to talk to you.”
“The game was so important to you earlier,” you scoff, voice weary.
Yunho looks away, shame darkening his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it.
“Can’t we wait until tomorrow to talk, Yunho?” you ask, voice dropping with exhaustion. He winces at you using his government name, not yunnie, yuyu or baby. Just Yunho.
“No,” he says firmly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “It can’t wait. Because tonight I let you down—but not just tonight. I’ve let you down before, and I’m sorry for every time I put a stupid game ahead of you.”
You sit up, drawing your knees to your chest. The oversized T-shirt slips off one shoulder, skin bare in the dim light. He respects your distance, keeping his hands to himself.
“You promised,” you sniffle, the words light but heavy with meaning.
His shoulders slump. “I know. I got caught up in the game—again and again. It was selfish, and I broke my promise more times than I can count. I’m so sorry for making you feel alone, for missing the moments you needed me most.” He reaches for your hand, relief flooding his expression when you offer yours. “You needed me tonight. You needed me every time before. And I wasn’t there.”
You squeeze his hand, like it was a silent acknowledgement of his apology. “I had a horrible day—my presentation was a disaster and my new boss tore me apart. I came home wanting comfort, wanting you. I just wanted to feel like I had someone on my side”
“I am on your side,” he insists, squeezing your hand gently. “Always. I let my own needs overshadow yours, and that’s not excusable. You deserve better—my love, attention, and respect. Not just tonight, but every day.”
You lift your gaze and find only earnest remorse in his eyes. “I didn’t want to nag you about gaming. I know it means a lot to you.”
He shakes his head, lifting your chin with one tender finger. “Not as much as you, baby. Never as much as you. Don’t ever think you’re nagging when you ask me to keep a promise I made— that I meant to keep. I saw how much it hurt you tonight when I didn't follow through. I can’t imagine the other nights I ignored you.” His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing away a fresh tear. “I’m sorry I made you cry. I’m sorry for anytime I didn’t make you my number one priority. I promise to love you better and to be a better man.”
His voice, so soft and sincere, breaks something open inside you. You lean into his touch, eyes fluttering closed.
“I missed you so much, Yuyu,” you admit, voice trembling.
“I’m here now,” he whispers, brushing his forehead to yours. “Let me make it up to you—to this night and to the rest of our lives. You mean more to me than anything in the world.”
Your fingertips graze the warm plane of his forearm, and you feel a spark—prickling electricity crackling across your skin from the dry midnight air. He watches you, pupils widening until his irises fade to shadow. He closes the last inches between you in one slow, deliberate step. His mouth finds yours, the kiss feather-soft at first, petals brushing, then deepening with a raw, urgent hunger. His palm slides from your cheek down to the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in the fine strands there, tugging you closer. You pause, your pulse hammering, but the ache between your thighs drowns any hesitation. When his tongue teases the seam of your lips, you part them willingly, drinking in the coppery taste of him.
“I fucked up,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice rough with regret and need. One hand drifts beneath the hem of your t-shirt, fingertips grazing the tender hollow of your waist. “I should’ve been taking care of my girl.”
His thumb presses at the curve of your hip. Heat trails behind his touch, each fingertip a burning brand as he traces upward along your ribs. When he skims the underside of your breast, your breath bursts out in a sharp gasp, and your back arches instinctively, nipples tightening under his ministrations.
Yunho pulls back just enough to see your face, his eyes searching yours. “Let me show you how sorry I am,” he says, voice dropping to that low register that makes you shiver.
At your nod, he claims your lips again, fiercer this time. His hands dive under your shirt, peeling it up over your head in one swift motion. Cool air ghosts across your bare skin before his palms reclaim that warmth, cupping your tits, thumbs tracing slow circles around your peaked nipples until every nerve fires. You shiver, spine arching, chest pressing forward to meet him.
“So beautiful,” he whispers, mouth sliding from your lips to graze your jaw, then down the gentle slope of your throat, teeth grazing lightly above your collarbone. “Always so perfect and good to me.”
You reach for him, fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours. He helps you out and peels the fabric off of his body. You couldn’t help but stare, your boyfriend was hand sculpted by the gods. It was hard keeping your hands to yourself. Yunho guides you backward onto the mattress, his body covering yours in a familiar weight that grounds you. His lips close over your nipple, tongue swirling in languid circles around the sensitive bud. Pleasure pulses from your tits straight to the core of you. Your fingers thread into his hair, tugging as his tongue dips lower. He takes his time, lavishing attention on each breast until you’re squirming beneath him, hips lifting in silent cries. Only then does his hand slide lower, fingers playing at the waistband of your sleep shorts.
“These need to go,” he murmurs against your heated skin, and you lift your hips to help him slide both shorts and underwear down your legs.
You hiss when you feel the cold air hit your hot and soaked cunt. Naked beneath him now, you feel vulnerable, but the way he looks at you—like you’re precious, something that needs to be worshipped—chases away any insecurity. His hand traces up your inner thigh, touch feather-light as it approaches where you need him most.
“C’mon baby, talk to Yuyu,” he breathes, lips grazing your ear. “Tell me how to make it right.”
You tremble, voice barely a whisper. “Please touch me.”
His index finger slides along your wet folds, collecting a bead of your slick, then returns to tease your entrance with a gentle, circular stroke. You gasp, arching your hips. Finally, he eases that finger inside, the tip bending and pressing against your sensitive walls. A second finger follows, stretching you in the most delicious way. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow, firm circles that send stars bursting behind your eyes.
“Like this, baby?” he murmurs, voice husky.
You nod wildly, breath hitching. He withdraws his fingers then, only to replace them with an even hungrier mouth. The flick of his tongue against your swollen clit draws a guttural moan from you. You grind your hips, desperate for friction, hands gripping his shoulders as he savours you, tongue and lips working overtime. Waves of pleasure ripple through you, each tongue-stroke priming you closer to the edge.
“Yunnie—!,” you mewl, hips rising to meet each deliberate thrust of his hand.
He captures your moan with his mouth, kissing you deeply as his fingers work their magic. Your hands claw at his back, nails digging into his skin. When he breaks the kiss to trail his mouth down your body, you whimper at the momentary loss of his fingers. But then his hands grip your thighs, spreading you oh so wide as his mouth reclaims its rightful spot on your sweet cunt. The stroke of his tongue against your core has you arching off the bed, a strangled cry escaping your lips. He holds your hips firmly, keeping you in place as he devours you, tongue alternating between circling your clit and dipping into your entrance.
“Oh god,” you gasp, one hand fisting in the sheets while the other tangles in his hair. “Don’t stop, ah fuck– please don’t stop.”
You suddenly feel fuller as he works his index and middle finger back up into your cunt in sync with his mouth. Heat coils tighter in your stomach, thighs clamping around his head as his fingers dig into your hips, holding you down while he enjoys you sloppy and relentless.
“C’mon baby, let me hear you,” he hums against you.
When he curls his fingers just right, pressing against that sensitive spot, you shatter, release washing over you in waves as you cry out his name.
“Y-yes, feels so good—m’ cumming fuck—!”
He works you through it, gentling his touch as the aftershocks subside until you tug at his hair, too sensitive for more.
“Fuck baby, you taste so sweet.” licking his lips, looking down at you with dark, hungry eyes.
You reach for the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging insistently. “Mm, off.”
He obeyed instantly, urgency and reverence in the movement as he shucked off his sweatpants and boxer briefs in a single, practiced motion. His cock was already flushed and thick, standing out from his body, his bulbous tip already leaking with pre-cum. Desire bloomed in your stomach again, a fresh ache that eclipsed the aftershocks of your first orgasm, making you greedy for more. You watched, breath coming quick and shallow, as he reached for the nightstand drawer, retrieving a foil packet with the same fluid grace that defined his every movement. He tore it open with his teeth, rolled the condom down his length with a practiced hand, then knelt on the bed and braced himself above you, muscles flexing in his arms and thighs as he hovered like a promise, his cock bobbing at the apex of his arousal.
Yunho’s eyes flicked over your naked body, lingering on the slick heat between your legs, the rise and fall of your chest, the flush of your nipples. He drank you in, gaze almost pained with adoration and want, and hovered there, waiting for your cue. The pause thrummed between you—a moment of pure potential. You reached for him, wrapping your hand around the thick length of him and giving a gentle, possessive squeeze. He hissed through his teeth and bowed his head, his breath hot on your cheek as he nuzzled at your temple. You wrap your legs around his waist, drawing him closer until the tip of him presses against your entrance.
His groan was deep and guttural, almost animalistic, it vibrated through both your bodies as he continued to press forward. You stretched exquisitely to accommodate his girth, slow and almost suspenseful—he held himself in check, nudging in a little, then out, then in again, gentling the way for you inch by inch. Even though your body craved him, trembled for him, Yunho refused to rush, setting a deliberate pace that was all about savouring rather than conquering. The hangover of hurt from before was still present, but now the ache shifted, softened by the way he worshipped you with every shuddered breath and whispered apology.
When he finally bottomed out, hips flush to yours and cock buried to the hilt, you both froze, raw at the point of connection. Around you, the room seemed to contract and expand, the air gone syrupy-thick. The only thing that felt real, that felt true, was the intense pulse between your bodies—and the way Yunho’s arms shook as he braced himself above you, like he might break apart if he let go.
He pressed his forehead to yours, sweat beading at his brow, and his voice was a tremulous hush: “I’m sorry.” The words ghosted across your lips, so close you’d swear you swallowed them. “I never want to make you feel unimportant.”
“S’okay, I know,” you whispered and when you clenched around him for emphasis, the sound he made was rapture and despair rolled into one.
Yunho obliged, withdrawing almost entirely before driving back in, a steady, deep rhythm that immediately threatened to undo you. He didn’t tease or play games—each thrust was purposeful, devotion made tactile, and yet he didn’t try to own you with vengeance. He moved so you felt full of him, the press of his pelvis grinding against your clit with each pass.
“Fuck— m’ sorry for being a terrible boyfriend,” he chokes out suddenly, hips stuttering, losing rhythm. “shouldn’t have let you walk out—and be upset, I promise— shit— baby I'm sorry.”
“S’o-okay fuck—,”
You were slick and swollen, your nerve endings set alight; every time he rocked forward, your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him in, greedy for the friction and the fullness.
He peppered the moment with breathless confessions, his voice breaking on every thrust: "So fucking good—god, you're so tight, baby."
His hands roamed your body with desperate hunger, palms trailing down your sweat-slicked sides, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips, kneading your plush thighs, cupping the weight of your tits. Anywhere he could anchor himself in the reality of your body yielding to his. Each time your bodies collided, the impact sent the headboard slamming against the wall—thud, thud, thud— a primal rhythm punctuating your high-pitched whimpers and his whiny groans.
"Please," you whimpered, arching your back as he hit that perfect sweet spot deep inside you. "Right there—ohshit, don't stop—oh my god, Yunho!"
"Atta girl,” he purred against your ear, voice ragged with need. "You love it when I fuck you so deep, huh?"
"S-so much," you whined, legs quivering around his waist. "I need you deeper—harder—!"
Within minutes, you were spiralling, overwhelmed by the slick friction where your bodies joined, the heady scent of sex filling your nostrils, the way Yunho's dark eyes, pupils blown wide with lust, never left yours. He held your gaze as he drove into you, the raw intimacy making tears spring to your eyes. This wasn't angry rutting—this was his desperate plea for forgiveness, his cock speaking apologies his mouth couldn't form. He mouthed filthy promises against your feverish skin—your name, broken endearments, breathless apologies—his tongue tracing paths down your chest, lapping at the salt of your throat, claiming your parted lips.
“M’ close—again—ngh fuck," your pretty whines start slurring together as his cock perfectly hits your sweet spot.
When he sensed you teetering on the edge, Yunho's rhythm faltered, and he pulled you flush against him, his hot breath dampening your neck.
"Give it to me," he begged, voice cracking. "I want—ah, fuck—please."
The filthy words were gasoline, igniting every nerve ending. His calloused thumb found your swollen clit, circling with devastating precision in perfect tandem with his thrusts, and the pressure coiled so fast it stole your breath. Your nails carved crescents into his back, drawing angry red welts down the rippling muscles of his shoulders, but Yunho only worked you harder, more insistent, his hips snapping against yours.
"That's it cum f’me, baby.”
The orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave, tearing a scream from your throat and arching your spine as your inner walls clenched and fluttered around his throbbing length.
He held you through it, his body rigid and trembling as your climax milked him, and with a broken cry of your name, he followed, hips stuttering in erratic thrusts. A loud groan escaped his lips as he pulled out to finish inside of the flimsy condom. The room filled with the sound of your mingled panting, a symphony of satisfaction that slowly gave way to soft, intimate laughter. Yunho’s forehead pressed against yours, his eyes still dark with the afterglow of pleasure as he brushed his lips against your cheek.
“Are you okay?” he murmured, his breath warm and sweet against your skin.
You nod, feeling the silken sheets beneath you stick to your perspiration-slicked back. “More than okay.”
As his lips found yours again, the kiss rekindling the embers of your passion, you felt your body responding once more. His hands began to wander, skimming down your body, reigniting the fire he’d just extinguished. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a dance that promised more to come.
When his hardness pressed against your thigh, evidence of his renewed arousal, a thought crystallized in your mind—a wish you’d kept secret even from yourself.
“Yuyu, I wanna try going raw,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
“Please,” you added, your voice barely hanging onto the end of a moan. “I want to feel you so bad.”
Yunho pulled back slightly, his eyes widening as he searched your face. “Are you sure?” he asked, voice rough with desire but tinged with concern. “We’ve never—“
“I’m sure, I trust you,” you assured him, hands framing his face.
His pupils dilated, darkening his gaze as he processed your request. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to feel you like that,” he confessed, voice dropping to a husky whisper. “To feel you clench around me—fuck.”
The raw honesty in his admission sent a fresh wave of arousal through you. You shifted beneath him, legs parting in invitation.
“What are you waiting for then?,” you challenged, nipping at his bottom lip.
Yunho’s hands trembled slightly as he reached between your bodies. You watched, breath caught in your throat, as his fingers found the base of the condom.
“Let me just...” he murmured, pinching the latex and sliding it off with one fluid motion.
He gave himself a few slow strokes, coating his length with his previous release. Something primal stirred in your stomach at the knowledge that nothing would separate you now, that you’d feel every vein, every pulse, every drop of him.
“C’mere,” you whispered, reaching for him.
A growl rumbled in his chest as he positioned himself between your thighs, the blunt head of his cock teasing your entrance.
“You’re still so wet for me,” he murmured appreciatively, dragging his cock head up and down, gathering your slickness to ease his way.
You sigh as he pushes forward, the sensation somehow more intense than before. Whether it was the psychological thrill of what was to come or simply your heightened sensitivity, you couldn’t tell—but every nerve ending seemed to spark as he filled you inch by inch.
“God, you feel incredible,” he groaned, burying himself to the hilt. He stilled for a moment, forehead pressed against yours, breathing ragged. “S-shit you’re even tighter than before.”
You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper. “M-move baby,” you pleaded, fingers digging into his shoulders.
He began a slow, deliberate rhythm, each thrust measured and deep. His eyes never left yours, maintaining a connection that transcended the physical. This wasn’t just sex anymore—this was something more profound, a new level of intimacy neither of you had experienced before.
“I can feel every part of you,” you whine, arching to meet his thrusts.
Every drag of his cock is unrelenting, grinding deep, pressing into the softest parts of you like he’s trying to carve his shape into your body.
“I can feel you clenching around me,” he rasps, voice strained with the effort of maintaining control. “So hot, Fuck–! M’ not going to last.”
His pace increased gradually, hips snapping more forcefully against yours. Plap, plap, plap! The sound of skin against skin filled the room, punctuated by your breathless moans and his deeper groans. One of his hands slid between your bodies, finding your swollen clit and circling it with figure 8’s.
