summary: san and wooyoung are ride or die. they’d kill for each other without blinking. and killing for her is the greatest euphoria they have been chasing for far too long.
warnings: killer/dom/bisexual san, killer/switch/bisexual wooyoung, sub reader, depictions of blood, gore and violence, use of drugs and alcohol + more to be added
genre: horror, dark romance, throuple, smut
pairings: ghostface san x afab reader x ghostface wooyoung
word count: 7.1k
chp 2 coming soon
SCREAM [ yungi standalone ]
masterlist
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Los Angeles didn’t get many summer storms, but when they came, they came hard, wild and unexpected, like the city was trying to rinse itself clean in one night. It was well after 2:00 am. The neon sign above Vega’s Dive buzzed weakly through the downpour, flickering like it too was drunk. Inside, the bar was nearly empty, just a few regulars clinging to the last minutes of whiskey soaked solitude while outside, the fighter stumbled onto the slick pavement, boots splashing through shallow puddles. Danny Ruiz, twenty eight, underground darling turned disgrace. A cocky smile tugged at the corner of his lips, even as the alcohol made his steps uneven. He still thought he’d won.
Powder in the eyes, cheap shot, sure. But the crowd roared when San went down, blinded and bleeding. Danny had walked out with the cash and the victory, and in his mind, that made it fair. The rain matted his hair to his forehead, the sharp scent of ozone and wet concrete wrapping around him as he lit a cigarette with fumbling fingers as somewhere behind him, a door creaked. He didn’t turn. Didn’t notice the shadow step out from the alleyway. Didn’t notice the other one already tailing him across the street, boots splashing in time with the thunder.
Two figures. One lean, cloaked in black with a slightly off kilter gait, like a dancer enjoying a private joke. The other, broader, quieter, precision in motion. Both masked. Both deadly.
The cigarette was gone by the time Danny reached the corner of Valentine and 6th, a grimy little intersection where even the streetlights gave up. The only illumination came from flickers of lightning cracking across the sky, brief flashes revealing graffiti covered walls and busted out windows. He muttered to himself as he stepped over a soggy pizza box and into the narrow hallway of his apartment building, a concrete coffin of a place with peeling paint and that ever present reek of mildew, sweat, and leftover Chinese takeout.
Unit 206. The lock stuck, like it always did. He jiggled the key, cursed under his breath. The moment the lock clicked, Danny shoved the door open, kicking aside a pile of junk mail and stepping into the dark. The building was quiet, too quiet. Most of the tenants worked late or didn’t come home at all. The overhead light in his unit buzzed once and died as he grumbled, tossing his keys onto the counter, peeling off his wet jacket. Outside his window, thunder rolled in the echoing silence until the sound of soft, dragging leather across tile caught his attention.
Danny turned, confused, not yet afraid. Then the door to his apartment creaked open… slowly. But no one was there. He walked toward it and stood in the threshold of his shitty little apartment, blinking into the hallway. No one. Just flickering overheads and the sound of rain dripping through the broken skylight near the stairs. Maybe the wind had pushed the door back open. Or maybe he hadn’t closed it all the way. That’s what he told himself. Still, he locked it this time. Triple bolt. Slamming it shut and turning around only to freeze.
His kitchen light was on now and it hadn’t been before. And standing directly beneath it, like a fucked up painting brought to life, was a figure in a long black robe and a gleaming Ghostface mask. The fabric clung wetly to his chest, his head tilted ever so slightly to the side. Playful and mocking as a gloved hand tapped a kitchen knife against his thigh, casual, like he was considering how to use it.
Danny stumbled back a step, heart climbing up his throat. “Who the fuck…”
“Oh, Danny boy,” the voice crooned, playful and syrup slick through the modulated distortion. “You didn’t really think that cheap trick would go unpunished, did you?” The mask tilted again, almost amused as Danny’s eyes darted to the hallway. Too far. The window? Nailed shut. The fire escape? Blocked by an old dresser he never moved. “I mean…. powder? Really? What’s next? Thumbtacks in the gloves? Banana peels in the ring?” Ghostface took a step forward, boots squelching on the wet floor. “San could’ve gone blind, you know. Which would’ve been very inconvenient for me. He’s the only one who knows how to make my coffee just right.”
Danny lunged for the drawer where he kept an old hunters knife, but Ghostface was already there, quicker, smoother, grabbing his wrist and slamming it against the counter. The distorted laugh echoed in the tiny space, and Ghostface leaned in close, mask nearly touching Danny’s face. “You don’t get to win dirty and walk away, sweetheart. Not in our city.” He brought the blade up to Danny’s throat, not slicing, not yet, just resting it there. Just enough for Danny to feel the cold edge of inevitability. “Any last words for the crowd, champ?”
Danny tried to spit in his face, but the mask tilted back just in time, unbothered. “Cute,” Ghostface said. “But not original.” Danny’s breath sawed in and out of his lungs, raw and ragged. “Y… You’re crazy,” he hissed, cradling his bruised wrist, stumbling back as the Ghostface in the kitchen stalked toward him, blade twirling with flair. “You’re fucking insane!”
“Aw, come on,” Wooyoung said behind the mask, voice light, teasing and mean. “That’s not very gratitude core of you. I did wait until you got home, didn’t I?” Danny’s spine met the edge of the counter as he backed up and kept backing, heart pounding, eyes wide, completely missing the second figure emerging from the hallway behind him. The second Ghostface was silent. Still. Watching and waiting as Danny took one more step and collided hard with something solid. He turned, gasping and the second Ghostface shoved him backward with both hands right into Wooyoung’s waiting arms.
“Gotcha,” Wooyoung purred, plunging the knife deep into Danny’s gut with an elegant little twist, like he was carving a ribbon into a present. Danny choked, a wet, guttural sound as he stumbled back, eyes wide, hands flying to the fresh wound. Blood poured out in thick, dark ropes as he staggered toward the hallway, hand leaving smeared red fingerprints on the wall as he gasped for air and ran, pure instinct, blind and stumbling toward the only thing that made sense, his bedroom. He didn’t even realize he was screaming as his legs barely carried him across the threshold, crashing into the dresser as he scrambled to shut the door behind him but it didn’t click all the way.
And it didn’t matter. Because the soft sound of boots against tile was still coming. Steady. Rhythmic and mocking as Danny collapsed to the floor, crawling now, fingers reaching for the phone on his nightstand because like an idiot he realized he left his damn cell at the bar, he knocked over a lamp, the shade crashing to the ground and just as he wrapped his trembling hand around the phone…..
The bedroom door opened. Two figures stood in the frame, Ghostface masks grinning like death itself had a sense of humor. Danny was gasping now, one hand pressed to the gaping wound in his abdomen, the other slick with blood as he tried to crawl backward, away from the figures in the doorway. His legs weren’t working right. His vision was blurring. He could barely hear over the sound of his own panicked breathing as one of them stepped forward. The broader one. Quieter.
Ghostface didn’t speak. Just crossed the room in slow, even strides and then without ceremony, dropped to a knee in front of him and Danny flinched, eyes wild as the knife in the masked figure’s hand came down, not into him, but into the floorboards. Buried there with a sudden crack, the blade quivering in place beside Danny’s shaking leg. And then, slowly, purposefully, the figure reached up and pulled the mask off.
It was San. His dark hair was soaked, sweat and rain glistening on his jaw, and his eyes, those soft, sweet eyes the crowd always underestimated, were dark and unreadable now. Calm. Cold. He didn’t speak at first. Just looked at Danny, head tilted, watching him squirm as Danny’s expression crumpled with shock, disbelief crawling over his features. “No…” he breathed, shaking his head. “No fucking way…”
San’s voice was steady. Quiet. Almost gentle. “You could’ve fought clean.”
Danny’s lip curled, rage flaring like a last ditch defense mechanism. “You serious? You’re gonna kill me over a fight?”
San’s mouth twitched just slightly as Danny barked out a bitter laugh. “What the fuck….” He nodded toward the second Ghostface still standing in the doorway, knife gleaming. “That your boyfriend under that one?”
“Why does everyone think we’re dating?” Wooyoung’s voice snapped through the modulator, dripping with exasperation and theatrical offense. He stepped into the room with a dramatic flair, unbothered by the gore or tension. “Is it the matching masks? The coordinated kills? The cohabitation? We only fucked a few times. Calm down.” He peeled his mask off as he walked, revealing a grin that didn’t reach his eyes and a smudge of blood on his cheek like war paint. He crouched beside San, elbow brushing his as he glanced down at Danny like he was barely more interesting than a popped tire.
“Anyway,” Wooyoung added, tone light, “if I was gonna date someone, it wouldn’t be a guy who wears camo to dinner.” San didn’t react. He just reached over and yanked the knife from the floor, jaw set as he wiped a thumb across his knuckles methodically, like someone tidying up after dinner. “I don’t… like dirty players,” he said, voice low and even, the kind of voice that made the room feel colder even though the apartment was still thick with humidity and the smell of hot cigarettes. He never shouted. He didn’t need to.
Wooyoung moved before Danny could draw a breath. Fast, practiced, an arm wrapping around Danny’s chest, pinning him as if the man were already a coat to be shrugged off. Danny thrashed, fist and elbow flailing, panic making him clumsy and loud as San stepped forward, the knife gleaming dull under the single buzzing bulb. He didn’t hesitate. There was no flourish, no dramatic pause, just the brutal efficiency of a man who knew exactly how to end something and had done it before.
One movement and the blade found the first eye. Danny’s scream tore out of him, a raw, animal sound that bounced off the cheap plaster and disappeared into the stairwell. He clawed at San’s hand, fingers scrabbling for purchase on wet tile. His hands left frantic streaks across the counter as he tried to push away, to shove, to move. San’s face didn’t change. He pushed the knife again, the second time more deliberate, and then the first eye stilled in Danny’s face like an impossible, awful punctuation. He blinked when there was nothing left to blink with, a wet, ragged blink that made him choke.
Wooyoung’s grip tightened and his free hand found Danny’s jaw and tilted the head up so San could reach the other side. There was a mechanical calm to the way the two of them moved together, one holding, one finishing, ritualized and cold. When the second movement came, Danny’s scream broke into a wet, keening sound. He slammed backwards, palms skidding against the floor, knees giving out. For a frantic second his hands clawed at the doorway, at the floor, at any texture that would anchor him as he stumbled to his feet with the disoriented momentum of someone trying to wake from a nightmare.
Blood and rain slicked the tiles, but everything else was a jagged, muffled world. He lurched toward the bedroom window like a man trying to find the exit in darkness, boots slipping on the plastic that had been tracked in from the hallway. He fumbled with the latch, hands trembling so badly they couldn’t form a coherent motion. San and Wooyoung followed, shadows advancing with them, Wooyoung’s laugh was soft, almost conversational, like someone commenting on weather. San kept his face angled down, his breathing measured as Danny threw the window open and there was air, wet and sharp, and instinct, and the stupid bright idea that maybe the fall would jar him back to sense.
He didn’t look down. He tried to climb, tried to pull himself up on the narrow balcony rail, but his balance was gone. The world spun. He crashed through with a flailing, desperate momentum, the lattice tearing like paper. There was a horrible, single instant of suspended weight as his body cleared the sill and then dropped, a graceless, terrible arc and hit the pavement below with a finality that sucked the sound right out of the rainy night.
On the balcony, San didn’t move for a long, steady breath. Wooyoung looked down once, face unreadable for a heartbeat, then turned back toward the doorway like they were leaving a party they hadn’t enjoyed. San slid the knife back into his boot as if it were an inconvenient utensil as Wooyoung clipped the mask back on and offered San a crooked half smile, a private thing between them, before they folded back into the hallway’s shadow and disappeared down the stairs, leaving the apartment to the buzzing light and the rain.
Down below, the street absorbed the body without ceremony. The city, which had been trying to wash itself clean, simply kept on raining.
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The hallway was dim, the overhead light buzzing like it needed to die already. The rain had passed, but the damp stuck to the walls and floor, soaking into everything like grief. Somewhere downstairs, a dog barked followed by someone else slamming a door. It was just another Tuesday in Los Angeles as Y/N leaned against her front door, phone clutched tight in her hand, jaw clenched. “I’m not coming home, Mom.” She wasn’t yelling. Yet. But her voice had that tone, the kind that said she was circling the drain. “I don’t care what he said. I don’t care if he showed up crying in your office or bought you flowers or swore on your favorite rosary. That doesn’t mean he changed.” She paused, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as her mother’s voice filtered through the speaker, sharp and layered in guilt. “He’s not perfect, but he loves you. People fight, Y/N. He made a mistake.”
That nearly made her laugh. “A mistake is forgetting to pick up dinner. Not breaking my fucking wrist.” Her mom huffed. “Watch your language.” Y/N blinked hard, her throat tight as the light above her flickered. “You know I didn’t leave for fun, right?” she said, quieter now. “I left because I thought if I stayed, I’d end up….”
“Stop,” her mother snapped. “You’re being dramatic. He’s trying to make things right. He’s been asking about you.”
“Great.” Y/N snapped right back. “He can ask all he wants. I’m not flying back to New York just because he’s suddenly sorry.”
“Don’t be stubborn.”
“Don’t be blind.”
“This isn’t like you,” her mother finally said, low and disappointed. “You’re not this bitter.” Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut and her grip on the phone shook. “Yeah,” she murmured. “And you’re not usually this cruel.” She hung up before she could hear the reply letting the hallway fill with silence, except for her shallow breathing and the faint hum of city noise leaking in from the cracked window at the stairwell. She leaned against the cool wood of her apartment door. She stood there for a moment, staring at the chipped floor tile like it might hold answers. Then she heard the door across the hall creak open. Apartment 3B.
She glanced up just in time to see Wooyoung step out, barefoot and blissfully unfazed, holding a carton of orange juice like it was a chalice. His platinum blonde hair was still damp from a shower, sticking to his forehead in soft messy tufts. Gray sweats slung low on his hips, a black tank top clinging to his frame, silver chain resting on his collarbones like decoration on a weapon. His smirk was subtle but there. “Hey,” he said easily. Y/N straightened up, blinking once to shake off the conversation residue. “Hey.” He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, carton in hand. “You alright?” he asked, eyes flicking toward her phone. “You sounded kind of… murdery.” That pulled a soft snort out of her, more breath than laugh, but still something.
“Just my mom,” she said. “She wants me to go back to New York.” Wooyoung raised an eyebrow. “And let him win?” Her head snapped up, startled, but then she saw the way he was watching her. Not cruel. Not judging. Just knowing. She looked away, embarrassed. “You heard that?” He shrugged. “Old pipes. Shitty building. Not my fault the walls are emotionally codependent.” That earned him a real laugh, quiet and unguarded as she ran a hand through her hair. “We’ve been arguing on and off since I moved here.”
“I figured.” He tilted the carton toward her. “You’ve got the same don’t fuck with me face I had after my cousin’s wedding.” She narrowed her eyes. “Your cousin’s wedding?”
“Long story. Involved shrimp cocktails, a fake pregnancy announcement, and a very drunk groomsman with a nipple ring.”
Y/N blinked. “That sounds like a story I absolutely need to hear.” Wooyoung grinned, and it did something strange to the air between them, charged it a little as he pushed off the doorframe and took a step closer, not too close, just… there. “You wanna come over for a bit?” he asked, voice lighter now. “San made too much pasta and we’ve been watching The Shining like it’s a romcom.” Y/N tilted her head. “That… actually sounds perfect.” He held the door open with one hand, gesturing like a dramatic hotel concierge. “Madam.”
Y/N stepped across the threshold into their apartment, not quite sure what she expected, but surprised at how… lived in it felt. The place was cozy, if a little chaotic. Posters and old fight flyers were tacked up on the wall beside shelves crammed with blurays and video games. The living room was lit by the soft glow of a lamp with a cracked shade, and something that smelled like garlic and red pepper hung thick in the air. “Ignore the mess,” Wooyoung said, closing the door behind them. “San doesn’t know what a laundry basket is. He thinks the couch is the basket.” A voice came from deeper in the room, low and tired. “I can hear you, asshole.”
Y/N turned and looked at San. He was sprawled out on the couch in black sweatpants and a black tank top that matched Wooyoung’s, one arm draped over the back cushion, the other holding a spoonful of pasta that had long since cooled. His hair was still damp from a shower, a few strands curling over his forehead, and there was a faint bruise blooming along his jaw, old enough to not look fresh, new enough to make her stare a little too long. He looked up when she entered and didn’t look away as Y/N offered a small, polite smile. “Hey, San.” He nodded slowly, like it took effort to look casual. “Hey.” Wooyoung breezed past her, already grabbing two forks and a third bowl from the drying rack. “She’s staying for pasta and horror clichés,” he called.
Y/N moved further in, pretending she didn’t notice the way San’s eyes tracked her the entire time, like she was the only thing in the room worth paying attention to. He didn’t speak again. Didn’t need to. The silence said enough. It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t even uncomfortable. But it was… thick. She sat down on the edge of the loveseat beside the couch and crossed her legs, trying not to notice the way his gaze lingered on the exposed stretch of skin just above her knee before flicking back up to her face. San had never really talked to her much. A few “good mornings,” a few quiet nods in the hall. He wasn’t like Wooyoung, didn’t flirt or banter or ask what she was listening to through her headphones. But now, sitting this close, the quiet buzzed between them. And he was looking at her. Not in a creepy way. But not in an innocent one, either.
The movie was playing, but nobody was really watching. Y/N sat between them now on the couch, her bowl of pasta balanced on her knees, fork twirling absently as thunder cracked from the TV. Jack Nicholson was yelling in a snowstorm, but the real storm was the glances San kept failing to hide. Wooyoung sat to her right, one leg tucked under him, his head tipped back against the cushion as he picked at his own bowl. He wasn’t subtle about watching her either, but his gaze didn’t linger. His style was quick flicks, playful jabs, heat without the ache. San, though? He was hurting. He sat on her left, elbow on the armrest, hand half covering his mouth like he thought it might disguise the fact that he hadn’t looked away from her in at least ten minutes. His pasta was untouched as he watched her lips every time she took a bite. Watched the way she tucked her hair behind her ear. Watched the stretch of her thigh where her shorts rode up when she shifted.
And of course Y/N noticed. How could she not? She didn’t say anything, just kept eating, slow, unfazed. But her body shifted ever so slightly toward him on instinct. Not away. And San, poor San, almost dropped his fork. “So,” Wooyoung said suddenly, grinning over the rim of his glass. “You ever been to an underground fight?” Y/N blinked, thrown by the change in topic. “Like… real ones?”
“Illegal?” he gasped, mock offended. “Absolutely not. It’s a totally normal sweaty man violence club held in a condemned warehouse run by a guy named Rico who owns four snakes and a pet raccoon.”
Y/N laughed. “You’re not serious.”
Wooyoung grinned. “Come Friday night and find out.” San shifted beside her but said nothing as Y/N glanced at him. “Wait… do you fight?” He paused. The muscles in his jaw twitching as he shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“Sometimes?” Wooyoung snorted. “He’s the headliner. Crowd favorite. Once punched a guy so hard he threw up.”
San sighed. “He bit me first.”
Y/N’s eyes widened. “He bit you?”
“Yeah.” Wooyoung leaned in. “And then San broke his ribs and gave him a concussion.”
“I didn’t give him the concussion.”
“Oh, my bad.” Wooyoung took another bite. “The floor did.”
Y/N looked back at San. “So you’re, like… dangerous.” His eyes flicked to hers, dark, unreadable and something in his chest visibly tightened. “Only when I need to be.” The words hung in the air for a second too long and Wooyoung smirked into his glass as San looked away first. Y/N finished her last bite and placed the bowl on the coffee table, leaning back against the couch. Unknowingly sitting between two men who’d both killed someone less than a couple days ago. One of them trying not to explode from how good she smelled. The other trying not to say something like, Wanna wear my knife like jewelry?
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Wednesday smelled like burnt coffee, dry printer paper, and someone’s off brand cologne that should’ve been outlawed in 2011. The office was a colorless blur of gray cubicles and cheap carpet, the hum of fluorescent lights mixing with the distant clack of keyboards and the occasional sigh of a broken spirit as Y/N sat at her desk in the far left corner of the floor, staring blankly at the spreadsheet glowing on her monitor like it might suddenly become interesting. It never did though. Her job was, technically, client data coordination, which really meant organizing paperwork that people like Brian were supposed to help file and then somehow always forgot about until the last minute.
Speak of the devil…. “Hey, Y/N,” Brian’s voice carried from behind her partition like a nasal storm cloud. “Quick question.” She turned in her chair slowly, already bracing herself as Brian leaned one elbow on the cubicle wall, tall enough to peer over it like a nosy giraffe. His tie was crooked. His smile smug. “Any reason the ledger reports for Q2 haven’t been submitted yet?”
Y/N blinked. “What?”
He raised his eyebrows in faux innocence. “They’re due today. You were supposed to send them to Mel by noon.” She stared at him. “You were supposed to log them into the portal first. Remember? We split the task Monday.” Brian gave a slow shrug. “I don’t know, I don’t think that was me. You sure?” Y/N fought the urge to throw her stapler at his face. From the corner of her eye, she saw Mel, the department head, look up from her glass office and Brian, of course, saw it too. “I mean, if it’s your part that’s holding things up, we should probably just let Mel know so it doesn’t reflect poorly on the team.”
Y/N stood up, voice sharp but controlled. “Brian, the folder was on your desk yesterday. I emailed you a reminder. Twice.” He gave her a look that was all pity and performance. “I didn’t see any email.”
“Maybe check your inbox instead of TikTok next time.” That earned a snicker from someone a few cubicles over and Brian’s jaw clenched. “Wow. Okay. No need to be hostile.”
“Then stop lying.”
The air tensed as Mel opened her door. “Y/N, Brian,” she called, voice polite but clipped. “Can I see you both in my office?” Brian gave her a what did I do? smirk and strolled ahead like a smug golden retriever that just peed on the rug as Y/N followed, teeth gritted and palms itching.
Sometimes she wanted to stab him with her pen until the ink turned from blue to red.
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The pizza place smelled like melted cheese and old dreams, exactly what Y/N needed after a day spent in cubicle hell. The bell over the door jingled weakly as she stepped in, hair damp from the light drizzle outside, purse slung over one shoulder like it was carrying all her rage. She didn’t bother looking around. Just bee lined to the counter and gave the guy a flat, “Two slices of pepperoni, please,” before collapsing into the booth nearest the window. Her head thumped back against the cushion.
She hadn’t even taken a bite when someone cleared their throat gently. “You look like you fought a printer and lost.” San. Alone. Black hoodie. Soft joggers. Damp hair pushed back under a black cap. His hands in his pockets. No Wooyoung. Just him. The last person she expected to see without the chaos twin attached at the hip.
He gave her the softest smile. Like he didn’t want to intrude but couldn’t just walk past her either. “Mind if I sit?” Y/N nodded, surprised at how easy the yes came out. “Yeah. I mean… no. Sit.” He slid into the booth across from her, legs slightly spread, arms folded casually on the table. His eyes flicked to her pizza, then back up to her face. “Rough day?” She let out a snort that was barely a laugh. “You could say that.” He raised an eyebrow and she hesitated, then shook her head. “Just… work stuff. Office drama. You ever meet someone whose whole personality is blaming other people?”
San’s lips twitched. “I fight people for fun. But yeah, I’ve met that kind of guy.”
She smiled at that. “Brian,” she muttered like it was a curse. “My coworker. Lost the reports he was supposed to file, threw me under the bus, and then played victim in front of my boss.” San didn’t say anything right away. Just watched her quietly, like he was letting her talk as long as she wanted. “And then he had the nerve to act like I was emotional. Like, no, Brian. I’m just two seconds away from flipping a table and setting you on fire.”
That made him huff out a soft laugh, just a breath, but real. “Want me to hit him?” She paused, pizza halfway to her mouth, eyes flicking up. San looked completely serious. So calm it was almost dangerous. She blinked then smirked. “That an official offer?” His mouth curved. “Limited time only.” The smile that tugged at her lips stayed longer this time. “Tempting.” Their eyes met across the table. And for the first time since she moved across the hall… she realized San wasn’t just shy. He was quiet. Intentional. The kind of man who didn’t waste words, not because he had none, but because he only gave them to people he wanted to understand him. And he was looking at her like he wanted that very badly.
They ate in easy silence for a few minutes, just the occasional clink of the metal tray, the shuffle of feet behind the counter, and the hum of neon from the buzzing “OPEN” sign in the window. It wasn’t awkward, just… simple. Comfortable. Y/N finished her first slice and leaned back in the booth, watching San tear through his like a man who’d earned it in blood. Which, in hindsight, wasn’t totally out of the realm of possibility. Her eyes drifted again, just a second too long. Across his shoulders, the way his hoodie clung when he leaned forward, sleeves pushed to his elbows, exposing strong forearms and a faded bruise near his wrist.
He looked up suddenly, catching her gaze mid glance but she didn’t look away. Instead, she tilted her head a little, lips tugging upward. “Can I ask you something?” San blinked, wiping his hand on a napkin, wary but open. “Sure.” Y/N hesitated for a second, but not because she didn’t want to ask, because she didn’t know how he’d react. “Are you and Wooyoung…… together?” The words landed softly but they hit hard. San blinked. Once. Twice. Then again, like he genuinely hadn’t expected that to come out of her mouth. And then he laughed. A real, low, guttural kind of laugh that made her eyebrows raise. His head dropped back for a second, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek before he looked back at her, grinning wide. “Why does everyone think that?”
Y/N couldn’t help but smile. “I mean… you kind of give off matching tattoo, shared Spotify playlist, codependent energy.” That made him laugh harder and he shook his head, still smiling. “No. We’re not together.”
She smirked. “Ever been?”
San opened his mouth. And then, carefully, “Once. A long time ago. Didn’t stick.” She lifted a brow. “But you still live together?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “We’ve known each other since we were seventeen. It’s just… easy.” She took a slow sip of her soda, watching him over the rim of her cup. “So… what you’re saying is, you’re single.” San met her eyes and for once, he didn’t look away. “Yeah,” he said, voice just a little quieter than before. “Very.” The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Like something unsaid had just sat down at the table with them.
By the time they stepped out of the pizza place, the rain had returned, not heavy, but a lazy summer drizzle that made the asphalt shine and the air smell like earth and smoke. San clicked the lock on his old black pickup, the kind that rattled slightly when it idled but ran like a beast. He reached for the passenger door without thinking and opened it for her. Y/N glanced at him with a raised brow as she climbed in. “Chivalry? In this economy?” He gave her a half smile as he rounded the front. “It’s rare,” he agreed, “but not extinct.”
The drive was short, ten minutes, maybe. Mostly quiet, but not in a bad way. The kind of quiet where neither of them needed to fill the air with noise just to prove something. Still, at one red light, Y/N spoke. “You’re not as quiet as I thought.” San glanced over, smile creeping in. “You just haven’t caught me in the right mood before.” She arched a brow. “And today is the right mood?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just gave her a side glance that lingered a little too long, his voice low when it finally came. “Might be.” Y/N looked out the window, biting back a grin. When they pulled into the lot beside the apartment building, she hesitated before getting out. “Thanks for the ride,” she said as San looked at her, one hand gripping the wheel still, knuckles tight. “You wanna walk up together?” he asked. “Since we’re both headed there anyway.”
She smirked. “Trying to walk me to my door like we’re on a date?”
He smirked right back. “I’ll take the side closest to traffic. Just in case.”
They walked up the stairs slowly, lazily. Still no rush. Their steps echoing quietly in the stairwell. Y/N was close enough to brush against him once, twice, once by accident, once definitely not. Neither commented on it as they reached their hallway, the familiar soft buzz of the overhead light flickering as always And then the door to apartment 3B swung open and Wooyoung, dripping wet, fresh from the shower, stepped into the hallway in nothing but a white towel slung low on his hips, one hand scratching lazily at his chest like he didn’t even notice the world existed. His hair was slicked back, face flushed from the steam. “Oh. Thought you were Yeosang bringing me my weed.”
Y/N snorted as San sighed. Wooyoung’s eyes flicked from San to her, still walking together, still a little too close, and a devilish grin crawled across his face like he’d just found a button worth pressing. “Well hello, neighbor,” he said slowly, adjusting his towel in the least helpful way. “Didn’t know you two were out having a little date without me.” Y/N laughed because what else could you do when your hot towel clad neighbor said things like that with full eye contact?
San, on the other hand, looked like he wanted the floor to open up and eat him alive. “If you still need me to hit that coworker of yours…. Let me know.” He said only half joking before shoving a protesting Wooyoung back inside leaving Y/N to stare after them.
That offer looking more and more and inviting as each second passed.
꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶
It was just past eight when Y/N stepped off the bus and started up the stairs to her building, heels echoing with each tired step. Her blouse was wrinkled, her tote bag heavier than usual, and she had that post work glaze in her eyes, the one you only get after surviving another day of Brian and two surprise meetings that should’ve been emails. She was halfway down the hallway when the door to 3B opened and San and Wooyoung stepped out, mid conversation. San wore black joggers and a fitted zip up jacket, sleeves rolled to his elbows again, hands taped already. A few fading bruises trailed his collarbone where his tank top didn’t cover. His hair was loose and a little messy, fight night mode already dialed in.
Wooyoung? Tight black jeans, leather jacket, rings on four fingers, platinum hair tousled to perfection. Danger in cologne form. They both looked up at the same time when they saw her and Wooyoung grinned first. “Look who’s home.” Y/N slowed, giving them both a once over. “Where are you guys off to looking like you’re about to commit crimes?” San’s mouth twitched like he was fighting a smirk as Wooyoung stepped forward. “Fight night,” he said, like it should’ve been obvious. “Rico’s warehouse. Underground chaos. Men bleeding for money. That kind of thing. You know.”
Y/N raised a brow. “Romantic.”
“You have no idea,” he said, then leaned just a little closer. “You should come.” San glanced at him, eyes flicking sideways fast, but he said nothing as Wooyoung kept his gaze locked on her. “Seriously. You said you’ve never been to one, right? Consider this your personal invitation. You’d love it. It’s loud. Sweaty. Unhinged.“ Y/N gave a skeptical tilt of her head. “And by love it, you mean…?”
“I mean you’ll have fun,” Wooyoung grinned. “And you’ll get to see San half naked and knock a guy out with nothing but his elbow.” San exhaled, finally speaking. “He’s exaggerating.”
Wooyoung waved it off. “Barely.”
Y/N hesitated in front of her door, key in hand. Something in her buzzed a little at the thought, warehouse lights, loud music, danger in the air… and San in the ring. “What time?”
San blinked in surprise as Wooyoung smirked wider. “We’ll text you the address. Don’t wear anything you care about.”
꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶
Brian left the office an hour after most people had clocked out. Not because he was working late. But because he was dragging his feet, stalling, probably trying to find a way to frame someone else for his fuck up on tomorrow’s deadline. The building was mostly dark now, just the glow of the exit signs and one buzzing vending machine light near the elevator. He didn’t notice the black truck parked across the street earlier. Didn’t notice the two figures slipping quietly into the side stairwell before he hit the button for the garage.
His footsteps echoed too loud in the stairwell and when he hit the bottom, pushing the heavy door open to the underground parking deck, the concrete swallowed the sound. It was cold down there. Damp. Reeking faintly of oil, rubber, and mildew. Half the lights were out, and the rest flickered just enough to be annoying as Brian yawned and muttered to himself, fumbling for his keys as he crossed the lot. He was parked in the corner next to the concrete pillar and the busted security camera no one ever fixed.
He reached his car, opened the door….
He froze. There was a sound behind him. Like a boot scuffing the pavement. Slow and deliberate. He turned quickly but there was no one. Just the shadows between cars. He squinted. “Hello?” No answer came. His hand twitched toward his phone.
“If you have to ask,” a voice called from somewhere in the dark, distorted and playful, “you already know the answer.”
Brian spun around again, keys clattering to the floor as behind one of the pillars, a figure stepped out in a Ghostface suit. Long black robe dragging across the floor, head tilted like he was confused or maybe just entertained. Brian backed up fast, slamming into the door of his car. “What the fuck?”
“Brian,” the voice said, cheerfully now. “Middle manager. Team killer. Email CCer.” The ghostface took another step. The blade in his hand gleamed in the low light. “You’ve been very busy.”
Brian scrambled for his phone again. But it was already too late. Because now there was a second one. The other ghostface moved faster, cutting across the aisle between cars in a blur, boots slapping wet pavement as the blade slashed out, sparking briefly against the metal hood of the car just inches from Brian’s face and he screamed and ran. Because they always do.
Brian’s dress shoes squeaked uselessly on the slick concrete as he tore down the row of parked cars, phone in hand, thumb shaking on the screen to call 911 but it failed. “SIRI, DIALL 911!”
“I’m sorry. Can you repeat your question?”
“YOU USELESS BITCH!” Brian threw a look over his shoulder, ghostface one still followed at a walking pace, knife in hand, posture casual like this was all just a fun little cardio circuit as Brian veered around a beat up sedan, tripping over a loose parking block and slamming into the concrete wall. He gasped, turned, knife still down the row, glinting like a promise in ghostface’s hand. “Wh…. WHAT DO YOU WANT?” Brian shouted, eyes wide, spit gathering in the corners of his mouth.
The figure just stopped and tilted its head. “Want?” the voice was distorted and amused. “Oh, sweetie. You don’t get to ask questions. You filed the wrong paperwork for that.” Another voice joined in, calmer and quieter from behind. “Check your blind spot.”
Brian whipped around and ghostface two was now much closer. Too close. He screamed and scrambled to the right, slamming into a side mirror, drawing blood on his arm. “HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME!” His voice bounced off empty walls, unanswered as ghostface one was laughing now, slow and syrupy through the voice modulator. “You know what the funny thing is?” the voice mused, circling. “You’re not even special. You’re not a killer. You’re not a genius. You’re just… annoying.”
Brian was crying now, face twisted with panic. “Please…. please I… I didn’t do anything…..”
“No,” ghostface two said, quiet and still, voice deeper under the modulation. “But you were a dick to her.”
Brian blinked. “Who?” But it was too late again. Wooyoung’s blade came first, quick, across the thigh, sharp enough to make Brian collapse screaming. Not fatal. Just enough to make it fun. He tried to crawl. Tried to pull himself under the neighboring SUV. But San grabbed his ankle hard and yanked him back so fast his forehead smacked the concrete with a wet crack. He barely had time to scream before San knelt on his back, cold blade pressing to the back of his neck as Wooyoung crouched nearby, watching with one leg lazily bouncing, mask tilted. “Say hi to HR,” he said cheerfully.
And San drove the blade in. Quick and precise. Brian’s body twitched once. Twice. Then went still. San stood slowly back up, blood dripping in steady lines from the blade in his hand as Wooyoung stepped up beside him, pulling off his mask with one hand and let out a breath like he’d just come off a treadmill. “God,” he sighed. “That guy smelled like microwave soup.”
San didn’t say anything. Just wiped his blade on Brian’s sleeve, tucked it away, and started walking. “You think she’ll come tonight?” Wooyoung asked, trailing behind him.
San didn’t look back as blood poured into a pool around Brian’s dead body. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “She’ll come.”
summary: she was a one night stand until he saved her life now they’re bound for eternity
warning: mentioning of past abuse, violence
genre: dark romance, supernatural, smut
pairing: prince of hell yunho x afab human reader
word count: 10k
chp 8
chp 10 coming soon
masterlist
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Y/N barely heard the conversation unfolding around her. She answered when spoken to. Smiled when expected. Nodded at the appropriate moments. But every instinct she possessed remained fixed on one place in the ballroom. Not looking directly. Just… aware. As prey became aware of a predator somewhere beyond the trees. Lucifer, meanwhile, watched her with the patience of someone who had ruled for millennia. He didn’t press her again. Didn’t ask another question. Instead, he observed. The slight stiffness in her shoulders. The way her breathing had never quite returned to normal. The smile that reached her mouth but never her eyes. He had welcomed countless nobles into his court over the centuries. He had watched liars lie. Traitors betray. Lovers deceive. Fear wore many faces. The one Y/N wore now…. he recognized immediately. Lucifer’s eyes drifted across the ballroom once more. Damon appeared perfectly relaxed. Handsome. Charming. Laughing easily beside Yunho. Not once had he looked toward Y/N. Not once. Almost… too perfect.
“My father.” Yunho’s warm voice cut gently through Y/N’s spiraling thoughts. He was walking toward them with the easy confidence that always seemed to surround him. And beside him… Damon. Every muscle in Y/N’s body locked. Her pulse exploded inside her chest. Don’t react. Don’t react. Don’t react. She felt Lucifer’s gaze flick toward her without moving his head. Watching and measuring as Yunho reached them, smiling as naturally as ever. “There you are,” he said, slipping comfortably beside Y/N. His hand found hers almost automatically, his thumb brushing lightly across her knuckles. “I’ve been looking for you.” She managed a smile. “So I’ve heard.” He chuckled. “I leave you alone with my father for ten minutes and suddenly you’ve met half the aristocracy.” Lucifer answered before she could. “Your wife has handled herself remarkably well.”
“I told you she would.” The pride in Yunho’s voice made something twist painfully inside her. Then… he turned slightly. “Oh. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Y/N felt her stomach drop as Yunho looked between them, completely oblivious. “Y/N…” He gestured toward Damon standing just behind his shoulder. “This is Damon.” Damon stepped forward with effortless composure. His dark suit was immaculate. His smile warm. Polite. Respectful. If someone had walked into the room at that exact moment, they would’ve assumed this was the first time he’d ever laid eyes on her as he bowed his head with practiced elegance. “Your Highness.” His voice was smooth. Measured. As though they were strangers. “It is an honor to finally meet the Princess of Hell.” Y/N stared at him. And for the smallest fraction of a second…. the ballroom disappeared. She remembered that voice murmuring apologies she’d wanted desperately to believe. That same voice calmly explaining why she’d misunderstood. How what happened was always her fault. She realized she’d stopped breathing. “Y/N?” Yunho’s voice was gentle. Brows furrowed in concern. She blinked, forcing herself back into the room. “Nice…” Her throat felt painfully tight. “to meet you.” The words tasted like ash as Damon smiled. “I’ve heard wonderful things.” It was a perfectly ordinary sentence. Only Y/N caught the almost imperceptible glint in his eyes. A flicker so brief she might’ve imagined it. But she hadn’t. She knew that look behind those green eyes. Damon was furious.
Lucifer knew something else. He watched his daughter. Not Damon. Y/N. She had withdrawn so subtly that almost no one would’ve noticed. Her shoulders had drawn inward by barely an inch. Her fingers had unconsciously tightened around Yunho’s hand. The brightness had vanished from her expression. She wasn’t merely uncomfortable. She was retreating. Piece by piece. As though some invisible wall were being rebuilt around her. Yunho noticed none of it yet, his attention remained comfortably on Damon. “Damon and I have known each other for years,” he explained with an easy grin. “We grew up together.” Damon gave an amused nod. “His Highness has always been generous enough to tolerate my company.” Yunho laughed. “Oh yeah, we have a lot in common. I’m not the only one who fell for a human.” He teased, smiling at Y/N so fucking oblivious. “Damon was completely obsessed this human girl.” Time seemed to stop and Y/N felt every drop of warmth leave her body as Lucifer’s amber eyes shifted, almost lazily, from his son… to Damon… and finally settled back on Y/N. He said nothing. Not a single word. But behind centuries of practiced composure… The King of Hell had just watched separate stories collide. Only one person in the conversation had no idea they were all the same story. Yunho.
“I’m serious,” Yunho said, glancing between Lucifer and Y/N with an amused grin. “I used to give him hell about it.” Damon chuckled, lifting his crystal glass in quiet surrender. “I made the mistake of mentioning her.” Yunho snorted. “The mistake? You practically wrote poetry every time we had drinks. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so hopelessly gone.” Damon offered an exaggerated sigh. “Must we do this in front of your wife and father?” Yunho’s grin only widened. “Oh, absolutely. You’ve earned it.” A few nearby nobles laughed politely, assuming they were witnessing nothing more than two lifelong friends teasing one another. Y/N stood perfectly still. She couldn’t even force herself to smile as Yunho nudged Damon’s shoulder lightly. “And then what…” He laughed again. “she dumped your ass a year ago.” Another ripple of laughter escaped him. “I’ve never seen anyone look so miserable.” Damon smiled. The same polished smile he’d worn since walking over. “What can I say?” he replied smoothly. “She made her decision.” There wasn’t the slightest hint of bitterness in his tone. No anger. No resentment. Only graceful acceptance. Anyone listening would’ve believed every word. But Y/N knew better. She had lived behind that smile. She knew exactly how dangerous it could be.
Damon slowly turned his gaze toward her. His expression never changed. Still charming. Still courteous. Still every inch the respectable noble. But his eyes… Those green eyes she’d spent trying not to fear… Burned. Not with sadness. Not with heartbreak. With possession. With fury carefully locked behind centuries of self control. It was the look of a man watching someone else hold something he believed still belonged to him. The look vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared as Damon returned his attention to Yunho as though nothing had happened. “I’m afraid she had better judgment than I did.”
“There it is.” Yunho laughed, pointing at him. “See? He can admit it now.”
“I’ve had a year to practice.”
“Apparently not enough.”
Lucifer’s gaze never left Damon. The demon’s words were flawless. His posture relaxed. His breathing steady. Everything about him projected calm. Everything… except his eyes. Lucifer had ruled Hell for longer than most civilizations had existed. He had learned long ago that a person’s eyes often betrayed what the rest of their body concealed. And for the briefest instant….. Damon had looked at Y/N as though Yunho’s hand resting over hers was an insult he intended never to forgive. Whatever history existed between those two… It was far darker than anyone in this room, including his own son, realized. Damon glanced toward the opposite side of the ballroom as another noble lifted a hand in greeting. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said smoothly, inclining his head first toward Lucifer before offering Yunho an easy smile. “Lord Cassiel has been trying to corner me all evening.” Yunho laughed. “My condolences.”
“I’ll survive.”
“Barely.”
Damon’s smile lingered as he bowed once more toward Y/N. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Princess.” She forced herself to return the gesture. “You as well.” The lie barely left her lips before Damon turned and disappeared effortlessly into the sea of black suits and glittering gowns, stopping only long enough to exchange pleasantries with another noble as though nothing unusual had happened. As though he hadn’t just looked into the eyes of the woman he’d once convinced herself she would never escape. Y/N didn’t realize she’d been staring after him until Yunho’s thumb brushed gently across the back of her hand. “Hey.” His voice was quieter now. Concern replacing the playful teasing from moments before. She looked up and he was studying her. Really studying her. The smile had faded from his face. “You okay?”
“What?”
“You’ve been…” He hesitated, searching for the right word. “…quiet.”
“I’m fine.” It came too quickly. Too automatically making Yunho’s brows knit together. “You sure?” She nodded. “Yeah.” Another lie. A better one this time. “I just…” She glanced around the impossibly enormous ballroom, allowing her eyes to drift across the hundreds of nobles surrounding them. “…I think all of this is finally catching up to me.” She gave a small, almost embarrassed laugh. “It’s a lot.” Yunho’s expression softened. “I should’ve checked on you sooner.”
“You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“No?”
She smiled, making herself look a little sheepish. “No.” Yunho relaxed slightly, convinced she’d simply reached her limit for the evening. Beside them… Lucifer remained silent. He hadn’t relaxed at all. In fact, his expression had only grown darker. His eyes lingered on Y/N for another long moment before shifting toward the far side of the ballroom, where Damon had seamlessly rejoined the crowd. Y/N’s smile had been convincing enough for Yunho but it hadn’t fooled Lucifer for a single second. His gaze returned to his son. Yunho was still rubbing absentminded circles over the back of Y/N’s hand, trying to comfort her without realizing he was comforting the wrong wound. Lucifer felt something cold settle in his chest. Whatever Damon had done… his son knew nothing about it. And if that ignorance continued much longer… It wasn’t Damon he feared. It was Yunho. Because Lucifer knew his son. He knew exactly how violently the Crown Prince loved. And if Yunho ever discovered that the smiling demon he’d called a friend had once been the source of that fear in Y/N’s eyes….. Hell itself might not be enough to contain what came next.
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An hour later, the orchestra had shifted into slower music while the banquet itself settled into the comfortable rhythm of old alliances and endless conversation. Y/N had quickly learned one thing about Hell’s aristocracy. They loved to talk. Especially about themselves. “…and of course,” the elderly demon beside her continued for what felt like the fifteenth minute, “when one has personally negotiated the Treaty of Ash Hollow, one develops an appreciation for proper diplomatic etiquette that the younger generations simply lack.” Y/N smiled politely. “That sounds… incredibly important.”
“It was.” He leaned in another inch. “I’ve often said Lucifer never properly thanked me.”
“I’m sure he…” Her eyes drifted over his shoulder. “did.” The older demon finally paused. “You seem distracted.”
“No,” she lied pleasantly. “I’m just getting another drink.” Before he could continue recounting whatever century old political dispute had apparently shaped his entire personality, Y/N slipped away with an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry. Excuse me.” She disappeared into the crowd before he could protest and the moment she rounded one of the towering marble columns, she let out a long breath. “Finally…”
“You escaped Lord Varris.”
Y/N turned. A woman stood a few feet away, a crystal glass balanced delicately between elegant fingers. She was beautiful. Almost unnaturally so. Long dark hair cascaded over one shoulder, and the black gown she wore glittered subtly beneath the floating chandeliers. There was something unmistakably regal about her. And something equally unmistakably cold. “I’ve watched him lecture people into surrender for centuries,” the woman continued. “Congratulations.” Y/N laughed despite herself. “I was starting to think I’d never get away.”
“No one ever does.” The woman’s eyes slowly traveled over Y/N. From the circlet resting in her hair… to the wedding ring on her finger… to the hand still absentmindedly smoothing invisible wrinkles from her velvet gown. “Interesting…” Y/N’s smile faded as the woman stepped closer. Until she began circling her with the leisurely confidence of someone inspecting an unfamiliar animal. “Interesting,” she repeated softly. “So…” She stopped directly in front of Y/N again. “This is what a thief looks like.” Y/N’s brows drew together. “Excuse me?” The woman’s lips curved into a beautiful smile that held absolutely no warmth. “I was supposed to marry him.” She tilted her head. “You know.” Her gaze flicked deliberately toward the opposite end of the ballroom where Yunho was deep in conversation with Lucifer and several noble houses. “Until you came along.”
For a second… Y/N simply stared. Then… she laughed. Right in the woman’s face. Not politely. Not nervously. A genuine laugh that made the woman’s smile faltered. “Really?” Y/N asked, amusement dancing across her features for the first time all evening as she realized this was Estrie. “Because from what I’ve heard…” She shrugged lightly. “he would’ve preferred Purgatory over marrying you.” Estrie’s eyes narrowed. “You little…” She took a sharp step forward. “Estrie.” The single word cut cleanly between them and both women turned. Damon approached with effortless calm, one hand tucked casually into the pocket of his tailored black suit. His expression remained pleasant. Almost bored. “Estrie,” he repeated. “Don’t you have someone else to go torment?” She scoffed. “Oh, don’t worry.” Her gaze lingered on Y/N another second. “I’m sure we’ll speak again.” She turned on her heel, the train of her gown sweeping dramatically across the polished floor as she disappeared back into the crowd and the silence she left behind felt infinitely heavier.
Y/N’s smile vanished. Her eyes instinctively searched the ballroom. Yunho. Still too far away to notice. When she looked back… Damon had stepped closer. Close enough that anyone watching would assume they were simply enjoying polite conversation. “Funny, isn’t it?” Y/N didn’t answer. “You tried so hard to run from me…” His voice remained perfectly conversational. Soft enough that no one else could hear. “yet here you are.” Her fingers curled tightly around the stem of her untouched wine glass. “I don’t know what game you’re playing,” she said quietly, “but stay away from me.” For the first time that night… Damon’s smile slipped and his eyes hardened. “You really think marrying the Crown Prince changes anything?” Y/N held his gaze. “It changes everything.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. Then, almost instantly, the charming smile returned. “So confident.” He leaned in only slightly, close enough that his next words never traveled beyond the space between them. “Tell me…” His voice was almost gentle. “how do you think Yunho would look at you… if he knew what we were?” Y/N felt her stomach knot as Damon watched every flicker of emotion across her face. Then he delivered the blow he’d clearly been saving. “if he knew I’d already ruined you…. completely.” His expression remained calm as he smiled again. “You’re still mine. Wife of the Prince or not.” The words hung between them like poison wrapped in silk.
Y/N didn’t correct him. She couldn’t. If she opened her mouth now, she wasn’t entirely convinced she’d be able to stop the tremor in her voice. So instead… she stepped around him. Their shoulders brushed as she passed. Damon didn’t try to stop her. Didn’t reach for her. Didn’t say another word. He simply turned his head slightly, watching her walk away through the crowd and smiled. The music continued behind her. Crystal glasses clinked. Laughter echoed beneath the vaulted ceiling. No one noticed the Princess of Hell leaving the banquet. Y/N kept walking. Don’t run. Don’t run. Don’t run. She forced herself to maintain a dignified pace until the enormous ballroom doors closed behind her and the instant they did…… she broke. Her steps quickened. The polished marble corridor stretched endlessly ahead as she hurried past towering windows overlooking Hell City. Palace guards bowed as she passed, servants flattening themselves respectfully against the walls. She barely saw any of them. Her breathing had become shallow again. Too fast. Her thoughts refused to slow. He was a demon. The realization slammed into her all over again. And she’d never had the slightest chance of understanding the game she was trapped inside.
Her stomach twisted violently and she stopped so abruptly one hand shot out to brace herself against one of the black marble columns lining the corridor. “No…” The nausea surged and she barely had time to turn away before she doubled over. The sound echoed through the otherwise silent hallway. Everything she’d forced down all evening came back up at once. When it was finally over, she stayed where she was, one hand gripping the cool marble, the other pressed tightly against her stomach. Her entire body trembled. “Princess?” The familiar voice was gentle. Y/N slowly lifted her head. Seonghwa stood several feet away, having clearly been making his way toward the banquet when he’d found her instead. His composed expression immediately shifted as he crossed the distance without hesitation, stopping close enough to help but not so close that she’d feel crowded. “Princess…” His eyes flicked briefly toward the floor before returning to her face. “are you alright?” Y/N looked at him and for a long moment… she couldn’t find any words. Then, quietly… almost pleadingly… “I need to get out of here.” Seonghwa didn’t ask why. Didn’t ask what had happened. Didn’t tell her to go back. He simply gave one small nod. “Of course.”
With practiced efficiency, he removed the tailored black jacket from his own shoulders and draped it gently around hers, shielding her from any curious eyes they might pass in the corridor. “This way.” His voice remained calm as he stepped beside her instead of ahead of her, matching her pace as they began walking deeper into the palace. Neither of them spoke as the banquet music faded farther and farther behind them until it disappeared entirely. Servants bowed as they passed. Guards opened doors without question. No one stopped the King’s right hand as he quietly escorted the Princess back through the royal wing. Only once they reached the familiar corridor leading to Yunho’s chambers did Seonghwa finally glance toward her. “You don’t have to tell me what happened tonight.” His voice was soft. “But if there’s anything you need…” He let the sentence trail away. Y/N swallowed hard. “Thank you.” It was barely above a whisper and Seonghwa inclined his head. “You’re safe here.” He opened the chamber doors for her warm light spilled into the hallway. The room was exactly as she’d left it only hours earlier. A world away from the ballroom. Seonghwa remained at the threshold. “I’ll make certain no one disturbs you.” Y/N nodded gratefully before stepping inside, the doors closing quietly behind her and her composure splintered. Her hands flew to the back of her neck, fumbling blindly for the fastenings Seonghwa’s attendants had so carefully hidden beneath her hair. Her fingers shook so badly she missed them twice before finally managing to pull them loose.
The heavy velvet gown loosened. She didn’t bother being careful. She practically tore herself out of it. The fabric pooled around her feet in a dark crimson circle, but she was already stumbling toward the bathroom before it had fully settled. “No…” The whisper cracked in her throat. “No…” The tears she’d held back all evening finally escaped. One. Then another. Within seconds they were falling so quickly she could hardly see as she reached the bathroom just as another sob caught painfully in her chest. Her reflection greeted her in the enormous mirror. Perfect makeup. Perfect hair. Circlet resting elegantly atop her head. With trembling hands she reached up, yanking the jeweled piece free with far more force than necessary. It caught briefly in her hair before coming loose completely and clattered loudly against the marble vanity. She didn’t care as another sob escaped her. Turning toward the shower, the abandoned gown wrapped unexpectedly around one ankle and she tumbled. Her shoulder struck the doorframe hard enough to sting and bruise. For one dizzy second she simply stood there, breathing raggedly before angrily kicking the velvet away from her feet. “I hate you…” She wasn’t even sure who she was talking to anymore. Damon or herself. She twisted the shower handle and scalding water poured from the rainfall fixture overhead, steam immediately beginning to fill the room.
Still crying, she stepped beneath it. The warmth soaked through her hair almost instantly, washing away carefully applied makeup in dark streams that disappeared toward the drain as she wrapped both arms around herself. Then she broke. Not graceful tears. Not quiet ones. The kind of sobbing that left her shoulders shaking. The kind she’d promised herself she’d never let Damon see again. The water hid the sound from anyone outside the room but it didn’t make it hurt any less.
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Yunho frowned as he finished speaking with another noble nearly ten minutes ago. He scanned the room, looking for Y/N. Ready to leave and hide with her in their chambers. “Looking for someone?” The familiar voice made him suppress a sigh. Estrie. She stood beside him holding a glass of wine, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “What do you want?”
“Ouch.” She smiled sweetly. “That’s hardly how one speaks to an old friend.”
“We’ve never been friends.”
She waved the correction away. “Semantics.” Yunho’s attention drifted back toward the ballroom. Still no sign of Y/N and Estrie noticed. “Looking for your wife?” His eyes returned to hers. “I met her.” Something in the way she said it made his stomach tighten and his expression hardened. “What did you do?” Estrie blinked, feigning innocence. “I beg your pardon?”
“What.” His voice dropped lower. “Did you do?” She scoffed. “Oh, please.” She rolled her magenta eyes. “I did nothing. Damon annoyingly interrupted us.” Yunho studied her face another second before turning away without another word. He knew Estrie. If she’d done something… she wouldn’t admit it. His gaze swept across the ballroom again until it landed on Damon speaking casually with another lord near one of the towering windows. “Damon.” The other demon looked over. “There you are.” Yunho approached quickly. “You seen Y/N?” Damon’s expression shifted into mild concern. “The Princess? I spoke with her briefly.” Yunho’s brows furrowed. “You did?” Damon nodded. “She seemed…” He paused as though choosing his words carefully. “a little unwell.” Yunho’s heartbeat quickened. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure.” Damon offered a small shrug. “She looked pale.” He glanced toward the ballroom entrance. “I assumed the evening had become overwhelming.” His tone remained perfectly calm. “She excused herself and left.” Without another word Yunho was already moving. He crossed the ballroom in long strides, barely acknowledging the nobles who attempted to stop him. The grand doors opened and the corridor beyond stood empty. “Y/N?” Only silence answered. He checked the adjoining gallery. The music room. One of the palace gardens overlooking Hell City. Nothing. Each passing minute tightened the knot in his chest. By the time he turned toward the royal wing, he wasn’t walking anymore. He was nearly running as he rounded the final corridor leading toward their chambers, he spotted a familiar figure standing quietly outside. “Seonghwa.” Seonghwa looked up immediately and relief briefly crossed his face. “Your Highness.” Yunho was already searching past him toward the chamber doors. “Where is she?” Seonghwa held his gaze. “She’s inside.” Yunho didn’t wait for anything else, his hand was already reaching for the door, it flew open so quickly it struck the wall with a dull thud. “Y/N?” For one terrifying moment, Yunho’s stomach dropped. Then he heard it. The soft click of the bathroom door opening. He turned as Y/N stepped out of the bedroom, wrapped in one of the enormous black towels. Damp hair clung to her shoulders, tiny droplets of water trailing down her arms.
Her makeup was gone. Her eyes… her eyes were swollen. Red and puffy. Like she’d been crying for far longer than she wanted anyone to know. Then his gaze dropped. A dark bruise had already begun blooming along the curve of her shoulder and Yunho froze. The worry vanished and something sharper replaced it. He crossed the room in seconds. “What happened?” His hands stopped just short of touching her, as though he couldn’t decide whether to pull her into him or inspect every inch of her for more injuries. “What happened?” he repeated, quieter this time. His eyes caught the bruise again. “Did you fall?” She didn’t answer. “Did someone touch you?” His jaw tightened. “Estrie.” The name left his mouth like a curse. “What did she do?” Y/N looked at him. Really looked at him. He wasn’t angry at her. He wasn’t judging her. He wasn’t disappointed. He was terrified. Terrified because she’d been hurting…. and he hadn’t been there. At the end of the day… this man was the Crown Prince of Hell. The son of the Devil himself. Her husband. She shouldn’t have to be afraid of anything anymore. Not here. Not with him. A shaky breath escaped her. “I…” Her voice broke. “I didn’t know he was a demon.”
Yunho blinked, furrowing his brows. “What? Who?” Y/N swallowed hard. “You remember…” She struggled to get the words out. “when I told you about my ex?” The room seemed to grow still as Yunho’s jaw slowly clenched and his voice became unnervingly calm. “Yes.” He remembered every word. “Do you want me to kill him?” It was the exact same question he’d asked on the beach in Greece. The exact same tone. As though the answer had always been hers to give. Y/N shook her head weakly. “No… I mean… I don’t know….” Her breathing hitched. “I…” She looked down at the floor. “I didn’t know…” Another tear slipped free as she repeated herself. “I didn’t know he was a demon.” Yunho stared at her. “Not until…” She forced herself to meet his eyes. “you introduced him to me.” Yunho didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His mind reached backward. Searching for an answer and when the realization hit him…. his heartbeat stopped. His eyes searched hers desperately. As though hoping she’d tell him he’d misunderstood. But she didn’t. She didn’t have to as understanding crashed into him all at once. Damon. Damon. Damon. The name echoed through his mind until everything else disappeared. The friend he’d grown up beside. The demon he’d shared drinks with. The man he’d laughed with…… A low, almost inaudible sound escaped Yunho’s throat. Not quite a growl. Not quite breathing. Something far older. Far more dangerous.
Y/N watched the realization settle across his face. Watched every ounce of warmth disappear as his pupils swallowed the familiar warm brown of his irises until his eyes became endless black and the glamour concealing his true nature shattered. His horns curled upward through his silver hair. Sharp black claws slid from the tips of his fingers with a metallic scrape. The air in the room became heavy as power rolled off him in suffocating waves. Yunho wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was looking through her. Already seeing Damon. Already replaying every conversation they’d ever had. And realizing that while he’d called Damon a friend… Damon had hurt his wife. A single tear slid silently down Yunho’s cheek and disappeared almost as quickly as it fell. His voice, when it finally came, was barely more than a whisper. “He knew. He stood there…”
Y/N took a step toward him. “Yunho…”
Black smoke exploded through the room as she reached for him. But it was too late. The space where he’d been standing was suddenly empty. Only wisps of shadow remained, curling through the light before fading into nothing.