“Yun—s’too much—,”
“Gonna fuck you so full, you’ll feel me leaking out of you for days,” he groaned, his breath hot against your ear.
His words sent a jolt of pure lust through you, pushing you closer to the edge. Your nails raked down his forearms as the pressure built inside you, coiling tighter with each perfect thrust. When he shifted the angle slightly, hitting that spot deep inside, your vision blurring as you cried out his name.
“You were made for this cock weren’t you, baby?” he quips, movements growing more erratic as his own release approaches. “Let go for me, I’ve got you.”
The combination of his words, his touch, and the knowledge of what was to come pushed you over the precipice. Your orgasm hit you hard, more intense than the first, tearing a scream from your throat as your inner walls clamped down on him in rhythmic pulses.
Yunho’s rhythm faltered as your body gripped him tighter. “Fuck,” his voice breaking. “I’m going to—“
“Yes,” you lock your ankles behind his back to keep him deep inside. “Fill me up, Yunnie. I need it.”
With a primal groan that reverberated through your joined bodies, he buried himself as deep as possible and let go. The hot pulse of his release inside you was unlike anything you’d ever felt—intimate in a way that transcended physical pleasure. Each throb of his cock sent aftershocks through your sensitive core, drawing out your own climax until you were both trembling and breathless.
After a moment, Yunho carefully withdrew from you, both of you wincing at the sensation. He casts his gaze down as he watches his cum slowly leak out of you, he silently swears that’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen. He rolled to your side, propping himself up on one elbow to gaze down at you with an expression so tender it made your chest ache. The hurt from earlier had dissolved, replaced by a bone-deep satisfaction that made your limbs feel heavy and your mind blissfully quiet.
"I don’t expect you to forgive me right now, but I really do apologise for being a dick" he whispered, tracing patterns on your stomach with his fingertips. "Not just about tonight. About every time I've made you feel second to anything."
You reached up to touch his cheek, thumb brushing across his lower lip. "I know baby, it’s okay."
He caught your thumb between his teeth, giving it a gentle bite before releasing it. "I don't think I'm done properly apologizing just yet."
Before you could question his meaning, he was moving down your body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your collarbones, the valley between your breasts, the soft plane of your stomach. Each touch of his lips felt like a separate apology, a promise written in the language of skin against skin.
"Huh? What are you—" Your question cut off with a gasp as he settled between your thighs, strong hands gently spreading your legs wider.
"One last time, please?" he murmured, his breath teasing your sensitive flesh.
You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking down at him with wide eyes. "You don't have to—"
"I want to—no, I need to," he interrupted, holding your gaze as he lowered his mouth to your inner thigh, placing a reverent kiss there.
The first swipe of his tongue made you jerk, oversensitive from your previous orgasms. He shushed you gently, hands stroking your thighs in soothing circles. "Relax for me, baby. Let me take care of you."
His tongue was gentle this time, exploratory rather than demanding. He lapped softly at your entrance, tasting the evidence of his own release mixed with your arousal. The intimacy of it made you shudder, a fresh wave of desire washing through you despite your exhaustion.
"You taste like us," he murmured against your flesh, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. "So fucking good."
His thumbs spread you open, exposing your most sensitive parts to his hungry gaze. Yunho took his time, alternating between broad, flat licks that covered your entire sex and precise, pointed flicks of his tongue against your clit. He seemed determined to memorize every fold, every texture, learning the geography of your pleasure with devoted attention.
One thick finger slid inside you—then two making your thighs squeeze around him harder. You were dripping down his chin, he didn’t care. He just kept eating like your pussy was the only thing on Earth that could satisfy him. You squirm and turn to get away from the overstimulating pleasure but your boyfriend wasn’t having it.
Yunho pulled back long enough for you to see his drenched, swollen lips, “Baby, you gotta stay still f’me.”
You physically can’t. All you want to do is run away. It’s almost like your body isn’t listening to you. He slows the pace slightly, you look down to see how your cunt takes in his fingers—you moan at the sight. Yunho smirks and resumes his original pace as your cream covers his fingers. Your dripping cunt meets his mouth in a dirty French kiss. The dual sensation was overwhelming, building a pressure that felt impossible after you'd already come twice.
Your hands found his hair, gripping the soft strands as your hips began to move of their own accord, grinding against his face. He groaned in approval, doubling his efforts, his tongue moving faster, his fingers pressing harder against that spot inside you that made your vision blur. The orgasm built slowly this time, a gradual tightening rather than a sudden rush. Your thighs began to tremble, inner walls fluttering around his fingers as your climax approached. Yunho sensed it, his free hand reaching up to find yours, fingers interlacing as he anchored you through the rising pleasure.
"Yun— shit!," you cry out, his name came as a warning. "I can't—feels too good,"
"You can do it," he encouraged, lips closing around your clit and sucking gently. "Cum on my tongue, baby."
The orgasm washed over you in gentle waves rather than a violent crash, spreading warmth through your limbs like honey. You shuddered against his mouth, back arching off the bed as he worked you through it, his touch gentling as your sensitivity peaked. Only when you weakly pushed at his shoulder did he relent, placing one final kiss to your inner thigh before crawling up your body. His chin and lips glistened with evidence of his devotion, and when he kissed you, you tasted yourself on his tongue.
Yunho pulls away from the kiss, his eyes full of tenderness as he brushes your hair back from your forehead. Your body feels boneless, pleasantly exhausted in a way that makes even lifting your head seem like an impossible task.
"Don't move, baby," he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. "I’ll be right back."
He slipped from the bed, and you heard the sound of water running in the bathroom. The loss of his warmth made you shiver, your body suddenly aware of the cooling sweat and the evidence of your shared pleasure drying on your thighs. You felt deliciously used but above all, you felt so thoroughly loved.
Yunho returned moments later with a warm washcloth in one hand and a small towel in the other. The mattress dipped as he sat beside you, his expression so gentle it made your chest ache.
"Spread your legs for me," he said softly, and when you hesitated, a blush creeping up your cheeks, he added, "I made this mess. Let me clean it up."
You complied, letting your knees fall open. The warm cloth felt heavenly against your sensitive skin as he carefully wiped away the remnants of your lovemaking.
"Does that feel okay?" he asked, eyes flicking up to yours, searching for any sign of discomfort.
"Perfect," you murmured, touched by his attentiveness.
He paid special attention to the insides of your thighs, the cloth soothing against skin that would likely bear marks tomorrow—evidence of his passion. When he was satisfied with his work, he folded the cloth and set it aside, then used the towel to gently pat you dry.
"Roll over for me?" he requested, and you turned onto your stomach, sighing as he ran the cloth down your back, cleaning away the sweat that had gathered there. His free hand followed the path of the cloth, massaging lightly at the tension points in your shoulders.
"You're so beautiful," he said, voice thick with emotion. "Every inch of you."
When he's satisfied you're clean, he disappears again, returning with a fresh washcloth and a glass of water. He sets the water on your nightstand before cleaning himself with quick, efficient movements.
"Drink," he encourages, helping you sit up against the headboard.
You take obedient sips, watching as he moves around the bedroom, picking up discarded clothing and tossing it into the hamper. He pulls on fresh boxers before retrieving your favourite sleep shirt from the drawer—the soft blue one with the worn collar that feels like a cloud against your skin.
"Arms up baby," he instructs, and you comply, letting him dress you. The fabric settles around you, smelling of laundry detergent and home.
He disappears one more time, returning with a small bottle of lotion. "Scoot forward," he says, and when you do, he settles behind you, legs bracketing yours.
His hands, warm and covered with lotion, begin massaging your shoulders, working out knots you didn't even know were there. You moan softly as his thumbs press into a particularly tight spot.
"Your muscles are so tense," he murmurs, working methodically down your back.
You let your head fall forward, surrendering to his touch. "Just been a long day."
"Made longer by my thoughtlessness," he adds, voice tight with regret. His hands never stop their gentle work, kneading and soothing your tired body.
When he's finished with your back, he guides you to lie down, pulling the covers up to your chin. The sheets are cool and fresh against your skin, and you sink into them with a contented sigh.
Yunho turns off the lamp before sliding in beside you. In the darkness, his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against his chest. His lips press against the nape of your neck, warm breath tickling your skin.
"I love you so much," he whispers, the words vibrating through your connected bodies. "How did I get so lucky with you?"
You giggle as you nestle back against him, fitting your body to his like puzzle pieces clicking into place. "I love you too."
His hand finds yours beneath the covers, fingers interlacing. "Tomorrow, I'm all yours. The whole day. We can do whatever you want. No games, no distractions."
You smile into the darkness, already feeling sleep pulling at the edges of your consciousness. "Sounds perfect, I look forward to it."
Just before you drift off, you feel him press another kiss to your hair, his voice a quiet promise in the darkness: "Sleep well, baby. I'll be right here when you wake up."
For the first time all day, you feel completely at peace, wrapped in his arms and his promise. A promise you know, this time, he'll keep.
When morning came, sunlight streaming through the blinds you'd forgotten to close, you found him already awake, watching you with warm eyes and a gentle smile. True to his word, he spent the entire day focused solely on you—making breakfast together, holding your hand as you walked through the park and listening attentively as you finally told him about your disastrous presentation.
And that night, when you curled up on the couch to watch the show he'd promised, his pc remained untouched, his phone on silent. His arm around you felt like safety, like home. A promise kept and a lesson learned.
pairing﹢ateez x fem!reader
genre﹢sfw. established relationship + domestic marriage life. parenthood, mentions of baby spit-up/vomiting (wooyoung), mild jealousy, just some fluffy and comedic dynamics.
synopsis﹢becoming parents was something you both prepared for, at least to some extent. what he, your husband and the father of your child, wasn’t prepared for… was the betrayal of watching the baby choose you every time, happily letting him suffer in silence.
the moment your son appeared in this world, both you and your husband were more than happy. blessed to have something you can call yours. being the captain of ateez had its amazing perks when it came to dealing with kids, but your baby is in full meltdown mode. red and soft cheeks, hot tears streaming down, and little fists shaking.
HONGJOONG tried everything. from gently bouncing, to soft humming, playing with the tiny stuffed plushie of jjoongrami he had, to finally whispering, “c’mon buddy, daddy loves you…” sadly nothing worked. the crying only gets louder as the four-month-old baby seems not to enjoy his father's bribing. that's not until you walk over, pick him up… and he immediately hiccups, sniffles, and collapses into your chest like a koala.
he calmed down instantly, and your husband just stares, baffled by the way that just only from your touch, the small treasure seems to be at peace now. no more crying, no more fussing, just being in mama’s arms.
“did i– did i do something wrong?” his voice breaks in the middle like he’s the one about to cry. how did you just do that? genuinely, how, because he was about to call his mother and ask for advice.
you rub your boy’s back, gently as you sway and rock him, feeling his little breaths hit your skin, trying not to laugh at his father. “no, joongie… he just likes the warmth.” hongjoong slumps onto the couch, dragging a hand across his face, because all his attempts were unsuccessful, and he might have to call his or your mother, just to ask a few questions for next time.
“but i produce warmth too… i can be warm…” he looks betrayed, like extremely, even a little pout on his handsome face. there's not much he can do about it, you're his mother after all, of course he'll look for mom first and dad later.
afternoon came, the time when you and your son go to take a nap, he starts going through every website with the question: “why does the baby only like mom?”
you’re folding laundry while humming, not even singing, just humming some random melodies you either overheard in a song or just coming up with something on the spot. your baby girl, sitting in her highchair, is utterly hypnotized by your voice. eyes sparkling, little fists tapping the tray, a goofy and drooly smile, adoring her small and squishy face, even her teeth are starting to show, and she just looks so adorable.
hearing the sound of the front door opening and closing means that SEONGHWA came back from grocery shopping, as you hear his voice announcing his arrival. “daddy’s home!” and yes, daddy is home for you and your little princess. alas, the little miss doesn’t even glance at him; she just stares at you with pure love and adoration in her eyes.
thankfully he put the bags on the floor before seeing this, because otherwise he would let them go and the eggs would break… but too late, his heart was already broken. “did she just ignore me?”
you laugh, and the baby giggles because you laughed. going to pick her up from the chair and, kissing her soft cheeks and cooing, trying to hand her to him, but all she did was whine, reaching back toward you. your husband dramatically looks at the ceiling like he’s in a tragic drama, blinking at the white color, biting his lower lip.
then you started singing again, humming, and the baby was so happy to hear her mother’s gentle voice once again, not even sparing her father a glance or acknowledging his existence, or the fact that he was about to cry. “is my singing career over? is mommy the new main vocalist of the house… did you train with jongho for this?”
“she just likes my lullaby voice,” you said, kissing him on the cheek, the little one still in your arms, having the audacity to throw him a smile. seonghwa mutters under his breath, he can’t stay mad at his girl, but it still hurts picking the other parent. “i have a lullaby voice too…i literally debuted for this.”
your son adores his father. the little boy loves being swung around, loves sitting on his shoulders, loves being tickled… he just loves being loved in every way that involves the man you call your husband. YUNHO swears his son loves him, just as much as he does… until today.
when you blow raspberries on his tummy, though, your son loses it. it’s a full-body laughter, a whole circus in the nursery, with his head thrown back, legs kicking like he is playing with the national football team. he really loves it when it's time for that, especially after a bath... but someone didn't seem to like it.
the love of your life, the father of your child, just watches from the doorway, completely smitten but also betrayed, because…
“i do that too! i do the same thing!” he could be a big man, in both senses of the word, but sometimes he acted like a child, mainly this side of him took over when he wasn't the winner. “no,” you say, kissing the baby’s cheek again, hearing those loud giggles, “you attack him and pretend to be a dragon, and i’m just the super cool knight who comes to save the prince.”
your son squeals and wraps his arms around your neck. as for yunho, he needs to sit down in the armchair next to the bed where the two of you are. he looks like someone just defeated him with a fatal and unexpected headshot in one of his games. unbelievable, my own blood thinks his mom is funnier than me…”i’m literally the entertainer in this house.”
“don’t pout now, alright? he loves you too!” you took the baby, with new diapers, clean and bathed, and so cute, also for some reason he's such a big boy, a little taller than others his age... dad’s genes are so strong. he didn't stay in his arms for more than a second, before reaching for you again, and your husband gently scoots him away.
“go to mama then… i’ve accepted my fate.” of course, he's joking, but he's a little jealous; however, he hopes his son knows that daddy’s here too, even if he picks mommy first.
your daughter is…exactly YEOSANG. like someone photocopied his baby pictures, a carbon copy, his little twin with those chubby cheeks, dark eyes, and just purely angelic features. she also has a birthmark next to her eye, but it's on the right side. the little angel has you wrapped around her finger; actually, she has everyone wrapped around her tiny finger.
you gently boop her nose, shocked and oh-so in love, “yeosang, she’s literally you. oh my god– look at her! look at her lips, and her cheeks!” to say you’re obsessed would be an understatement. you’re leaning over her, kissing her nonstop while she squeals proudly, and tries to ramble some syllables, still learning to say mama or dada, it’s a tough but so adorable process.
yeosang stands behind you, arms crossed. not that he doesn't love his own child. nonsense, he would die for her, but the fact that you only paid attention to her didn't particularly appeal to him. as much as he was an angel, he could easily be one, well, a petty man, sometimes a savage too. “i think i am the original, though… she looks decent.”
too busy cooing to hear him, you just want to munch on her cheeks, because, why does she have to be so cute? you'll just cry, how could you give birth to such an angel, such a beautiful princess? “she’s so freaking cute i can’t stand the feeling…” kissing her soft and small fingers, “mommy’s sweet girl, yeah, mommy loves you sooo much,”
your husband literally lifts his one hand, like he is in school, trying to grab your attention once again. “do i not exist anymore? i was the other one who helped in the baby-making process, in case you forgot.”
no answer, just his daughter giggles, as you sqeual again, mumbling something about how good she will look with her new onesies. he just sighs, but not before glancing at the baby’s face. you claim that she's a complete copy of him, but that smile on her face is entirely yours. when you finally look up and kiss him too, he blushes, just like his little girl. “okay… fine. i’ll forgive you this time.”
having a 10-month-old baby meant that she was starting to get more curious about how the world works. what mommy and daddy do, or how, when she uses gestures like pointing or raising arms to be picked up, you do it. and why she can't touch certain things. “sweetie, no touching daddy’s water bottle.”
she stops immediately after hearing your voice. this tone wasn't the sweet sound that usually came from your lips that were constantly kissing her. maybe she slowly started to understand simple words like no, and maybe the fact that she shouldn't make mommy angry, because things wouldn't be all sunshine and rainbows.
“princess, no touching daddy’s water bottle–” but the moment she heard her father's voice, she immediately grabbed it and held it hard, like it’s some toy she doesn’t want to let go. the pacifier in her mouth, looking at him, pardon, staring dead in his eyes, and SAN is shocked. is this what he gets for when your word is the law, and his doesn't exist? shouldn't it be the other way around, where the dad is scarier and stricter?
“why does she only listen to you?” you shrug at his question, too busy warming her milk. not that your husband wasn't sometimes scary, in the sense of making a remark to her about something, teaching her, but he was more gentle because he felt sorry, and she let out those sweet little pleading eyes that don't work on you. the same eyes her father used, and still uses, to get away with something. “she knows my tone.”
san kneels on the floor in front of his daughter, trying to get the bottle in the meantime, but the baby won't let go. did you give birth to hercules or something? his face close to hers, baby voice activated, lips slightly pouting, just the perfect lure. “is mommy scarier…” but she just blinked, “no? then is mommy prettier? tell daddy the truth.”
the little princess just babbles and pats his face with her free hand, and he melts on the spot. but then you pick her up and she nuzzles into your neck. san lies down, defeated but in love. “i'm jealous that my own daughter listens to her mother more than me.…but she’s an angel so it’s fine. i’ll just… cry a little.”
your son was a bit clumsy and overly energetic, and you wonder where he got it from. still learning to get a good hold of objects, to use his hands, and not to put them in his mouth. even when he accidentally spills a glass of water, or knocks down the tower his father built with the constructor, all you do is coo at him. “oh, baby, it’s okay. come here~”
you scoop him up with the softest voice, baby-talk him, cuddle, forgive him instantly, and he giggles, because mommy is so sweet and pretty. no problems, he's still learning, this small and charming baby, unfortunately, as clumsy as his father, no dna test needed.
however, later, when you were so close to putting him to sleep for his afternoon nap, MINGI decided to drop something heavy on the ground, and you went completely crazy. “song mingi!” oh no, this is the end, because the moment your husband reached out to take the metal spoon, he saw you with a very angry expression. the little cutie on your hip, slightly opening his eyes, yawning, looking so tired, even if he was born nine months ago.
“why…” mingi starts, voice trembling, when your son stares at him, as if he’s watching a nature documentary, between the predator who just happened to be mommy, and the prey, which you guessed right, is daddy himself. “why does he get the gentle mode, and i get the beast mode?”
“because he’s a baby.” you kiss your son’s head, rocking him, and if he decides not to sleep at night, it will be a problem for his father to deal. it won't be the first time this has happened, but you don't want your son's sleep schedule to be disrupted from the start.
“i was your baby first!” you raise an eyebrow at him, because yes, he is right, you are taking care of a child, and a man-child all at once. the man-child you chose to marry and have a future with just sulks, holding the spoon and the half-opened pudding, as the kid decided to babble some comfort nonsense. your husband smiles instantly, considering that in such difficult times, even if his wife nags him, the little boy will always forgive him, which means going to bed at 3 in the morning. thanks again, dad.
your daughter sits in your lap, happy as a baby can be. you just fed her, because your girl has a very big appetite, just like her father, and she is only eight months old. of course, you burped her, and now it was time for the daily dose of cuddles. no issues at all, just mommy and baby having a peaceful time together.
until WOOYOUNG decided to take her for two seconds so you could go to the bathroom. they say miracles happen quickly and instantly, you can just blink and miss a shooting star. but for two whole seconds, the little troublemaker decided she was going to shoot those shooting stars all over her dad's t-shirt… at least it wasn’t the face.
“fuc–…baby why?” and the expression on his face was more than golden. you felt sad, but at the same time, it was so funny. why don't you film with your phone in moments like this? this is priceless, a memory you will forever keep in your mind, maybe even in a few years when she decides to rebel, you will mention: sweetheart, you can’t remember but…you used to throw up on your dad so much like a baby… so please listen to him, alright?
“she’s still adjusting to living.”
“adjusting to what exactly? be a baby sniper, because congratulations, princess, your aim is flawless.” but when he hands her back to you, you laugh, wiping her mouth with the tissues you quickly got from the kitchen. she snuggles immediately into your chest, can’t win against boobs, that’s like cheating, your husband can’t compete with that.
“she’s a daddy’s girl!” you told him and he then took off his shirt, actually ripped it with all the strength he had; thankfully, it was old and worn out. “then why does she treat me like i’m some kind of puree she doesn't like?” he's usually so good with kids, with babies, with you... but it's like she's his sworn enemy. little missy is so naughty, and small and cute, he can't even be mad because it's like looking in a mirror.
“she throws up on me sometimes too.”
“not in front of me, she does not.” he sulks, voice getting raspy from raising his tone a little bit, but then she reaches toward him with grabby hands, and her dad hopes it's not because she wants to vomit again.
this is the most critical moment in your life, clearly more important than the birth of your son, judging by how impatient JONGHO is. he's worried, but at the same time, so sure that everything will go according to plan. two football jerseys are on the carpet, ready to be crawled upon, and see which fate will be chosen. your husband’s favorite team, PSG, or your favorite team.
“alright, little man… this is important, choose wisely, okay?” his father kneels beside him, like a coach analyzing strategy, to pick the formation most suitable for the second half to secure that win against mommy, because, for obvious reasons or not, your son seems to like you more, but not this time. now daddy will thrive and succeed. not that jongho had anything against your team... but he would mind if your son became a die-hard fan of theirs.
you roll your eyes, “honey, it’s not that serious.” because come on, he's only a few months old, maybe when he grows up, he won't even be into football, but another sport, or some kind of art. it's funny that you really think that way, but not in this house.
“it is very serious.” your son crawls toward the psg jersey first, making jongho’s eyes light up like he’d just scored a goal. but before he can swoop in to celebrate, your little trickster spins, giggling, and lands right on your team’s jersey. you freeze, and jongho’s mouth falls open. “wait… what!? no way…” he whispers, voice cracking in disbelief. his hands are frozen mid-air, celebrating, because how… how did this happen?
you kneel, scooping the little boy into your arms, laughing against his big and soft cheeks. his father leans closer, still stunned, and you press a quick kiss to his lips as well. he melts slightly, but his eyes are still wide, trying to process the betrayal. your son leans, smacking a tiny kiss onto jongho’s cheek, little pop-pop sounds escaping him.
“you… you cheated,” he blurts, already ready to accuse you because your man can't stand being defeated. “what did you bribe him with? more boobs before bed? that’s not fair!” you didn’t bribe him, you didn’t whisper secret promises about more boobies before bed, nothing. maybe your son just has elite ball knowledge and knows who the best is. condolence to the father, though, he lost another soldier.
Summary : When your usual shyness is overpowered by the sight of Yunho in grey sweatpants, a quiet movie night quickly escalates into breathless confessions and you dropping to your knees to be his good girl.
Warnings : explicit sexual content (NSFW), sexual tension, kissing, oral sex (blowjob), cum swallowing, deepthroat, praise kink (heavy use of "good girl," "pretty girl," etc), dom/sub undertones, size difference, grey sweatpants kink (kinda?), dirty talk, aftercare.
A/N : This is literally 8k words of pure sexual tension and smut. Someone send help...
Enjoy! ♡
Two months.
It had only been two months since you and Yunho officially became a couple, yet somehow, he had completely woven himself into the very fabric of your life.
He was, by all definitions, the perfect boyfriend, possessing an incredible, almost dizzying duality.
Most of the time, he was exactly like a giant golden retriever, bubbly, endlessly affectionate, practically vibrating with a bright, contagious energy that could pull you out of your deepest shells. He was sweet, funny and shamelessly adorable, melting your heart with each stare, each soft touch, each peck.
Other times however, without warning, the atmosphere would shift, his playful demeanor turning into something profoundly serious, revealing a smoldering, protective and undeniably sexy side of him. It was a charm that left you breathless every single time.
Because you loved and respected each other deeply, you had both mutually agreed to take things slow, wanting to savor every moment shared together without rushing anything.
You hadn't slept together yet. So far, your physical intimacy had been limited to sweet, lingering kisses, breathless late-night make-out sessions and gentle, sensual touches that always left you craving just a little more. You hadn't crossed that final line yet.
Until tonight.
The two of you were curled up on the couch, the glow of the television illuminating the dark living room as a movie played in the background. You were supposed to be watching a movie, but hadn't absorbed a single scene for the past half hour, your gaze uncontrollably drifting to the man sitting beside you.
Yunho was dressed casually, but for some reason, it was doing absolute numbers on your self-control. He was wearing a thin black tank top that perfectly showcased the broad lines of his chest and shoulders, paired with soft, low-hanging grey sweatpants. Those grey sweatpants. The ones that always made you feel weak in the knees.
Overall, it was an effortlessly domestic look, yet it made him look impossibly hot.
Normally, you were the shy one in the relationship. You were introverted, quiet and known to blush violently whenever he offered you a simple compliment. But tonight, the atmosphere felt thick. A heavy, unfamiliar warmth was pooling in your stomach. You felt a sudden urge to close the distance between you. You wanted him. You wanted to please him, to show him exactly how much he affected you.
Completely lost in a trance, your eyes kept trailing along the strong line of his jaw and down to his chest, ignoring the climax of the film on the screen, before drifting lower.
Now here was the thing. At 6'1, the man was simply huge, dominating the space on your shared sofa. His impossibly long legs were stretched out casually over the rug, one of his large hands resting lazily on his own thigh, those long, elegant fingers lightly drumming against the soft fabric of his sweatpants.
You found your eyes tracking the movement, completely mesmerized by his sheer size.Staring at the way the grey fabric draped over his thick thighs, a sudden, highly intrusive thought hijacked your mind, making a hot flush creep up your neck, wondering what else about him was actually big. And from the way those sweatpants were clinging to his crotch area, it wasn't so difficult to draw a conclusion.
Suddenly, he shifted, feeling the heavy weight of your stare. He slowly turned his head to look at you, catching you completely red-handed. Instead of looking away, a slow smile spread across his handsome face, his eyes gleaming with a mix of deep affection and quiet, playful amusement, making your heart skip a beat.
He shifted his weight, leaning in just a little closer so that you could feel the radiant heat rolling off his skin, voice dropping into a low, velvety register that sent an immediate shiver traveling down your spine.
"Baby... What are you doing?" He murmured softly, nudging your leg gently with his knee. "You're supposed to be paying attention to the movie."
The heat instantly rushed to your cheeks, a crimson flush spreading all the way to the tips of your ears. Being caught staring so shamelessly, especially with the scandalous, heavy direction your thoughts had just taken, left you momentarily speechless.
You swallowed hard, forcing your gaze away from the dangerous territory of his lap and darting your eyes nervously up to his face.
"Uhm..." You mumbled, your voice betraying a slight, nervous tremor. You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, the surge of desire from a moment ago suddenly warring with your natural, deep-seated shyness. You looked up at him through your lashes. "Can I... move closer? I wanna cuddle."
Yunho’s smile softened even more, melting into something incredibly tender.
"You never have to ask to come closer, baby. Come here." He murmured, his deep voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket.
He shifted his large frame back against the cushions, lifting one of his arms to open up the space beside him, his sheer size making the invitation look incredibly inviting.
Hesitantly, but driven by that lingering, restless ache in your stomach, you shimmied across the couch cushions. The moment you were within reach, his large hand gently gripped your waist, effortlessly pulling you flush against his side.
The physical contrast between you was staggering. You felt completely and entirely engulfed by him. His broad chest was a solid wall of heat against your cheek and as you settled against him, his arms wrapping around you securely, one of his large hands tangling lazily in your hair, while the movie continued playing in the background.
Being wrapped so securely in Yunho's arms was overwhelming in the best way possible, your senses completely flooded by the scent of his cologne and the steady thumping of his heart against your ear.
For a few minutes, you tried to just lay there and be good. But driven by that heavy, unfamiliar warmth pooling in your stomach, your hand betrayed your usual shyness. You simply couldn't help yourself.
Slowly, your fingers unfurled against his abdomen. Through the thin, soft cotton of his black tank top, you could feel the firm, defined ridges of his stomach muscles. You began to stroke him gently, tracing the hard lines of his torso, your palm pressing flat to absorb the radiant heat of his skin beneath the fabric.
The boldness of your own action sent a jolt straight to your core. Your breath hitched, suddenly coming out in shallow, uneven pants and your teeth sank nervously into your lower lip as you continued the soft, entirely out-of-character caress.
Yunho noticed the immediate change in your breathing, his fingers suddenly pausing their soothing rhythm in your hair. He tilted his head down to look at you, his brow furrowing slightly with a mix of quiet curiosity and surprise.
"Baby? You okay?"
His voice was soft, laced with a deep concern that made your heart skip a beat. Shifting his weight, his massive hand moved from the back of your hair to gently cup your flushed cheek.
"Y-yes, baby." You stammered, swallowing hard as a fresh, fiery wave of heat flooded your cheeks. "Why? What's wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong, sweetheart." Yunho smiled gently, his sharp eyes immediately recognizing your shy, flustered behavior. He could feel how incredibly submissive you were acting, how unusually needy and desperate your small hand felt as it continued to rest against his stomach. "Just noticing you're behaving very... clingy today."
His large hand shifted, his rough thumb and forefinger carefully capturing your bottom lip, gently but firmly tugging the swollen flesh free from your teeth.
"Why are you biting your lip so hard, pretty girl?"
The way he was talking to you, the low, velvety register of his voice, the sudden use of that breathless nickname, the dark, intense way his eyes were locked onto yours, almost made a quiet whimper slip past your parted lips. Your breath grew noticeably heavier, your chest rising and falling rapidly against his side.
The heavy ache in your stomach flared into a burning, undeniable need. The tension was suffocating. You wanted him so desperately. You wanted to slide down from the couch, sink to your knees and suck him off so badly. You just wanted to be a good girl for him, to submit completely and make your perfect, patient boyfriend feel as incredibly good as possible.
His eyes darkened visibly, the warm brown turning almost entirely black as he watched the sudden, heavy shift in your expression. He didn't miss a single detail, not the way your breath hitched erratically in your chest, nor the subtle, desperate way your thighs pressed tight together beneath the folds of your clothes. The air between you felt suddenly charged, thick with an unspoken tension.
With a firm but incredibly gentle touch, he hooked his large index finger under your chin, tilting your head up and completely stripping away your ability to hide from him. He forced you to meet his unwavering, intense gaze.
"What are you thinking about, hm?" He murmured, voice dropping even lower, shedding its previous playful warmth for a register that was rough and intimate. His thumb continued its slow, mesmerizing sweep across your swollen lower lip.
"N-nothing, baby." You stammered, swallowing hard against the tight knot in your throat.
Unable to handle the sheer intensity of his stare any longer, you completely melted against him. You broke eye contact and ducked your head, burying your furiously blushing face deep into the crook of his neck. You nuzzled into his warm skin, seeking refuge, your hands gripping the soft fabric of his tank top as if anchoring yourself in a storm.
But Yunho knew you far too well. After two months of learning your every quirk, boundary and habit, he knew you were a terrible liar, especially when your natural, submissive tendencies kicked in this intensely. He could read the unspoken language of your body perfectly.