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The banquet had begun to settle into its comfortable rhythm. Music drifted through the grand hall. Crystal glasses clinked beneath floating chandeliers. Nobles resumed conversations that had been interrupted only moments earlier, blissfully unaware that the Crown Prince and his wife had quietly vanished from opposite ends of the palace. But Lucifer noticed. His eyes swept the ballroom once. No Yunho. No Y/N. His fingers tapped once against the stem of his wine glass. Across the room, Estrie had already found another circle of nobles to entertain. Damon stood near one of the towering windows overlooking Hell City, speaking with two lords as though nothing at all had happened. Lucifer watched him for a long moment. Then… the room exploded. A deafening crack split through the ballroom like thunder. Black smoke erupted from thin air and before a single one could even react, a hand shot out of the shadows seizing Damon by the throat. The force behind it was monstrous.
Damon’s eyes widened as he was ripped completely off his feet and the ballroom vanished into a blur. Marble rushed toward him. The impact shook the entire palace. The polished obsidian floor shattered beneath his back, fractures racing outward in every direction like spiderwebs across glass. Nearby tables overturned. Wine goblets crashed to the ground, exploding into glittering fragments as nobles stumbled backward in alarm. Music stopped. Every conversation died instantly. Silence swallowed the room. And at the center of the destruction… Yunho knelt over Damon. One clawed hand remained locked around the other demon’s throat, pinning him deep into the crater he’d just created. Power rolled off him in violent waves, making chandeliers tremble overhead as flames inside the palace braziers bent toward him. No one in the room had ever seen the Crown Prince like this. Not even Lucifer.
Damon stared up at him. His breathing was ragged from the impact. A thin line of blood traced the corner of his mouth. Then the corners of his lips curled upward. “Let me guess.” His voice was rough, but unmistakably amused. “She told you.” Yunho didn’t answer, he just tightened his grip and the marble beneath Damon’s shoulders groaned under the pressure. Lucifer’s expression darkened as gaze moved from his son to Damon whose smile never faltered. “So…” he rasped, meeting Yunho’s black eyes without looking away. “You finally know.” The words had barely left his mouth when the air around the crater grew impossibly heavy and every demon in the ballroom could feel it. The Crown Prince wasn’t merely angry. He was barely holding himself back from tearing Damon apart where he lay and sending him to an eternity in Purgatory.
Yunho stared at Damon. There wasn’t a trace of the man who had entered the ballroom laughing with an old friend. There wasn’t even a trace of the husband who’d spent the last almost two weeks falling in love with Y/N. There was only the Crown Prince of Hell. Only the son of Lucifer. The infernal power pouring from him swelled again, washing through the ballroom in a wave so heavy several younger demons instinctively stepped backward. “I should make certain you never have another chance to hurt her. Rip you apart and send you to purgatory limb by limb.” Lucifer’s voice cut cleanly through the room. It wasn’t raised. It didn’t need to be. “Yunho.” But Yunho never looked away from Damon. “I’m handling this.” For several long seconds, Lucifer simply watched his son. He saw the betrayal. The heartbreak. The fury. Then, slowly, he inclined his head. “I know you are.” His tone remained calm, steady enough to anchor the room itself. “But not here.” Yunho didn’t answer as his father’s eyes lifted beyond the shattered marble and his gaze settled on the entrance to the ballroom. “Look.” The single word hung in the air and Yunho’s jaw remained clenched for another moment before his eyes finally followed his father’s….. Y/N stood in the open doorway. She’d changed into nothing more than an oversized shirt and a pair of soft black pants she’d clearly thrown on in haste, hair damp. The redness around her eyes hadn’t faded, and despite the distance between them, Yunho could still make out the dark bruise beginning to bloom against her shoulder.
Seonghwa stood quietly beside her. Simply close enough that, if she needed to leave, she wouldn’t have to do it alone. Y/N couldn’t look away. She’d never seen Yunho like this. His silver hair framed the obsidian horns curling skyward. His black eyes held no warmth. The air around him rippled beneath the weight of power he’d stopped trying to hide. And suddenly… she was back in Greece. Walking out of the bathroom to find Yunho standing there….. telling her he didn’t want him to see him like that. The way he had been when he stabbed Darrius. Yunho’s gaze finally met hers. The fury was still there. The betrayal hadn’t lessened. But the instant he saw her….. Something inside him hesitated. The entire ballroom seemed to hold its breath as Yunho never took his eyes off Y/N. The blackness consuming his eyes remained. Power continued to ripple through the hall in suffocating waves, making candles flicker and crystal tremble, yet somehow… when he looked at her, the fury no longer felt directionless. It had a purpose. His voice came quietly. “Do you want me to kill him?” No one moved. No one dared interrupt. Even Lucifer remained silent as Seonghwa kept his gaze lowered. It wasn’t their question to answer.
Y/N stared at him and for a moment, all she saw was the man standing in their chambers only minutes ago, asking the exact same thing with the exact same certainty. As though he truly would place the decision in her hands. As though, despite everything raging inside him….. he trusted her answer more than his own anger. Slowly… she looked away from Yunho and her eyes found Damon. The smile he’d worn since Yunho had thrown him to the floor was gone now. And for the first time since she’d met him… he looked afraid. He’d always been the one with the control. The one making her question herself. The one who smiled while she unraveled. Now… the balance had shifted. Because for the first time, Damon understood exactly what stood between him and the Crown Prince of Hell. Y/N drew a slow, shaky breath before she looked back at her husband. “Not right now.” The words were barely above a whisper but in the silence of the ballroom they carried loudly.
Yunho held her gaze for another long moment. His chest rising with one measured breath. Then another as the claws around Damon’s jacket and throat slowly loosened. Not because his anger had faded. Not because Damon deserved mercy. Only because she had asked him not to. And there wasn’t a force in Hell more capable of staying the Crown Prince’s hand than the woman he loved. He stood slowly. The movement was almost unnervingly calm. The black smoke curling around his boots slowly dissipated across the fractured marble. The infernal pressure crushing the ballroom eased only slightly, but it was enough for several to finally draw breath again. Damon remained where he’d fallen, simply watching the Crown Prince carefully but Yunho never looked at him again. His black eyes shifted instead to Seonghwa. “Get him out of here.” Seonghwa straightened as Yunho’s voice remained low and controlled. “Before my wife changes her mind.”
Damon’s composure faltered again. It wasn’t Yunho’s threat that unsettled him. It was the realization that the decision had never been Yunho’s to make. Seonghwa inclined his head once. “Of course, Your Highness.” Without another word, he stepped toward Damon as Yunho turned to Y/N. No one else existed anymore. Only her. He crossed the remaining distance between them. When he stopped in front of her, he didn’t speak at first. His gaze lingered on the bruise darkening her shoulder, and something painful flickered across his face before he quietly reached out. Not to pull her into him. Not to hold her. But to simply offer her his hand. Y/N looked down at it. The same hand that, only moments ago, had nearly brought an entire ballroom to its knees. The same hand that had reached for hers countless times over the last two weeks with nothing but gentleness. Without hesitation, she slipped her fingers into his and the moment their hands met, his thumb brushed softly across the back of hers. It was such a small gesture. So impossibly tender. As though he needed to reassure himself she was really there. “Come on,” he said quietly and Y/N nodded. Together, they turned toward the ballroom doors and no one dared stop them.
The crowd parted in complete silence as the Prince and Princess of Hell walked through the center of the room, their joined hands speaking louder than anything either of them could have said. Lucifer watched them leave without a word and Seonghwa waited until the doors closed behind them before his attention returned to Damon. The warmth that had always colored his expression was gone. “Lord Damon,” he said evenly, extending a hand to help him up. “Shall we?” Damon looked toward the doors through which Yunho and Y/N had disappeared. Then, with a humorless smile, he accepted Seonghwa’s hand.
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The chambers had been silent for so long that Y/N had started measuring time by the fire. She sat near the edge of the bed with one leg folded beneath her, Yunho’s oversized shirt hanging loose over the soft black pants she’d thrown on before returning to the ballroom. Her hair was still faintly damp against the back of her neck. Her wedding ring caught the firelight every time she moved her hand, turquoise deepening into sapphire beneath the glow, but she hadn’t looked at it once since they’d returned. Her attention remained fixed on Yunho as he stood before the towering windows with his back to her, one hand resting against the dark stone frame as he stared out over Hell. His horns stayed but his claws had receded. His eyes were warm brown again, though Y/N had only caught a glimpse of them when he’d quietly closed the chamber doors behind them. Since then, he hadn’t turned around. He hadn’t said a word. And neither had she. There was something frightening about the stillness of him. Not the same violence that had torn through the ballroom when he’d thrown Damon into the floor. This was quieter. Colder. The kind of silence that came after something had already broken. Y/N watched his fingers tighten against the stone. “Yunho…” His shoulders barely moved. “I had Dante’s lover killed.” The confession fell into the room without warning. Y/N went still as she wondered whether she’d heard him correctly, but Yunho didn’t repeat himself. He remained facing the window, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the city as though looking at her would make the words more difficult to say. “When?” she asked quietly. “Last night.” His voice was calm, but it wasn’t empty. There was too much buried beneath it. Y/N stared at his back, the memory from the market rising with immediate, sickening clarity. Dante’s smile disappearing. His voice turning gentle as he promised to peel her flesh from her body while Yunho watched. Hongjoong stepping between them. The marketplace falling silent. “You ordered?”
“I’d already given someone instructions to watch her before we left for Greece.” Yunho’s jaw tightened. “After Dante threatened you again, I told him to finish it.” The fire cracked behind her as Y/N slowly lowered her feet to the floor but didn’t stand. “Did they suffer?” That made him close his eyes. “No.” His answer came immediately. “I told them to make it quick. No message. No spectacle.” His hand fell away from the window frame. “She didn’t threaten you. She wasn’t responsible for what Dante did.” Y/N’s brows drew together. “Then why kill her?” Yunho finally turned. His expression was controlled, but his eyes betrayed him. They were exhausted. Red around the edges. Filled with an anger that no longer had anywhere to go. “Because I wanted him to lose something again. To warn him what I can do if he touched you.” The honesty of it made her chest tighten as Yunho looked down briefly, staring at the ring wrapped around his finger. Horns and feathers circling one another endlessly. “Dante threatened to wait until I loved you before he hurt you.” His thumb dragged slowly over the band. “Then he found you in the market and told you exactly what he planned to do.” His gaze returned to hers. “I needed him to understand that threatening you would cost him something.” Y/N swallowed. “Did it?”
“I don’t know.” The answer seemed to disturb him more than anything else. “He hasn’t come for me yet.” Yunho’s mouth twisted bitterly. “Maybe he’s grieving. Maybe he’s planning. Maybe she meant nothing to him.” His eyes drifted back toward the city. “I don’t know.” Y/N studied him for several seconds. “Why are you telling me now?” Yunho turned fully away from the window, though he made no move toward her. “Because Damon stood in front of me tonight and lied.” His voice roughened around the name. “He knew who you were. He knew what he’d done to you. And he smiled at me while I introduced him to my wife.” His jaw clenched hard enough for the muscle to jump. “I keep thinking about every conversation I’ve had with him. Every time he spoke about the human woman who left him. Every time I listened while he painted himself as the one who’d been wronged.” His eyes turned black again. “And all that time, he was talking about you.” Y/N’s fingers curled against the bedspread. “I don’t want to become another man who decides what you deserve to know.” The words struck deeper than she expected. “I don’t want secrets between us because I’ve decided the truth would be easier for you not to carry.” His voice dropped. “Damon did that. He built an entire life around you without ever letting you know what he was.” Y/N’s throat tightened. “So I’m telling you.” Yunho’s gaze held hers, unwavering despite the shame beginning to creep through his expression. “I ordered a succubus’ death because the man who cares for her threatened you.”
Silence pressed in around them once more. He didn’t try to justify it. He didn’t remind her Dante was dangerous. Didn’t tell her it had been necessary. Didn’t hide behind his title or the laws of Hell. He simply stood there and allowed her to see him. Y/N slowly rose from the bed and Yunho watched her approach, but there was something guarded in the way he held himself now, as though preparing for her to stop several feet away. But she didn’t. She crossed the entire room until only a breath remained between them. “Did you want her to suffer?” she asked.
“No.”
“Did you enjoy knowing she was dead?”
His expression tightened. “No.”
“Would you make the same choice again?” That was the question that finally made him look away. “If I believed it would keep you alive…” His eyes returned to hers back once again his warm brown. “Yes.” The truth remained between them, sharp and unpolished as Y/N stared at him, heart aching because she believed him. Because she knew he would burn the world for her and then lose sleep over the ashes. Because the same man who had nearly murdered Damon before an entire ballroom had ordered someone else to show mercy to a woman he’d condemned. She reached for his hand and Yunho looked down as her fingers slipped between his. “I don’t know how I feel about it,” she admitted and he nodded. “You don’t have to.”
“I might be angry.”
“You’re allowed.”
“I might think it was wrong.”
“You’re allowed that too.”
Her thumb brushed across the black ring on his finger. “But I’m glad you told me.” Something in his face fractured. Not dramatically. Yunho didn’t collapse or pull her into him. His shoulders simply lowered, as though he’d been holding them rigid since the moment they entered the room. “I should’ve told you before.”
“Probably.”
A faint, broken laugh escaped him before disappearing almost immediately and Y/N squeezed his hand. “No more deciding what I can handle.” His gaze lifted to hers. “No more secrets.” Yunho nodded slowly. “No more secrets.” She stood there with him before the windows, their joined hands suspended between them, Hell glowing endlessly beyond the glass. Then Y/N stepped closer and rested her forehead against his chest. For a moment, he didn’t move. Then his arms came around her carefully. Simply holding her as though he understood that forgiveness had not been given, judgment had not been passed, and neither was required tonight as Y/N listened to the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear while his chin settled lightly against the top of her head. After a long silence, Yunho’s voice rumbled quietly through his chest. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that.” Y/N closed her eyes and her arms tightened around his waist. “I think,” she whispered, “I was always going to eventually.”
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New York glittered beneath a blanket of rain as Yellow taxis carved rivers of light through soaked streets while neon signs reflected across puddles in fractured colors. Far below, people hurried beneath umbrellas, oblivious to the ancient war quietly unfolding above their heads. High atop an abandoned cathedral overlooking Manhattan, a lone figure stood at the edge of the bell tower. Dante. The wind tugged at his black coat, carrying the scent of rain and cigarette smoke through the open arches. He hadn’t moved in nearly an hour. His eyes remained fixed on the skyline. Not seeing it. “I heard,” a familiar voice drawled, “that a certain prince killed another one of your lovers.” Dante’s expression didn’t change. He already knew who it was. Damon stepped from the shadows, dressed impeccably as always in a charcoal overcoat, dark gloves, and a smile that never quite reached his eyes.
Dante slowly turned, his gaze landing on Damon with open contempt. “I don’t trust you.”
“I know.”
“You shouldn’t even know where to find me.”
“I know that too.”
For several quiet seconds neither of them spoke. Then Damon smiled. “Relax.” Dante’s jaw clenched. “I think we can help each other.” A humorless laugh escaped Dante. “You think we’re allies?”
“No.” Damon folded his hands behind his back, strolling toward one of the broken arches as casually as though they were discussing the weather. “I think we have remarkably similar goals.” Dante scoffed as Damon looked out across Manhattan. “You want Prince Yunho to suffer. You want him to spend every waking second wondering when you’re going to take the one thing he loves.” Dante’s voice remained flat. “Go on.” Damon turned back toward him. “I want exactly the same thing.” Dante studied him. “And why would that be?” A flicker crossed Damon’s face. Not grief. But possession. “Because she was mine first.” The words hung in the damp air as Dante watched him carefully. “You still think she belongs to you?”
“I know she does.”
“No.” Dante shook his head. “You believe she does.” Damon smiled again. “It doesn’t matter what she believes.” His voice became quieter. “It only matters what she remembers.” Dante’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you proposing?” Damon stepped closer. “We force Yunho’s hand. We make him do the one thing he needs to do. We make him kill her.” The rain seemed louder for a moment. “The Binding.” Dante nodded. “She’ll come back immortal.” Damon nodded. “The law.” “If a demon preserves what Fate has harvested…” Dante finished the sentence for him. “…they carry the burden forever.” His brow furrowed. “But why would I do that? I want her dead. I want him to live without her. I fail to see how giving Yunho eternity with his wife hurts him.” Damon actually laughed. It was quiet. Almost pitying. “You’ve forgotten something.” Dante remained silent as Damon’s smile slowly widened. “When a human dies…. and wakes again as one of us…” His voice became almost gentle. “their emotions shut off.” The words settled over the cathedral like fresh snowfall and Dante’s eyes widened ever so slightly as Damon watched the realization spread. “When she opens her eyes… she won’t love him.” His smile became colder. “She won’t hate him either. She won’t grieve. She won’t miss him.” He almost whispered the last part. “She simply….. won’t care.” Dante stared at him as Damon turned back toward the rain soaked skyline.
“The Prince of Hell spent four hundred years believing he’d never find someone to love.” Damon’s lip curled. “Then he found her.” His voice hardened. “So let’s give him exactly what he wants.” Dante watched him carefully. “An eternity together.” Damon’s smile was razor thin. “An eternity beside a wife who looks at him… like he’s a stranger.” The silence that followed felt almost alive as Dante spoke. “And what do you get out of this?” Damon’s eyes drifted toward the storm clouds gathering over Manhattan and slowly, maddeningly, he smiled. “I’m going to take her from him.” The possessiveness in his voice was unmistakable. “She’s mine.” The word dripped with disdain. “And she married the wrong demon.” Dante studied him for a long moment before a slow, dangerous smile crept across his own face. “You’re fucking insane.” Damon didn’t deny it. Instead, he looked out over the city lights and spoke with quiet certainty. “No. I simply want what’s mine back.”
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Morning came quietly. There was no sunrise in Hell. No pale gold spilling through curtains or birds greeting the dawn. Instead, crimson light filtered softly through the towering windows, casting the room in warm shades of burgundy and amber as the fire in the hearth burned lower than it had the night before. Y/N woke slowly and for a few moments, she couldn’t remember why her chest felt so heavy. Then the banquet returned all at once and she let out the quietest breath before turning her head. Yunho was still asleep. That alone almost made her smile. She’d never actually watched him sleep before. Not like this. He hadn’t stirred. His silver hair had fallen across his forehead in complete disarray, several strands brushing against one closed eye. One arm rested beneath the pillow while the other remained draped securely around her waist even in sleep, as though sometime during the night he’d reached for her without ever waking. His breathing was slow. Even and peaceful. It was strange. The Prince of Hell looked… younger like this. The lines of responsibility she had grown used to seeing around his eyes had disappeared completely. His expression had softened into something almost boyish, the centuries he carried every day hidden away beneath sleep.
She couldn’t help wondering how often that happened. How often four hundred years simply… vanished as her gaze drifted lower. The scratches she’d left across his shoulders and chest had already begun fading, the marks now little more than faint pink lines against his skin. Demon healing. She remembered him laughing quietly when she’d noticed them disappearing yesterday. Benefits of being immortal. She’d rolled her eyes and accused him of cheating. A tiny smile tugged at her lips as her attention settled on his hand resting against her waist. The black ring gleamed softly in the crimson light. Horns. Feathers. Endlessly chasing one another around the band. Her own ring caught the light as she slowly lifted her hand beside his. He’d told her one of the ugliest truths he’d ever carried because he refused to become another Damon. She wasn’t sure everyone would’ve done that. Most people would’ve buried it. Protected themselves. Protected the relationship. Yunho had handed her the truth anyway and accepted that she might hate him afterward. Her fingers moved almost unconsciously, brushing a loose strand of hair away from his forehead. He didn’t wake. He merely sighed softly in his sleep and without opening his eyes, pulled her an inch closer against his chest.
Y/N laughed under her breath. “You are clingy,” she whispered and the corners of his mouth barely twitched. “Are you awake?” No answer, just the steady rhythm of his breathing. Y/N narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Yunho.” His face remained perfectly relaxed. Too perfectly. Y/N reached up and gently pinched his side and nose wrinkled. “There you are,” she murmured triumphantly. Finally, one eye cracked open just enough to look at her. “I was trying,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep, “very hard… to convince you I wasn’t awake.” Y/N let out a soft laugh. “I noticed.” His other eye slowly opened as he looked at her for a long moment, still not moving. “How long have you been staring at me?” Y/N feigned innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Hm.”
“You just happen to be very… stareable.”
A sleepy chuckle escaped him. “I don’t think that’s a word.”
“It is now.”
His smile lingered for another second before he reached up, his fingertips gently tracing the curve of her cheek and the humor softened. “You okay?” She knew what he was really asking. Not whether she’d slept but if she was still thinking about everything that had happened. Y/N looked into his eyes before giving a small nod. “I’m getting there.” Yunho searched her face for another moment, then leaned forward and pressed a slow kiss to her forehead. “We’ll get there together.” The words weren’t grand. They weren’t a vow made before kings or written into ancient law. They were quieter than that and meant just as much. His arm tightened around her waist, effortlessly pulling her flush against him until she let out a surprised laugh. “There.”
“There?”
“Much better.”
Y/N smiled, studying his face for another moment before leaning in and kissing him. It wasn’t playful. It wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t edging into anything more. It was simply soft and slow. The kind of kiss that belonged to quiet mornings when neither of them had anywhere they wanted to be except exactly where they were. Yunho answered with a hand settling against the small of her back while the other found her jaw, his thumb brushing gently as he kissed her with the same unhurried tenderness, tongues softly moving in sync. When they finally pulled apart, only an inch separated them. “I’ve decided something,” Y/N murmured.
“And what’s that?”
“I like waking up next to you.”
His smile softened. “Good. Because you’re kind of stuck with me for eternity.” She laughed and kissed him again, a little longer this time. Yunho smiled into it, his forehead resting briefly against hers before his lips found hers once more. His fingers disappeared into her hair, gently cradling the back of her head as she instinctively leaned further into him. This time neither of them seemed interested in ending it. Y/N’s hand settled against the side of his neck and the room seemed to disappear around them until there was only the warmth of the fire, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her other hand, and the familiar comfort of being wrapped in his arms. Then she shifted onto his lap, her fingers combing through his hair as his hands settled comfortably around her waist.
“My Princess?” Seonghwa’s voice came through the doors and Yunho sighed. “If we pretend we didn’t hear him?”
“He’ll come in anyway.”
“I know.”
Without waiting for an answer, the doors opened and Seonghwa stepped inside carrying a small black apothecary case trimmed with polished silver. He paused just inside the doorway, taking in the sight before him. Y/N sitting comfortably in Yunho’s lap while Yunho’s arms were around her waist. Neither of them looked particularly apologetic. “Am I interrupting again?”
“A little,” Y/N admitted with an embarrassed smile. “Considerably,” Yunho corrected.
“I suspected as much.” Seonghwa’s expression remained perfectly composed as he crossed the room. “I won’t keep you long.” He set the case carefully on the nearby table before looking toward Y/N. “I promised you I would have this delivered.” Y/N immediately realized what he was referring. “You remembered.”
“I said I would.”
Yunho looked between them. “Remembered what?” Seonghwa unlatched the silver clasps and lifted the lid. Inside were several neatly wrapped bundles of dried emerald colored leaves alongside a small parchment containing brewing instructions. “The Widow’s Fern.”
Y/N smiled. “Thank you.”
Yunho frowned. “The Widow’s Fern?”
Seonghwa glanced at him. “The herb Princess Y/N asked me about before the welcoming banquet.”
“My wife asked you about herbs?”
“Contraception,” Seonghwa corrected with effortless calm. “While you were showering.” Y/N looked back at Yunho, trying very hard not to smile. “You said you didn’t know if birth control worked with demons.” Recognition slowly spread across his face. “Oh….” He narrowed his eyes at her playfully. “My demon semon.” Seonghwa snorted and caught himself quickly and cleared his throat. “The instructions are beneath the lid. One cup of tea each week.” He looked toward Y/N. “If you need more, simply let me know.”
“I will. Thank you, Seonghwa.”
He inclined his head politely.
“My pleasure, Princess.” With that, he turned and walked toward the door. Just before stepping into the corridor, he paused. Without looking back, he said evenly, “My Prince, His Majesty insisted in allowing you both a few more days. Unfortunately, the coven in New Orleans has become… more urgent. He’s asked that you deal with it immediately.” The doors closed with a quiet click behind him and Yunho groaned as Y/N looked at him. “Coven? Witches?” Yunho nodded. “Yeah.” He shifted slightly on the bed, one arm still comfortably around her waist as she remained settled on his lap as he leaned back against the headboard, absentmindedly tracing circles against her side with his thumb. “They’re one of the oldest supernatural bloodlines. Older than most demon houses. Most answer to their own High Priestess or council long before they’d ever answer to Hell.”
“So why are you the one dealing with them?”
A quiet chuckle escaped him. “My father always sends me.”
“Why?”
For just a second, his expression softened into something almost nostalgic. “My mother. Technically…” A faint smile crossed his face. “I have a little coven blood. My mom…. because she was a witch and because she came from a powerful coven in Korea. She didn’t like it though. Most covens are… political.” He smiled faintly. “And my mother wasn’t particularly fond of being told what to do. So she worked alone.”
Y/N laughed. “I can see why her and your father got along.” That earned a genuine laugh from Yunho. “They absolutely did not.”
“No?”
“They argued constantly when I was growing up. But…. they would always make right back up afterwards. My mother had my father wrapped around her finger so tightly…..” Yunho looked at Y/N. “he makes me around you look sane.” Y/N laughed. “Are you saying you’re whipped?” He kissed her, smiling against her lips, not denying it. “A little.” The warmth in his voice lingered for only a moment before he continued. “Even though she left… blood still matters to witches. They know who my mother was.”
“And because of that…”
“They don’t hate me quite as much as they hate other demons.”
“That’s… comforting?”
“It helps.” He shrugged lightly. “When negotiations fail, I’m usually the one sent first.”
“And if negotiations don’t work?”
Yunho’s expression became just a little more serious. “Then my father sends an army.” Y/N studied him for a moment. “So this coven in New Orleans…..” Yunho answered her before she could finish. “They’re a very old and powerful one.” Y/N but her bottom lip, not wanting him to leave. Not right now. Not after last night. Even if Hongjoong was ordered to watch over her whenever Yunho was away… she didn’t want to be without him right now. “So…” She gently squeezed his hand. “When do we leave for New Orleans?” Yunho looked down at their joined fingers before meeting her eyes again. “We?” And Y/N hesitated before just telling him. “I…. I don’t want to be away from you right now.” Yunho’s hold on here tightened. He knew what she was saying. She didn’t want him away while Damon was around. “Well… if you’re coming with me…” A grin spread across his face…..
summary: she was a one night stand until he saved her life now they’re bound for eternity
warning: mentioning of past abuse, fingering
genre: dark romance, supernatural, smut
pairing: prince of hell yunho x afab human reader
word count: 13.4k
chp 7
chp 9
masterlist
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Morning settled gently over the palace. Unlike the restless glow of the city below, the royal residence seemed almost peaceful at this hour. Crimson light filtered through the towering windows, catching the polished black marble floors while servants moved quietly through the corridors outside, preparing for the evening’s celebration. Somewhere in the distance, musicians were already rehearsing, their notes drifting faintly through the enormous halls. Y/N sat cross legged near the foot of the bed, still wearing one of Yunho’s oversized shirts. Her damp hair hung loose from the bath she’d taken earlier, and the gemstone of her new ring flashed every time she absentmindedly turned her hand in the light. Across the room, Yunho stood before an open wardrobe and at least six different jackets had already been discarded across a nearby chair as Y/N rested her chin in her palm. “You’re aware you’re acting like a human man getting ready for prom.” Yunho didn’t even turn around. “I’ve worn the same suit to three coronations.”
“That’s not a sentence normal people say.”
“I know.”
“You’ve also rejected six jackets.”
“I’ve rejected four.”
Y/N snorted and pointed at the chair. “There are literally six on that chair.” Yunho finally selected another jacket, holding it against himself before studying the mirror with a level of concentration that would have made planning a military campaign seem casual as Y/N smiled to herself. “You know…” He hummed absentmindedly. “I think you’re nervous.” Yunho scoffed. “I am not.” He sighed, abandoning the jacket altogether before turning toward her. I have attended approximately two hundred royal banquets. I have survived assassination attempts at twelve of them. I have negotiated peace between noble houses that had been trying to murder each other for centuries.” Y/N tilted her head. “So why does picking a jacket suddenly seem impossible?” He stared at her for a long moment before he answered with complete sincerity. “Because this one matters.” Her teasing smile softened as he crossed the room, stopping in front of her. “This isn’t just another banquet. They’re coming to see you. They’ll judge everything. Your dress. Your manners. Your smile…..” She reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers. “They can judge all they want.” His thumb brushed over her ring as she looked up at him with a playful glint returning to her eyes. “Speaking of judgment…. other than Estrie…. who exactly should I be worried about tonight?”
Yunho’s eyebrows furrowed. “Worried?” He asked and she shrugged innocently. “You know… and other women hopelessly obsessed with my husband?” Yunho blinked then laughed under his breath. “You sound like the possessive one now.” She smiled sweetly. “And you made me this way.” That earned a genuine laugh from him. “I’m married to the Prince of Hell.” She leaned back onto her hands. “Four hundred years old. Ridiculously attractive.” Yunho grinned, leaning over her, caging her in on the bed. “So I’ve been told.” Y/N bit her bottom lip as his hand started trailing up her leg. “Powerful.” He hummed, gripping her thigh. “I suppose.” She narrowed her eyes. “You cannot convince me there weren’t dozens.” Yunho stared down at her, hand pausing at her thigh. “Depends on what you mean by obsessed and ex.” She pointed accusingly, finger poking his chest. “That is not the answer of an innocent man.” Yunho smirked, hand finally moving from her thigh and slipping under the shirt she had on, the heat of his hand hot against her under the soft underwear she had on. “I’m the son of the devil…. Innocent isn’t in my vocabulary.”