A low, knowing hum rumbled deep in his broad chest, vibrating pleasantly against your cheek where you were pressed into his neck.
"Mhm... pretty girl." He soothed, his tone softening back into a warm, heavy blanket of reassurance, though the dominant edge never left it. His large hand slid to the back of your head, his long fingers stroking slowly and rhythmically through your hair, while his other arm held you impossibly close, his hand rubbing wide, comforting circles across your lower back. He could feel every tiny, erratic vibration of your body against his massive frame. "You're trembling, sweetheart. You can tell me."
A soft, frustrated groan vibrated against the sensitive skin of his neck as you squeezed your eyes shut. The confession felt entirely too heavy on your tongue, your face burning so hot you thought you might melt right there.
"It's... it's embarrassing." You whispered, the words barely audible as you nuzzled even further into his warmth, desperately trying to hide from his piercing gaze.
"There is nothing to be embarrassed about with me." Yunho replied instantly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
He shifted his large frame, the movement adjusting your positioning so you were pulled even tighter against him. His massive hands, always so incredibly gentle despite their intimidating strength, slid slowly up from your waist, his long fingers splaying wide across your ribs to hold you securely.
"Do you need something, baby? Tell me." His voice was a warm, patient rumble that vibrated pleasantly against your chest. "Whatever it is..." He promised, his tone thick with devotion. "I'll take care of you."
You swallowed hard, trying to push past the thick, overwhelming knot of nerves in your throat. Gathering every single ounce of courage you possessed, you slowly pulled back from the absolute safety of his neck. You forced yourself to look at him properly, your chest heaving with shallow breaths as you met his eyes.
"I..." You started, but the single word just hung awkwardly in the heavy air between you, your voice immediately faltering under the weight of his dark, intense stare.
Yunho didn't rush you. He simply watched you intently, the deep affection in his eyes giving you all the space and quiet you needed to gather your thoughts. With agonizing tenderness, he reached up, his large hand completely cupping the side of your face. He carefully brushed a loose strand of hair away from your forehead, his thumb coming to rest against your burning cheek. His patience was infinite. He had spent the last two months learning the intricate map of your mind and he knew exactly how hard you were fighting your own shyness right now.
"Take your time, sweetheart." He murmured softly, his thumb sweeping back and forth in a slow, soothing rhythm over your cheekbone. His voice was a calm, steady anchor in the storm of your racing nerves. "I'm right here."
The words finally tumbled out before you could lose your nerve, your voice trembling and dropping until it was barely a fragile whisper.
"I... I wanna taste you, baby."
The confession hung in the dim living room, heavy and intoxicating. Once the dam broke, you simply couldn't stop.
"I wanna be a good girl for you. Make you feel so good." You breathed out, your chest heaving with soft, erratic pants. The sheer intensity of your own need was completely overwhelming, forcing you to subconsciously squeeze your thighs tight together in a desperate attempt to chase away the deep, hollow ache throbbing at your core. "Please, baby."
Yunho went entirely still. A sharp, audible hitch broke past his lips as his breath caught violently in his throat.
The transformation was instantaneous. Whatever remnants of the bubbly, gentle golden retriever were left instantly vanished, replaced entirely by something dark, hungry and dangerously dominant. His warm eyes darkened until they were almost pitch-black, completely blown out with a sudden, possessive desire. He had spent the last two months treating you like fragile glass, patiently learning your shy, quiet nature, so hearing his sweet, timid girlfriend openly beg to be a good girl for him completely shattered his careful restraint.
Slowly, deliberately, his large hand slid from your burning cheek. His long, calloused fingers trailed down your jawline before wrapping firmly around the back of your neck. It wasn't painful, not even close, but it was undeniably possessive, a heavy, anchoring grip that laid claim to you right there on the spot. His thumb pressed perfectly against the rapid, frantic fluttering of your pulse.
"You've been staring at me this whole time, haven't you?" He rasped. His voice was completely stripped of its usual smooth warmth, dropping into a low, incredibly husky register that vibrated straight through your bones and settled heavily in your stomach.
You couldn't look away from him if you tried. Trapped beautifully under his intense gaze and the firm, claiming grip on your neck, you melted completely into his hold.
"Yes." You breathed out, utterly mesmerized by the man in front of you. Your hands instinctively slid up to flatten against his broad, muscular chest, feeling the wild, heavy pounding of his heart beneath the black tank top. Your voice softened, laced with pure, unfiltered adoration. "You're so beautiful, Yuyu."
Yunho's breath caught audibly for a second time. Hearing that sweet, affectionate nickname slip past your lips, paired with such a raw, desperate confession, did incredible things to his ego.
He looked down at you, his broad chest rising and falling heavily beneath your small palms. The firm grip he had on the back of your neck gentled just a fraction, his thumb sweeping soothingly over the frantic beating of your pulse.
"Look at you... my shy, innocent baby." He murmured, the rough, husky timbre of his voice wrapping around you like a vice. He leaned down, pressing a profoundly tender, lingering kiss to the center of your forehead, offering a beautiful, dizzying contrast to the heavy, dominant energy rolling off his large frame. "Wanting to be on her knees for me?"
A helpless, high-pitched whimper tore from your throat. You couldn't even form a proper sentence. The sheer image his deep voice painted in your mind was too much to handle. You bit down fiercely on your lower lip, your eyes fluttering shut as you completely melted under his touch, a fresh, heavy wave of heat pooling in your core.
"Yes" You breathed out, the single word surrendering entirely to him.
Yunho’s gaze devoured your flushed face, his eyes flashing with a possessive, dark heat that made your breath stutter all over again. A low groan of approval rumbled in his chest as he slowly pulled back just enough to give you space, his hand sliding away from your neck.
"Then be a good girl and get between my legs." He commanded softly, shifting his massive frame back against the deep cushions of the couch, deliberately spreading his long, muscular legs wide open to create a space meant entirely for you. The movement pulled the soft grey fabric of his sweatpants taut, doing absolutely nothing to hide the thick, impressive bulge heavily resting beneath it. It was a glaring, intimidating visual of exactly how much you were affecting him, completely stealing the breath from your lungs.
Despite the dark, overwhelming hunger swimming in his eyes, his demeanor remained incredibly patient. He didn't rush you. Instead, he reached out, his large hands gently guiding your shoulders to help you slide down from the cushions, his deep voice melting into a steady, velvety hum of pure encouragement.
"Show me how much you want to please me, angel."
Without a single second of hesitation, your knees hit the soft rug. The sheer relief of finally giving in to your craving washed over you, overriding every last ounce of your natural shyness. You moved right into the space he had created for you, completely enclosed by his long, muscular legs.
Driven by pure instinct and that overwhelming need to please, you leaned forward. You pressed your flushed face directly against his thick bulge, nuzzling affectionately against the soft grey fabric just like a needy, touch-starved kitten desperately seeking warmth and approval.
A deep, incredibly guttural groan tore from his throat the absolute second you made contact. His broad shoulders visibly shuddered. Your immediate, unquestioning obedience was a massive rush for him. His large hands instantly abandoned their place on his lap, eagerly finding their way into your hair. His long fingers threaded deeply through the strands, gently gripping your scalp as he held you exactly where he wanted you.
"Good girl..." He breathed out, the praise rough and heavily saturated with desire. Completely involuntarily, his hips jerked forward, chasing the soft friction of your cheek and pressing his heavy heat even firmer against you.
As he moved, the true reality of the situation suddenly registered in your mind. The texture against your cheek... there were no layers. No thick waistband or extra cotton of boxer briefs. Just the dangerously thin, single layer of his sweatpants acting as a meager barrier between you and his bare skin.
You gasped softly, your breath ghosting hot through the fabric against his lap as your eyes widened in shock.
"B-baby?" You stuttered, your voice trembling with a mix of awe and pure scandal. "You're... you're not wearing boxers?"
A low, dark chuckle rumbled deep in his chest, vibrating all the way down to where you were pressed against him. His grip in your hair tightened just a fraction, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you exactly who was in control, sending a fresh spike of heat straight to your core.
"No, baby girl." He purred, the deep timbre of his voice laced with sinful amusement. "Just these sweatpants."
Because he was entirely bare underneath, the thin grey fabric was practically clinging to him, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. You were given a terrifyingly clear, vivid outline of just how large he truly was. He was impossibly thick and heavy, the rigid, imposing length of him pressing flush against the soft material, radiating a feverish heat that burned against your skin. And right at the very peak, a small, dark, faint wet spot was already beginning to form, slowly staining the light grey fabric, undeniable visual proof of exactly how much your submissive attention was turning him on.
Yunho tilted his head back against the couch, looking down at you through half-lidded, incredibly dark eyes. A wicked, devastatingly hot smirk played on his beautiful lips as his thumb slowly stroked your cheekbone.
"You've been staring at this, hm?"
"N-no..." You stammered, the blatant, desperate lie completely failing to convince either of you as your face burned hot enough to rival the sun. A deep crimson flush spread uncontrollably across your cheeks and all the way down to your collarbones.
Yunho didn't buy it for a single second. A rich, incredibly soft laugh rumbled deep in his broad chest, the sound wrapping around you like a heavy, velvet blanket. He shifted his hand, his rough thumb sweeping affectionately over the burning apple of your flushed cheek.
"Liar." He murmured, his voice dripping with dark, fond amusement.
To emphasize his point, his hips suddenly rocked forward with deliberate intent. The slow, incredibly deliberate thrust pressed the thick, rigid head of his arousal directly against your parted lips. The ridiculously thin, already damp layer of his sweatpants was the only thing preventing skin-to-skin contact, making the intimate friction feel incredibly intense.
"You kept looking. I noticed, sweetheart." He breathed out, the teasing lilt in his voice morphing back into that heavy, intoxicating register. "My little innocent girl... being so completely naughty without even knowing it."
His fingers flexed, tightening their grip in the roots of your hair just enough to send a thrilling, electric jolt straight down your spine.
A helpless, muffled whimper vibrated against his lap. Completely overwhelmed by the intense heat and the sheer size of him pressing against your mouth, your hands instinctively flew down to his legs. Your small palms flattened against his massive thighs, your trembling fingers beginning to stroke and knead the solid, unyielding muscle beneath the grey cotton in a desperate, soothing rhythm.
"It's not my fault..." You whined softly, looking up at him through your lashes with a deep, frustrated pout, your swollen bottom lip jutting out adorably. "I can see everything when you wear these."
The sight of you kneeling perfectly between his legs, desperately shifting the blame onto his wardrobe while simultaneously stroking his thighs with such undeniable need, was almost too much for him to handle. Another dark, raspy chuckle escaped his lips. He found your defensive little pout absolutely devastating.
Underneath your small, delicate hands, his thighs felt like solid, unmovable marble. The way he was sitting and breathing caused the soft grey fabric to stretch impossibly tight over his impressive length, creating a glorious, terrifyingly defined silhouette of the very problem you were complaining about.
"Mmm... is that so?" He hummed, his deep voice vibrating with a thrilling mixture of heavy dominance and pure adoration.
His large hand gave a firm, deliberate tug on the thick handful of hair he held, easily coercing you to abandon your delicious resting place against his lap. He tilted your head all the way back, exposing the long, sensitive column of your throat and forcing you to look up and meet his dark, burning gaze from your vulnerable position on the floor.
"You wear them on purpose, don't you?" You whispered, your voice trembling as you kept your gaze locked with his. Your pout deepened, a mix of pure frustration and overwhelming desire. "You just... you wanna tease me."
A dangerous, incredibly wicked gleam flashed in his dark eyes, all traces of the sweet, innocent boyfriend vanishing completely. A slow, devastatingly arrogant smirk spread across his handsome face. He wasn't even going to try and deny it.
"Maybe..." He admitted without a single ounce of shame. "Does it work, baby? The way they show absolutely everything?"
To prove his point, his hips rolled forward again, a slow, agonizingly deliberate thrust that pressed the heavy, rigid outline of him right against the seam of your parted lips. The sheer heat radiating through the thin grey cotton was dizzying.
You swallowed hard, completely entirely defeated by him. You couldn't fight it anymore. Driven by a blind, desperate need to make him feel good, you parted your lips further and finally gave in.
Without waiting for him to strip the sweatpants away, you began to mouth at him right through the thin, damp fabric. Your hot breath seeped into the cotton as you tentatively opened your mouth over the broad head of his arousal, your tongue darting out to trace the thick, prominent outline of him through the material.
The absolute second the wet heat of your mouth enveloped him through the fabric, Yunho shattered.
A deep, ragged groan ripped from the bottom of his chest, the sound rough and entirely primal. He could feel every single desperate swipe of your tongue, the fabric clinging perfectly to his skin and amplifying the slick friction.
He completely abandoned any attempt at teasing or holding back. He simply let you take over, his body melting into the cushions completely at your mercy.
"Fuck... there you go." He rasped out, his voice thick and heavy with unadulterated pleasure. "There you go, good girl..."
His head fell heavily back against the backrest of the couch, exposing the thick column of his throat as his eyes fluttered completely shut. His chest heaved with shallow, erratic breaths, his large hand tightening reflexively in your hair to gently guide your frantic, desperate movements as you worked so eagerly to please him.
A soft, needy hum vibrated in the back of your throat as you pressed your face even harder against his aching heat. The friction of the damp fabric against your lips was maddening, but it wasn't enough. You were entirely consumed by the scent of him, the radiant warmth of his skin, and the desperate, overwhelming urge to finally taste him.
"Baby..." You whimpered against his lap, your hands gripping his thick thighs tight as you blindly chased the friction.
"Shhh... I know, sweetheart." Yunho soothed, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble that washed over you.
His large hand remained a comforting, heavy weight on the back of your head, his long fingers gently tangling in your hair and stroking your scalp to ground you. He let you mouth at him for another agonizing moment before he spoke again.
"You're doing so well."
His head rolled forward, his dark eyes looking down at the beautiful, completely wrecked picture you painted kneeling between his legs. His broad chest heaved with shallow, uneven breaths, his heart hammering wildly beneath his ribs as he watched your flushed face press flush against his thick bulge.
"My needy girl..." He rasped, his thumb sweeping behind your ear. "What do you want, baby?"
Your breath hitched, the question wrapping around your fragile restraint and pulling it completely taut. You looked up at him through your lashes, your chest rising and falling rapidly.
"Take them off." You begged, your voice breathless and trembling with pure, unfiltered need. "Please."
But instead of granting your desperate plea, Yunho went entirely still. The indulgent, pliant boyfriend vanished, replaced by a wall of absolute, unyielding dominance.
"I'm not moving until you tell me exactly what you want to do, pretty girl." He commanded softly.
He kept his tone incredibly gentle, yet there was a dangerous, firm edge to it that left absolutely zero room for argument. His hand slid smoothly from the back of your hair down to your jawline, his long fingers hooking firmly under your chin. With a slow, deliberate pressure, he tilted your head up, completely severing your contact with his lap and forcing you to meet his intense, burning gaze.
"Be very specific." He whispered, his eyes dropping briefly to your thoroughly kissed, swollen lips before locking onto your eyes once again. "Use your words like a good girl."
"Wanna... wanna taste you, baby." You breathed out softly, the last of your resistance melting away as your face heated up entirely, burning a brilliant, furious red. "Wanna suck you off."
The absolute second the words left your lips, Yunho’s eyes darkened into a bottomless, hungry pitch. The raw submission in your voice was the exact undoing he had been waiting for. A ragged, heavy exhale punched out of his chest and without another word, he slowly lifted his hips off the cushion.
His large hands gripped the waistband of his sweatpants, pushing the thick cotton down just enough to finally free himself from the suffocating confinement. He sprang loose instantly, thick, unyielding and incredibly heavy against his thighs, the swollen tip already weeping thick drops of pre-cum in eager anticipation.
"There you go, baby girl." He rasped, his voice dropping an octave deeper as his hands returned to your hair, gently but firmly guiding your head back down to face him.
A sharp, audible gasp tore from your throat. Seeing the outline of him through the fabric was one thing, but seeing his bare length completely exposed in the dim light of the living room was something else entirely. He was way bigger than you had ever expected,so unbelievably thick and imposing. Pretty, flushed pink skin was wrapped tight around him, mapped heavily with thick veins that pulsed with his rapid heartbeat.
He was utterly flawless. So big, so hard, so beautiful. Just like the rest of him, everything about this man was absolute perfection.
Yunho immediately noticed your stunned awe. He watched as your pupils blew wide, completely swallowing your irises and your jaw practically dropped open.
A low hum vibrated deep in his throat.
"There's my pretty girl..." He murmured softly. His large hand slid down to tenderly stroke your flushed cheek, completely aware that you were short-circuiting right in front of him. "See something you like, sweetheart?"
A helpless, high-pitched whimper slipped past your parted lips. You completely surrendered to the moment, leaning heavily into the warm, comforting touch of his palm against your cheek, your eyes never leaving his magnificent length.
"Yes." You breathed out, your voice trembling with pure, unfiltered adoration. "So beautiful, Yuyu."
Yunho’s broad chest heaved as a violent shudder wrecked through his massive frame. Hearing you call him beautiful, looking up at him with such sweet, desperate devotion while kneeling submissively between his spread thighs, shattered the very last fragment of his composure.
"Go ahead then baby." He whispered, his voice incredibly rough and textured, entirely stripped of its usual playful warmth. His thumb slipped down from your cheek, gently pressing against your lower lip to coax your mouth open wider. "Taste me, angel."
Driven by a primal, burning need that completely eclipsed your shyness, you finally closed the distance. Your heart hammered a frantic, deafening rhythm against your ribs as you leaned in. The radiant heat coming off his bare skin was absolute fire against your face.
Tentatively, your tongue darted out, trembling as it made the very first agonizing contact. You dragged the wet, soft muscle slowly up the thick, veined underside of his shaft, right up to the flushed, heavy peak, delicately collecting the clear drop of pre-cum waiting for you there.
The absolute second your tongue swiped over his most sensitive spot, Yunho completely lost his mind.
His hips violently bucked off the couch, chasing your mouth with a desperate, involuntary thrust as a deep, guttural curse ripped from his throat. His head tipped entirely back, exposing the thick cords of his neck while his fingers clenched tight into the roots of your hair, anchoring you exactly where you belonged.
"Fuck... yes." He groaned, his voice completely raw and broken, his broad thighs trembling slightly under your hands. "Just like that, baby. Exactly like that."
The sudden, violent jerk of his hips took you by surprise, but the raw, unfiltered sound of his pleasure was an absolute drug. Hearing that deep, guttural groan completely obliterated any lingering trace of your hesitation. You were entirely consumed by the desperate need to draw more of those beautiful sounds from him.
You parted your lips wider, tilting your head to finally take him in. The sheer, intimidating size of him made it a slow, deliberate process. As the broad, flushed head of his shaft pushed past your teeth and pressed against your tongue, an overwhelming, incredible sense of fullness stretched your mouth. He was so thick that you could barely wrap your lips around him, but the challenge only fueled your determination.
Yunho hissed violently through his teeth, his entire massive frame going completely rigid the second your hot, slick heat enveloped him. His long fingers flexed, gripping the roots of your hair with a possessive strength that sent a thrill straight to your core.
Despite the wild, bucking instinct of his hips just moments prior, he forced himself to hold agonizingly still. He was fighting a brutal war with his own self-control, his broad chest heaving as he let you adjust to his massive size at your own pace.
"Fuck..." He breathed out, the word trembling on his lips. "Take your time, baby. I'm right here. You're doing so fucking good."
Encouraged by his heavy praise, you swallowed thickly, letting your head bob down just a fraction more. You swirled your tongue around the thick ridge of his tip, simultaneously applying a soft, desperate suction. The slick, wet sound of your mouth working against his skin echoed loudly in the quiet living room, a deeply filthy, beautiful noise that made the solid muscles of his thighs tremble violently beneath your small hands.
Yunho couldn't tear his eyes away from you. He looked down through heavy, half-lidded eyes, completely mesmerized by the devastating picture you painted. His sweet, painfully shy girlfriend was kneeling flawlessly between his spread legs, completely at his mercy. The way your cheeks hollowed out slightly with every eager pull of your mouth, the way your soft hands kneaded his thighs and the way your beautiful eyes gazed up at him through your lashes with such pure, unadulterated devotion, it was enough to make a lesser man completely lose his mind.
"That's it, pretty girl." He praised, his voice dropping into a broken, breathy rasp that washed over you like liquid gold. His thumb swept down to heavily trace the shell of your ear, grounding you in the intense sensation. "Take all of me, angel. Show me how much you love me."
You hummed against his hot skin, the vibration sending another violent shudder through his long legs. You slowly pulled back until he almost slipped past your lips, dragging your tongue along his sensitive underside one more time, before sinking back down, taking him just a little bit deeper than before.
The rhythm was tentative but incredibly eager. Every time your lips slid down his thick length, Yunho’s grip in your hair tightened, his hips involuntarily twitching upward to meet your mouth.
"God, baby... you feel so good." He groaned, his head falling back heavily against the couch once more. He surrendered entirely to your sweet, desperate efforts, his hands guiding your head in a slow, agonizingly perfect rhythm. "My good girl. My perfect, needy little girl. Don't stop."
A soft, muffled hum vibrated deep in your chest, fueled entirely by the heavy, intoxicating sound of his praise. The sheer desperation in his voice gave you a sudden rush of confidence. You didn't just want to make him feel good anymore. You wanted to completely ruin him. You wanted to give him a feeling he would never, ever forget.
Taking a slow breath through your nose, you deliberately relaxed your jaw. Carefully minding your teeth, you pushed past your own natural hesitation, letting your head slide down, down, down. You took him impossibly deeper, swallowing his impressive, intimidating length all the way to the very back of your throat, until your nose pressed flush against the warm, solid plane of his pelvic bone.
And you kept him there.
The absolute second you buried him completely, a ragged, completely broken moan tore from Yunho’s throat. It was a visceral, entirely unguarded sound that echoed loudly in the quiet room. His broad chest violently arched off the cushions, completely overwhelmed by the maddening sensation of being fully and tightly sheathed in your scalding warmth.
To add to his sweet torment, you swallowed eagerly around his thick girth, your throat muscles rhythmically tightening and relaxing in a desperate bid to taste him. At the same time, your small hand slid down from his thigh, your fingers reaching between his legs to gently, rhythmically knead his heavy, sensitive balls.
"Oh my god..."
The words punched out of him like a prayer. His head fell completely back over the edge of the couch, his eyes blindly staring up at the ceiling as his brain entirely short-circuited. His hips jerked upward in a sharp, involuntary thrust, completely unable to fight the primal instinct driving his body.
The combination of your warm throat swallowing around his thickest part and your soft hand working beneath him was absolutely lethal. It was too much. It was too perfect. This beautiful, incredibly shy girl who usually blushed at a simple compliment was currently devoting herself to him with such filthy, eager perfection.
A choked, desperate sound ripped from his chest, something perfectly caught between a sharp gasp and a helpless sob. All of his dominant composure completely shattered into pieces.
Yet, even in the absolute peak of his mind-numbing pleasure, his golden-retriever nature bled through. His large hands didn't push you down harder or grip you painfully. Instead, his long fingers simply threaded into your hair, his palms tenderly cupping the sides of your head with agonizing gentleness, as if you were the most precious thing in the world.
"Ah... baby, baby-"
His voice was a raw, breathless plea, completely breaking in the middle. His solid hips bucked upward against your mouth again, a violent, involuntary spasm of pure, unadulterated ecstasy as his thick thighs trembled against your arms.
"Too much, sweetheart... fuck, it's too much."
A muffled, incredibly needy hum vibrated against his overly sensitive skin as you completely ignored his desperate, breathless state. Instead of slowing down, you tightened your throat and sucked even harder, fully aware that you had pushed him right to the absolute brink.
The combination of your soft hum vibrating against him, the relentless, tight suction and the agonizingly perfect pressure of your throat was the final strike. It completely shattered the last remaining fraction of his control.
A sudden, frantic instinct kicked in. He tried to pull his hips back, his broad chest heaving as he desperately tried to retreat. He didn't want to come in your mouth without warning, especially not with you taking him so incredibly deep. But your small hands firmly gripped his thick thighs, holding him flush against your face and completely refusing to let him escape.
The dam finally broke.
A sharp, involuntary choke escaped you as thick, heavy ropes of cum suddenly erupted, spilling violently against the very back of your throat. It was entirely overwhelming, completely flooding your senses. Yet, driven by that blind, burning devotion to please him, you refused to pull away. You squeezed your eyes shut, a soft, muffled moan vibrating against him as you tasted his musky, salty flavor for the very first time, bravely forcing yourself to swallow as much of him as you possibly could.
Yunho’s entire massive frame locked up rigidly. A deep, guttural roar of pure, unadulterated release ripped from his chest, echoing loudly off the walls of the living room. The thick, veined length of his arousal pulsed wildly, throbbing hard and heavy against your tongue as he shot down your throat in thick, desperate, endless spurts.
His large hands trembled violently in your hair, completely drained of their immense strength. He couldn't even form a coherent thought, completely paralyzed by the mind-numbing ecstasy. He watched you through a heavily blurred, hazy vision, his heart hammering against his ribs as he watched his beautiful, shy girlfriend swallow, and swallow, and swallow, trying so incredibly bravely to take every single drop of him.
"Fuck... take it, baby." He choked out, his voice utterly wrecked, broken and heavily saturated with awe. His thumb weakly stroked your cheek, entirely mesmerized by your devotion. "Good girl."
"Mmmph..."
A soft, eager sound of agreement slipped past your lips as you swallowed down the heavy mouthful. As his frantic, violent pulses slowly began to subside into softer twitches, you still didn't pull away. Instead, you relaxed your jaw just a fraction and began to bob your head once again.
The rhythm was agonizingly slow and gentle this time. You dragged your wet tongue soothingly over his hypersensitive, flushed skin, tenderly cleaning up the messy aftermath and capturing every last stray drop. It was an act of pure, sweet adoration that provided a staggering contrast to the filthy, desperate way you had completely undone him only moments before.
Yunho completely melted into the cushions, his broad chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. Every single muscle in his massive frame was still twitching from the sheer, blinding intensity of his release. When his dark, blown-out eyes finally managed to focus, they found you with a staggering mixture of profound awe and total disbelief. He could barely process it. His sweet, impossibly shy girlfriend had just taken him entirely down her throat, swallowed him whole and was now tenderly cleaning him up as if it were the most natural, beautiful thing in the world.
"Pretty girl..." He rasped, the words tumbling out of him in a completely wrecked, breathy exhale.
With a wet, incredibly filthy pop that echoed loudly in the quiet room, you finally pulled your mouth away. You lingered for just a second, pressing one last, profoundly soft and reverent kiss to the very tip of his flushed arousal, before trailing your lips down to press another gentle kiss to the heavily corded muscle of his thick thigh.
Yunho’s eyes fluttered closed at the sweet, worshipping touches, a long, shaky sigh leaving his parted lips. Slowly, you crawled up his massive frame, straddling his lap to bridge the distance between you. As you leaned in to press a series of soft, tentative kisses to his mouth, his large hands immediately reached up. His long fingers tenderly cupped your flushed cheeks, holding you steady as he pulled you in for a much deeper, demanding kiss. He tilted your head, his hot tongue sliding smoothly past your lips, desperately chasing the intoxicating, musky taste of his own release lingering on your tongue.
All of your remaining shyness completely evaporated in the intimate aftermath. You melted against his broad chest, returning the kiss with a messy, uninhibited fervor. It was incredibly sloppy, completely full of heat, deep tongue and slick spit as your mouths crashed together over and over again, completely desperate for each other.
One of his large hands slid from your cheek to firmly cup the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you impossibly closer, drinking in every single sloppy, wet sound of your mouths moving together.
Eventually, completely breathless and dizzy, he broke the kiss just enough to let you both drag in oxygen. He didn't let you go far, keeping his large hands anchored protectively on you as he rested his forehead heavily against yours.
"My good girl..." He breathed out against your thoroughly swollen, slick lips, his voice thick with a heavy, unconditional devotion, his chest still rising and falling rapidly against yours. "My perfect, perfect girl."
You shifted slightly on his lap, your hands resting flat against the solid, rapidly beating warmth of his chest. The heavy, intoxicating haze of lust was slowly beginning to recede, leaving behind a profound vulnerability. Looking up at him through your lashes, a sudden wave of your usual, quiet shyness crept back in.
"Did I do good, baby?" You ask, your voice breathless and impossibly small.
Yunho’s heart absolutely melted at the question. It was staggering to him, the fact that you could be so unsure of yourself, seeking his approval even after completely reducing him to a trembling, mindless mess on his own couch.
He leaned in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was entirely different from the messy, desperate one before. This one was incredibly soft, slow and overwhelmingly sweet. When he finally pulled back, his large hands moved to completely cup your face, his thumbs resting gently on your cheeks. He made sure you were looking directly into his dark, endlessly fond eyes when he spoke.
"You did amazing, sweetheart." He murmured, his voice a warm, heavy rumble of pure sincerity. His thumbs began to slowly stroke the heated skin of your flushed cheeks. "So incredibly good for me..."
A soft, helpless sound, something close to a mewl, vibrated in the back of your throat. Completely melting under the weight of his heavy praise, you leaned your face deeply into the warm, calloused palm of his hand, seeking his comfort just like a touch-starved kitten.
A beautiful, blindingly bright smile broke across Yunho’s handsome face. The dark, dominant aura that had consumed him moments ago completely vanished, instantly replaced by his sunny, golden-retriever adoration. He absolutely worshipped the way you preened under his praise.
Unable to resist, he surged forward, showering your face in a flurry of tender, affectionate kisses. He pressed his soft lips to your forehead, the tip of your nose and both of your burning cheeks, treating you with the utmost reverence, as if you were the most fragile, precious thing in the entire world.
"My sweet, perfect girl." He murmured against your skin between kisses.
You let your eyes flutter shut, completely basking in the overwhelming warmth of his affection. After a moment, you peeked up at him, a soft, tired pout forming on your lips. "Can we cuddle now?"
"Absolutely, angel." He agreed instantly, his deep voice laced with immediate devotion.
With effortless strength, he adjusted his clothes before wrapping his massive arms securely around you. He shifted your positioning so that you were tucked entirely flush against his chest, completely engulfed by his imposing frame. Reaching over with one long arm, he grabbed the thick, fuzzy blanket draped over the back of the couch and pulled it tightly over the two of you, creating a warm, secluded little cocoon.
He blanketed you in a fresh wave of sweet kisses, pressing them into your hair and against your temple.
"My baby gets all the cuddles she wants." He hummed, his large hand settling between your shoulder blades and beginning to rub your back in slow, agonizingly soothing motions. "There's my good girl."
A soft, musical chuckle escaped you as you nuzzled your cheek against the soft cotton of his black tank top, feeling the steady thumping of his heart beneath your ear.
"You're spoiling me now." You teased quietly.
Yunho’s chest rumbled with a low, happy laugh. He tightened his arms around you, squeezing you affectionately as he pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of your head.
"You deserve to be spoiled, baby girl." He murmured, his tone entirely serious despite the gentle, rhythmic strokes of his hand running up and down your spine. "Especially after how incredibly well you just took care of me." He nuzzled his face deep into your hair, breathing in the sweet scent of your shampoo, utterly content. "Besides... I love taking care of my pretty girl."