Y/N gasped dramatically, feigning shock. “I knew it.” He chuckled. “There were…” He searched for the least painful way to phrase it. “…interested parties. Though the only real ex is just Keres.” Y/N stared at him. “Keres is really your only ex?” Yunho nodded, slipping his hand finally under her panties, one finger slowly stroking at her clit and she could barely narrow her eyes at him as pleasure shot through her. “You expect me to believe you’re four hundred years old…” She moaned when he slid his finger down and added a second, thrusting them into her, curving them just slightly. “…and only had one relationship?” Yunho simply shrugged, pumping his fingers in and out of her slowly. “I didn’t do relationships. There were plenty of…” He gestured vaguely with his free hand. “…offers.” Y/N bucked up meeting his hand as he started thrusting his fingers faster and Yunho leaned down, kissing at her neck. “I am trying very hard to use words that don’t get me in trouble with my wife.” He started moving deeper now, rubbing her clit with his thumb as he let her cling to him, taking control and fucking herself with his fingers. He could tell she was close with the way she was clenching him and little splashes of wetness started spraying his hand…..
Three sharp knocks echoed through the chambers. “Go away,” Yunho called without taking his eyes off Y/N as the doors swung open anyway and Seonghwa stepped inside carrying a garment bag over one arm. His gaze landed on the two of them sprawled across the bed, Y/N clinging to the prince, one hand wrapped around one of his horns while it was very clear where Yunho’s own hand was. And what he was doing. “You two really can’t keep your hands off each other for a few minutes can you?” Seonghwa asked flatly as Yunho looked over his shoulder with complete calm as he pulled his hand away from Y/N who jumped back, clenching her thighs together. “You really should start knocking.” Seonghwa stared at them. “I did.”
“Longer.”
“I gave you ten seconds.”
Y/N buried her face in Yunho’s shoulder, flushed, edged and trying not to laugh as Seonghwa sighed the sigh of a man who had lived for centuries and somehow still found himself supervising Lucifer’s son. “For the record,” he said dryly, “the shower incident should have taught both of you to lock the doors.” He held up the garment bag. “Princess, your dress is finished.” That immediately got Y/N’s attention. “Already?” Seonghwa nodded. “The seamstresses has worked on it before you got back from Greece.“ His expression softened as he offered her a small smile. “His Majesty wanted everything to be perfect for your first welcoming banquet.” Y/N carefully slipped out from under Yunho’s embrace and crossed the room, accepting the garment bag with both hands. “Thank you.” Seonghwa accepted Y/N’s thanks with a small incline of his head, his expression settling back into the composed neutrality he seemed to wear as naturally as breathing. “You’re welcome, Princess.” His eyes shifted toward Yunho then, all traces of dry amusement disappearing beneath the quiet professionalism that made him Lucifer’s most trusted. “Your Highness… His Majesty would like to see you before the banquet.” Yunho’s easy smile faded just enough for Y/N to notice. “Now?”
“He asked that you come as soon as you’re available.” There was no elaboration beyond that. Seonghwa rarely carried questions that belonged to the King himself. Yunho studied him for another second, searching his face for some clue, but found nothing except the same calm expression Seonghwa had perfected centuries ago. “I’ll be there in a minute.” With one final nod, Seonghwa slipped from the chambers, the heavy doors closing behind him with a soft thud. The room settled into silence again, though it felt noticeably different now. Yunho remained where he was for a moment, his thoughts turning over the summons. Father doesn’t interrupt preparations unless something’s happened. The welcoming banquet was only hours away. Every noble house in Hell would be arriving. If it had been about seating arrangements, politics, or protocol, Seonghwa could have handled it himself. Which meant it almost certainly wasn’t about the banquet. Before he could think any further, the doors opened yet again without so much as a warning.
“There you are,” Wooyoung announced as he strolled into the room like he owned it, a grin already spreading across his face. Hongjoong walked in behind him with his hands tucked into the pockets of his tailored coat, looking thoroughly unsurprised by the lack of etiquette, while San followed last, the archangel offering Y/N an apologetic smile that silently acknowledged he had, once again, failed to stop his lover from barging in uninvited. Yunho stared at the pair for a long moment before one eyebrow slowly lifted. “You were supposed to stay in Greece.” Wooyoung shrugged as though that detail had simply slipped his mind. “I got bored.”
“You got bored.”
“It was too quiet.”
“You were supposed to be hiding.”
Wooyoung waved a dismissive hand. “It’s not like God was coming to Hell anytime soon.” San let out a long, patient sigh, the kind that suggested this argument had already happened at least three times on the journey back. “For the record,” he said, looking toward Yunho instead, “I told him that wasn’t a valid reason.”
“And yet,” Wooyoung replied smugly, slinging an arm around the archangel’s shoulders, “here we are.” Hongjoong snorted under his breath as despite the knot of curiosity still sitting in the back of his mind, Yunho couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped him. He shook his head once before turning back toward Y/N, his expression softening. “I’ll be back.” She smiled, lifting the garment bag slightly. “I’ll be here.” His hand brushed briefly against hers before he stepped into the corridor, the palace swallowing him almost immediately. The further he walked from his chambers, the quieter everything became. Servants hurried through the halls carrying crystal, flowers, and polished silver destined for the banquet hall while guards stationed outside the royal wing straightened the instant they saw him approaching. By the time Yunho reached the towering obsidian doors leading to Lucifer’s private chambers, the atmosphere had shifted completely. The doors already stood open and his father was waiting.
The King of Hell stood before the enormous window overlooking Hell City, the crimson glow of the city painting sharp edges across his silhouette. He didn’t acknowledge Yunho’s entrance right away. He simply continued looking out, hands folded behind his back, as though giving his son just enough time to wonder what he’d done. Something he hasn’t had to do in a good century at least. “Father?” Lucifer finally turned. His expression was unreadable. “Balthazar came to see me this morning.” Yunho leaned one shoulder casually against the stone archway, trying a smile that had gotten him out of trouble more than once over the last four hundred years. “Isn’t it still a little early for the welcoming banquet?” Lucifer didn’t even acknowledge the joke. “He informed me that his son arrived at his estate late last night.” His voice remained level, measured, almost conversational. “According to Balthazar, Dante was… angry. Distraught.” He let the words settle before continuing. “Apparently, he had taken a succubus as a lover.” Lucifer’s eyes never left Yunho’s. “This morning… he found her dead.”
Silence stretched between them as Yunho’s expression barely changed. He simply gave a small, almost indifferent shrug. “I didn’t kill her.”
“No,” Lucifer replied evenly. “You didn’t.” The words hung in the air between father and son. “But,” Lucifer continued after a beat, “I suspect you know exactly who did.” He held his son’s gaze, waiting. And for a moment neither of them spoke. The silence stretched long enough that most would have rushed to fill it with excuses or denials. Yunho didn’t. Something in his expression changed instead. The warmth that had been there moments ago with Y/N disappeared so completely it was almost unsettling. The easygoing husband who had been laughing in his chambers seemed to melt away, leaving behind the prince who had spent four centuries surviving Hell. His shoulders remained relaxed, his face almost unreadable, but there was a cold certainty in his eyes that made it unmistakably clear where half of his blood came from. “I did what you taught me.” Yunho pushed himself away from the stone archway and took a slow step forward, his voice remaining calm, almost conversational. “Dante threatened my wife. Again.” He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t sound angry. That, more than anything, reminded Lucifer of himself. “So…” Yunho gave a small shrug, as though the conclusion had been painfully obvious. “I took something of his.”
Lucifer studied him in silence. “You taught me,” Yunho continued, “that rulers who only react to attacks itself lose. You taught me that if someone insists on reaching for something that’s mine…” His jaw clenched. “…they should learn what it feels like to lose something they believed was theirs.” The King’s expression remained unreadable as his son stared at him. “I told you,” he said evenly, “I didn’t kill her.” It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the whole truth, either. And Lucifer knew his son well enough to hear the distinction. A faint, almost reluctant smile threatened the corner of his mouth before disappearing just as quickly. “You’ve become very careful with your words.”
“You taught me that, too.”
A quiet huff of amusement escaped Lucifer’s nose. “For centuries,” he murmured, almost to himself, “I wondered when you would finally start sounding like me.” Yunho didn’t smile. “I hope not.” That earned him Lucifer’s full attention. “No?”
“I watched what it cost you.” For the first time since the conversation had begun, genuine emotion flickered across Lucifer’s face. Brief. And gone almost as quickly as it appeared. His gaze drifted toward the sprawling city beyond the window before returning to his son. “I understand why you did what you did,” he said at last. “What concerns me is not the succubus. It’s Dante. He’ll smile at you tonight. He’ll drink my wine, congratulate your wife that he now probably wants to kill more than before, bow when protocol demands it…” His voice grew quieter. “…and the entire time, he’ll be looking for the right time to strike.” Yunho didn’t hesitate. “He looks at her wrong…. I’ll kill him. I don’t care anymore.” Lucifer watched his son for a long moment before giving a slow nod. “Four hundred years,” he said quietly, “and today is the first day I’ve looked at you and seen the King you’ll become.”
“I wasn’t thinking like a king.”
“No?”
“I was thinking like a husband.”
For a second, Lucifer was transported back centuries, remembering the lengths he himself had gone to for the human woman who had become his queen. A faint smile, equal parts pride and concern, crossed his face. “That,” he said softly, “is precisely why you were thinking like one.” Lucifer held his son’s gaze for a long moment, the faint smile disappearing as quickly as it had come. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter than before, stripped of the authority of a king until only a father remained. “I know you love her.” The words weren’t a question. They were an observation and Yunho didn’t hesitate. “More than anything.” The answer left his mouth so naturally that he didn’t even think about it. Only after the silence settled between them did he notice the subtle shift in his father’s expression. “That’s dangerous.”
Yunho frowned. “Loving my wife?”
“No.” Lucifer slowly turned back toward the enormous window overlooking Hell City, the crimson lights reflecting across the glass. “Admitting, even to yourself, that there is nothing you value above her.” Yunho was quiet as his father clasped his hands behind his back, staring out over the kingdom he had ruled for millennia. “Do you remember what you said Dante told you?” Yunho’s jaw tightened. “I remember.” Lucifer nodded slowly. “He understood something you hadn’t yet.” Lucifer finally turned to face his son again. “He knew there would come a day when losing her would become worse than your own death.” Yunho’s expression hardened, but he said nothing. “That is why he said he would wait. And now he doesn’t have to wait anymore.” The words landed with a weight that seemed to steal the air from the room. “You answered me without thinking.” Lucifer’s eyes never left his son’s. “‘More than anything.’” Yunho replayed his own words in his mind. He hadn’t weighed them. He hadn’t chosen them carefully. They had simply been true. “You’ve just told me…” Lucifer’s voice softened. “…that if someone took her from you…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. His gaze drifted toward the palace beyond the window. Only a little over a week ago, Y/N had been a complete stranger. The thought almost seemed ridiculous now. In the span of days, since the earthquake… since the covenant… since watching her stumble through a world she’d never asked to be a part of… she’d somehow become everything to him. Now… the thought of an eternity without her wasn’t something he could even picture.
Lucifer saw the realization settle across his son’s face and closed his eyes for the briefest moment. “I know that look.” Yunho glanced back at him. “I wore it once myself.” The room fell quiet again. And when Lucifer spoke next, there was no king in his voice. Only a husband who had buried the woman he loved. “Protect her with everything you have.”
“I will.”
“I know you will.”
Yunho remained where he was, his father’s words settling somewhere deep inside him. Outside the towering windows, Hell carried on as it always had. Markets bustled. Trains crossed the city. Somewhere below, musicians continued rehearsing for the banquet that would begin in only a few hours. “I should get back. She’ll probably be trying on her dress by now.” A faint smile tugged at Lucifer’s mouth as he watched his son turn toward the doorway. “Yunho.” His hand paused against the dark obsidian doorframe. “Hm?” The warmth gradually disappeared from Lucifer’s expression. “Y/N doesn’t know it yet…” His amber eyes remained fixed on his son. “but she already has enemies.” Silence settled heavily between them and Yunho’s expression hardened. “Eres isn’t the only noble who spent centuries imagining a different future for this kingdom.” Lucifer began pacing slowly across the room, each measured step echoing softly against the polished black stone. “Some wanted their daughters to marry you. Others wanted their sons. There are houses who have spent generations building alliances around assumptions that no longer exist. And now those assumptions have a face.” Lucifer stopped beside the window overlooking Hell City. “They will smile.” His voice remained calm. “They will congratulate her.” He looked back over one shoulder. “They will bow. And every one of them will spend the evening deciding whether your wife is worthy of standing beside the future King of Hell. Or if they should kill her.”
Yunho didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Lucifer could practically hear the thoughts moving behind his son’s eyes. “They won’t simply judge her,” Lucifer continued quietly. “They’ll measure her. They’ll test her. Some subtly.” His expression darkened. “Some won’t be subtle at all.” Yunho took a slow step forward. “If anyone does anything to her…..” Lucifer raised a hand, stopping him before the sentence could finish. “I know exactly what you’ll do.” His voice wasn’t critical. If anything… it carried the weary understanding of someone who’d once stood exactly where Yunho stood now. “And that is precisely why I’m telling you this before it happens.” Yunho held his father’s gaze. “What are you asking me to do?” Lucifer was silent for a long moment before answering. “I’m asking you to remember…” His eyes drifted briefly toward the city beyond the glass. “that tonight isn’t about proving you’re the strongest man in the room.” His gaze returned to his son. “It’s about making sure she never feels alone in it.” Yunho looked away, imagining Y/N laughing in their chambers only minutes earlier, teasing him over jackets, completely unaware that by nightfall she’d be standing before centuries of Hell’s aristocracy. “She won’t.”
Lucifer searched his son’s face. “No,” he agreed quietly. “I don’t believe she will.”
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An hour before the welcoming banquet, the chambers had transformed into controlled chaos. Servants hurried through the suite carrying velvet boxes filled with jewelry, polished shoes, trays of cosmetics, and steaming cups of tea that somehow always seemed destined for someone else. Somewhere behind the closed bathroom door, the steady rush of water echoed through the chambers as Yunho took a shower. “Your Highness, if you’ll lift your arm just a little.” Y/N did as she was asked, allowing two seamstresses to carefully settle the final layer of the gown over her shoulders. The dress was breathtaking. Deep wine colored velvet hugged her figure before spilling into a dramatic train embroidered with dark roses, vines, and gold detailing that seemed almost alive beneath the light. Delicate chains draped elegantly across the bodice and waist, catching flashes of crimson from the chandeliers overhead whenever she moved. The illusion sleeves were embroidered with tiny blossoms and metallic thread that climbed gracefully over her arms before disappearing across the open back.
When the attendants stepped away, even they paused for a moment. “Princess,” one whispered almost reverently. “You look extraordinary.” Y/N glanced toward the enormous mirror. She almost didn’t recognize herself. “I look…” Her voice trailed off. “expensive.” Several of the seamstresses laughed softly. “That too,” one admitted as a knock sounded at the sitting room door before Seonghwa stepped inside carrying another small velvet box. He stopped and for perhaps the first time since Y/N had met him….. he actually looked momentarily speechless. “His Majesty chose well.” Y/N smiled sheepishly. “I keep feeling like I’m about to trip over half of it.” One of the older seamstresses smiled reassuringly. “You won’t. We’ve enchanted the train. It’ll follow your movement.”
“Seriously?”
The woman nodded proudly and then herself and the other attendants quietly excused themselves to retrieve the remaining jewelry, leaving Seonghwa and Y/N alone. The sound of the shower continued beyond the bathroom door as Y/N glanced toward it. “Can I ask you something?” Seonghwa looked up from the velvet box. “Of course.” She hesitated for only a second. “It’s… kind of awkward.”
“I’ve known Lucifer for over six hundred years.” His expression remained perfectly calm. “I assure you, my threshold for awkward conversations is remarkably high.” Despite herself, Y/N laughed. “Fair enough.” She lowered her voice instinctively, glancing once more toward the bathroom. “So…” She rubbed the back of her neck. “When Yunho and I were in Greece… I asked him whether birth control even works with demons. He had no idea.” Seonghwa tried not to look amused. “He wouldn’t.” She tilted her head. “He wouldn’t?” Seonghwa shook his head once. “Prince Yunho has never had reason to concern himself with contraception before.” She cleared her throat. “Right. So… is there… something?” A tiny flicker of understanding crossed Seonghwa’s face. “There is.” Y/N visibly relaxed. “Really?” He nodded. “Several remedies, actually.” He folded his hands neatly behind his back. “The most common is an herb cultivated in the southern territories. It has an unfortunate name.” Y/N smiled. “How unfortunate?”
“Widow’s Fern. But it is considerably less alarming than the name suggests.” A faint hint of amusement touched the corner of his mouth. “The leaves are dried and steeped into a tea. One full glass each week.” He spoke with the matter of fact certainty of someone reciting well established knowledge. “When taken consistently, it is considered highly reliable.” Y/N let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “So… most demons use that?”
“Those who wish to avoid pregnancy, yes.” He inclined his head politely. “It has been used for centuries.”
“Any side effects?”
“Occasionally it tastes dreadful.”
She laughed. “I can live with that.”
“The palace apothecary keeps a supply. If you’d like, I can have some delivered discreetly to your chambers.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“It will be done.” Another comfortable silence settled between them before Seonghwa glanced toward the closed bathroom door. “I suspect His Highness will eventually ask why tea has begun appearing every week.” Y/N grinned. “I’ll tell him after he admits I’m right.” Seonghwa arched a brow, his lip twitching. “About?” Y/N looked too pleased with herself now. “That he doesn’t actually know everything.” The ghost of a smile crossed Seonghwa’s face. “I wouldn’t wait too long.” She laughed. “That stubborn?” Seonghwa looked toward the bathroom with quiet familiarity. “I helped raise him. I assure you…… he inherited it honestly.” Almost as if on cue, the shower shut off and Y/N and Seonghwa exchanged an amused look. “I believe,” Seonghwa said smoothly, “my cue to disappear has arrived.” He offered her a respectful bow. “You truly look every bit the Princess of Hell.” With that, he slipped quietly from the chambers and for a few quiet seconds, the only sounds were the distant bustle of servants beyond the corridor and the faint drip of water still falling somewhere inside the marble bathroom alongside the sound of Yunho’s feet shuffling. Y/N glanced down at the ring on her finger, absentmindedly turning the blue gemstone beneath the light before smoothing one hand over the rich velvet of her gown.
She’d never worn anything like it. The circlet Lucifer had commissioned rested lightly against her hair, the black crystals catching the light every time she moved. She still wasn’t entirely convinced the woman in the mirror was her as the bathroom door opened and steam rolled lazily into the room before Yunho stepped out, a black towel secured low around his waist, another draped over one shoulder as he rubbed absentmindedly at his damp hair. “I was thinking…” he began, not yet looking up. “After tonight maybe we could sneak out onto one of the upper balco…” His voice stopped and he froze completely. The towel slipped from his shoulder and landed soundlessly on the marble floor as Y/N looked up from the mirror. “What?” He hadn’t moved. Not even a little. His hand still rested in his damp hair, frozen exactly where it had been. His brown eyes were locked on her and the room suddenly felt very, very quiet as she smiled, unable to help herself. “Is something wrong?”
Yunho’s gaze traveled over her slowly. From the circlet nestled in her hair…. to the delicate embroidery climbing her shoulders… the deep crimson velvet that seemed to glow against her skin…… the elegant chains catching the light with every breath she took…. before finally returning to her face. “No.” The word came out almost as a whisper before he laughed quietly at himself. “I genuinely thought nothing would ever compare to seeing you walk toward me the day we got married.” His eyes softened. “I was wrong.” Y/N watched him carefully as he crossed the room, never once taking his eyes off her. There wasn’t hunger in his expression. There wasn’t even surprise anymore. Only something that looked remarkably close to awe as he stopped directly in front of her. “So this…” she teased gently, “…is acceptable?” Yunho let out one disbelieving huff of laughter. “Acceptable?” His hands settled lightly against her waist, careful not to wrinkle the velvet. “You look like every painter who’s ever existed would’ve given up after seeing you.” She laughed, ducking her head. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
“I don’t care.”
“It was dramatic.”
“It was accurate.” He studied her again, his smile growing almost helpless. “I’ve seen queens.” His voice had grown even softer now. “Empresses. Noblewomen from kingdoms that don’t even exist anymore.” His thumb brushed lightly against the fabric resting at her waist. “I’ve watched people spend fortunes trying to look unforgettable.” His eyes met hers. “And somehow…” A quiet smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “my wife walks into the room and makes four hundred years of memories feel completely inadequate.” Y/N felt her heart squeeze painfully in her chest. “You keep saying things like that…” She reached up, smoothing a damp strand of silver hair away from his forehead. “and I’m going to ruin you before the banquet even starts.” Yunho grinned. “I suppose that would upset the guests.”
“It absolutely would.”
For another long moment he simply looked at her. Then, almost absentmindedly, he reached for her left hand. The sapphire gemstone of her ring shimmered beneath the crimson light as he turned it gently between his fingers. His own matching band catching the light beside it. “Perfect,” he murmured and Y/N tilted her head. “The rings?” He looked back at her. “No.” A warm smile spread across his face again. “You.” And looking at her, Yunho wondered how he could of ever wanted to spend eternity alone before he met her…..
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Pandemonium never really slept. Even in the quiet hours before dawn, the palace breathed with movement. Servants crossed endless obsidian corridors carrying ledgers and silver trays, guards rotated shifts beneath towering archways, and somewhere deep within the city’s sprawling streets, bells announced the opening of the morning markets. Yunho moved through it all almost unnoticed. A fitted black shirt clung comfortably beneath the charcoal jacket he was buttoning as he walked, his silver hair still slightly damp from an early shower. One hand adjusted the leather holster secured beneath the jacket while the other checked the small infernal watch resting around his wrist. North America. Los Angeles. Another contracted soul. Another ordinary morning. He rounded the final corner toward the enormous palace gates when a familiar voice echoed down the corridor. “Leaving already?”
Yunho stopped. “Father.” Lucifer stood leaning casually against one of the massive stone columns bordering the hallway, dressed as though he were about to attend a royal council instead of intercepting his son before breakfast. One hand lazily swirled a crystal glass filled with dark wine despite the early hour, the corners of his mouth already threatening a smile. “I was wondering if I’d catch you.”
“You have.”
“I noticed.”
Yunho folded his arms. “What did I do?”
Lucifer looked almost offended. “Must you have done something?”
“You only come looking for me before work when I’ve either annoyed you…” Yunho counted silently on his fingers. “or someone else.” Lucifer considered that. “Fair.” A reluctant smile tugged at Yunho’s mouth. “What is it?” Lucifer pushed himself away from the column. “Minor adjustment.” He produced a folded parchment from inside his coat before handing it across. “The original collection in Pasadena has been reassigned.” Yunho unfolded it. Instead of Pasadena… North Hollywood. His brow lifted slightly. “I wasn’t aware Fate had changed.”
“It didn’t.” Lucifer took another sip of wine. “The mortal suffered a cardiac arrest approximately thirty seven minutes ago.” Yunho scanned the page. Female. Twenty seven. North Hollywood. Time of collection: 12:17 pm. “No family present?” Lucifer shrugged. “A cheating husband.” Yunho folded the parchment again and slipped it inside his jacket. “I’ll take care of it.” Silence settled comfortably between them as Lucifer watched his son begin adjusting the cuffs of his jacket again. “Eres visited yesterday.” Yunho closed his eyes. “Did he.” Lucifer’s amusement became increasingly difficult to hide. “He did. He mentioned the proposal again.” A long sigh escaped Yunho. “Of course he did.” Lucifer stopped hiding his amusement fully now. “He remains remarkably persistent.”
“I remain remarkably uninterested.”
Lucifer chuckled. “He insists Estrie would make an exceptional princess.” Yunho let out a short, humorless laugh. “I’m sure she would.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“I’ve watched her slit a servant’s throat because he brought her the wrong wine.” Yunho shook his head. “I told you years ago.” His voice carried the same certainty it always did whenever the subject arose. “I’m not getting married.” Lucifer studied him. “Not ever?”
“No.”
“Eternity is a very long time.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“You’ve never considered…”
“No.”
Lucifer smiled faintly. “I hadn’t finished.”
“I know where the sentence was going.”
“You usually do.”
Yunho tucked both hands into his pockets. “I’ve seen what happens.” His gaze drifted toward the enormous windows overlooking Hell City. “Humans die. Demons are sent to purgatory. Everyone always dies. We don’t.” His expression remained calm, but there was something practiced beneath it. Something he’d repeated to himself for centuries. “I watched you lose Mother.” Lucifer’s smile disappeared. “I watched you spend decades pretending you were fine afterward. I watched you stand at her grave every year. I’m not doing that.” Lucifer didn’t interrupt. “I’m not going to fall in love with someone who’s guaranteed to leave.” Yunho looked back at his father. “And I’m certainly not marrying someone because politics says I should.” Lucifer regarded him for a long moment. “So that’s your final answer.” Yunho smiled crookedly. “For eternity.” Lucifer finished the last of his wine before handing the empty glass to a passing servant without looking. “I won’t force you. I simply hope…” His voice softened. “that one day you find someone who makes you regret this conversation.” Yunho smiled with complete confidence. “I won’t.”
Black smoke swallowed Yunho whole and the polished obsidian floors vanished beneath him as infernal magic folded space itself, the familiar pull lasting only a second before the sensation released him into the elevator. The ride up lasted no longer than a few minutes before the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open. Warm California sunlight spilled in. His Los Angeles penthouse occupied the entire top floor of a sleek glass tower overlooking the city, every window stretching from floor to ceiling. From here, the Pacific glowed amber beneath the sinking sun, traffic crawled along the distant freeways like rivers of red and white light, and helicopters traced lazy circles across the skyline. To anyone who might have managed to enter the apartment, it looked exactly like the home of an obscenely wealthy young businessman. Minimalist furniture. Modern artwork. Expensive whiskey. Not a single indication its owner happened to be the Crown Prince of Hell.
Yunho loosened the collar of his jacket as he crossed the living room, dropping a set of infernal keys into a crystal bowl by the entrance out of habit more than necessity. He rarely spent more than a couple days here at a time, but it was useful. Earth required appearances. His phone, resting on the kitchen island where he’d left it the last time, vibrated the moment he picked it up. The screen illuminated with a single notification.
SOUL COLLECTION
STATUS: ACTIVE
He unlocked it and a map of Los Angeles unfolded across the display, glowing with faint crimson lines only Hell’s collectors could see. Thousands of tiny lights flickered throughout the city, each one representing a contracted soul whose thread had yet to be cut. Most remained dim but one suddenly ignited and the map narrowed automatically. NORTH HOLLYWOOD Yunho’s expression remained neutral as the streets enlarged. Victory Boulevard. Lankershim Boulevard. Closer. The location finalized and a small black pin settled over a familiar intersection. For the first time since arriving on Earth… Yunho frowned. “Really?” He zoomed in. There was no mistake. The collection wasn’t at a hospital. Nor an apartment. Nor a traffic accident. It was a nightclub. He recognized the building immediately. An upscale club tucked between renovated warehouses, popular with actors, musicians, influencers, and anyone with enough money to convince themselves they belonged there. Yunho had been there before. Not often but enough. It made collections easier sometimes. Crowded places hid supernatural events remarkably well.
His thumb tapped the notification and additional details expanded beneath the map before he slipped the phone into his pocket and glanced toward the western horizon. The sun had begun dipping behind the Pacific, washing the city in molten gold. Plenty of time. He walked toward the bedroom, exchanging his charcoal jacket for a black leather one more suited to an evening in Los Angeles. A pair of dark sunglasses disappeared into his pocket. Outside, the first neon signs of the evening had already begun flickering to life. The line outside the club stretched halfway down the block. Luxury cars idled at the curb while valet attendants hurried between them, their white gloves flashing beneath the glow of the marquee. Music pulsed faintly through the walls, the steady bass vibrating beneath the sidewalk long before anyone reached the front doors as Yunho adjusted the cuff of his leather jacket and approached the entrance. The bouncer looked up and for a brief second, their eyes met. A lower class demon. He bowed his head lightly at Yunho. “Evening, your highness.” The velvet rope lifted and Yunho slipped inside. Heat met him first. Then sound. The club was alive. Golden lights swept across the packed dance floor while violet lasers cut through drifting clouds of theatrical smoke. Crystal liquor bottles glittered behind a horseshoe shaped bar. Bartenders worked with practiced efficiency, shaking cocktails almost as quickly as patrons ordered them. Above it all, a DJ overlooked the crowd from an elevated booth, seamlessly blending one song into the next. It was loud. Chaotic. And human.
Yunho had always found places like this strangely comforting. Humans laughed louder when they forgot tomorrow existed. He walked slowly through the crowd, not searching with his eyes. Searching wasn’t necessary. Collectors felt souls nearing their appointed end. A faint warmth stirred somewhere deep beneath his ribs and he closed his eyes for only a moment. There. Second floor. VIP lounge. The sensation pulled gently, like an invisible thread. He climbed the staircase without hurry, weaving past couples and groups balancing expensive drinks. By the time he reached the upper level, the feeling had become unmistakable. Near the back corner. He spotted her immediately. Dark hair gathered loosely over one shoulder. An emerald dress. Wedding ring still resting on her finger. She sat alone in one of the velvet booths, untouched martini in front of her. Her mascara had begun to run. Across the room, separated only by polished glass, a man wrapped an arm around a much younger blonde woman while laughing at something she’d whispered into his ear. The husband. Yunho recognized him from the file. He hadn’t even bothered to hide.
The woman watched him for another few silent seconds before lowering her gaze into the untouched drink. Her shoulders rose with one shaky breath. Then another. Yunho remained where he was. He never interrupted. That wasn’t his place. Collectors observed. They waited. His eyes drifted briefly to the infernal watch around his wrist. 12:08 am. He leaned quietly against one of the columns overlooking the lounge, blending into the shadows with practiced ease. Around him, the music continued. People laughed. Glasses clinked. Someone celebrated a birthday only a few tables away. Life, oblivious as always, carried on. Then… the warmth beneath his ribs flickered. Not from the woman. From somewhere else. Faint. Different. It wasn’t the unmistakable pull of a soul nearing death. It was… something unfamiliar. Ancient. Powerful enough that even Yunho instinctively lifted his head. But the sensation disappeared as quickly as it had come, swallowed by the music and the sea of human souls surrounding him. He turned back towards the woman and she lifted her head, looking directly at him. No confusion. No fear. Just… recognition. A weary, heartbreaking kind of recognition.
The music around them continued to roar, but it seemed impossibly distant now. “You…” she whispered as Yunho stopped a few feet from the booth. “Yes.” Her eyes slowly filled with tears. “It… it’s time.” He gave a single nod. “It is.” A shaky laugh escaped her as she looked down at the wedding ring still resting on her finger. “I was seventeen.” Yunho didn’t interrupt her. “I thought…” She swallowed hard. “I thought he’d love me forever.” Across the lounge, her husband threw his head back laughing at something the other woman that wasn’t his wife had said. “I was so stupid.”
“You were seventeen,” Yunho replied quietly and she looked back at him. “I signed anyway.”
“You did.”
“I thought…” Another small, bitter laugh. “No one ever thinks they’re actually going to have to pay.” Silence settled between them as she drew one slow breath. “Does it hurt?”
“No.”
She searched his face, as if looking for a lie but she didn’t find one. “My aunt used to tell me the devil was handsome.” The corner of Yunho’s mouth twitched. “I’ve heard that before.” Despite everything… she smiled. “So…” Her voice was barely audible now. “I guess this is goodbye.” Yunho glanced briefly toward the dance floor where her body remained slumped quietly against the velvet booth, hidden from immediate notice by the dim lights and high backed seating. The thread had already been cut. There was nothing left tying her here as he extended his hand. She looked at it for only a second before placing hers in his. Warm and weightless. The moment their fingers touched, the nightclub seemed to fall away. For just an instant, everything became still. Then the infernal markings along Yunho’s wrist glowed faintly beneath his sleeve. The collection was complete. The woman’s soul stood beside him now, looking one last time toward the man she’d sacrificed everything for. “He never loved me, did he?” Yunho followed her gaze. The husband hadn’t even noticed she’d died. “No.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “I think…” She let out a long, tired breath. “I knew that for a long time.” Yunho didn’t offer false comfort. He’d learned centuries ago that honesty was often kinder. She nodded once. “I’m ready.” He inclined his head and infernal fire shimmered briefly around them before swallowing the woman completely and Yunho stood alone once more.
He slipped both hands into the pockets of his jacket, already turning toward the exit. Then… movement caught his eye. Not supernatural. Entirely human. Behind the sprawling marble bar on the lower level, two bartenders were trying, and failing, to keep straight faces. One of them was laughing so hard she had to brace herself against the counter while attempting to shake a cocktail while beside her, a red head was pointing toward an embarrassed customer who had apparently challenged the staff to let them choose his drink. “You said you trusted the bartender!” The red head shouted over the music. “I didn’t know she’d enjoy ruining my life!” The man cried out. “Oh, you’ll enjoy it,” the other woman shot back, grinning as she slid the brilliantly colored cocktail across the bar. “You just won’t enjoy the first sip.” The customer took a dramatic drink and his face immediately twisted in horror making both women burst into laughter. Yunho found himself… watching. For reasons he couldn’t explain. The woman next to the red head wasn’t the loudest person in the room. She wasn’t wearing the most expensive clothes either. A simple tank top and shorts. She wasn’t demanding attention. And yet…… his eyes stayed on her as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear while reaching for another glass, still smiling as the red head nudged her shoulder and the two exchanged another joke that disappeared beneath the music. Completely unaware someone was observing them.
Yunho glanced toward the entrance. He could leave. The assignment was finished. Nothing required him to stay another minute. A faint smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “I suppose…” He adjusted the cuff of his jacket. “one drink won’t delay eternity.” With unhurried steps, the Crown Prince of Hell left the VIP lounge and made his way toward the bar, weaving effortlessly through the sea of dancers. He had every intention of ordering a drink. Nothing more. After all… he’d never been particularly interested in staying anywhere longer than necessary. He certainly had no reason to believe that the laughing bartender pouring cocktails below was about to become the one person capable of making him break every promise he’d made to himself for the last few centuries. The closer Yunho came, the louder the music became. The polished marble bar curved through the center of the club like its own stage, nearly every stool occupied while bartenders moved with effortless choreography behind it. Glasses clinked. Bottles spun through practiced hands. Someone a few seats away erupted into cheers after winning some kind of drinking bet.
He slipped into one of the empty stools near the end of the counter. Not close enough to demand immediate attention. But close enough to watch. The woman hadn’t noticed him yet. She was busy balancing three cocktail shakers between herself and the red head while laughing over something one of the regulars had said. “You made that way too strong,” Tiffany accused, stealing a sip from one of the drinks before immediately coughing and Y/N grinned without looking up. “He asked for a surprise.”
“He’s going to surprise himself right onto the floor.”
“He’ll tip better.”
“Or he’ll throw up.”
“Still counts as enthusiasm.”
Tiffany snorted. “You have issues.” Y/N shrugged, smirking. “So I’ve been told.” Yunho found himself smiling. It was… easy. Nothing about her looked rehearsed. Most bartenders in Los Angeles learned to perform for tips. Every smile calculated. Every laugh measured. She wasn’t performing. She was simply enjoying herself as she bumped Tiffany’s shoulder with her own while reaching for another bottle, nearly knocking a stack of clean glasses over. “Careful,” Tiffany laughed and Y/N laughed. “I caught them.” That laugh. There it was. The same bright, completely unrestrained laugh that had caught his attention upstairs. It carried surprisingly well through the music. Almost impossible not to hear. Almost impossible not to look toward. Apparently… he wasn’t the only one looking. Tiffany had been reaching for another bottle when her eyes flicked across the bar. Then, without moving anything but her lips, leaned toward Y/N. “Okay…..” Y/N continued pouring. “What?” Tiffany grinned. “Tall. Hot and blonde.” Y/N looked sideways. “What about him?” Tiffany’s grin spread slowly. “He’s been staring at you for, like…” She pretended to check an invisible watch. “three solid minutes.” Y/N rolled her eyes. “How do you know that?”
“Because,” Tiffany whispered, barely containing a smile, “I’m looking at him.” Y/N sighed before setting the shaker onto the counter. “If this is another one of your attempts to get me laid…”
“I didn’t say anything about getting laid.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I absolutely was.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Y/N finally gave in. “Fine.” She brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear before casually lifting her head. Her eyes swept across the bar. Past two businessmen. Past a couple arguing over tequila. Past another bartender delivering drinks. Then… she found him and for the briefest moment…. Everything else blurred. He was exactly as Tiffany had described. Tall. Broad shoulders beneath a black leather jacket. Silver blonde hair that looked almost white beneath the lights. The kind of face that belonged on a magazine cover rather than sitting alone at a nightclub bar. He wasn’t trying to get her attention. He wasn’t smirking. Wasn’t winking. Wasn’t doing anything men in clubs usually did. He was simply looking at her. Calmly and curiously. As though he’d been quietly observing the room and happened to settle on her. The moment their eyes met… one corner of his mouth lifted into the smallest, almost imperceptible smile. “See?” Tiffany nudged her. Y/N blinked, tearing her gaze away just long enough to grab the nearest glass. “Shut up.” Y/N tried very hard to sound unaffected. “He’s definitely tall.” Tiffany laughed so hard she nearly dropped the bottle she was holding. “I said hot first.” Y/N reached for a cocktail napkin, pretending to be far more interested in wiping the counter than the impossibly attractive stranger waiting several seats away. “I’ll ask what he’s drinking.” Tiffany leaned closer with a grin. “That’s my girl.”
Y/N took one steadying breath. It’s just a customer. An absurdly attractive customer. She grabbed a cocktail napkin and forced herself to walk the few steps down the bar with the same confidence she approached everyone else. Tiffany watched her go with a grin that practically screamed good luck. Y/N stopped in front of him. Up close… was somehow even more unfairly handsome. The amber lights above the bar caught the silver in his hair, giving it an almost ethereal glow, while his dark leather jacket fit broad shoulders that looked like they’d been sculpted rather than born. There wasn’t a wrinkle in his clothes, not a trace of intoxication in his eyes, and unlike nearly every man she’d served tonight… wasn’t looking at her chest. He was looking at her. Actually looking at her with an expression that somehow made her feel like she was the only person in the room. She smiled. “What can I get you?” Yunho returned the smile, small but genuine. “I’ll have an old fashioned.” Y/N nodded. “Classic.”
“I tend to be.”
The corner of her mouth lifted. “I’ll be the judge of that.” She turned toward the shelves behind her, reaching automatically for the bourbon as Yunho rested one forearm against the polished bar and watched. Not because she was making an old fashioned. He’d had hundreds. Because she made it… differently. There was no rushing. Every movement flowed naturally into the next. She stirred the drink instead of shaking it, her bracelets giving a soft metallic clink against the mixing glass before she lifted the orange peel between her fingers and expressed the oils over the surface with practiced precision. No unnecessary flair. Just confidence. “You’ve done this a lot,” Yunho observed and she didn’t look up. “Something like that.” She strained the drink over a large cube of crystal clear ice before setting the heavy glass onto a fresh cocktail napkin. “There.” She slid it toward him. “One old fashioned.”
Yunho wrapped long fingers around the glass and took one sip. Then another. “That’s excellent.” Y/N folded her arms against the bar. “I know.” He looked up and she wasn’t joking. Not really. There was a quiet confidence behind the answer that made him laugh softly. “I like honesty.”
“I figured.”
“What gave me away?”
“You ordered an old fashioned.”
He tilted his head. “And?”
“Men who order old fashioneds are either eighty…” She held up one finger. “trying very hard to seem sophisticated… or they actually know what they’re drinking.” She looked him up and down briefly. “I’m guessing you’re the third one.” Yunho stared at her, smirk tugging at his mouth. “There wasn’t a third option.”
“There is now.”
“And what is it?”
She smiled. “I’ll let you know after your second drink.” Yunho chuckled. “I see.”
“You’ll have to earn your classification.”
“I wasn’t aware I was being evaluated.”
“Everyone’s being evaluated.”
“Should I be nervous?”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“Whether you were planning on asking me for something ridiculous.”
His brow lifted. “Like?”
“Can you make it stronger?”
“I wasn’t.”
“Can I get it for free?”
“I certainly wasn’t.”
“Smile more.”
A faint crease appeared between Yunho’s brows. “People actually say that?” She stared at him. “You’d be amazed.” He looked genuinely disappointed. “That seems… rude.” Y/N blinked. She’d expected arrogance. Cockiness. Some rehearsed pickup line. Not…. that. “It is,” she admitted as he set the glass down. “I have to admit…” He looked around the packed nightclub before returning his attention to her. “this may be the first time I’ve come somewhere for a drink and found the bartender more entertaining than the customers.” She raised an eyebrow. “Careful.”
“Why?”
“You’ve only had one sip.”
“And?”
“You might be blaming the alcohol for your flirting.”
His eyes warmed with amusement. “What makes you think I’m flirting?” She leaned one elbow onto the polished bar. “What makes you think you’re not?” For the first time in a very long time… Yunho found himself momentarily without an answer. Not because she had embarrassed him. Because she’d surprised him. A slow smile spread across his face. “Fair enough.” Yunho took another sip of his drink as another customer reached the bar and Y/N excused herself with an apologetic smile. “One second.” Yunho nodded. “I’ll survive.” He watched as she seamlessly slipped back into work mode. Someone wanted tequila recommendations. Another complained about a drink being too sweet. Someone farther down accidentally knocked over an entire beer. Not once did she lose her patience though. She joked with each person differently. Listened more than she spoke. Remembered regulars’ names. Even the people who clearly wanted her attention left smiling. Interesting. Most humans exhausted him by now. She… didn’t. She returned a minute later, setting fresh cocktail napkins back into place. “Sorry.”
“I wasn’t keeping score.”
“I appreciate that.” She leaned against the counter. “So…. you don’t seem like someone who comes to clubs.” He glanced around. “I don’t?” She shook her head. “No.” Yunho leaned a little closer across the counter as well, voice dropping a little. “What do I seem like then?” She studied him openly now. “You seem…” She searched for the right word. “quiet. But not shy. You observe people. You probably know more about everyone in this room than they know about themselves.” One of Yunho’s eyebrows rose. “That’s oddly specific.” She shrugged. “I watch people for a living. Bartenders become accidental therapists.” He almost laughed. “And you?” she asked. “What about me?”
“What do you do?”
Yunho’s fingers paused around his glass. It was an innocent question. Ordinary. One humans asked each other every day without considering how difficult the truth might be. He could hardly tell her he collected contracted souls on behalf of his father, the Devil, before returning through a hidden to a kingdom beneath the mortal world. Somehow, he suspected that would kill the effortless rhythm they’d fallen into. “Investments,” he answered after only the slightest hesitation. Y/N stared at him as Yunho lifted the glass to his mouth. “What?”
“Investments?”
“Yes.”
“That might be the vaguest answer anyone has ever given me.”
“It’s still an answer.”
“Barely.” She folded her arms across the bar, studying him with renewed suspicion. “What kind of investments?”
“Several kinds.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re terrible at lying.” Yunho nearly choked on his drink. He recovered quickly, lowering the glass with considerably more care than necessary as she watched him with a triumphant little smile. “I’m not lying.”
“You hesitated.”
“I was thinking.”
“You looked at your drink before answering.”
“I happen to like my drink.”
“And now you’re deflecting.”
“I’m impressed you noticed.”
“I told you.” She leaned closer, dropping her voice conspiratorially despite the music pounding around them. “Bartenders become accidental therapists. We can smell dishonesty.” Yunho couldn’t help laughing. He’d negotiated treaties with demons who could smell fear, lied to kings while standing over the bodies of their advisors, and once convinced an entire monastery that the creature haunting its catacombs was merely an aggressive draft. Yet this human woman had dismantled his carefully selected occupation within thirty seconds. “Fine,” he conceded. “I manage private assets.” He smiled against the rim of his glass. “I travel. I negotiate contracts. I handle acquisitions for my family.” That, at least, was mostly true. The contracts simply happened to be signed in blood, and the acquisitions tended to involve immortal souls. “My father owns several businesses.” Y/N tilted her head. “Family money.”
“You could say that.”
“I knew it.”
“You knew what?”
“That you were rich.”
Yunho glanced down at himself. “Was it the jacket?” Her gaze moved shamelessly over him now, from the silver watch at his wrist to the tailored black shirt beneath his leather jacket. “It was everything.” She stared at him for another long moment before picking up a clean glass and polishing it with a towel. “You know what I think?”
“I suspect you’re going to tell me.”
“I think you’re either ridiculously wealthy…” She held up one finger. “…involved in organized crime…” A second finger joined the first. “…or you made your entire life up five minutes ago.” Yunho pretended to think about it. “Couldn’t I be all three?” Her hand stopped moving against the glass. Then she laughed, bright and unrestrained, and something unfamiliar tugged inside his chest. It wasn’t the pull of a contracted soul. It wasn’t infernal instinct or recognition of power. It was lighter. Almost pleasant. Yunho had spent centuries becoming very good at reading people. Their motives. Their fears. The hidden meanings behind carefully chosen words. Y/N didn’t seem to hide much at all. Her amusement reached her eyes. Her interest showed every time she leaned closer. Even her suspicion carried no real fear, only curiosity. “You’re strange,” she decided.
“I’ve been called worse.”
A customer several feet away raised an empty glass and Y/N held up one finger to acknowledge him. “I have to pretend to work again.” She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop smiling as she moved down the bar, and Yunho found his attention following her again. He watched her take three orders at once, correct Tiffany before she accidentally poured gin instead of vodka, and calmly cut off an already intoxicated man who protested that he was perfectly capable of handling another shot while visibly swaying on his stool. Y/N didn’t embarrass him. She simply set a glass of water in front of him, told him his future self would thank her, and moved on before he could argue. “You’re staring again.” Yunho looked toward Tiffany, who had appeared directly in front of him holding an empty cocktail shaker. “I’m observing.”
“That’s a creepy word for staring.”
“I’ve been told she’s evaluating everyone.”
Tiffany grinned. “She is.”
“Then I think it’s fair.”
“Oh, she’s definitely evaluating you.” Tiffany leaned one elbow onto the counter, lowering her voice. “So far, you’re doing surprisingly well.”
“Surprisingly?”
“You look like trouble.”
“I can’t do much about that.”
“That sounded incredibly arrogant.”
“It wasn’t intended to.”
“It definitely was.” She glanced toward Y/N, who was arguing playfully with a regular about whether pineapple belonged in whiskey, before turning back to Yunho. “She likes you.” Yunho’s gaze drifted toward Y/N again. “Does she?” Tiffany followed his stare and smiled knowingly. “Definitely.” Something in Yunho’s expression sharpened with interest. “How long have you known her?”
“Long enough to know she’s going to murder me if she realizes I’m talking about her.” Tiffany straightened just as Y/N turned around, immediately looking between them. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” Tiffany answered far too quickly and Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You’re talking about me.”
“I was asking whether he wanted another drink.”
“No, you weren’t.”
Yunho lifted his nearly empty glass. “I could have another.” Tiffany pointed triumphantly toward him. “See?” Y/N looked unconvinced but reached for his glass anyway. “Another old fashioned?” Yunho watched her fingers curl around the heavy crystal. “Surprise me.” Her eyebrows rose. “That’s dangerous.”
“I’m willing to take the risk.”
“That’s what the last guy said.”
“The one whose face turned inside out?”
“The very same.”
“I trust you.”
The words slipped out easily. Too easily. And something changed in her expression, only for a moment, before she recovered with a small smile and lifted the glass from the counter. “Your funeral.” Yunho almost laughed at the irony. “I’ve survived worse.” Y/N studied him again as though she couldn’t decide whether every strange thing he said was a joke. “I’m beginning to believe that.” She turned toward the shelves and began selecting bottles without explaining what she was making. Bourbon first. Then something dark and herbal. A little orange bitters. She added smoke beneath an inverted glass, trapping it there until the crystal clouded before pouring the drink over a single cube of ice. When she finally lifted the glass, she placed a thin strip of charred orange peel across the rim again and slid it toward him. “Try that.” Yunho examined it. “Does it have a name?”
“Not yet.”
“That inspires confidence.”
“Drink it.”
He obeyed. Smoke reached him first, followed by bourbon, citrus, and a bitter sweetness that lingered against his tongue. Yunho took another sip before setting the glass down. “That’s good.” Y/N looked entirely too pleased with herself again. “I know.” He laughed. “You say that often.”
“Only when I’m right.”
“And how often is that?”
“Always.”
“Dangerous quality.”
“You seem to like dangerous things.”
Yunho’s eyes lifted slowly to hers. “I’m starting to.” The space between them seemed to shrink despite the width of the bar. Golden light swept across her face, catching the tiny flecks in her eyes while music vibrated through the counter beneath his forearm. Neither of them spoke for a second too long until Tiffany appeared beside Y/N, glanced between them, and slowly smiled. “I’m going to check the other end of the bar.” Y/N shook her head. “She has no shame.”
“I like her.” Yunho grinned and Y/N snorted. “Of course you do. She’s trying to get me into trouble.” Yunho leaned forward slightly. “Am I trouble?” She studied him with open consideration. “Definitely.”
“And yet you’re still standing here.”
“I’m working.”
“That’s the only reason?”
Her gaze dropped briefly toward his mouth before returning to his eyes. The movement was quick, but not quick enough. “Maybe I’m still evaluating you.”
“And how am I doing?”
Y/N reached across the bar and took his glass, lifting it to examine how much he’d already consumed. “You ordered the second drink.”
“You said I had to.”
“I didn’t think you’d listen.”
“I listen remarkably well when properly motivated.”
Her lips twitched. “I think I found your classification.” Yunho rested both forearms against the counter. “I’ve been waiting.”
“You’re not eighty.”
“Encouraging.”
“You’re definitely trying to seem sophisticated.”
He placed a hand against his chest as though wounded. “Cruel.”
“But…” She drew the word out, deliberately making him wait. “you do actually know what you’re drinking.”
“So?”
“So you’re the impossible third option.”
“And what exactly does that mean?”
Y/N leaned closer, close enough now that Yunho caught the faint scent of citrus and perfume beneath the stronger smells of alcohol and smoke. “It means I haven’t decided whether you’re interesting…” Her eyes dropped to his mouth again. “…or just very pretty.” Yunho’s smile came slowly. “Can’t I be both?”
“That remains to be seen.”
“I suppose I’ll need more time.”
“With the drink?”
“With the bartender.”
For a brief second neither of them spoke. The music surged around them, laughter rising from somewhere farther down the bar as another round of drinks disappeared into the crowd. Then Y/N smiled, almost to herself. “You know…” She rested both hands against the polished counter. “I don’t even know your name.” Yunho looked at her for a moment before answering. “Yunho.” She repeated it quietly, almost testing it. “Yunho.” He couldn’t explain why hearing his name in her voice sounded different than it had from anyone else’s in a very long time. “And yours?” he asked and a playful smile returned to her lips. “You’ve been staring at me for half the night and don’t know my name?”
“I was hoping you’d tell me.”
She pretended to think it over. “I might.”
“So generous.”
“My friends would disagree.” She offered him her hand across the bar. “Y/N.” He reached out without thinking, his larger hand closing gently around hers. It should have been an ordinary handshake. Instead… neither of them let go immediately. Her hand was warm from polishing glasses and handling cocktail shakers all evening. His was cool despite the heat of the crowded nightclub. “Well…” she said after a second that had stretched noticeably longer than a handshake should have. “It’s nice to officially meet you.”
“The feeling’s mutual.”
She slowly withdrew her hand, trying very hard to ignore the strange disappointment that came with it as another customer called her name from farther down the counter. “One sec!” she called before looking back at Yunho with an apologetic smile. “You’re popular.” He teases. “Occupational hazard.” He watched her disappear for another minute, effortlessly mixing two martinis while joking with a couple celebrating an anniversary before returning to him, wiping her hands on a clean bar towel. “Sorry.”
“You keep apologizing.”
“I keep leaving.”
“You also keep coming back.”
She smiled despite herself. “I guess I do.” Yunho glanced toward the large clock mounted above the liquor shelves. “So…” His eyes found hers again. “How much longer are you trapped behind this bar?” She followed his gaze to the clock. “About twenty minutes.”
“Only twenty?”
“If nobody decides tequila is a personality trait in the next nineteen.”
Yunho laughed. “I’ll hope for everyone’s sake they behave.” He leaned comfortably against the counter. “So what happens in twenty minutes?” Y/N bit her bottom lip to keep from smiling. “I clean up. I leave. I walk home.” Yunho tilted his head. “I was going to ask if you’d have a drink with me afterward.” Her eyebrows lifted, no longer able to fight the smile now. “You’re asking the bartender to have a drink?”
“I thought it seemed appropriate.”
“And if I said yes?”
“I’d consider myself fortunate.”
Y/N studied him for another moment. He wasn’t smirking. Wasn’t trying to impress her. He simply looked… hopeful. It was unexpectedly charming. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“No?”
“You’ve already had two drinks.”
“I assure you I’m perfectly capable of handling a third.”
“I believe you.”
“Then why not?”
She leaned forward across the bar until only the polished marble separated them.
“Because…” she said quietly, lowering her voice just enough that the conversation became theirs alone, “I don’t really drink after work.” She looked to his lips, to his hands, to his eye. “So… I suppose this is where we politely say goodbye.” She looked at him for a long second before shaking her head. “Or….. You can walk me home.” The words hung between them before Yunho grinned. “You’re inviting a man you’ve known for…” He glanced toward the clock. “What? Thirty minutes?” She shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve spent the last thirty minutes evaluating you.”
“And?”
“You haven’t asked for my number.”
“No.”
“You haven’t tried touching me.”
“No.”
“And…” Her smile became just a little softer. “You looked genuinely offended when I told you men ask bartenders to smile more.”
“I was.”
“I know.” She reached for another clean glass, polishing it almost absentmindedly. “So…” She looked back up at him. “Unless you’ve secretly been a serial killer this whole conversation…”
“I haven’t.”
“Good.” She smiled as once again another customer waved her down, and she reluctantly pushed herself away from the counter. “Twenty minutes,” she reminded him and Yunho watched her disappear back into the sea of waiting customers before lifting his glass once more. “Twenty minutes,” he echoed to himself. Strange. Four hundred years had passed in what often felt like the blink of an eye. Twenty minutes, however… suddenly felt impossibly long.
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Y/N stood beside Yunho as the final attendant smoothed one last invisible wrinkle from the train of her gown before bowing deeply and quietly excusing herself. Yunho looked at her once more, his expression softening despite the growing noise beyond the doors. He’d eventually settled on the fifth jacket he’d tried, though settled hardly seemed like the right word. The tailored black suit fit him as though it had been made for him alone, every line sharp and deliberate. Deep wine colored embroidery traced the lapels and cuffs, matching the velvet of Y/N’s gown perfectly, while subtle silver thread caught the palace lights like scattered starlight. His wedding ring rested against the black fabric as naturally as though it had always belonged there. Y/N smiled. “You finally found one.”
“I did.”
“The fifth one.”
“The fourth.”
She laughed. “It was definitely the fifth.” He sighed dramatically. “I’ll never win this argument, will I?”
“No.”
“I suspected as much.” His gaze lingered on her for another moment before he quietly offered his arm. “My Princess.” Her smile softened. “My Prince.” She slipped her hand through the crook of his arm, her fingers resting lightly against the sleeve of his jacket. The movement felt strangely natural now. Over a week ago she couldn’t have imagined standing beside him like this. Now… she couldn’t quite imagine standing anywhere else. The massive gilded doors at the end of the corridor slowly began to open. Warm golden light spilled outward. Music flooded the hallway. Beyond the threshold stretched the grand banquet hall. It was unlike anything Y/N had ever seen. The ceiling disappeared into darkness hundreds of feet above, supported by towering black marble columns wrapped in flowering crimson vines that seemed to bloom despite never receiving sunlight. Thousands of floating chandeliers drifted lazily overhead, each one suspended by magic instead of chains, filling the room with warm light that danced across polished obsidian floors. Long banquet tables lined either side of an enormous central aisle, dressed in black linens embroidered with gold and crimson. Crystal goblets glittered beside silver place settings while servants moved gracefully between guests carrying trays of wine and delicate hors d’oeuvres. Nearly every noble house in Hell had already arrived.
Conversations filled the room. Elegant laughter. Political whispers. Calculated smiles. The moment the herald struck the floor with his ceremonial staff… silence swept through the hall like a wave. “Presenting…” His voice echoed effortlessly through the enormous chamber. “His Royal Highness… Crown Prince Yunho…” Every eye turned toward the entrance. “and Her Royal Highness…” The herald smiled ever so slightly. “Princess Y/N.” Yunho led her forward. Arm in arm. The orchestra resumed, softer now, becoming little more than elegant background music as hundreds of pairs of eyes followed them down the center aisle. Y/N kept her chin high. Exactly as Seonghwa had shown her. Exactly as Lucifer had encouraged. Even if her heart was beating hard enough she was fairly certain the entire room could hear it. Beside her, Yunho looked completely at ease. Years of royal ceremonies had made this second nature. Still… he was watching the room. Watching people. Measuring reactions. His gaze found Estrie almost immediately. She stood beside her father near the front of the hall, dressed in shimmering black silk that undoubtedly cost a fortune. She was breathtakingly beautiful. And openly furious. The polite smile she’d arranged for the evening faltered the instant Y/N entered. Her eyes traveled slowly over the velvet gown. The wedding ring. The circlet resting in Y/N’s hair. Then settled squarely on the hand looped comfortably through Yunho’s arm. The sneer that curled at the corner of her mouth lasted only a fraction of a second before court etiquette forced it away.
Too late. Yunho had already seen it. His expression didn’t change but his thumb merely brushed once against the back of Y/N’s hand where it rested on his arm. A silent reassurance. Then his attention shifted again. Scanning the room with practiced precision. Balthazar stood speaking with several nobles near one of the towering windows. Alone. Yunho’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. No Dante. He looked again. The ballroom wasn’t small enough to miss someone like him. Still…. nothing. Strange. After what had happened to the succubus, Yunho had expected Dante either to avoid the banquet entirely… or to arrive looking for an opportunity to provoke him. Instead… there was simply no sign of him. Lucifer, already seated upon the elevated royal dais at the far end of the hall, noticed the subtle movement of his son’s eyes. He knew exactly who Yunho was searching for. The King offered the slightest shake of his head and Yunho let the search go. For now. As they reached the foot of the dais, Lucifer descended the few black marble steps himself, something several nobles quietly noticed with surprise. “My son.” He clasped Yunho’s forearm briefly before turning toward Y/N. “My daughter.” The warmth in his voice was unmistakable. “You look magnificent.” Y/N smiled. “Thank you.” Lucifer offered her his arm instead. “If you’ll allow me the privilege…” Y/N looked toward Yunho and he smiled as she accepted his father’s arm, and together the King of Hell and his newly welcomed daughter turned toward the waiting aristocracy.