And before you knew it, you fell asleep in his arms, feeling loved, cherished and protected.
synopsis: you’re a struggling pianist, playing in an underground lounge owned by the mafia. one night, the club’s true owner, yunho, finally appears—a man whispered about in the darkest corners of the city. Your music becomes the only thing that calms him.
authors note : : i love the aesthetic of this fic. this one is more descriptive, idk if I did it justice
[series masterlist]
—You play the piano in an underground lounge, the soft melodies swallowed by the low murmurs of criminals and the heavy clink of expensive glasses. No one really listens; your music drifts above their heads like smoke they barely notice. The air smells of old whiskey, stronger cigars, and something metallic that you’ve learned not to think too hard about.
The place is called Halazia—a name whispered with a strange kind of reverence on the streets. From the outside, it looks abandoned: cracked bricks, rusted signage, windows so dark you can't tell if the lights are even on. But past a guarded, steel door and a staircase that dives into the earth, the lounge breathes with dangerous life.
Halazia isn't glamorous. It's all deep shadows, bruised purple lights, and velvet so dark it could swallow you whole. The tables are low and cluttered, the chairs heavy and old but too expensive to replace. Everything inside seems dipped in a sense of faded royalty—gold edges dulled with time, red curtains that look almost black in the dim light. The ceilings are low enough to make you feel like you're being pressed down, the air thick with secrets.
You sit at a battered grand piano pushed into a corner of the room, just barely illuminated by a single spotlight that's more moody than bright. Your fingers move across the keys like second nature, but there's no applause, no recognition.
You are background noise. Just another piece of Halazia’s furniture, like the stained glasses and the blood that sometimes doesn’t quite get cleaned off the floor.
Tonight, you’re wearing a black slip dress that clings to you when you move, the hem brushing just below your knees. A thin, silver chain circles your throat, catching the light with every tilt of your head. Your shoes are plain black heels—scuffed a little at the toes, though no one can really see in this lighting. Your hair is pinned up, a few stubborn strands falling free to frame your face.
You've never seen the real owner—the one everyone murmurs about between drinks and bad deals. Yunho. A name that carries weight. They say he's dangerous. They say he’s untouchable. You’ve only caught whispers, overheard things you were never meant to hear: how he handled a betrayal without blinking, how entire territories shifted because of a single decision he made.
But he doesn’t come here often. People like him don't linger where the blood is still fresh.
They say he rarely shows his face here, too busy with whatever dealings keep the ATEEZ syndicate running like a well-oiled machine. Some call him the executioner, others the right hand of the real leader, a man whose shadow is just as lethal as his bullets. Either way, Yunho is someone you don’t want to cross.
Not that you’d have the chance.
You don’t know if the stories are true—if he really killed a man with his bare hands at sixteen, if his name alone is enough to make people disappear. But you do know this: he is feared. And men like him don’t waste their time listening to music.
—Yunho didn't come to Halazia without a reason. He hated the place, if he was honest—hated the way the walls seemed to sweat with the desperation of men who thought money or violence could buy them safety. Hated how the ceilings dipped too low, how the air thickened with every whispered deal. But tonight, he had business to oversee, and if there was one thing he respected, it was showing up when it mattered.
He pushed through the heavy door without a word, the guards stepping aside the moment they caught sight of him. He didn’t bother looking at them. His presence alone was enough. A silent weight pressed into the room the second he entered, unnoticed by most but felt by anyone who mattered. Conversations slowed, some halted altogether. A few of the smarter ones kept their eyes glued to their drinks, pretending they hadn't seen him arrive.
He moved through the lounge with the kind of ease only a man with absolute control could carry. Long coat brushing his knees, boots heavy against the cracked tile. A black shirt, simple but expensive, clung to his frame; sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the veins on his forearms.
At first, Yunho barely registered the music threading through the stale air. Just the piano—soft, steady, haunting in a way that tugged at something buried deep in his chest. He should have ignored it. He had more important things to handle tonight: negotiations, threats, the delicate dance of violence disguised as business.
But then his gaze found you.
You sat tucked away in the corner, half-swallowed by the dark. Your posture was easy, practiced, the movement of your fingers across the keys effortless. You weren't playing for them, he realized—you weren’t playing for anyone. The notes you coaxed from the piano were yours alone, slipping into the cracks of the rotting lounge like stubborn vines.
You didn’t see him. Not when he stopped mid-stride, not when his attention locked onto you with a focus he rarely gave anything outside a deal or a target. You were lost in your own world, shoulders rising and falling with the rhythm you built.
Something about that irritated him and fascinated him.
He took a seat at a table near the back, still half in the shadows. From there, he could watch without interruption. Watch the way the dim light brushed your skin, the way your dress clung to your frame in all the right places without ever begging for attention. Watch the way your eyes stayed down, focused only on the keys, as if refusing to acknowledge the filth that surrounded you.
He lit a cigarette with a slow hand, the flame briefly illuminating the hard lines of his face. The smoke curled lazily around him, adding another layer to the haze that seemed to cling to Halazia’s walls. He took a drag, exhaling toward the low ceiling, his gaze never leaving the girl at the piano who had no idea the devil himself had finally decided to notice her.
For the first time in a long while, Yunho wasn’t thinking about business.
For the first time, he was thinking about something—or someone—he might want for himself.
—Yunho returns the next night.
And the night after that.
Always the same routine: slipping into Halazia’s suffocating dark, cutting through the smoke and stale sweat like a blade. Always finding the same table tucked into the shadows where the lights couldn't quite touch him
He watches as your fingers move effortlessly across the keys, your body swaying slightly with each note, completely immersed in a world no one else seems to understand. The lounge is still full of men with bloody hands and expensive suits, but even they keep their voices lower when he’s around. They know better than to disrupt whatever is keeping him so still, so quiet.
And eventually, Yunho decided he'd had enough of waiting.
It was late when he moved. Most of the night's vultures had already scattered, leaving only a handful of drunk, half-conscious stragglers. The lights were even dimmer now, the air heavier. You were finishing a quiet piece, something slow and aching, when the sharp sound of boots against wood echoed through the lounge.
You barely noticed it. Not until he was standing there—leaning casually against the edge of the grand piano, close enough that you could see the silver of the rings on his fingers, the careful roll of his sleeves to mid-forearm.
“Play for me.”
The words are deep, smooth, cutting through the smoke-laced air like a blade. The lounge is quieter than usual, but maybe that’s just your ears ringing.
You don’t look up again. Instead, you inhale slowly, steadying yourself as your fingers press into the keys. You play the first thing that comes to mind—not a classical piece, not a song meant for an audience. Yours.
A tune you composed years ago, when the world felt different, when you still had dreams beyond playing in a place like this. It’s soft at first, hesitant, like an old memory being pulled from the depths of your mind. But then your fingers find their rhythm, and the melody spills into the air, painting the room in something only you understand.
You feel his stare. It burns. Like a predator studying its prey, except there’s no malice, no threat—just curiosity.
The song ends too soon. Or maybe you wished it had lasted longer.
The final note lingers before vanishing into the air, swallowed by the weight of the moment. You exhale, standing quickly, your hands instinctively tugging down your extremely short dress.
"Which song?" His voice is deep, smooth—like the whiskey he drinks.
You hesitate. "It’s mine."
A beat of silence before he hums softly.
Your stomach twists at the sound, your breath caught in your throat. His presence is suffocating, consuming. And when he finally speaks again, his next words make your pulse stutter.
"And your name?"
You hesitate. Just for a second. For a terrifying moment, it’s like you’ve forgotten it—like his presence alone has stripped you down to nothing but a girl behind a piano, nameless, insignificant. But then you force it out, your voice quieter than you’d like.
Yunho repeats it. Testing it on his tongue. Then, with a slow nod, he waves a hand—dismissing you. The conversation is over. Just like that.
You nod, mumbling a quick, breathless, “Thank you,” before slipping away. And as you walk off the stage, you swear his gaze follows.
—Your apartment is silent, save for the soft ticking of the clock on the peeling wall. The air is still, heavy with the scent of old books and faint traces of perfume lingering from earlier that evening.
You sit on the worn-out couch, your legs curled beneath you, mind restless as it replays the events of the night.
Why did he ask for your name?
The question loops endlessly in your head, gnawing at the edges of your thoughts.
Jeong Yunho wasn’t just some man. He was someone people whispered about in hushed tones, a figure who existed in shadows and blood-stained loyalty. And tonight, he had asked for your name.
Did you do something wrong?
Were you not supposed to play your own composition? Had you somehow offended him by ignoring him? Had your silence come across as disrespect?
Your heart pounds as anxiety coils in your stomach. You try to rationalize it, to tell yourself that maybe it was nothing—but deep down, you know better. Men like him didn’t do things without reason.
Your stomach twists. Maybe you played something you shouldn’t have. Maybe he recognized the melody. Maybe—
A sudden knock at the door makes you jolt.
Your heart slams against your ribs, panic surging before logic kicks in. You aren’t expecting anyone. And in a city like this, an unexpected visitor was never a good thing.
Slowly, cautiously, you approach the door. You hesitate before opening it, breath caught in your throat. But when you pull it open, there’s no one there.
Just a box. An expensive one at that.
Sleek, black, with a subtle golden trim. The kind of luxury that doesn’t belong in a place like this. Your stomach tightens as you bend down, fingers ghosting over the surface before carefully lifting it inside.
You place it on your small dining table, your throat dry as you lift the lid. A card rests on top.
Come tomorrow at 8 PM to the Halazia Lounge. Sharp.
– JY
Your fingers tighten around the card. You suddenly forget to breathe.
Jeong Yunho called you to the lounge. Personally.
Your mind races, panic rising like a tide. Why? Was this it? Some kind of warning? A test? Were you in trouble? You weren’t stupid—when men like Yunho sent for people, it was never for something trivial.
You swallow hard, trying to steady your nerves. But then—your gaze shifts to what lies beneath the card.
You lift the fabric carefully, your breath catching in your throat as the material spills over your hands like liquid ink. A gown.
Nothing like the cheap, short dresses you were forced to wear at the lounge. This was something entirely different—long, elegant, heavy with quality.
The color is a deep midnight black, nearly blending into the shadows of your apartment. The fabric glides against your skin, intricate embroidery catching the dim light. It’s tasteful yet undeniably alluring, the neckline dipping just enough to be striking, the silhouette hugging in all the right places before cascading down in soft waves of fabric.
And then—the final touch. Resting at the bottom of the box, nestled in tissue paper, is a pair of heels.
Tomorrow, you were supposed to meet Jeong Yunho.
Oh god.
You were in so much trouble.
—The lounge is empty.
The realization settles deep in your bones as you step inside, your heels clicking against the marble floors, the sound unnervingly loud in the vast silence. It was a Sunday. The busiest night of the week, when criminals and power-hungry men filled the space, drowning themselves in expensive liquor and whispered deals. But tonight—tonight, it was deserted.
Except for one person.
Yunho.
He sits on the long leather seat in front of the grand piano, one arm draped casually over the armrest, his posture effortlessly powerful. But what unsettles you more than the emptiness of the room is that he’s already looking at you.
Your breath catches, and for the first time since receiving the dress, you feel the weight of it. The fabric clings to your frame, the smooth material skimming the floor as you move. It fits perfectly, like it was chosen with intention, with precision.
Yunho shifts slightly, and with the smallest tilt of his chin, he motions to the seat beside him.
Wordlessly, you move forward, the soft click of your heels echoing as you step onto the stage. The closer you get, the stronger his scent becomes—rich, dark, intoxicating. A blend of expensive cologne, whiskey. It lingers in the air around you, clinging to your skin the moment you lower yourself onto the seat beside him.
You sit with your body angled toward the piano, hands resting lightly on your lap, while Yunho sits facing outward—toward the empty lounge. You’re close. Close enough that the warmth of him seeps into your side, close enough that every slow inhale you take is filled with him.
“Play something.”
Your fingers twitch slightly. “What song?”
“Something new.” He doesn’t look at you this time. Just leans back, gaze still fixed on the room ahead, voice impossibly calm. “Something you composed.”
No one ever asks for your compositions. No one ever cares to. The lounge patrons want something familiar, something they can drink to, drown in. But Yunho—he doesn’t ask for a song. He asks for you.
A shaky breath leaves your lips as your fingers hover over the keys. You close your eyes for a moment, grounding yourself before finally pressing down.
The first note rings through the empty lounge, filling the space like a ghost taking form.
Your hands move instinctively, muscle memory guiding each stroke, each transition. The melody is raw, something you created long ago but never had the chance to share. It unfolds before you, bleeding into the room like ink on parchment, like a secret whispered into the dark.
Yunho isn’t looking at the lounge anymore. He’s looking at you.
You can feel it—the slow turn of his head, the quiet intensity of his stare pressing against the side of your face, burning into your skin with something unreadable. You don’t dare look back. Instead, you focus on the music, on the way your fingers dance over the keys, on the way the sound seems to fill every crack and crevice of the space around you.
But his presence is overwhelming. And then, as the final notes begin to fade, you gather the courage to glance at him. Your eyes shift, just barely, just enough to steal a glimpse of the man beside you.
Yunho’s head is tilted slightly back, his expression unreadable, his features softened by the dim lighting. But what steals the breath from your lungs is the faint curve of his lips.
Not a smirk. A smile. Small, barely there.
Your heart stutters violently, panic gripping you as you quickly snap your gaze back to the piano, as if you had seen something you weren’t supposed to see.
The final note fades into silence. Your fingers remain resting lightly on the keys, unmoving, waiting. You don’t even dare to look at him.
Then—clapping.
The sound startles you. Your head turns sharply, eyes wide as you take in the sight of Yunho, clapping.
No one had ever clapped for you. Not in this lounge. Not in this life.
And yet, here he was—Jeong Yunho, the man whispered about in fear, the man whose name alone sent shivers through the city—clapping for you.
—It happens again. And again. Every week, like clockwork. The same sleek black box waiting at your door, another delicate note written in that same sharp, deliberate hand. The instructions never change. The day, the time, the place—always the Halazia Lounge, always at 8 PM, always signed the same way. JY.
And inside, another gown.
Each dress is more luxurious than the last, nothing like the cheap, threadbare fabric you were used to wearing. They mold to your body perfectly, the silk draping over you as if it had been made for you and no one else. The colors shift—deep emerald, sapphire blue, obsidian black, crimson red—but the quality remains the same. Expensive. Immaculate. Undeniably his choice.
You don’t ask why.
You don’t even consider refusing.
Because each time you arrive at the lounge, Yunho is already there, waiting. He sits in his usual spot in front of the grand piano, his back to it, his body angled slightly toward you, as if he had never once looked at the instrument itself—only at the person playing it.
You should feel nervous. You should feel terrified. Yunho is not just anyone—he is someone who carries power like a second skin, someone who could reduce an entire empire to ashes with a single command. And yet, despite all that, despite the cutthroat world he belongs to, You feel safe in his presence.
Even now, as you ascend the stage, your heels clicking softly against the polished wood, his gaze follows your every movement. The slit in your dress shifts slightly as you walk, the fabric parting just enough to reveal the curve of your thigh. You feel the weight of his stare, the quiet intensity behind it, but it does not make you uneasy.
You lower yourself onto the seat beside him, feeling the warmth of his body even though your shoulders do not quite touch. His scent envelops you instantly. It is familiar by now, but no less overwhelming.
Your hands find their place on the piano, your fingers hovering over the keys, preparing to play. But just as you inhale to begin, his voice cuts through the silence.
“Stop.”
Something inside you turns cold, panic creeping into the edges of your mind. Had you done something wrong? Had you overstepped? Yunho is unpredictable. He is a man who operates in ways you cannot possibly understand, a man whose patience is not something people dare to test. Your breath stills in your throat as you slowly turn to face him, waiting for an explanation.
But there is no anger in his expression. No frustration. Only quiet scrutiny, something almost thoughtful in the way his head tilts slightly. When he speaks again, his tone is even, calm.
“You always look down when you play.”
Your brows furrow slightly. “I need to see the keys.”
“No, you don’t.” He leans in just a fraction, his voice low, edged with quiet certainty. “Someone as skilled as you doesn’t need to watch their hands. You could play looking away.”