Lucifer moved effortlessly through the banquet hall with Y/N resting lightly on his arm, the conversations around them rising and falling as nobles stepped forward one by one to offer carefully rehearsed greetings. “Lady Seraphine of House Valen.” A graceful woman with silver horns inclined her head. “Your Highness. It is an honor.” Lucifer smiled pleasantly. “Lady Seraphine oversees nearly every vineyard in the southern territories. If you ever receive a bottle that claims to be the finest wine in Hell…” He glanced sideways toward Y/N. “it probably came from her.” Lady Seraphine laughed softly. “I appreciate the endorsement, Your Majesty.”
“You’ve earned it.”
Y/N returned the woman’s smile, exchanging a few polite words before Lucifer smoothly guided her onward. “Lord Cassiel. Lady Mirelle. House Ashbourne.” “Every introduction blurred gently into the next. Names. Faces. Titles. Some smiled with genuine warmth. Others smiled because etiquette demanded it. Y/N was beginning to understand what Lucifer had meant. Every conversation felt… measured. Every compliment seemed to carry another question beneath it. She smiled. Thanked them. Answered politely. All while becoming increasingly aware of just how many eyes never truly left her. Lucifer, meanwhile, never appeared hurried. He explained family histories. Pointed out alliances. Quietly identified which nobles genuinely mattered and which merely enjoyed pretending they did. “You don’t need to remember everyone tonight,” he murmured between introductions. “Most of them will introduce themselves another dozen times before the year is over.” Y/N smiled gratefully. “That’s reassuring.”
“It shouldn’t be.”
She laughed. “It wasn’t.” A hint of satisfaction touched Lucifer’s expression. Good. She was relaxing. Exactly what he wanted. As they approached another cluster of nobles, Y/N instinctively glanced across the ballroom looking for Yunho. She found him standing near one of the towering marble columns with his back partially turned toward her, a crystal glass resting loosely between long fingers as he spoke with another demon. The conversation looked… easy. Comfortable. Yunho laughed. A genuine laugh while the other man said something else, shaking his head with a crooked grin before lifting his own drink. Y/N smiled to herself but the…. the other man shifted just enough for her to see his face. And everything stopped. The warmth drained from her body so quickly it almost hurt. Her fingers tightened involuntarily around Lucifer’s arm. Her wedding ring dug painfully into her own hand….. Damon. Her ex boyfriend. But it was impossible. They were in hell. He looked exactly the same. Dark hair. That familiar smile. The same sharp jaw she’d once traced with trembling fingers after convincing herself he wasn’t really as cruel as he’d seemed earlier that night. The same eyes that always looked almost amused whenever she cried. Suddenly she wasn’t standing in the royal banquet hall anymore. She was back inside his apartment. Back listening to him calmly explain why every argument was somehow her fault. Back apologizing for things she hadn’t done. Back wondering why every version of herself seemed wrong unless it was the one Damon wanted.
The music around her became strangely muffled as her chest tightened. No… No, no, no… He wasn’t supposed to be here. He couldn’t be here. Her breathing shortened into shallow, uneven breaths. One. Then another. She couldn’t seem to draw in enough air as the enormous ballroom tilted ever so slightly. “Y/N?” Lucifer’s voice reached her from somewhere far away but she didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her eyes remained fixed across the room as Damon laughed. Completely unaware. Still talking to Yunho. Yunho…… her pulse lurched. He knows him. Why does he know him? Another breath refused to come properly. Her hands felt cold and clammy. Her vision narrowed around the edges. “Y/N.” Lucifer’s voice came again. Closer this time as his hand settled gently over hers where it gripped his arm but she barely felt it. “Princess.” Lucifer stopped walking altogether. The surrounding nobles politely continued their conversations, pretending not to notice as his eyes followed the direction of her stare. Across the ballroom. Past the musicians. Past the servants carrying silver trays. Until he found his son standing with Damon. Lucifer’s expression remained perfectly composed. Years of ruling Hell had long ago taught him never to betray surprise publicly. But something cold settled quietly behind his eyes as he looked back at Y/N. Her face had completely drained of color. Her breathing had become ragged. Fear. The kind that came from somewhere much older than tonight. His gaze drifted once more toward Damon. Then back to her. “Y/N.” This time his voice was quieter. “What is it?”
Y/N blinked. The sound of the orchestra slowly returned. So did the conversations. The clinking of crystal. She realized she was gripping Lucifer’s arm so tightly her fingertips had started to numb. No. Not here. Not now. She couldn’t do this here. Not in front of everyone. Especially not in front of Yunho. She forced herself to inhale. When she finally looked up at Lucifer, there was still fear lingering behind her eyes but she’d buried it beneath a practiced smile. “I’m fine,” she said quietly. The lie came easier than she wanted it to as she glanced briefly back toward Damon before forcing herself to look away. “Just a little overwhelmed.”
Lucifer held her gaze for a long moment. His expression never changed. Never once did he look back toward his son. Never once did he acknowledge the name already forming in his mind. Damon. No… He didn’t believe her. Not for a second. Because he had seen exactly where she’d been looking. He had seen the terror that crossed her face. And he had seen his son laughing with the very demon who had caused it. And now….. The King of Hell was suspicious as he gently resumed walking. Y/N matched his pace. One foot in front of the other. Smile. Nod. Breathe. Except breathing had suddenly become the hardest thing she’d ever done. Damon. A demon. The realization crashed over her with enough force to make her stomach twist. The whole time. The entire time they’d been together… he hadn’t been human. Every strange excuse. Every time he’d seemed to know things he shouldn’t. Every impossible coincidence. Every moment she’d dismissed because there simply had to be a rational explanation…… there hadn’t been one. Because there never was anything rational about him.
Her mind raced backward through years she’d spent trying to understand someone who had never been what she thought he was. Had every smile been another performance? Every apology another manipulation? Every promise another lie? The questions came faster than she could answer them. Her pulse hammered painfully in her ears. And then… another thought struck. One so much worse she nearly stumbled. Yunho. Her eyes drifted across the ballroom again before she could stop herself. He was still standing with Damon. Still talking. Still smiling. Still laughing. As though they were simply two old friends catching up over drinks. Because to Yunho… that’s exactly what they were. He had no idea. No idea that the demon standing across from him… was the man she’d spent a year trying to forget. The man who had convinced her she was impossible to love unless she became whoever he wanted her to be. The man whose voice still found its way into her nightmares. Her chest tightened again.
“Did he hurt you?”
“Do you want me to kill him?”
Her vision blurred for the briefest moment. God… He had been offering to kill Damon. Without either of them realizing it. The thought made her stomach churn. How many conversations had they shared? How many drinks? How many jokes? Had Damon talked about her? Had Yunho listened? Had they laughed together while she was somewhere on Earth convincing herself she was the problem? No… No, Yunho couldn’t have known. She knew that. She knew it with absolute certainty. If Yunho had known…. if he’d had even the smallest hint… he wouldn’t be standing there smiling. He would… her thoughts stopped. Because she already knew exactly what he would do. He would protect her. The way he always did. The way he had from the moment he’d stepped into that collapsing restaurant. The realization only made the ache in her chest worse as Yunho tipped his head back with another easy laugh at something Damon had said.
Y/N looked away before either of them could happen to glance in her direction. She wasn’t afraid of Yunho finding out. She was afraid of what would happen the moment he did.
I’ve always been a lurker of your blog, but I saw something a threadtiny posted and it has my head SPINNING!
What are your thoughts on Catholic Priest!Yunho..in a confession booth. I feel that I’d probably word vomit, but seeing his hands around that rosary makes me want to scream and throw uppp!!
He’d probably lock eyes with you during Sunday service, knowing that you squirm under his gaze (because reader is too shy to admit that she finds her priest attractive)
oHhHhmy
( the link for good measure: https://www.threads.com/@feralatiny1117/post/DbI6E6SEdfb?xmt=AQG0oYkzozKFqSOyho7orJLHGUkNjsKdeaZVxHUMhe5_DPnbDPRv02Q4RXX6TAs5v09ByJI2&slof=1 )
I’m gonna have to write something diabolical about him aren’t I? forgive me father I’m gonna sin 😩
summary: yunho was hongjoong’s right hand man, his best dealer, his best racer, last thing yunho needed was to get distracted by a cop’s daughter
warning: reader is pregnant, unprotected sex, creampie
pairing: yunho x afab/reader
genre: smut, drama, angst, romance, fluff
word count: 13.6k
chapter twelve
chapter fourteen coming soon
masterlist
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Yunho woke slowly. For the first time in months, there was no cold mattress, no shouting from guards, no clang of bars, just the soft rustle of sheets and the scent of the woman he loved lingering in the air. His body ached in the best kind of way, every inch of him reminding him of the night before. His arm reached out across the bed and actually pouted when he felt it empty. His brows furrowed, blinking against the morning light, sitting up as he heard a soft voice from somewhere outside the room. Quiet, but not enough to be mistaken for TV or the hum of the radio.
Yunho swung his legs over the edge of the bed, tugging on a pair of sweats, still half asleep as he padded barefoot into the living room to find Y/N standing near the window, phone tucked to her ear, her hand on her small but growing bump. She was in one of his old tshirts again, one that clung a little tighter now over her chest and even from behind, Yunho could see the tension in her posture. “I know… yeah, I’ll tell him,” she said softly, voice gentle but tired. “No, I’m not sure if it’ll cause any problems, but I’ll ask.” Yunho leaned quietly against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes locked on her. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just watched, listening, wondering who was on the other end of that call and why her voice sounded like she was trying so hard not to worry him. “Who were you talking to?”
Y/N turned, startled, hand still resting protectively over her stomach. “My dad,” she said, a little breathless, not expecting him to be up yet. Yunho took a step closer, eyes narrowing slightly, not angry, just on edge. “What’d he want?” Y/N hesitated, then let out a tired sigh. “Agent Park… she put in a formal request for full jurisdiction.” Yunho’s jaw locked, the muscle in it ticking hard. “Of course she did.”
“She’s not backing off, Yunho,” Y/N murmured, walking toward him. “He said she’s trying to build something federal, stretch it beyond just you. She wants you, Hongjoong, the garage, everything.” Yunho ran a hand through his hair, pacing once, then back. “She’s obsessed. None of this is about justice…. it’s about leverage and revenge.” Y/N reached out, taking his hand, grounding him. “He’s fighting it. He’s pulling every favor he can. I just didn’t want to wake you…” Yunho looked at her, her swollen belly, the worry in her eyes, the tired crack in her voice and pulled her into his chest, kissing the top of her head. “You don’t have to protect me from this. I can handle her.”
“But I can’t handle you going back in,” she whispered against his chest. “I just got you back.” Yunho rested his chin on her head, holding her tighter. “Then I won’t let them take me again.” Not while she was carrying his son. Not while Park was playing dirty. Not while he had every reason in the world now to fight back harder than ever.
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The store smelled like baby powder and fresh wood polish, the soft lull of instrumental lullabies playing overhead as Y/N trailed her fingers along the edge of a white crib. It was simple, clean lines, soft finish, but her mind wasn’t on the price tag or the matching mobile. Her brows furrowed. “Where’s it even gonna go?” she mumbled, more to herself than to Yunho. “There’s no room in my place. And definitely not yours and Jongho’s…” Yunho looked up from where he was thumbing through a stack of tiny hoodies. “Then we’ll make room.” Y/N turned toward him. “How? Our closets are already crying.”
He stepped closer, lips quirking just a bit. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll get a bigger place if we have to.” That made her pause, staring at him. “A bigger place?” Yunho nodded, voice quieter now, more serious. “You think I’m letting you raise our kid squeezed into a corner of someone else’s apartment?” He leaned down, kissing her temple gently. “You and the baby are mine. I’m not half assing that.” She smiled, but there was something hesitant in her eyes as her hand drifted to her stomach. Yunho looked at her again, more carefully this time. “You okay?” Y/N nodded, then glanced at the baby monitor display on the shelf beside them. “I’m just thinking… this doesn’t feel real yet.” Yunho’s jaw flexed. “It will.” Her hand slipped into his and he squeezed it. “So… you like the crib?”
Yunho smirked. “Baby, I like anything that’s gonna hold our kid. But between you and me…” He nodded toward a dark wood one in the corner. “That one looks like it could survive an earthquake.” Y/N rolled her eyes with a laugh. “God, you’re such a dad already.” They got it anyways. And Yunho insisted on carrying it out himself. The parking lot at the baby store was cramped and sun baked, the kind of place where cars were parked just a little too close as Yunho wrestled with the massive crib box like it had personally offended him, shoving, angling, then shoving again as it caught on the lip of Y/N’s trunk. “Who designed this thing, Satan?” he growled, bracing a knee against the bumper and trying to force it in as Y/N leaned against the passenger door, one hand on her stomach, the other holding two small shopping bags that crinkled softly when she laughed. “You said you wanted the earthquake proof one,” she teased. “Congratulations, it’s also apocalypse proof.”
“Yeah, well, it’s trying to kill me,” he muttered, breath puffing out as the box finally slid in with a dull thunk. He slammed the trunk shut a little harder than necessary and wiped his hands on his jeans. “Next kid item we buy is digital.” She was still smiling when she heard the footsteps approaching. When she turned, her laughter faded fast. Yunho felt it before he saw it, that instinctive shift in his chest, the way his spine straightened as he turned. Han stood a few cars away, leaning casually against a black sedan like he belonged there. His nose was healed, but not right. Still crooked, just enough to be noticeable. A permanent reminder. His mouth curled into a grin that had never once meant anything good as he looked at them. “Well,” Han drawled, eyes flicking from Yunho to Y/N’s stomach, lingering there as he walked over. “Look at this. Domestic bliss.”
Yunho moved without thinking, stepping slightly in front of her, his shoulder angling like a shield. “Walk away.” Han laughed under his breath. “Relax. I’m not here to fight.” His gaze slid back to Y/N, sharp and ugly. “Heard you’ve been busy. Shopping already?” He tilted his head. “Guess congratulations are in order.” Y/N’s fingers tightened around the bags. “You should go,” she said, voice steady even as her pulse kicked up. “Now.” Han ignored her, eyes still on Yunho. “Crazy how life works, huh? One minute you’re playing street racer hero, next you’re playing house. Jail didn’t scare you straight though, did it?” Yunho’s jaw clenched as his hands curled, then unclenched. “You’re done,” he said quietly. “You just don’t know it yet.” That made Han’s grin falter, just a crack before he scoffed, straightening. “Big words for a guy with a court date and a baby on the way.” His eyes dropped again with cruelty. “Hope the kid’s tougher than you.”
Yunho stepped forward fast enough that Y/N sucked in a breath, her hand grabbing his arm. “Yunho.” He stopped. Barely. His chest heaved once, twice, before he forced himself still and looked at Han like he was already a ghost. “Get the fuck away from my family,” he said, voice low and lethal, “before I forget where we are.” For a long second, Han didn’t move. Then he smirked again, though much weaker this time. “See you around,” he tossed over his shoulder as he pushed off the car and walked away. “Daddy.” The second he disappeared between rows of cars, Y/N’s grip tightened on Yunho’s arm. “Hey,” she murmured. “Look at me.” He turned to her immediately, the fury draining out of his face the second he saw her eyes. “You okay?” She nodded. “I’m fine.“
Yunho exhaled shakily, then leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers. “I swear to you,” he whispered, “he doesn’t get anywhere near you. Ever again.” She brushed her thumb along his jaw, soft but firm. Then she glanced at the car, at the trunk barely holding their future, and let out a small, nervous laugh. “So… we just got threatened by my ex while buying a crib.” Yunho huffed a low laugh despite himself. “Yeah.” He opened the passenger door for her carefully. “Parenthood’s really hitting all the milestones.”
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Yunho didn’t know what to expect, sitting in that clean, white room, the fluorescent lights above humming quietly as Y/N laid back on the exam table beside him. His hand hadn’t left hers since they walked in, fingers interlocked, thumb brushing over her knuckles like he couldn’t quite believe he was finally here, finally able to be part of this. He’d missed so much already. Appointments. Milestones. Every little moment stolen by time, by distance, by circumstances out of their control. But now… he was here. The sound of the fetal doppler was faint at first. Just static and the rustle of the wand as the doctor moved it over Y/N’s growing belly. And then…..
whump-whump-whump
Yunho froze. That sound, fast and strong and steady, sent something rocketing through his chest. The doctor smiled, not even looking up. “There he is. Good strong heartbeat.” Yunho’s jaw clenched as he stared at the monitor like it was showing him the meaning of life. His son’s heartbeat. Their baby. Real. Alive. In there. He blinked rapidly and looked down at Y/N, his free hand brushing gently over her side, his voice thick with something he didn’t know how to name. “That’s… him?” Y/N turned her head to look at him and nodded, smiling softly. “That’s him.” The doctor glanced up, adjusting the wand again with practiced ease. “He’s measuring right on track. You’re in the final stretch now, just a few months left.”
Yunho exhaled like the air had been knocked out of him as his hand moved to her belly, not caring that the doctor was right there. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to it, voice a hoarse whisper. “I’m really gonna meet him soon…” Y/N laughed under her breath, resting her hand over his. “Yeah. We both are.” And for a moment, the world outside that room didn’t exist, no Park, no Han, no trials, no garages or threats or bloodshed. Just the sound of their baby’s heart and the way Yunho looked at Y/N like she was everything as the steady rhythm filled the room for another few seconds before the doctor eased the doppler away, wiping the gel from Y/N’s stomach with practiced hands and the heartbeat faded, leaving behind a silence that somehow felt fuller than before.
Yunho couldn’t look away from the grainy black and white ultrasound picture the nurse handed him. It rested carefully between his fingers, held with a gentleness that seemed almost impossible for a man whose hands were usually stained with grease, scraped across concrete, or wrapped around wrenches. He studied every blurry curve like if he stared long enough, the image would suddenly become perfectly clear. Their son. His son. He’d seen the earlier ultrasound pictures she’d slipped to him through the correctional facility visits, folded carefully into her pocket, passed to him with a guard’s reluctant permission. But this one was different. This one he’d been there for. The doctor smiled knowingly as she updated something in Y/N’s chart. “So,” she said conversationally, “how have you been feeling since your last appointment? Any dizziness? Headaches? Swelling?” Y/N shrugged lightly. “A little more tired than usual.”
The doctor nodded as if she’d expected that answer. “That’s perfectly normal where you are now. Baby’s growing quickly, which means he’s demanding a little more from you every week.” Yunho’s thumb absentmindedly brushed over the edge of the ultrasound photo as he almost laughed at the thought of his already taking after him. “Any contractions?” the doctor continued. “No,” Y/N answered. “Just those weird tightening feelings sometimes.”
“Braxton Hicks,” the doctor explained. “Practice contractions. Completely normal as long as they aren’t regular or painful.” Yunho finally looked up suddenly with a little worry on his face. “Practice?” The doctor smiled at him. “The body’s basically rehearsing.” His eyebrows furrowed. “So she’s… practicing giving birth?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
Yunho looked at Y/N. “That sounds awful.” Y/N snorted. “It kind of is.” He frowned. “You didn’t tell me that.” She gave him a look. “You were a little busy being incarcerated.” He cringed, staring back at the ultrasound picture. “Right.” The doctor couldn’t help smiling as she continued the examination. “Everything looks excellent. Blood pressure is good. Weight gain is exactly where I’d like it to be. Baby’s measuring right on schedule.” She flipped another page on the chart before glancing between them. “Have you started thinking about childbirth classes?” Y/N looked at Yunho. “I mentioned them to him.”
“You also mentioned they involve breathing exercises.”
“They do.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I can breathe.” The doctor laughed. “I have no doubt.” Y/N rolled her eyes. “It’s a little more complicated than that.” Yunho nodded and stared at her with promise in his eyes. “I’ll learn.” There wasn’t even a hint of hesitation in his voice as the doctor looked abused. “First baby?” Yunho and Y/N answered at exactly the same time. “Yeah.” The synchronized response made all three of them laugh. The doctor leaned against the counter. “I can usually tell. First time parents either have a thousand questions… or they’re too overwhelmed to know what to ask.” Yunho finally tore his attention away from Y/N. “I’ve got one.”
“Go ahead.”
“How do I know if I’m doing this right?”
The question hung in the room. It wasn’t about diapers. Or bottles. Or car seats. It was much bigger than that. His eyes drifted back to the picture in his hands. “I missed months because I was locked up.” His voice had gone quieter. “I missed appointments… hearing him… all of it.” He swallowed. “I just don’t want to screw this up.” Y/N looked at him, her heart squeezing in her chest as the doctor was quiet for a moment before answering. “The fact that you’re worried about getting it right tells me you’re already ahead of a lot of fathers. You can’t be perfect,” she continued gently. “No parent is. Babies don’t need perfect.” She smiled. “They need people who show up.”
Yunho glanced toward Y/N. Then down to her belly and his hand found hers without thinking. “I can do that,” he said quietly and his fingers tightened around hers. “I’ll show up.” Y/N smiled, blinking rapidly as emotion threatened to spill over and she refused to cry in front of the doctor. “I know.” The doctor finished making a few notes before closing the chart with a soft snap. “Well,” she said warmly, “I’d say your little boy is doing wonderfully.” She handed Yunho another freshly printed ultrasound photo. “This one’s for Dad.” Yunho accepted it and looked down at the tiny profile captured in shades of gray, smiling to himself before carefully sliding it into his wallet behind his driver’s license. Not folded. Not bent. Protected. Right where he could carry his son with him everywhere he went.
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The afternoon sun hung over Busan, traffic crawling steadily through the city streets as Yunho guided the Outlaw Customz tow truck through an intersection, one hand lazily draped over the steering wheel. Behind him, an older Kia sat secured to the wheel lift, its hazard lights still blinking every few seconds from where he’d picked it up outside Haeundae. It wasn’t exactly glamorous work. Three months ago he’d been in a correctional facility wondering if he’d even see his son born. Now? He was towing broken down cars back to the garage, stopping for coffee twice a day, and getting grease under his fingernails again. And honestly…. he preferred this. His phone buzzed somewhere in the cup holder for what felt like the hundredth time but he barely glanced at it. He had talked to Y/N before he picked the car up and knew it wasn’t her because she was at school.
“You’re needy today,” Yunho muttered, eyes never leaving the road as pair of red and blue lights suddenly flashed in his mirrors. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He sighed before flicking on his indicator and easing the tow truck onto the shoulder. The diesel engine idled as he threw it into park and looked in the mirror again at a familiar police car. Yunho groaned loud enough to hear himself over the engine. “Seriously?” He climbed down from the cab just as Captain Kim Junmyeon stepped out of his cruiser, sunglasses hooked on the collar of his polo instead of his uniform today. He wasn’t dressed for patrol. No duty belt. No cap. Just jeans, boots, and the unmistakable expression of a man who’d already lost patience as Yunho spread both his arms. “I thought we were getting along now.”
Junmyeon rolled his eyes so hard it almost looked painful. “I’m not arresting you.”
“Then why’d you pull me over?”
“You don’t know how to answer a damn phone.”
Yunho frowned. “What?” Junmyeon held up his own phone. “I called you six times.” He let out an exasperated breath before reaching into the passenger seat of his cruiser. “I’ve been looking.” He pulled out a thick folder. Yunho looked between the folder and him. “Looking?”
“For a house.”
That made Yunho blink. “What?” Junmyeon walked over and handed him the folder. “I think I found a place for you and my daughter.” Yunho stared at him a long moment before slowly opening the folder. Inside were glossy pictures of a modest two story home tucked into a quiet neighborhood a little outside the city center. Cream colored brick. Dark tiled roof. A small fenced yard. Enough space for a swing someday. A detached garage big enough for two cars. Yunho stopped at that picture a little longer than the others and Junmyeon noticed. “I figured you’d look at the garage first.” Yunho looked up without an ounce of shame. “Obviously.” He flipped another page. The inside was bright. Wood floors. An open kitchen. Two bedrooms upstairs. A third smaller room downstairs that would make a perfect nursery. His chest tightened. “You…” He looked back at Junmyeon. “You looked for this?”
“My grandson isn’t growing up bouncing between apartments.”
Yunho’s eyes drifted back to the photos.
“It needs a little work,” Junmyeon admitted. “The previous owners moved overseas. It’s been empty a few months.” Yunho continued turning pages. Inspection reports. Property information. Estimated mortgage. Distance to the medical school. Distance to the garage. Everything. He looked back up. “You really did your homework.”
“I’ve been a detective longer than you’ve been alive.”
A quiet laugh escaped Yunho. “Fair.” Junmyeon shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m not buying it for you.”
“I wasn’t going to ask.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“Maybe a little.”
That earned the tiniest smirk from the older man. “I know the owner.” Yunho raised an eyebrow. “Of course you do.” Junmyeon glanced at the pictures. “They’d rather sell quietly than list it.” Yunho looked down at the pictures again as well. He imagined Y/N standing in that kitchen. Her medical textbooks spread across the dining table. A crib tucked into the little bedroom downstairs. His son learning to walk across those wood floors and his stomach did something strange. Not nerves. But hope. “You haven’t showed Y/N?” Junmyeon shook his head. “I wanted your opinion first.”
“My opinion?”
“If you hate it, there’s no point getting her excited.”
Yunho was quiet for several long seconds. “I don’t hate it.” His thumb rested over the picture of the front porch. “I think…” He smiled to himself. “I think she’d love it.” Junmyeon nodded. “Good.” He started walking back toward his cruiser before pausing. “Oh…” Yunho looked up. “I already scheduled a viewing.”
“You what?”
“Tomorrow.”
“You scheduled it?”
“You don’t answer your phone.”
“…Right.”
“Five o’clock.” Junmyeon pointed at him. “Don’t be late.” With that, he climbed back into his cruiser, leaving Yunho standing beside the tow truck, folder tucked under one arm, staring at the pictures of what might become the first real home he’d ever have with the woman he loved… and their son.
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The familiar rumble of the tow truck echoed through the open bay doors of Outlaw Customz as Yunho eased it into the garage, carefully backing the disabled Kia toward the service lift. The hydraulic brakes hissed softly as he set the truck in park and climbed out, stretching the stiffness from his shoulders. “Another one?” Yeosang called from beneath the hood of an SUV. “Alternator,” Yunho answered, grabbing the controls to lower the car from the wheel lift. “Guy tried making it from Gwangalli all the way to Sasang on a dying battery.” Yeosang winced. “Bold.”
“Stupid.”
“Same thing.”
Yunho chuckled under his breath as he unhooked the chains. The garage felt normal again. Music drifted from the speakers. Impact guns rattled somewhere in the back. Faint scent of weed wafted from somewhere. Hongjoong’s office door was closed, muffled voices leaking through as he argued with another supplier over the phone. Only thing missing was Wooyoung. “Hey.” Jongho appeared beside him, wiping grease from his hands with a rag. Yunho glanced up. “What?” Jongho hesitated just long enough for Yunho to know he wasn’t going to like whatever came next. “Your mother’s here.” Yunho groaned. “What?” Jongho jerked his thumb toward the little waiting area. “Been sitting there about twenty minutes.”
“You couldn’t have lied and said I died?”
“I thought about it.”
“And?”
“Didn’t think she’d believe me.”
Yunho rubbed both hands down his face before muttering a quiet “fuck” under his breath. “I swear she has perfect timing.” He hesitated, contemplating just leaving, before walking towards the little wait area. And sure enough… his mother was sitting exactly where Jongho had said. Perfect posture. Expensive handbag resting beside her. Not a single hair out of place. She looked up as soon as he stepped into the waiting area. For a second… neither them spoke until Yunho broke the silence. “What do you want?” His mother stood slowly, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her blouse. “Hello to you too.”
“You haven’t seen me since before I got arrested.”
“I know.”
He folded his arms. “So.” His voice was flat and unwelcoming. “What do you want?” She studied him for a long moment. “I wanted to see how you were doing.” Yunho laughed once. A short humorless sound. “Really?” He looked unconvinced as she nodded. “I heard you were released. And… I wanted to see how…… how the baby is doing.” Something in Yunho’s expression changed instantly. eyes hardening. “Why?” She blinked surprised. “What?”
“Why do you even care?”
“Yunho…”
“No.” He took a step closer. “You barely see me.” His voice stayed calm. Which somehow made it worse. “You disappear for months, years. You didn’t even know I was in jail until you heard it from your snotty ass friends.” She looked away. “You don’t get to suddenly show up…” His jaw clenched. “and ask how my son is doing.”
“My grandson,” she corrected quietly.
Yunho scoffed. “My son.” Silence stretched between them and his mother folded her arms. “I was trying to make an effort.”
“No. You were trying to ease your conscience.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?”
“I’ve always cared about you.”
He laughed again. “Could’ve fooled me.” The waiting area seemed to shrink around them. Mechanics working nearby instinctively kept their distance. Even the music suddenly felt too loud as his mother’s patience finally snapped. “I came here because I was worried.” Yunho narrowed his eyes at her. “I’ve watched you throw your life away for years since your father died. I’ve watched you race cars. I’ve watched you get arrested.” She didn’t say nearly die. Because of course she wasn’t there for that. “And now you’ve gotten some girl pregnant.” Yunho’s eyes flashed. “Watch your mouth.”
“I’m simply saying…” Her chin lifted. “how sure are you that baby is even yours?” Silence. Complete and utter silence. Even the impact gun in the back seemed to stop as Yunho stared at her. Not angry. Not shouting. Just… staring he’d never seen her before. His mother continued before realizing she’d gone too far. “You’ve been in and out of trouble. You were always doing something illegal for Hongjoong. I don’t even think you were exactly serious until she got knocked up. You honestly expect me to believe she…” The sentence never finished because Yunho stepped forward just close enough that she had to look up directly into his eyes. His voice was barely above a whisper. “If you ever…” He swallowed once. “ever question Y/N’s character again… or my son’s…” His jaw tightened so hard it hurt. “…you won’t have to worry about seeing him.” His mother’s face paled. “Yunho…” His voice remained frighteningly calm. “No.” He shook his head. “You don’t get to disrespect the woman who’s stood beside me through every damn thing I’ve put her through. You don’t get to question her. And you sure as hell don’t get to question my child.”
“I didn’t mean…”
“You did.” He cut her off. “You knew exactly what you were saying.” A heavy silence settled between them again before Yunho stepped back and pointed toward the front. “You should go.” She looked at him in disbelief. “You’re asking me to leave?” His expression never softened. “I’m telling you. You want a relationship with me someday?” He shook his head slowly. “Then the next time you walk into this garage…” His voice cracked just slightly. “you’d better come prepared to apologize to the mother of my son.” Without another word, he turned his back on her and walked toward the service bays, never looking back as his mother remained frozen for several long seconds before quietly picking up her purse.
As she reached the front entrance, Jongho watched her leave before he looked toward Yunho. He hadn’t gone back to work. He was standing beside his rebuilt car, one hand resting silently on its roof. Head lowered. Trying very hard not to let the one person who still knew exactly how to hurt him see that she’d succeeded.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
The familiar click of Yunho’s new key echoed through the apartment just after eight that evening. The place smelled like fried chicken, rice, and whatever spicy noodles Seonghwa had insisted on ordering because med school stole his soul that day. Y/N was curled sideways on the couch in an oversized sweatshirt that barely hid the gentle curve of her stomach now. Anatomy notes were spread across the coffee table between half empty takeout containers, while Seonghwa sat cross legged on the floor, chopsticks in one hand and a pathology textbook propped against his knee. Yunho rounded the corner a second later, the house folder tucked beneath one arm. He walked over and dropped the folder onto the kitchen counter without explanation before walking towards where Y/N was, leaning down as she smiled up at him. “There you are.” He cupped her face gently.
“Hi, baby.” His lips brushed hers, the kind of kiss he’d given her dozens of times. But… something about this one felt… practiced. Like he was making sure she couldn’t tell something was wrong. She kissed him back anyway. “You eat?”
“Not yet.”
“I stole your dumplings.”
“I figured.” His smile came easily. Almost too easily. Y/N watched his eyes. They looked tired. Not physically. But emotionally. He reached down, resting his hand against her stomach. “How’re my favorite people?”
“Our son kicked me twice during pharmacology.”
He smiled a little more genuinely at that. “Smart kid.”
“He was probably protesting.”
“Already takes after his mother.” Yunho chuckled, shaking his head before kissing the top of her head. “I’m gonna take a shower.”
“You sure you don’t want to eat first?”
“I’ll eat after.” He squeezed her shoulder gently before grabbing a clean towel from the hallway closet. “I won’t be long.” The bathroom door closed a moment later and Seonghwa slowly lowered his chopsticks. “Someone definitely pissed him off.” Y/N didn’t answer right away. She was still staring toward the hallway where the bathroom door had just closed, listening as the shower turned on a few seconds later and the steady rush of water filled the apartment. “Yeah,” she murmured quietly. Seonghwa watched her for a moment before setting his takeout container on the coffee table. “You noticed it too?” She looked over at him. “I noticed it before he even kissed me.”
He raised an eyebrow. “How?”
“He smiled.”
“That’s a bad thing?”
“No.” She shook her head slowly. “It’s the kind of smile he puts on when he’s trying to convince me everything’s okay.” Seonghwa leaned back against the couch. “I thought maybe I was imagining it.” She rested one hand over her stomach, absentmindedly rubbing small circles. “You weren’t. He came in, kissed me…” she said softly. “But his shoulders never relaxed.” Her eyes drifted toward the hallway again. “When Yunho walks through that door…” she smiled faintly, “…he usually melts.”
“What do you mean?”
“He lets go.” She shrugged. “Whatever happened at the garage stays there. He becomes…” she searched for the right word before smiling to herself. “home.” The word lingered between them. “But tonight?” Seonghwa asked. “He brought whatever happened with him.” Silence settled over the apartment for a few seconds. Then Seonghwa’s eyes landed on the thick manila folder sitting untouched on the kitchen counter. “What’s with the folder?” Y/N followed his gaze. “I don’t know.”
“He practically threw it on the counter.”
“I noticed.”
Neither of them moved to open it because it wasn’t theirs to open. Seonghwa sighed. “You gonna ask him?” She thought about it for a moment before shaking her head. “Not right away.”
“Really?”
She smiled knowingly. “If I ask him the second he walks out of that shower…He’ll say he’s fine. I’ll let him eat first.” She glanced toward the hallway again. “Then I’ll wait until we’re in bed.” Seonghwa groaned dramatically. “You’re terrifying.”
“Why?”
“Because you already have a strategy.”
She grinned. “I’ve been dating Yunho for almost a year. You don’t survive that without learning how he works.”
“And how does he work?”
She didn’t even hesitate. “He’ll carry the weight of the world if he thinks it’ll spare someone he loves.” Her smile softened. “But he forgets…” She looked down at her stomach before looking back toward the bathroom. “he doesn’t have to carry it alone anymore.” From down the hallway, the shower shut off and both of them looked toward the bathroom door as Seonghwa picked his chopsticks back up. “Five thousand won says it was either Bae or his mother.” The bathroom door opened a minute later, a cloud of warm steam drifting into the hallway ahead of Yunho. His damp hair was pushed back from his forehead, still dripping onto the broad line of his shoulders. A white towel sat low around his waist, another smaller one draped over the back of his neck as he scrubbed absently at the ends of his hair while walking toward the living room. He looked… cleaner. Calmer. But definitely not lighter. Whatever had happened that afternoon was still sitting somewhere behind his eyes.
Without saying much, he wandered into the kitchen, grabbed the container of dumplings Y/N had admitted to stealing from, plucked one out with the chopsticks, and immediately frowned. “You really did eat all the good ones.” Y/N smiled. “I warned you.” He took another dumpling before padding into the living room and dropping onto the couch beside her with a tired sigh. The cushions dipped beneath his weight and Y/N leaned into his side, resting against his shoulder. Yunho kissed the top of her head without looking away from his food. Still quiet. Still somewhere else. He balanced the takeout container on one thigh, reached across the coffee table for the remote, and clicked the TV on. A rerun of some drama filled the room with exaggerated sound effects and laughter. Normally… Yunho would’ve made some sarcastic comment within thirty seconds about how the romance in those show was completely unrealistic. Instead, he simply stared at the screen while absentmindedly eating another dumpling.
Y/N and Seonghwa exchanged a quick glance over the edge of their takeout containers because Yunho wasn’t watching TV. He was looking through it. Finally, Seonghwa stood, gathering his empty container. “Well…” He stretched. “I’ve got about three chapters of pathology waiting to ruin my night.” He carried his trash into the kitchen before disappearing down the hallway toward his bedroom, the door clicking shut behind him. Yunho finished the last dumpling and set the empty container on the coffee table, leaning back into the couch with a long exhale as Y/N watched him from the corner of her eye. He hadn’t said ten words since getting out of the shower. After a few minutes, his hand found hers where it rested beside her on the cushion, fingers lacing through hers.
The silence lingered after Seonghwa went to his room. Yunho’s thumb continued its lazy circles across the back of her hand while the television played to a room that wasn’t really watching it. Y/N waited. She’d meant it when she told Seonghwa she’d let him eat first. Now that he had, she finally turned her head toward the kitchen and her eyes landed on the thick folder still sitting exactly where he’d dropped it. “Is that what has you trying to pretend like you’re not pissed?” Yunho’s eyes followed her gaze. Then he looked back at her, a short laugh escaping him. “Okay,” he said, holding up a finger, “first of all…” A crooked grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. “I’m not that pissed.” Y/N gave him a look and he immediately sighed. “Alright, maybe a little.”
“A little?”
“Medium pissed.”
She snorted. “That’s more honest.” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck before nodding toward the folder. “And second…” He pointed at it. “that has nothing to do with it.” She looked from him to the folder again. “Then what’s in it?” Yunho leaned forward, reaching across the coffee table for his drink before taking a slow sip. “Your dad pulled me over today.”
“What?”
“He lit me up while I was driving the tow truck.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Are you serious?”
“I thought I was getting arrested again.”
She covered her mouth to hide a laugh. “What’d you do?”
“Nothing!” He looked genuinely offended. “I was literally just towing someone’s Kia.” She laughed harder. “He said I wasn’t answering my phone.”
“Were you?”
“No.”
Y/N rolled her eyes and Yunho smiled despite himself. “He’d apparently been calling me all afternoon. Wanted to give the envelope.” Y/N looked back at it. “What is it?” Yunho stood from the couch, walking to the kitchen counter before picking up the folder and walking back over, sitting back beside her and resting it carefully across both of their laps. Y/N stared at it a moment before opening the flap. The first glossy picture slid into view. A house. She froze. “Yunho…” He watched her face instead of the pictures. “Your dad found it.” She slowly pulled the picture free. Then another. Then a third. The backyard. The kitchen. The detached garage. A small bedroom with sunlight spilling through the window. She didn’t realize she’d stopped breathing until Yunho gently squeezed her hand.
“He said…” Yunho spoke quietly, “…he doesn’t want his grandson growing up split between apartments.” Y/N looked up at him. “My dad… found this?” Yunho nodded. “He’d already checked everything.” She flipped through the rest of the pictures. “It needs a little work.” She smiled faintly. “I don’t care.” Her fingers lingered on the picture of the smaller bedroom. “This would make a perfect nursery.” Yunho’s smile softened. “That’s exactly what I thought.” She looked over at him. “So…” A grin slowly spread across her face. “this isn’t why you’re pretending you’re not angry.” He shook his head. “No.”
“Then what happened?”
The smile faded from his face and his eyes dropped back to the folder. For several seconds he said nothing. Then he let out a slow sigh. “My mom came to the garage.” Y/N’s expression changed immediately and her shoulders stiffened. “What did she want?” Yunho gave a dry, humorless laugh. “Apparently… to see how I was doing.” He looked down at his hands. “She asked about the baby. And I asked her why she cared. Then of course we started arguing.” Y/N reached over, resting her hand on his forearm. “What did she say?” Yunho’s jaw tightened and he looked away. “She asked me if I was sure he was mine.” The room went completely still as Y/N’s hand slowly slipped from his arm to his fingers, intertwining with them. She didn’t speak right away. Instead, she simply held his hand tighter. And when she finally did speak, her voice was soft. “What did you tell her?”
A small smile appeared on Yunho’s face. Not amused but…. proud. “I told her…” He looked down at the gentle curve of her stomach before meeting Y/N’s eyes again. “if she ever questioned you or my son again…” His thumb brushed across her knuckles. “she’d never get to know either of you.” Y/N stared at him for a long moment. Then, without saying a word, she leaned over and wrapped both arms around him and when he held her back, his shoulders finally relaxed.
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The next day arrived wrapped in one of those rare Busan mornings where the sky seemed determined to apologize for every rainy day that had come before. Bright blue stretched endlessly overhead, the late afternoon fall sun glinting off the harbor in the distance while a breeze rolled in from the water. Y/N stood in front of the bedroom mirror, smoothing her hands over the front of a simple black dress. It fit differently now. The swell beneath the fabric was impossible to ignore. She caught herself smiling. Not because of the dress. But because somewhere beneath it, their son shifted. A tiny kick greeting her hand as Yunho stepped out of the closet after pulling on a charcoal tshirt, faded jeans and white converse. His damp hair still carried the scent of shampoo as he adjusted the watch around his wrist before catching her reflection in the mirror. He walked over without another word, arms slipping around her waist from behind, careful of her stomach, before one hand settled gently over the little kick he’d already begun recognizing. “He kick again?”
“Twice.”
“You ready?”
“Yeah.”
Nearly twenty minutes later, Yunho’s rebuilt car rolled into a quiet residential neighborhood tucked against the hills overlooking Busan. The streets were lined with mature maple trees, their leaves dancing softly in the breeze. Kids rode bicycles. Someone walked a golden retriever. An elderly couple sat on their front porch drinking warm tea. It felt… peaceful. Y/N noticed Yunho easing off the accelerator. “What?” He looked out the windshield. “I don’t think I’ve ever lived somewhere this quiet.” She reached over, intertwining their fingers across the center console. “I think that’s the point.”
He smiled. “Yeah.” They rounded one final corner. “There,” Y/N said quietly. At the end of the street sat a two story cream colored home with dark gray trim, a wide covered porch stretching across the front, and a detached garage sitting just behind it. Freshly cut grass surrounded the property. A young maple tree stood near the sidewalk. And parked in the driveway was Captain Kim Junmyeon’s car. Yunho parked behind it, shutting off the engine. Neither of them moved right away as Y/N stared through the windshield. “It’s prettier than the pictures.” She looked over at him. “You okay?” He let out a slow breath. “I’ve been in races with less anxiety than this.” She laughed softly. “You’ve also crashed in one.”
“That’s unrelated.”
“I don’t think it is.”
He smiled, shaking his head before climbing out and rounding the front of the car, opening the passenger door and reaching for Y/N’s hand. She took it without hesitation and together they walked toward the house. The front door opened before they reached the porch and Junmyeon stepped outside carrying a ring of keys in one hand and two paper coffee cups in the other. His expression remained as unreadable as ever as looked first at his daughter then at Yunho. “You made it.” Y/N smiled. “You told him five.”
“You were two minutes early.”
Yunho couldn’t help himself.
“I’ve been told that’s a first for your family.”
Junmyeon’s eyes slid toward him. “Keep talking.”
Yunho grinned. “I’ll stop.” One corner of Junmyeon’s mouth twitched upward as he held one of the coffees toward Yunho. “I’ve already walked through the place.” He opened the front door. “Structurally, it’s solid. The roof was replaced three years ago. Plumbing’s been updated. Electrical was brought to code.” He glanced over his shoulder. “The previous owners moved to Seoul after retirement. They took good care of it.” Fall sunlight poured through the front windows, illuminating polished hardwood floors that stretched into an open living room beyond. Junmyeon stepped aside, gesturing toward the entrance. “Go on.…” His voice softened just enough that only the two of them really noticed. “Don’t look at it as buyers.” His eyes drifted briefly to Y/N’s stomach before returning to the two of them. “Look at it as parents.” Junmyeon stayed behind near the front entry, deliberately giving them space. “I’ll be outside,” he said simply. “Take your time.” The front door clicked shut behind him.
Y/N and Yunho’s fingers found each other’s as they wandered into the house. The living room opened into a bright kitchen with white cabinets, butcher block countertops, and wide windows overlooking the backyard. Morning sunlight spilled across the hardwood floors, making the entire downstairs feel warm without trying. Y/N slowly walked around the kitchen island, trailing her fingertips across the smooth countertop. “I could actually cook in here.“ Yunho raised an eyebrow. “You?” She gasped. “I know how to cook.”
“You know how to order food.”
“I made breakfast last week.”
“You burned toast.”
“That toaster was defective.”
“It was brand new.”
“It had an attitude.”
Yunho laughed, the sound echoing through the empty house and he reached over, stealing a quick kiss before they continued exploring. The dining room sat just off the kitchen, large enough for a six person table. They continued upstairs together. The first bedroom overlooked the street. The second was slightly smaller, painted a soft sage green. Y/N stepped inside and smiled. She could already picture it. A crib beneath the window. Bookshelves. Tiny clothes folded into little drawers. A rocking chair tucked into the corner. Without realizing it, one hand drifted over her stomach. “Hi, buddy.” Yunho watched her quietly from the doorway. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t need to. He knew exactly what she was seeing.
After another minute, they checked out the master bedroom. It was larger than either of them expected. A wide window overlooked the backyard, flooding the room with soft natural light. The attached bathroom still had its original soaking tub. Y/N wandered farther inside, already imagining where a bed would go. Maybe a dresser there. A bookshelf in that corner. Pictures on the wall. A home. Not just another apartment. Not somewhere temporary. Somewhere they could stay. She walked toward the window, smiling to herself as she looked out over the backyard below. “You could see him playing out there,” she murmured but no answer came. She frowned. “Yunho?” Turning around, she found the bedroom doorway empty. “Yunho?”
Yunho quietly slipped out the back door, shoving his hands into his pockets as he crossed the neatly cut browning fall grass toward the detached garage sitting at the edge of the property. It wasn’t extravagant. Just a clean, two car garage with a side workbench visible through one of the dusty windows. Sunlight spilled across a smooth concrete floor. Old cabinets lined one wall. Pegboards still held a handful of forgotten hooks. A heavy wooden workbench stretched across the back. The previous owner had clearly spent time out here. Yunho stepped inside slowly and the smell hit him first. Old wood. Motor oil. Metal. It reminded him… of Outlaw Customz. It reminded him of his old warehouse his dad left him. His eyes drifted toward the empty center of the garage. Big enough for his rebuilt car. Maybe another project someday. Shelves along one wall for tools. An air compressor. A lift, if he ever saved enough. He smiled to himself. He was imagining coming home from work. Parking his car. Hearing laughter from inside the house. A little boy running across the yard because he’d heard the garage door open. The image appeared so vividly it almost startled him.
Yunho swallowed then quietly laughed to himself. “Yeah….” He looked around the garage one more time. “I could make this work.”
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Two weeks disappeared in a blur of paperwork, inspections, doctor appointments, and long days that somehow never seemed to end. December settled over Busan with crisp mornings and cold sea winds that carried the scent of salt through the city. Storefronts hung lights above their windows, cafés set out little Christmas trees, and every evening the streets glowed a little warmer against the winter sky. The house officially belonged to them now. The down payment had been made. The keys sat in a drawer at Y/N’s apartment. Boxes had started appearing in corners. But between Yunho working twelve hour days, Y/N finishing the semester while seven months pregnant now, and endless paperwork, they still hadn’t found time to actually move. The nursery existed only as unopened boxes stacked inside an empty bedroom.
Outlaw Customz was alive with the familiar soundtrack of impact wrenches, revving engines, and classic rock spilling from an old radio mounted above the office door. The massive garage smelled of gasoline, fresh paint, and burnt rubber. Yunho slid out from beneath a black Nissan Skyline on a creeper, wiping grease from his hands with an already filthy rag before pushing himself to his feet. “You tighten the rear differential?” Jongho called from across the garage.
“Finished twenty minutes ago.”
“You torque it?”
Yunho gave him a deadpan look. “Do you enjoy insulting me?”
“A little.”
“I can tell.”
Jongho grinned before ducking back beneath another car as Yunho tossed the rag onto his shoulder and made his way toward Hongjoong’s office. The garage owner stood inside with invoices spread across his desk, reading glasses perched low on his nose while arguing with someone on the phone about imported parts. “No.” Hongjoong sighed. “I ordered Brembos. I know what Toyota brakes look like.…Then send me what I paid for.” He hung up and rubbed both his eyes. “I hate people.” Yunho leaned against the office doorway. “I need a favor.” Hongjoong looked up. “That sentence always costs me money.”
“It’ll make you money.”
“Better.”
He leaned back in his chair. “What do you need?” Yunho folded his arms. “I need races.” Hongjoong’s expression shifted because Yunho hadn’t raced since he got out. Not since he found out he was gonna be a dad. “What kind?”
“The high money ones.”
Hongjoong studied him for several seconds. “How high?”
“The highest you’ve got.”
The garage noises outside suddenly felt very far away as Hongjoong slowly removed his glasses. “Talk to me.” Yunho looked out through the office window toward the shop floor. “The house.” Hongjoong nodded. “I figured.”
“I’ve already put the down payment down.”
“I know.”
“But?”
Yunho rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “I want it paid off faster.” Hongjoong frowned. “You don’t need to.”
“I know.”
“You’ve got time.”
“I know.”
“You’ve still got months before…”
“I know.” The words came a little sharper than he’d intended and Hongjoong didn’t react. He’d known Yunho long enough not to take it personally. Instead, he simply folded his arms. “This isn’t about the mortgage.” Yunho looked away. “No. It’s about him. My son’s gonna be here in two months.” His voice softened. “And I keep looking around that apartment thinking…” He laughed quietly to himself. “there isn’t even room for his stroller.” Hongjoong smiled faintly. “I want him home before he’s born. I want to be able to get him everything he needs. Get him the best.” He looked back at Hongjoong. “I don’t care if I have to race every Friday and Saturday until then.”
Hongjoong was silent for a long moment before he stood and walked over to the office window looking out at the garage. “You remember what happened the last time you chased money instead of driving smart?” Yunho’s jaw tightened. The crash. The arrest. Everything that followed. “I’m not doing that again.”
“You sure?”
“I’m racing smarter.”
Hongjoong turned to face him. “No.” He shook his head. “You’re racing with something to lose now. Two things.” The words landed heavier than either of them expected as Yunho met his eyes. “I’ll come home.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I can promise I’ll do everything I can.”
Hongjoong let out a slow breath. “There are two invitation only races before Christmas. One in Daegu. The other…” Hongjoong looked him straight in the eye. “is in Seoul.” Yunho frowned. “How much?” Hongjoong didn’t answer. Instead… he held up two fingers. “Winner takes two hundred million won.” The office fell completely silent. Even Yunho blinked surprised. “That’s enough to finish the house.” Hongjoong nodded. “Exactly.”
“And who’s running it?”
Hongjoong’s expression lost what little warmth it had. “I don’t know yet.” He stepped closer. “But races with purses that big…” His voice dropped. “always attract people who don’t care whether everyone crosses the finish line.” Yunho knew exactly what he meant and suddenly the thought of climbing back into the driver’s seat for an illegal race didn’t fill him with adrenaline. It filled him with responsibility. Because now he wasn’t racing for himself. Or for fun. Or for a rush. He was racing for the little boy who still hadn’t taken his first breath.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
Final exams were over. The endless stream of students rushing between lecture halls had been replaced with strings of Christmas lights hanging from lampposts, holiday music drifting from cafés, and the occasional group celebrating the start of winter break. Y/N and Seonghwa sat outside their favorite café near campus, bundled against the chilly afternoon air beneath one of the patio heaters. Half eaten sandwiches sat between them, along with two hot chocolates that had long since become more decorative than practical. Seonghwa was halfway through explaining why one of his teachers clearly enjoyed ruining lives when he stopped talking altogether. Y/N hadn’t heard a word he’d said. She was staring blankly at nothing, absentmindedly stirring whipped cream into her drink for what had to be the hundredth time. “Okay.” He snapped his fingers. “Earth to Y/N.” She blinked. “Hm?”
“Where’d you go?”
“Nowhere.”
“Liar.”
“I’m thinking.”
“You’ve been thinking for ten minutes.”
She sighed, resting her forehead against one hand. “Don’t.”
“I’m absolutely going to.”
She groaned. “It’s…” She looked around as if someone might overhear them leaned across the table. “It’s just the hormones.” Seonghwa nodded slowly. “Okay…”
“I’m just…” Another groan escaped her. “Really…” She dropped her voice to barely above a whisper. “you know…” He stared at her. “No.” She covered her face with both hands. “I’m horny.” There was a moment of complete silence before Seonghwa burst into laughter so hard he nearly knocked over his drink. “Oh my God.” Y/N shot him a glare through her fingers. “Don’t laugh.”
“I’m trying.” He absolutely was not.
“I’m seven months pregnant!”
“I know!”
“My body hates me.”
“It clearly doesn’t.”
She kicked him lightly under the table. “Seonghwa.” He finally got himself under control, wiping at the corner of one eye. “Okay, okay.” He took a sip of his hot chocolate. “So…” He shrugged. “Have sex with your baby daddy.” Y/N stared at him then gave him the most offended look she could manage. “I want to.”
“But?”
She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “But I’m…” She looked down at herself. Her coat was unbuttoned revealing the unmistakable curve of her pregnancy beneath the soft knit sweater she’d chosen that morning. “Huge.” Seonghwa’s smile faded. “You don’t actually believe that.”
“I know I’m supposed to say I don’t.” She rubbed one hand over her stomach. “But…” She searched for the words. “My ankles swell. I can’t see my own feet half the time now. I get winded walking up stairs.” She laughed weakly. “And every time I catch my reflection…” Her voice grew quieter. “I don’t recognize myself.” Seonghwa watched her carefully. “You think Yunho sees that?” She looked away toward the street. “I don’t know. I know he tells me I’m beautiful. He kisses me. He still looks at me the same way.” She smiled faintly. “But sometimes…” Her fingers tightened around the warm paper cup. “I wonder if he’s just saying it because he knows I’m carrying our son.”
Seonghwa didn’t answer as he leaned back in his chair, studying her with the same patient expression he’d worn as long as they’ve known each other. “Can I tell you something?” She nodded. “I’ve watched that man look at you for almost a year.” Y/N looked back at him. He smiled softly. “The only thing that’s changed… is that somehow he looks even more in love.” Y/N swallowed. “He practically worships the ground you walk on.” A small laugh escaped her. “That’s dramatic.”
“It’s accurate.”
Her eyes dropped to her cup as a blush crept into her cheeks and Seonghwa smiled to himself. “If Yunho could hear you right now…” He shook his head. “he’d probably think you’re completely ridiculous.” Y/N laughed quietly through her embarrassment. “Yeah.” She smiled despite herself. “He probably would.”
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
The garage echoed with the sharp metallic rhythm of impact guns and ratchets. Outside, the December air bit at anyone foolish enough to leave the bay doors open too long. Inside, space heaters fought a losing battle against the cold as Yunho stood over the open hood of his car. The Daegu race was only days away. He’d already changed the oil, checked the suspension, and swapped out a worn belt. Now he was making tiny adjustments to the engine, the kind of details only another driver would ever notice. He tightened one last bolt. “Come on…” The wrench slipped suddenly the break sent his knuckles crashing against a sharp metal bracket. “Shit!” He jerked his hand back as a thin line of blood immediately appeared across his palm. He tossed the broken wrench onto the nearby workbench, clattering loudly enough that half the garage looked over.
Jongho, halfway underneath another car, slid out. “You good?” Yunho looked down at the small cut. “Yeah.”
“You don’t sound convincing.”
“I’m fine.”
Jongho stood, wiping his hands on a rag before walking over. “You just murdered an innocent wrench.” Yunho sighed, leaning both hands against the front of the car and just stared into the engine bay a few minutes. “I think…” He laughed once under his breath. “I think this is the longest I’ve gone without sex since I was in prison.” Jongho blinked. “That was not where I thought this conversation was going.” Yunho rubbed the bridge of his nose. “We haven’t…” He shook his head. “Not since the night I got out.” Jongho’s expression softened. “You two okay?”
“Yeah.” The answer came without hesitation. “We’re good.” He smiled to himself. “Better than good.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Yunho was quiet for a second. “I’m not gonna say anything to her.” He folded the grease stained rag in his hands absentmindedly. “I can tell she’s…” He searched for the word. “Insecure. Even if she won’t tell me.” His eyes drifted toward a copy of the ultrasound picture clipped to the corner of his toolbox. “I know she’s looking at herself differently. I catch her pulling at her shirts. Or apologizing because she gets tired.” He shook his head with a small, helpless smile. “She has no idea what I see when I look at her.” Jongho listened without interrupting. “I mean…” Yunho shrugged. “I’ll wait as long as she needs. She’s carrying our son. That’s a hell of a lot more important than me getting laid.” He exhaled slowly. “I’m just…”
Jongho couldn’t help himself as he snorted. “Sexually frustrated.” Yunho closed his eyes for a second. “Yeah. A little.” Jongho laughed. “A little? You just gave me a five minute speech.” Yunho pointed a greasy finger at him. “Don’t start.” Jongho leaned against the workbench with a grin. “I’m just saying. For a guy who’s about to be a dad, you’ve somehow become the most patient man in Busan.” Yunho chuckled quietly. “I don’t think patience has anything to do with it.”
“No?”
He looked down at the ultrasound again, his expression softening. “When she smiles…” He smiled too. “I honestly forget about everything else.” There was a brief silence before Jongho smirked. “Still sexually frustrated though.” Yunho picked up the shop rag and threw it at his best friend’s face and Jongho caught it laughing. “I was trying to be supportive!”
“You were making fun of me.”
“I can do both.”
Yunho shook his head, laughing despite himself. “You’re the worst.”
“And yet…” Jongho tossed the rag back. “I’m still your best friend.” Yunho caught it one handed. “Unfortunately.” The two of them shared a laugh before Yunho turned back toward the engine as the tow truck backed into one bay while another customer argued with Hongjoong over an estimate. Yeosang climbed out the tow truck, unlit blunt sat tucked behind one ear like a carpenter’s pencil. He didn’t even bother shutting the truck door before jogging toward Yunho. “Dude.” Yunho didn’t look up. “Hm?”
“Dude.”
“What?”
“You…” Yeosang pointed dramatically toward the tow truck. “Who I just had to tow in needing her car fixed.” Jongho looked over from the alignment rack. “Who?” Yeosang wore the expression of a man delivering terrible news. “Kira.” Three groans echoed through the garage almost simultaneously. “Oh, come on,” Yunho muttered, letting his forehead fall briefly against the hood of his car. “Seriously?” Yeosang nodded toward the front office. “Seriously. Her car died on the expressway.” Yunho was close to running away from the garage. Before Y/N. Before houses. Before ultrasounds tucked into wallets. Before fatherhood. Before being in love. Kira had been one of the women Yunho saw casually. Unfortunately… Kira hadn’t realized it was casual.