Your throat goes dry. He’s right—you could. You’ve done it before. You don’t need to see the keys to know where your fingers should land. But not with him looking at you like this. Not when his gaze is so heavy, so unrelenting, pulling you under like an ocean tide.
You open your mouth to protest, to come up with some excuse, but before you can, he moves. His fingers find your chin, tilting your face up with effortless ease.
It’s not harsh. It’s not forceful. It’s careful, like he’s testing something fragile. His thumb brushes the underside of your jaw—barely a touch, a whisper against your skin, but it steals every ounce of breath from your chest.
“Look at me,” he murmurs.
And you do. Slowly, hesitantly, you turn back toward the piano, your fingers pressing into the first key without breaking eye contact.
The melody begins, soft and slow, and for the first time, you aren’t watching the keys, you’re watching him.
The silence between notes stretches long, thick with something that makes your stomach twist into knots. His hand remains beneath your chin, steady and unmoving, his touch light but firm enough that you cannot escape it. His thumb strokes your jaw in slow, absentminded movements—so subtle, so unconscious, that you wonder if he even realizes he’s doing it.
Your heartbeat stutters. Your fingers tremble slightly against the keys, but you keep playing.
The room feels smaller. More intimate. The empty lounge fades away, the world narrowing to just this moment, just this man, just this touch that is as fleeting as it is devastating.
The song reaches its final note, the last chord dissolving into silence.
His hand lingers for a moment longer, the pad of his thumb tracing the edge of your jaw so gently, so deliberately, that your chest tightens.
And then—he smiles. Not a smirk. Not something cruel or amusing. A real smile. Something you’ve never seen from him before.
—The ATEEZ headquarters was rarely ever silent. It was a constant hum of chaos—phone calls being made, weapons being cleaned, business being handled in hushed voices and sharp commands. But today, there was a different kind of chaos. A Yunho-shaped chaos.
Seonghwa was the first to strike. "You’ve been leaving early these past few weeks."
Yunho barely had time to pour himself a drink before Wooyoung chimed in. "And you’ve been dressing nicer."
"Exactly," San nodded, arms crossed. "You even wore cologne last time."
Yunho sipped his whiskey, unfazed. "I always wear cologne."
"Yeah, but now you actually smell good," Mingi said, narrowing his eyes. "Before, it was just ‘man who kills people for a living’ smell. Now it’s... expensive man who kills people for a living."
Yeosang, who had been silently observing, finally leaned forward. "You’re going to Halazia a lot lately."
Yunho didn’t blink. "It’s my lounge."
Hongjoong smirked. "It’s our lounge. And you never used to care about it before."
Yunho took another sip of his drink, setting the glass down with a quiet clink. "There’s a pianist there."
Jongho frowned. "You’re going there... for music?"
San squinted. "Since when do you care about music?"
"Since when do you care about pianists?" Yeosang added.
"You don’t even own a piano," Mingi pointed out.
"Wait, wait, wait." Wooyoung raised a hand. "You’re saying you’ve been ditching us every Sunday night to listen to some random pianist play in an empty lounge?"
"She’s not random," Yunho corrected, still casual, still unreadable.
Hongjoong gave him a look. "Oh? And what exactly makes her not random?"
Yunho exhaled through his nose, debating for half a second if it was worth explaining. But he had known these idiots for too long. They wouldn’t drop it.
"She’s good," he finally said. "She plays differently."
Seonghwa’s brow arched. "Differently how?"
Yunho leaned back in his seat, fingers tapping against his knee. "She doesn’t just play. She feels the music. She composes her own pieces. You should hear it." He shrugged, keeping his voice even. "It’s interesting."
Yunho was never interested in things like this. He didn’t do hobbies. He didn’t have favorite pastimes. The last time he had shown any level of personal interest in something unrelated to their empire, it had been a limited-edition watch—and even that hadn’t pulled him out of their meetings every single week.
Wooyoung leaned in, voice slow, suspicious. "...So, you’re saying you go all the way to Halazia, alone, on a Sunday, when it’s supposed to be the busiest night, just to sit in an empty lounge and listen to a pianist who is not random play her little songs for you?"
Yunho’s expression didn’t change. "Yes."
Jongho blinked. "And that’s it?"
"That’s it."
Seonghwa studied him for a long moment. "...So you just sit there?"
"Yes."
"And listen?"
"Yes."
"No other reason?"
"No other reason."
Mingi spoke, face dead serious. "Guys... I think Yunho’s going through a midlife crisis."
"You think it’s stress?" Wooyoung whispered dramatically. "Do we need to get him a therapist?"
"He just needs a vacation," San nodded, looking oddly sympathetic. "Or a new hobby. Maybe golf?"
"He already has a hobby," Jongho muttered. "Apparently, it’s watching a pianist."
Yeosang frowned, voice dry. "We should get him checked for a concussion."
"I don’t have a concussion." Yunho’s voice was flat. "And I don’t need a therapist. Or a vacation. Or golf."
"Then what do you need?" Hongjoong asked, watching him carefully.
Yunho met his gaze, unfazed. "For all of you to shut up."
They did not shut up.
—The soft melody drifts through the empty lounge, curling into the air like smoke. Yunho sits in his usual spot, his arm draped lazily over the armrest of the seat, the golden glow of the chandeliers casting long shadows across his sharp features. You don’t know why, but tonight, he looks particularly unbothered—completely at ease in the quiet solitude of the room, watching you play like he has all the time in the world.
And then, without a word, he pulls a cigarette from his pocket.
You watch from the corner of your eye as he places it between his lips, flicking the lighter open with a single motion. The flame flickers for half a second before the end of the cigarette glows a soft ember red.
The scent of smoke reaches you almost instantly, mingling with the deep, rich cologne that has become so familiar.
You don’t stop playing. But you do narrow your eyes.
"You smoke?"
Yunho exhales slowly, watching the thin tendrils of smoke rise toward the ceiling. "Sometimes."
You frown, fingers still gliding over the piano keys. "That’s bad for you."
A soft hum of amusement rumbles from him, his voice smooth and low. "You care?"
Before you can think twice, your hand lifts from the piano, reaching across the short space between you. And then, with absolutely no hesitation, you pluck the cigarette straight from his lips.
His gaze flickers to you, sharp and unreadable, but he doesn’t react—doesn’t stop you. His lips part slightly, the absence of the cigarette noticeable, but his expression remains impassive, curious, even.
You press the cigarette down on the ashtray sitting atop the piano, snuffing it out without ceremony. The final note of your song lingers in the air, almost too perfect as an ending.
Slowly—so, so slowly—Yunho turns his head fully toward you. His eyes flicker with something unreadable, something quiet yet intense, and suddenly, you’re hyperaware of everything. The warmth of him beside you. The way his gaze drops just slightly, lingering on your parted lips before rising back up.
"Bold move."
You swallow. "You’re welcome."
Yunho huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head, his eyes still on you, something unreadable flickering behind them. You can feel the weight of his gaze even as you turn back to the piano.
Your fingers poised to start another song but your fingers freeze over the keys as you watch him from the corner of your eye. He doesn’t go far, only circling the bench until he’s behind you. And then, with effortless ease, he sits down again—this time, facing the piano.
Your pulse stutters, and for some reason, you can’t seem to find your voice. The warmth of him settles into the space beside you, and suddenly the elegant grand piano feels too small, too intimate.
He stretches out one long arm and presses a single random key. A jarring, out-of-place note rings out. Loud. Offbeat. Completely wrong.
You stifle a laugh. Yunho tilts his head, staring down at the piano like it had just personally offended him. “That didn’t sound right.”
A soft giggle escapes before you can stop it, and you press a hand over your mouth, shoulders shaking. “No, no, it really didn’t.”
He exhales through his nose, and you catch the faintest quirk of his lips. His fingers hover hesitantly over the keys, as if he’s trying to figure out where to place them, and for some reason, the sight of him—a man so powerful, so feared, completely out of his element in front of something as harmless as a piano—makes warmth bloom in your chest.
Gently, cautiously, you take his wrist and guide it down, adjusting his fingers to rest on the proper keys. Yunho stills beneath your touch, his gaze flickering to you, sharp and unreadable, but he doesn’t pull away.
“Here,” you murmur, voice softer now. “Try this.”
You press down lightly on his fingers, guiding him into playing a simple, steady note. The sound rings out smooth this time, blending seamlessly into the space between you.
Yunho watches your hands carefully, brows drawn together in quiet concentration. His fingers twitch beneath yours, adjusting slightly, pressing down again on his own this time.
“Not bad,” you tease lightly.
He hums, tilting his head toward you slightly, and you realize too late how close he is now.
His face is only inches from yours, his warmth pressing into the small space between you. His fingers are still resting against the keys, his wrist still lightly caged beneath your own, but you can’t focus on that anymore—not when his gaze flickers down ever so briefly, just for a second, before meeting your eyes again.
And then—he presses another key, completely offbeat.
A laugh bursts from your chest before you can stop it, bright and full, and you swat lightly at his arm, shaking your head. "You did that on purpose!"
He leans back slightly, feigning innocence. "Did I?"
"You absolutely did." You cross your arms, trying to suppress the grin stretching across your lips. "You were doing fine, and then you just—butchered it."
His smirk grows, just a little. "Maybe I wanted to see you laugh again."
It’s the way he says it—so effortlessly, so casually, like it’s not something that should make your stomach flip. Like it’s not something that should make your heart stutter.
You swallow, suddenly finding it very difficult to look at him, so you turn back to the piano instead. Your fingers find the keys again, pressing lightly, anything to steady yourself.
—You were expecting the box.
It had become routine by now—the faint buzz of the intercom, the quiet thump of something left at your door. Always around the same time. Always the same sleek black packaging with a handwritten note tucked neatly inside. And always a dress. Another beautiful thing you had no reason to deserve, meant to be worn in an empty lounge for a man who barely spoke.
So when the doorbell rang, you barely looked up from the sink.
Wiping your damp hands on a kitchen towel, you walked over, half-distracted, your mind already picturing what color the dress would be this time. Maybe a deep green. Or something soft and silver. You reached for the door and opened it—
It wasn’t a box.
It was him.
Yunho stood there, perfectly still, framed in the doorway like something out of place in the dim, narrow hallway of your apartment building. His frame was wrapped in a sharp three-piece suit, deep charcoal, almost black, with a matching coat draped over his shoulders. His hair was slicked back, effortlessly elegant, the kind of look that made him seem more like a character from a movie than a man who existed in your very real, very modest world.
And in his hand was not a gun, not a file, not even a glass of whiskey, but a brown paper bag.
He looked vaguely… awkward. Not uncomfortable. Just not him.
The silence between you stretched long enough to become a little ridiculous, until Yunho cleared his throat and shifted the bag slightly in his hands. His voice, when it came, was low but careful. Like he’d thought about this before showing up and still wasn’t quite sure he was doing it right.
“I, uh… wanted to take you to dinner.”
That sentence should have sounded strange coming from him, but it didn’t.
You blinked. The words finally registered. “Dinner?”
He nodded once, lifting the bag slightly. “There’s a dress in here. I wasn’t sure what you had.”
You stared at the bag, your brain tripping over itself. “I’m not ready.”
“I’ll wait,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And then, just slightly—his eyes shifted past you, toward the inside of your apartment. “May I come in?”
You hesitated for a second, then stepped aside.
He ducked his head politely as he entered, and suddenly your tiny, quiet apartment felt incredibly inadequate. The living room was clean enough, but plain. A small couch that sagged in the middle. A bookshelf with mismatched spines. Faint music from the old radio near the window. Nothing here was worthy of the man who now stood in the middle of your space, too tall, too composed, looking like he’d stepped out of another world entirely.
You closed the door behind him, heart pounding against your ribs, and forced yourself to keep breathing. “I’ll just… change.”
He gave a short nod, gaze politely dropping toward the floor. “Take your time.”
You bolted to your room, shut the door behind you.
Jeong Yunho was in your apartment. In. Your. Apartment.
You pressed a hand to your face, pacing for a second before forcing yourself to breathe and look inside the bag.
The dress was deep burgundy, simple but elegant. The fabric was soft with a gentle sheen, designed to flow around the body rather than cling. It had thin straps, a gentle dip at the neckline—not too bold, not too modest. A perfect in-between. And somehow, impossibly, it was your exact size.
Of course it was.
You changed quickly, smoothing the dress over your hips, running your fingers through your hair in the mirror until it didn’t look like you'd just lost your mind. You didn’t own heels to match, but you settled on the cleanest pair you had and exhaled deeply before opening the door.
Yunho hadn’t moved.
He was standing exactly where you left him, hands in his coat pockets, his back to your bookshelf like he was trying not to look at anything too closely. You almost wondered if he was nervous.
When his eyes finally landed on you, something in his expression shifted.
And then he softly smiled, “Shall we?”
You didn’t speak. Just nodded once, your throat dry as you stepped out beside him into the hallway. The door clicked shut behind you, locking your quiet apartment in the dark as you followed Yunho down the narrow corridor. The building’s usual creaks and moans echoed around you, each footstep oddly loud in the stillness of the night.
He walked just slightly ahead of you but never too far, as if aware of every movement you made, adjusting his pace without looking.
When you stepped out onto the street, a black car was already waiting. Of course. Sleek, polished, and clearly expensive, the kind of vehicle that made people turn their heads if they had the nerve. Its engine hummed softly under the streetlight glow, and without a word, Yunho stepped forward and opened the door for you.
Yunho stepped ahead and reached for the back door, pulling it open with ease.
You murmured a quiet “Thank you” as you slid into the passenger seat, and he waited until you were settled before circling the car to climb in beside you.
The ride started smoothly, the city rolling past in a blur of warm yellow streetlights and deep shadows. The interior was dimly lit, the soft leather cool beneath your fingertips as you smoothed your dress absently across your lap.
You kept stealing glances at him—Yunho, the man who had become a ritual in your life, now sitting next to you like this, was all perfectly normal. His jaw was sharp in profile, the dim lights of the dashboard casting soft shadows across his cheekbones
Finally, you turned toward him, voice soft but steady. “Why dinner?”
He looked at you then. His gaze met yours for a second before returning to the road.
There was a beat of silence. Then, in a voice quieter than you expected, he said, “I wanted to talk to you. Somewhere that isn’t the lounge. Somewhere normal.”
You blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of it. “You wanted to talk?”
He nodded, still watching the road ahead. “Get to know you. I figured it’s overdue.”
You smiled, small and genuine. “You could’ve just said so.”
His lips curved at that, “I’m saying it now.”
—The car slowed in front of a glass-paneled tower that stretched high into the dark sky. Soft golden lights glowed at the entrance, and two suited valets stepped forward almost immediately as Yunho pulled to a stop. Without a word, he cut the engine, stepped out, and tossed the keys to one of them.
You stepped out slowly, eyes lifting to take in the full height of the building. It looked like the kind of place where people made million-dollar deals over imported wine.
Yunho said nothing, only caught your gaze for a moment and nodded toward the entrance. You followed him inside.
The lobby was quiet, polished marble and soft music under soft light. A man in a tailored suit greeted you with a bow deeper than necessary, and when his eyes flicked up to Yunho, recognition flashed in his expression. No names were exchanged. He simply gestured toward a private elevator and said, “It’s ready.”
You stepped in first, and Yunho joined you without speaking. The elevator was quiet as it rose. You tried not to fidget.
At the top of the tower, a server was already waiting. Another bow. Another hushed welcome. And then you were led to a table tucked near the window, set for two, the city spilling out beneath the glass like stars scattered across asphalt.
Yunho moved ahead of you and pulled the chair out before you could reach for it. It was such a simple gesture, so quietly done, but it made your throat tighten unexpectedly. You mumbled a soft, “Thank you,” as you sat, smoothing your dress absently.
He didn’t say anything—just nodded once and moved to take his own seat. He unbuttoned his blazer as he lowered himself into the chair across from you, the fabric of it folding neatly as he leaned back.
The server brought the first course quickly, something light and plated like art. You glanced up to find Yunho already watching you—not in that quiet, unreadable way he usually did, but more openly now, like he was figuring something out.
For a while, you talked about things that weren’t important at first—music, restaurants. You joked about how you’d never stepped foot in a place like this. He didn’t laugh, but there was a small twitch at the corner of his mouth, the kind you’d learned to recognize as his version of amusement.
He asked about the first time you played piano. You told him. He listened. His eyes stayed on you the entire time.
You were mid-sentence when he leaned forward slightly, brow drawn in subtle focus. He reached for a cloth napkin from beside his plate, and before you could react, he gently reached across the table.
“Here,” he said quietly.
You blinked, confused—until you felt the soft brush of the napkin against the corner of your lips.
And his hand paused, just for a second, before he drew back and folded the napkin neatly again, setting it beside his plate.
Neither of you said anything about it.
You went back to eating, slower now. More aware. He kept glancing at you, and this time when your eyes met, you didn’t look away.
The meal came to a quiet end, plates cleared, wine glasses nearly empty. The night outside the windows had deepened, the lights below blinking like a scattered constellation.
Yunho rested his hand lightly on the edge of the table, fingers tapping once. Then he looked at you, “There’s a park a few blocks from here,” he said. “Would you like to go?”
You nodded, just once. “Yeah. I would.”
Yunho rose from his seat with that same quiet composure he carried everywhere, offering his hand as you stood. You took it without thinking, steadying yourself as you stepped away from the table. He didn’t let go right away, and you didn’t pull away either.
The walk to the park wasn’t far—just a few blocks through quieter streets, the kind that hummed with life during the day but fell into a peaceful hush at night.
The park was mostly empty, just a few dim streetlamps casting long shadows over empty benches and carefully kept paths. Trees swayed in the breeze, branches rustling softly, and the night air held the faint scent of damp grass and spring. It was the kind of silence you didn’t need to fill.
You walked side by side, not speaking at first. His hands tucked in his coat pockets, yours curled around your arms for warmth.
But after a few minutes, your steps began to slow.
The ache in your feet, sharp and insistent, made it harder to keep pace. The heels—beautiful, expensive, chosen by him—had felt manageable in the restaurant. On smooth marble floors, under soft lights. But here, on uneven paths and quiet gravel, they were becoming unbearable.
You tried not to limp or to wince, but Yunho noticed anyway.
He looked over, brow drawing slightly. “Are they hurting?”
You gave a small, sheepish smile. “Just a little. It’s fine.”
He stopped walking. You didn’t, but then, with no warning, he reached for your wrist gently, just enough to stop you. You turned toward him, confused.
“Sit,” he said, nodding toward the nearest bench.
“It’s fine, really—”
“Sit.”
You gave in, lowering yourself onto the bench with a quiet sigh. He knelt down in front of you, one knee pressing into the grass, his coat shifting around his frame as he reached for your ankle.
“Yunho—”
“I’ve got it.”
You hesitated, heat rising to your face as his fingers gently wrapped around your foot, steady and careful. His touch was light, almost reverent, as he slipped the strap of your heel open and slid the shoe off. Then the other. His brows furrowed ever so slightly in focus.
When he stood again, he held the heels lazily in one hand, the straps hanging from his fingers. Then, with his free hand, he reached out toward you again.
You slipped your hand into his, and he helped you to your feet.
You just started walking again, side by side, his fingers still wrapped around yours, your heels swinging gently from his other hand.
Your fingers remained curled in his, and for a moment, you just looked at him—unsure whether to thank him, to let go, or to pretend like this wasn’t happening at all. But Yunho, standing there with your shoes in one hand and your hand in the other, looked completely at ease. He met your eyes, and as your lips curved into a shy, uncertain smile, something in his expression shifted. The faint crease in his brow softened. His mouth pulled into a slow, quiet smile—one that reached his eyes this time.
It made your stomach twist in a way that wasn’t unpleasant.
The two of you began walking again, no real direction, following the winding paths of the park without speaking. Your feet were bare against the earth, cool and damp, but it didn’t matter. His hand was still in yours, steady and warm.
You weren’t sure how long you walked like that. Time blurred in the quiet.
But just as you turned down a narrower path, a sharp drop of water landed on your shoulder. Then another. Then five more. And before either of you could react, the skies opened up above you, a sudden downpour crashing through the trees with a roar.
You stopped walking as rain soaked through your dress in seconds. The wind picked up, and your hair clung to your cheeks, water running down your arms.
Yunho immediately glanced around, spotting the small wooden structure a few meters back—some kind of park gazebo. He turned toward you, already tugging at your hand. “Come on, let’s go under—”
You shook your head, standing your ground as rain slid down your face. “It’s fine. Just rain.”
He hesitated. The water was already dripping from his hairline, darkening his suit. He looked like something pulled out of a painting—sharp, severe, and completely soaked. But he wasn’t bothered by it. Not really.
He took a small step closer instead, still holding your hand. The rain kept falling, warm and relentless, and the world around you faded into nothing but the sound of it.
You watched each other through it. Your lashes stuck together, droplets catching on your cheeks, and he looked at you like he was memorizing everything.
Then, gently, his free hand came up to brush your hair away from your face. He tucked it behind your ear, slow and careful, his fingers trailing against your damp skin as they pulled away.
It was quiet, the kind of quiet that builds and tightens until it’s impossible to ignore. You felt your breath catch as his eyes flicked to your mouth and back again, and suddenly there was no more space between you.
His hand was still on your cheek, your fingers still laced in his, and his face was closer now. Closer than it had ever been. You weren’t moving away. Neither was he.
And just as his mouth hovered over yours, his phone rang.
You both jumped, startled by how quickly the moment shattered.
Yunho pulled back instantly, his hand dropping from your face, his eyes darting away as he stepped back, just slightly. You let go of his hand, suddenly unsure of what to do with your arms, your body, your breathing.
He reached into his coat pocket, the expression on his face unreadable as he glanced at the screen. “I have to take this,” he muttered, his voice quiet, but firm.
You nodded, your pulse racing in your ears. You turned away before he could see the flush creeping up your cheeks, unsure whether it was from the near-kiss or the fact that you had wanted it.
—It had been days since the night in the park. Since the rain, the almost-kiss, the phone call that shattered something neither of you had dared to name. You hadn’t seen him since.
No messages. No black box at your door. No notes written in careful, slanted handwriting. And worst of all, no Sunday meetings at the Horizon Lounge. The quiet rhythm the two of you had fallen into—the silent understanding, the music, the glances—was suddenly gone.
You cursed yourself for it. For letting that moment happen. For wanting it. For ruining whatever fragile thing had existed between the two of you.
Now, the only excuse you had to see him was gone too.
You found yourself scanning every corner of the Halazia Lounge during your shifts, eyes flicking up from the piano every few seconds, hoping to catch the silhouette of his frame in the shadows. But there was nothing. He wasn’t there. Not once.
Your schedule had only gotten worse. Your boss, already demanding on a good day, had started pulling you in earlier, keeping you later. You barely had time to eat properly, much less rest.
Tonight was no different. You were walking home from a late run to the grocery store, a paper bag tucked under your arm. The streets were mostly empty now, the hour too late for comfort but too early for safety. You were too tired to care.
Your feet dragged, each step heavier than the last. And instead of taking your usual long route home, you turned down the narrow alleyway that split behind the old post office. It wasn’t ideal—it was dark, quiet, barely lit—but it shaved ten minutes off your walk. You told yourself it was worth it.
Three men, loud and slouched, leaning against the wall near a back exit of some bar. Their voices carried—slurred, careless—and before you could glance away, one of them noticed you.
“Well, what do we have here?”
“Out a little late, aren’t you?”
You backed up instinctively, clutching the grocery bag tighter. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“Trouble?” One of them laughed. “No trouble, sweetheart. We’re just being friendly.”
The first one moved closer, reaching for your arm, and you reacted out of reflex. You shoved him back, quick and sharp, but your body was slow to follow through. You were too tired. Everything hurt. The second one caught your wrist, and you yanked away, stumbling back into the alley wall. Your head clipped hard against the edge of the brick, and a flash of pain burst behind your eyes. You didn’t fall, but you dropped the bag.
You weren’t scared—not really. Just angry. Angry at your body for being so slow, for betraying you when you needed strength. Angry at the men. Angry at everything.
And then, suddenly, they were gone.
The first was shoved hard against the wall, a loud crack of impact ringing through the narrow alley. The second was yanked back and dropped to the ground with a punch that echoed like thunder. The third barely had time to react before he was flung aside, groaning as he scrambled back to his feet.
You blinked, heart hammering, trying to steady your breathing as the men stumbled away.
Yunho stood in front of you, chest heaving, hands clenched at his sides, and he looked furious.
He turned to you, eyes immediately softening. “Are you hurt?”
You nodded, then shook your head. “Just my head. It’s nothing.”
But your knees buckled a little, the exhaustion finally catching up to you. You swayed, and Yunho stepped forward just in time to catch you, your body collapsing against his chest.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured.
You barely heard him. Your arms curled weakly around his coat, your head resting against his shoulder as the cold and the panic drained from your system. You felt his arms shift, one under your legs, the other behind your back. And then he lifted you, without effort, cradling you against him like you weighed nothing at all.
You could feel his heartbeat where your cheek rested, could feel his breath as it hit the top of your head. You stayed like that, letting the movement lull you, eyes heavy.
After a moment, you spoke, voice faint. “We stopped meeting.”
His steps didn’t falter, but he sighed. A soft, quiet sound. Not at you, never at you.
“Work got in the way,” he said gently.
You smiled, small and tired. “I thought I did something wrong.”
He let out a breath that was half a laugh, half something else. “Never.”
You weren’t sure how long the walk back to your apartment took. Wrapped in his arms, your cheek pressed against the steady beat of his heart, the time blurred. He didn’t speak again, but you didn’t need him to. His grip was secure, his pace calm and unhurried, as if carrying you through the quiet city night was the only thing that mattered.
When he reached your building, he didn’t hesitate. His fingers slipped easily into the side pocket of your bag to find your keys, and soon you were through the door, into the dim light of your apartment.
He carried you straight to your room, gently lowering you onto the bed like something fragile, careful not to jostle you more than necessary. The mattress dipped under your weight as he pulled the blanket aside, settling you against the pillows before crouching down beside you.
His hands moved slowly as he brushed a few damp strands of hair from your forehead, eyes scanning your face, your shoulders, your arms. “Anywhere else?” he asked quietly.
You shook your head. “Just my head.”
He nodded, then stood up. “Stay here.”
A few minutes passed before Yunho returned, the small white box in his hands. He placed it on your nightstand and knelt beside the bed again, resting one hand lightly on the edge of the mattress. His other hand reached out, fingers brushing gently through your hair, shifting the strands away from your face so he could see the wound clearly.
It wasn’t just the coolness of the antiseptic or the sting of it against the broken skin—it was the way his fingertips moved. The way he tucked your hair back so carefully. The way he hovered close but didn’t touch you more than he had to.
“You should’ve gone the long way,” he said softly, voice low. “Even if it took longer.”
You wanted to respond—something smart, something to brush it off—but the weight of his concern was too real. You couldn’t make light of it.
He applied the antiseptic slowly, carefully dabbing around the wound with practiced hands. You hissed once, and his jaw clenched slightly, but he didn’t stop. He only said, even quieter, “Almost done.”
After cleaning it, he reached into the kit for a bandage, his hands working gently, wrapping it around your head with a care that didn’t match the man the world feared.
When he finished, he sat back a little, eyes meeting yours. “That should hold for now.”
You stared at him. At the way his tie had loosened, at the drops of sweat near his temple, at the way his brows were still furrowed with concern even though the danger had passed. You wanted to say something, to thank him, to reach for him again—but the words were slow to come.
He stood, not abruptly, but with quiet purpose, closing the box and setting it aside.
“You should rest.”
You didn’t want him to go, but you also didn’t know how to ask him to stay.
Yunho lingered for a second, eyes searching yours, like he was waiting for something. When nothing came, he exhaled gently and nodded.
“I’ll come by tomorrow.”
—The pain pulled you out of sleep like a hook behind your eyes. You sat up slowly, groaning as the headache throbbed, sharp and insistent. For a moment, you stayed still, hoping it would pass. But it didn’t. It lingered, pulsing behind your temples, turning each blink into a dull ache.
You reached blindly toward the nightstand drawer, searching for the little bottle of pills you always kept tucked there. Your fingers came up empty. You opened the drawer fully, rifling through it again—nothing. You moved to the bathroom cabinet. Nothing there either.
The silence in the apartment pressed in around you. You didn’t want to go outside. Not after what had happened. Not after the alley, the panic, the blood. But your head pulsed again, sharper this time, and you knew you wouldn’t sleep.
So, with a heavy sigh, you grabbed your purse and slipped out into the night.
The city was quiet this late, more shadow than light. The sidewalks were mostly empty, the occasional distant car rumbling past. You moved quickly, sticking close to the glow of the streetlamps, head lowered. The pharmacy was open, barely lit, manned by a half-asleep cashier who didn't bother to look up. You paid for the pills in silence and tucked them away, eager to be home again.
You were halfway back when you heard a scream.
You froze. It wasn’t loud, but it was sharp—sickeningly sharp. A few feet ahead, just past a flickering lamp post, was a narrow alley. Your first instinct was to turn around. You had no reason to get involved. You were barely healed from your last run-in with the shadows of this city.
But then came another scream.
And your feet moved before your fear could catch up.
You stepped into the alley, cautiously, each step slow and deliberate. The light from the street barely reached here, the darkness thick and heavy. But as your eyes adjusted, you saw figures clustered near the far end.
One of them stood apart.
His back was to you, tall and broad-shouldered, body tense. The others surrounded three crumpled bodies on the ground. Blood was already pooling beneath them. Not enough to be fatal, but enough to make your stomach twist.
Your eyes locked on the lone figure standing over them, unmoving, his fists clenched at his sides.
“Yunho?”
He turned sharply at the sound of your voice. And in that instant, everything slowed.
The streetlight hit his face, and the sight stole the breath from your lungs.
Blood spattered across his cheekbone, on his jaw. His knuckles were red, the skin raw. His eyes were wide, not angry, not cold, but startled, like a child caught doing something they were never meant to.
He waved a hand toward the others behind him without looking away from you. His men understood immediately. Two of them grabbed the battered attackers and began dragging them away, quick and silent.
You walked toward him without speaking, ignoring the way his eyes darted away from yours like he couldn’t bear to meet them, like he expected to see disgust there.
You closed the space between you until you were standing right in front of him, the scent of rain and rust thick in the air. Slowly, you lifted your hand.
Yunho tensed, as if bracing for something, but all you did was reach up to his face.
Your fingers brushed gently against his cheek. You wiped the blood away with your thumb, not looking at the mess or the violence in the air.
He blinked, watching you with something unreadable in his eyes, like he was searching your face for disgust, for fear, for anything that might confirm the worst. But there was none of it.
His hand lifted, slow and hesitant, fingers hovering near your jaw. He paused, just long enough to give you the chance to move, but you didn’t.
His palm settled against your cheek, warm despite the dried blood.
You met his eyes, your voice barely above a whisper. “Are you okay?”
Yunho stared at you for a moment longer, breath shallow, and then something in him gave way. The careful restraint cracked. He leaned in, and then his mouth found yours.
His lips were warm, hesitant at first, brushing against yours like he was still waiting for you to pull away. When you didn’t, he deepened the kiss—just slightly—his hand shifting to cradle the back of your head, careful to avoid the healing wound. You tilted into him instinctively, your own hands rising to grip the front of his coat.
There was no one else in the world in that moment.
He pulled back slowly, resting his forehead against yours for a moment, his breath mingling with yours. Then he leaned back just enough to meet your gaze.