She’d spent months convinced they were headed toward something serious despite Yunho making it abundantly clear they weren’t. The relationship had ended without a word because Yunho met Y/N. “Does she know you’re practically married?” Jongho asked and Yunho shrugged, not even flinching at the joke of marriage. “I haven’t talked to her since the night I met Y/N.” Yeosang winced. “Well…” He nodded toward the front entrance. “You’re about to.” The sound of heels clicking across the concrete floor announced her before anyone turned. Kira stepped into the garage wearing an expensive wool coat over fitted clothes that looked wildly impractical for an auto shop. She smiled the second she spotted Yunho. “There you are.”
Yunho closed his eyes for the briefest second before forcing the same polite customer service smile he used with everyone. “Kira.” She walked right up to him. “Haven’t seen you. I didn’t know you were still working here.”
“I own part of my sanity here.”
She laughed as though he’d said something charming. “My car just died.”
“I heard.”
“It wouldn’t start.” She sighed dramatically. “I figured I’d bring it to the best mechanic I know.” Yunho rubbed the back of his neck. “We’ll take a look.”
“I knew you would.” She reached out almost absentmindedly, resting her hand against his forearm. “I’ve missed you, you know.” Yeosang slowly turned toward Jongho. “This is painful.” Jongho nodded. “I’m uncomfortable.” Yunho carefully stepped back just enough for her hand to slip away naturally. “I’m sorry your car broke down.”
“I mean it…” She smiled. “I’ve missed you.” Before Yunho could figure out how to answer without making the situation worse… “Pizza delivery!” Seonghwa called cheerfully and everyone in the garage looked up and Yunho’s face immediately brightened as Y/N stepped inside behind Seonghwa, balancing two large pizza boxes in her arms. She’d traded her heavy winter coat for one of Yunho’s hoodies underneath, the fabric stretched gently over her belly. Loose leggings and sneakers completed the outfit, comfortable enough for a quick stop at the garage before heading back home. The moment Yunho saw her entire expression changed. The tension he’d carried all afternoon melted into something softer. Warmer. He started toward her but Y/N stopped walking. Her smile faded as her eyes had landed on Kira. More specifically… on how close she was standing to Yunho.
Kira reached out again, laughing as her fingertips brushed lightly against his arm while finishing whatever she’d been saying. A strange feeling twisted low in Y/N’s stomach. She’d never been jealous before. Never had a reason. Yunho had never given her one. If anything… he’d always been the possessive one. The one who glared when another man lingered too long. The one who proudly introduced her as “my girlfriend,” and now, “the mother of my son.” She’d always found it a little endearing. Now… Standing seven months pregnant. Feeling heavier than she’d ever been. Still hearing the doubts she’d confessed to Seonghwa over lunch echoing in her head. She looked at the beautiful woman standing beside Yunho. Then looked down at herself and jealously suddenly slipped quietly into her chest. Not because she didn’t trust Yunho. She trusted him completely. What she didn’t trust… was the small, insecure voice in the back of her own mind.
Yunho saw it. The tiny tightening around her eyes. The way her shoulders squared. The smile disappearing. He knew that look. Hell… he’d worn that exact expression every time some guy lingered a little too long around her. It was jealousy. And before he could open his mouth… he watched the realization flash across Y/N’s face as Hongjoong emerged from his office just as Seonghwa reached the counter with the pizza. “My heroes have arrived,” Hongjoong declared dramatically and Seonghwa rolled his eyes. “You say that every time someone brings food.”
“Because every time someone brings food, they’re my hero.” Hongjoong leaned down, stealing a quick kiss from Seonghwa as he reached for the stack of pizza boxes. The gesture was so automatic neither of them even acknowledged it anymore. Y/N, however barely noticed. Without taking her eyes off Kira, she shoved the pizza boxes she’d been carrying into Hongjoong’s surprised arms. “Whoa.” He caught them against his chest. “Okay.” Then she started walking. Slowly. Purposefully, stopping directly beside Yunho and folding both arms across her chest as she looked up at him. “What time will you be home tonight?”
Yunho couldn’t answer. He was still taking in how turned on he suddenly was as Kira smiled politely. She hadn’t put the pieces together yet. Instead, she glanced around the garage at the group of men standing nearby. Her eyes bounced from Yunho… to Yeosang… to Jongho… then back again and a laugh escaped her. “Wait. Which one of you idiots didn’t wear a condom?” Yeosang’s eyes went wide. Jongho slowly took one careful step backward as Y/N answered before anyone else could. “The one…” Her voice remained calm. “that if you don’t stop touching…” She took one small step closer. “I’ll happily remind you a pregnant woman can still break a nose.”
The garage went deathly silent as Yeosang whispered without moving his lips. “She’s so hot.” Jongho smack him in the back of the head as Kira’s smile faltered and looked up at Yunho. “Excuse me?” Yunho finally found his voice. “Kira.” He gently stepped around Y/N until he was standing beside her instead of between the two women. His hand found the small of Y/N’s back. Comforting and grounding. “This is Y/N. My girlfriend.” He looked down at Y/N for just a second before smiling. “And….” His smile grew into one of unmistakable pride. “The mother of my son.”
Kira’s expression didn’t soften. If anything it hardened. Her eyes drifted downward to Y/N belly. “You’re kidding.” A short, incredulous laugh escaped her. “No.” She shook her head. “You’re actually serious.” Yunho’s jaw tightened. “I am.” Kira looked at Y/N again and this time, there was something almost pitying in her smile. “Honey…” She sighed. “If you think he’s actually going to stick around…” Yunho’s expression darkened. “Kira.” She ignored him. “The same guy who used to have a different girl every other night?” She let out another small laugh. “Then you’re crazy.”
The garage seemed to stop breathing. No one moved. No one spoke. Y/N didn’t say anything. Not right away. Because the worst part… was that Kira wasn’t completely lying. Yunho had been that guy. Before her. Before they met. That tiny, insecure voice she’d been trying so hard to ignore all afternoon whispered again. What if… and she hated that it even crossed her mind. Hated herself for letting it. Yunho felt the subtle shift beside him and looked down. Y/N’s confident posture hadn’t changed… but he knew her well enough to see it. The flicker of doubt. And that hurt him far more than anything Kira had said. His eyes snapped back to Kira. “You’re right. I was that guy. I slept around. I never stayed. I never made promises. I never wanted forever.” He nodded. “You’re absolutely right.”
Kira smiled, thinking she’d won. Then Yunho looked at Y/N and everything about him changed. His features softened. His eyes warmed. His thumb unconsciously brushed against the small of her back. “Then I met her.” He looked back at Kira. “So no…” He shook his head. “I’m not that guy anymore.” His hand slipped gently around Y/N’s waist. “I wake up next to the woman I love. And if you think…” He glanced at Y/N again, smiling with quiet certainty. “that there’s anywhere else I’d rather be than with them…” He shook his head. “Then you’re the crazy one.” The words landed with far more weight than shouting ever could. Kira opened her mouth but nothing came out. She stared at him for another long second. Searching. Then let out a slow breath through her nose. “Right.”
The confidence she’d walked into the garage with had disappeared as Yeosang clapped his hands together with forced enthusiasm. “Great!” Nobody looked at him but he smiled anyway. “So…” He pointed toward the service bays. “Why don’t we go take a look at your car?” Yeosang gently but very deliberately steered Kira toward the opposite end of the garage. “This way.”
“I know where I’m going.”
Y/N let out a slow breath she’d been holding and the tiny smile tugging at the corner of her mouth refused to cooperate. Yunho noticed and he couldn’t help laughing. “Don’t.”
“What?”
“I know that look.”
“What look?”
“The one where you’re trying not to look smug.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, really?”
She bit the inside of her cheek. “Maybe a little.”
“A little?”
She shrugged innocently. “You handled that very well.”
“So that’s a yes.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You absolutely did.”
She laughed, the sound finally washing away the knot that had been sitting in her chest since she’d walked through the garage doors as Yunho stepped closer. His hand finding her waist again, thumb brushing gently over the side of her hoodie. “You okay?” The question was quiet enough that only she heard it. Y/N looked at him. Really looked at him. At the way he was watching her instead of everyone else. At the concern in his eyes. “Yeah.” Then, after a tiny pause… “Sorry.” His eyebrows furrowed. “For what?” She glanced toward the service bay where Kira had disappeared. “I…” She laughed awkwardly. “I got jealous.”
Yunho smirked and it almost made her blush all over again. “You did.”
“I know.”
“I’ve never…”
“I know.”
She sighed. “I don’t even know where it came from.” He did. He knew exactly where it had come from. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss against her forehead. “You’ve got nothing to be jealous of.” His voice carried a certainty that left no room for doubt. “Nothing.” She smiled. “I know.” He looked over toward his car, still sitting with its hood open. “I’ve gotta finish tuning this.” She followed his gaze. “Still working on it?”
“Almost done.” He smiled at her again. “I’ll finish up…” His fingers squeezed hers once. “and I’ll be home.” She nodded. “Okay.” She didn’t ask why he’d been spending so much time on the car again lately. Didn’t ask why he’d suddenly become obsessed with every tiny adjustment. And Yunho was grateful. Because he wasn’t ready to tell her. Not yet. For now… He simply watched her walk back toward Seonghwa, one hand resting protectively over their son beneath his hoodie. And quietly promised himself… every lap is for them.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
The hallway outside the apartment was silent as Yunho unlocked the door as quietly as he could. The familiar warmth hit him immediately. The scent of pizza lingered faintly in the air. Christmas lights blinked softly around the living room window. And sprawled across the couch… Seonghwa was completely unconscious. One sock was missing. A medical textbook rested open across his chest, his reading glasses crooked halfway down his nose while some nature documentary continued playing quietly on the television. Yunho couldn’t help smiling. “Long day, huh?” Seonghwa answered with a snore.
Yunho chuckled under his breath as he carefully lifted the textbook off his chest and set it on the coffee table before pulling the throw blanket over him. “Night, man.” He quietly walked down the hallway toward Y/N’s room. The bedroom door was cracked open. Her soft bedside lamp painting the room in warm gold. Y/N looked up from where she’d been sitting against the headboard scrolling on Amazon for baby clothes. The second she saw him her entire face lit up. “There you are.”
“I told you I’d…” He never finished. She was already crossing the room, phone landing somewhere on the bed as she wrapped both arms around him as much as her growing belly allowed, lips finding his. Yunho melted into the kiss almost instantly, one arm circling her waist while his other hand settled gently against the small of her back. When they finally separated, he rested his forehead against hers. “I missed you too.” She smiled. “I just…” She kissed him once more, shorter this time. “Really needed you today.” His brow furrowed thinking something other than Kira had happened. “What happened?” She hesitated, fingers twisting into the fabric of his hoodie. “Nothing…. I just….” She laughed softly, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “I know I’m pregnant. I know my body’s supposed to change. But sometimes…” She swallowed. “I don’t feel like myself anymore. I keep thinking…” She shook her head. “What if you don’t…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
Yunho gently cupped her face before she could look away again. “Look at me. There isn’t a version of you…” His thumb brushed softly across her cheek. “That I could love more than the woman standing in front of me.” Tears immediately gathered in her eyes. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m not saying it because you need to hear it.” He smiled. “I’m saying it because it’s true.” His gaze drifted briefly to where her hand rested over their son. “You know what I see?” She gave the smallest shake of her head. “I see the woman who sat through every prison visit. The woman who never gave up on me. The woman who’s carrying our little boy.” His eyes softened. “I see my home.” One tear escaped despite her efforts to stop it and Yunho caught it with his thumb. “And if we’re being completely honest…” A grin slowly tugged at one corner of his mouth. “When you walked over to Kira. And threatened her….” He leaned down until his forehead touched hers again. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little turned on.” Yunho watched her pull away, the space between them suddenly too wide. His hands stayed on her hips, fingers flexing against the soft cotton of his hoodie that she wore. "Really," she asked and he answered by tugging her back into him, mouth finding hers with a low sound that came from somewhere deep in his chest.
The kiss was slow at first, then deeper, his tongue sliding against hers as his hands slid up her sides. When he broke away it was only to trail his lips down the column of her throat, tasting the warmth of her skin, feeling the quick flutter of her pulse beneath his mouth. “Mhm… You have no idea," he murmured against her neck, voice rough, almost dazed. Y/N pulled back again, breath shaky. "I'm… bigger now…..” Yunho went still, eyes dragging over her face, then lower, taking in the way the hoodie stretched across her chest and the swell of her belly beneath the fabric. He didn't speak right away. Instead he reached for the hem, slow enough that she could stop him if she wanted but she didn't. He peeled the hoodie up and off, letting it drop somewhere behind him and she froze. Her hands twitched like she wanted to cover herself, but she stayed still, letting him look. Her breasts were fuller, heavier, the skin across her stomach stretched smooth and tight over the curve of their son. A few stretch marks traced faint lines along her sides. Her nipples had darkened, and there was a softness to her that hadn't been there before.
Yunho stared like he was memorizing every inch. Then he kissed her again, deeper this time, one hand cupping the side of her face while the other slid down to rest over the swell of her belly and he broke the kiss only to drop to his knees, lips pressing to the center of her stomach, warm and reverent, lingering there like he could feel the heartbeat through her skin. When he stood again his eyes were dark, voice low. "All I see is you… And right now… I really need you." Y/N surged up to kiss him, hands already tugging at his own hoodie. He helped her pull it off, then shoved his pants down his hips, kicking them aside. His dick was already hard, a bead of precum glistening. She wrapped her fingers around him once, stroking slow, feeling him twitch in her grip before he caught her wrist and guided her toward the bed. He sat first, then lay back against the pillows, pulling her with him until she straddled his hips, thighs spread wide over him, the tip of his dick nudging against her slick folds as she reached down, lined him up, and sank down slow.
They both moaned at the same time. Y/N's head tipped back as she took him inch by inch, her pussy stretching around his thickness, already wet and hot. Yunho's hands gripped her hips, thumbs stroking over the curve of her belly as she settled fully onto him, buried to the hilt inside her. She felt impossibly tight, her walls fluttering around him, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from thrusting up. “Fuck, baby," he breathed. "You feel so good. So fucking wet for me." She started moving, slow at first, rolling her hips in careful circles. Every drag of his dick inside her sent sparks up her spine. Her hands braced on his chest, fingers splayed over the hard muscle there, feeling the way his heart hammered beneath her hands as Yunho watched her with hooded eyes, one hand sliding up to cup her breast, thumb brushing over her sensitive nipple until she gasped. “That's it," he praised, voice low and rough. "Ride me just like that. So fucking beautiful like this. Carrying my baby and taking my dick so deep."
Y/N's rhythm picked up, her hips lifting and dropping with more urgency. The wet sound of her pussy sliding up and down his length filled the room, mixed with her soft moans and his low groans. Her belly brushed against his stomach with every movement, the weight of it grounding her, reminding her of everything they were. Yunho's hands roamed over her, one sliding down to where they were joined, fingers finding her clit and rubbing slow circles that made her thighs tremble. But she tired quickly. Her breathing grew heavier, movements slowing, thighs burning from the effort. Yunho noticed and sat up, one arm wrapping around her waist to steady her. “Get up for me," he murmured against her ear. "Lay on your side." She lifted off him with a soft whimper at the loss, rolling carefully onto her side as Yunho moved behind her, pressing the length of his body against her back, hand sliding over her hip, then down her thigh, lifting her leg and hooking it over his own so she was open for him and reached between them, gripping his dick and guiding himself back inside her in one smooth thrust.
The angle was different, deeper, hitting spots that made her cry out softly as Yunho buried his face in the curve of her neck, breathing hard against her skin as he started moving. His thrusts were controlled but steady, building in speed without ever becoming rough. He kept one hand on her raised thigh, holding her open, while the other slid down to rub her clit again in tight, focused circles. “Yunho….” she gasped, voice breaking. “I got you," he whispered, lips brushing her ear. "Let go for me.“ Her orgasm hit hard, pussy clenching around him in rhythmic pulses, her whole body shaking as she cried out his name. Yunho held her through it, never stopping the movement of his fingers on her clit or the steady thrust of his dick inside her. He fucked her through the aftershocks, pace quickening just enough to chase his own release until he came too with a low, broken groan against her neck, dick pulsing deep inside her as he filled her and his arm tightened around her, holding her close as they both trembled through the aftermath.
"I love you," he breathed, pressing kisses along her shoulder. "So fucking much." They stayed like that for a long moment, his dick still inside her, her leg still hooked over his, both of them catching their breath. Yunho's hand resting over her belly, thumb stroking slow circles as Y/N reached back to thread her fingers through his hair, holding him close. Eventually he pulled out carefully, rolling onto his back and guiding her to rest against his chest. She settled there with a soft sigh, one leg draped over his, her belly pressed warm against his side as Yunho's fingers traced idle patterns on her shoulder, his other hand resting protectively over the curve where their son grew.
"You okay?" he asked quietly and Y/N nodded against his chest. "Better than okay." He kissed the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair as outside the window the night had shifted and snow began to fall. Inside, the air was warm and thick with the scent of sex and sweat and something sweeter, something that felt like home. Yunho's hand moved in slow strokes over her belly still, feeling the occasional flutter of movement beneath his palm. Y/N's breathing had evened out, her body relaxed and heavy against him. He could feel the stickiness between her thighs, the way his cum had started to leak out of her, but he didn't move to clean it up. Not yet. He wanted to stay like this a little longer, holding her, feeling the proof of what they'd made together.
"Think he'll know?" Yunho asked after a while, voice soft with wonder and Y/N laughed quietly. "Know what?"
"That we were just… you know."
"I think he'll be fine," she said, tilting her head to press a kiss to his jaw. "He's pretty well protected in there." Yunho's hand spread wider over her stomach, fingers splaying possessively. "Good. Because I'm not planning on stopping anytime soon." She looked up at him, eyes bright. "No?"
"Not a chance," he said, leaning down to kiss her slow and deep and Y/N smiled against his mouth, one hand coming up to cup his face. "I love you too, you know." They kissed again, slower this time, the urgency fading into something softer, more tender. Yunho's hand stayed on her belly, protective, while Y/N's fingers traced patterns over his chest, the slow beat of their hearts measured together with the quiet certainty that whatever came next, they'd face it together as well.
summary: he’s your best friend. he also happens to be a stripper and the moment you finally see him onstage changes the entire trajectory of your friendship
The shrill chirp of your phone alarm dragged you out of a dream that dissolved the second your eyes cracked open. Too bright. Too early. Too… Thursday. You groaned, rolling onto your back and immediately regretting it when the sunlight knifed through the window, slicing across your face as you flung your blankets off with a dramatic sigh and sat up in your bed, the cotton of your oversized tshirt twisting at your hips. It was one of your oldest pieces of clothing, some faded college logo, soft from years of wear, and hung halfway to your thighs. You shuffled your way toward the bathroom with all the grace of a zombie in compression socks. The apartment was quiet, save for the hum of the fridge and the distant sound of the city starting to wake up outside your window. The air smelled faintly like Mingi’s shampoo, minty, clean, and the lemon candle you’d left burning on the kitchen counter overnight.
You were halfway through a yawn when you turned the corner into the narrow hallway and smacked face to chest first into Mingi. “Oof…shit, sorry….” he muttered, stepping back as your breath caught in your throat and your hand shot out to steady yourself against his chest. Bare chest. Warm and solid and way too close. His skin was still damp from a shower, short messy black hair sticking up everywhere, a towel slung over one shoulder, and he was wearing nothing but… boxers. Black Calvin Kleins. Low on his hips. Hugging his thighs like they were painted on. You’d seen him like this before. So many times. Post showers. Late nights. Early mornings. But lately? Lately, it was driving you crazy. His eyes dropped to where your hand still rested against his chest and your fingers twitched as if suddenly aware of the contact making you jerk your hand back like you’d been burned. “I didn’t think you were up yet,” you said quickly, voice still rough with sleep. He grinned, lazy and unbothered. “Didn’t think you were awake either. You usually don’t roll outta bed until after you threaten your alarm like it owes you money.”
“Rude,” you muttered, stepping past him to the bathroom, careful not to brush against him again. But Mingi didn’t move. He just stood there for a second, eyes lingering on your legs, bare beneath the hem of that shirt. That shirt he recognized, because it used to be his. You didn’t look back, but you felt it, his gaze on your thighs, on the way your hips shifted as you moved. You turned on the faucet and closed the bathroom door a little too fast and leaned on the counter, heart thudding in your chest like it knew something your brain was still trying to deny.
By the time you remerged from the bathroom, hair damp and wrapped up in a towel, the apartment had settled into its usual late morning rhythm. The AC hummed through the vents, the coffee machine gurgled in protest as it brewed something criminally bitter, and from the living room, the low buzz of the TV drifted down the hallway as you padded barefoot into the kitchen, now dressed in light blue scrubs that hugged in all the wrong places when you were running late. You grabbed a travel mug from the drying rack and poured what might have been coffee and might have been battery acid. Then you saw Mingi laid out across the couch like sin in sweatpants. Still shirtless. Still glowing from his shower. Still smug as hell. His long legs were stretched out, one ankle hooked over the other. He had a half smoked blunt pinched between his fingers, resting on his stomach like it belonged there. His hair had started to dry in messy. On the TV, some loud anime was playing, subtitles on, volume low as he looked over at you like he always did. Like he didn’t even realize how unfair he was being just by existing. “You look cute in blue,” he said casually, eyes dropping to your chest for a beat too long before dragging back up.
“Shut up,” you muttered, trying to sip your coffee like your face wasn’t burning. “What?” he grinned. “I meant it.” You rolled your eyes and turned back to the counter, pretending to dig through the junk drawer for a pen that wasn’t there. You needed to breathe. You needed to not look at his abs. Or his chest. Or that faint little glimpse of a happy trail disappearing under the…. “I don’t get why you work mornings,” he said through a cloud of smoke. “You’re always dead inside before noon.” You rolled your eyes. “Because not all of us can grind three nights a week and come home with enough cash to pay rent and buy overpriced cereal,” you fired back.
“Jealous?” he teased, voice low and smoky as you glanced over your shoulder…. mistake. He had his arms behind his head now, which only made the cut of his biceps more obvious. The blunt dangled from his lips as he smirked around it and you had to turn back around, muttering, “I hate you.” He laughed, so sure of himself. “No you don’t.” You didn’t answer. Because he was right. And if you stayed any longer, you were going to say something stupid, like how much you liked the way he smelled in the mornings, or how the sound of his voice saying good girl during one of your dreams last week had woken you up in a sweat. So instead, you grabbed your keys. “I’m gonna be late,” you said, tossing him one last look on your way out the door. “Don’t burn the couch.” He waved you off. “No promises,” he called after you, grinning with the blunt still between his teeth.
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The hospital was already buzzing when you arrived, nurses huddled over clipboards at the station, the smell of antiseptic biting at the back of your throat, and call lights flickering like a Christmas display gone rogue. You clocked in, grabbed your patient sheets, and headed to the break room to caffeinate before the chaos could fully begin. Seonghwa was already there, perched on the edge of the worn sofa like he didn’t have a single bone in his body. Dressed in his usual scrubs. black, fitted and unfair, he looked like he belonged on the cover of a medical drama, not elbow deep in bedpans and IV drips like the rest of you. He looked up the moment you walked in, smirk already forming. “Late night?” You sighed. “Hardly,” you grumbled, pouring your second cup of coffee for the day. “I just had to deal with Mingi being shirtless and smug at seven in the goddamn morning.” A knowing look formed in his eyes. “Ah,” Seonghwa said, amused. “So a normal Thursday.” You shot him a look over your shoulder, and he laughed, swinging his stethoscope around one finger. “You know,” he said casually, like he wasn’t about to drop a conversational grenade, “I’ve known Mingi for three years now. Worked with him every Friday night at Velvet Inferno. And I still don’t get how you’ve never seen his show.”
You stiffened. “I’ve been busy,” you said quickly, reaching for the coffee creamer like it would shield you. “For three years?” Seonghwa scoffed. “I work weekends sometimes.” You argued as he tilted his head. “You had last weekend off.” You stirred your coffee too hard, spilling a little. “Maybe I just don’t want to see my best friend grinding on strangers in leather pants.” Seonghwa arched a perfect brow in amusement. “Strangers? Or you?” You froze, fingers tightening around the mug as he leaned forward, voice lower now, teasing but not unkind. “Look, I’m not judging. Honestly? I think it’s kind of sweet. But I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching. And I’ve seen the way you look at him when you think I’m not watching.” You opened your mouth, ready to deny everything…. but nothing came out. Because what could you say? That the idea of seeing Mingi dance…. seeing him like that…. scared the hell out of you? Because if you did, everything might change. Seonghwa smiled, leaning back. “Just come this Saturday. Just once. You don’t even have to tell him. I’ll put you in the back. No pressure. But I think you need to see what everyone else already knows.” You swallowed hard, heart thudding in your chest. And you hated that a tiny voice in your head whispered you wanted to go.
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The sun was dipping low by the time you pulled into your usual spot in the apartment complex lot, the air thick and heavy with the scent of summer rain still lingering from earlier. Your body ached, shoulders tight, feet on fire, and your brain running on its last ounce of caffeine and spite. All you wanted was a hot shower and silence as you dragged yourself up the stairs to your apartment and pushed the key into the lock just as the door opened from the inside. “Whoa… oh hey,” Mingi said, stopping short when he nearly walked right into you. “Timing.” You blinked up at him, a little stunned. He was in his usual off duty gear: oversized black tee hanging loose over baggy sweats, worn Vans on his feet, a crossbody slung over his chest. His hair was damp and tousled like he’d just showered, and he smelled like cedarwood and laundry detergent. Comfort and home to you. “Heading out?” you asked, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as he nodded, stepping aside to let you in. “Yeah, club night. You good?”
“Long day,” you said, toeing off your sneakers, “one guy tried to bite me. That was new.” Mingi let out a breathy laugh, keys jingling in his hand. “Your job’s wild.” You snorted. “Says the guy whose job title might as well be professional panty dropper.” He smirked. “Exotic dancer, thank you.” You rolled your eyes, but your lips tugged up at the corners as he glanced at the clock on his phone. “I gotta run or Hongjoong’ll give my slot to San.” You waved him off. “Go shake your ass for the masses.” He saluted you as he walked out the door. “Always do.” And just like that, he was gone, door closing softly behind him leaving you standing there for a minute, the silence settling around you. Then, as you made your way to the kitchen, you paused, eyes drifting toward the living room where his hoodie hung over the back of the couch.
You’d known Mingi danced. You’d joked about it, teased him about it, supported him in theory. But you’d never actually seen him at work. Never seen what he became when the lights hit him, when the music started, when the shirt came off. You didn’t even know what he wore onstage. Just the vague idea that it was… not much. And now? Now the curiosity had claws as you opened the fridge and muttered to yourself, “What the hell does he wear?” The curiosity stayed with you as you settled in. The movie you picked was already thirty minutes in, something easy and familiar you’d seen a dozen times before. It played low on the TV while you lounged on the couch, fresh out of the shower now and buried in a hoodie that still smelled a little like your favorite fabric softener. Your legs were tucked under a throw blanket, but your mind wasn’t anywhere near the screen. It was with him still as you stared blankly at the movie, but your brain kept chewing on the same question you hadn’t let yourself fully ask until now. Why haven’t you gone to see him perform?
He’d been working there for over three years. Seonghwa did Friday nights. Hell, he’d had even joked once about how you were the only person in Orlando who hadn’t seen Mingi shirtless under a spotlight. So why? Why had you avoided it like it would ruin you? Your fingers tightened slightly around the blanket. Because you knew exactly why. It wasn’t about the fact that he danced. It wasn’t about the teasing, or the way he’d wink when you told him to shut up, or how he’d come home at 3:00 am still buzzing with energy, collapsing on the couch to eat cereal straight from the box. No. It was because you’d already seen it once. Not the stage lights. Not the show. But close. A year ago. You had just gotten home late from your first overnight shift. Quietly unlocked the door, trying not to wake him. But the second you stepped inside…… you heard it first. Low moans. Gasping breaths. The unmistakable rhythm of someone getting absolutely wrecked. You hadn’t meant to look. You really hadn’t. But you turned your head anyway, and there he was….. Mingi, shirtless and flushed, sweat slicked and panting, one hand braced against the back of the couch while the other gripped the thigh of the girl riding him.
You remembered her, she used to come by a lot. A regular at the club, you’d later find out. Gorgeous, confident, the type of girl who knew what she wanted and went after it. And she had Mingi wrapped around her like he was hers. You’d frozen in the entryway. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. He didn’t even notice you. Too far gone. Eyes dark, jaw slack, letting out a low groan that made your knees buckle. You’d backed out the door like a ghost, quietly closing it behind you. He never found out you saw. And you never told him. But that night had haunted you. Not because he was having sex. But because for the first time in your life, you realized how badly you wanted to be the one underneath him. And ever since then? You’d kept your distance. In all the ways that counted. Because if seeing him like that from across the room nearly broke you… what the hell would happen if you watched him onstage, knowing that, for three nights a week, Mingi wasn’t just your best friend anymore. He was fantasy. And worse? You weren’t just craving the fantasy. You wanted the real thing.
The movie had long since faded into background noise, the credits rolling over a dramatic orchestral swell you didn’t register as you sat curled on the couch, blanket tucked around you, bowl of popcorn untouched in your lap, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. You were thinking about him still. Of course you were. The way he looked earlier, casual, smiling, smelling like shampoo and cologne. You’d bumped into him like it was nothing, like he wasn’t your best friend, like he didn’t get up onstage hours later and become someone else entirely. Someone you’d never seen. Someone the rest of the world paid to see. And you? You kept pretending like you didn’t want to know what he looked like under those lights. But God, you did. You tossed the blanket off your lap and stood, pacing without realizing it. Every logical part of your brain was screaming don’t go. That this was a terrible idea. That seeing Mingi in his element…. seeing him be seductive, powerful, untouchable… wasn’t going to fix anything. Maybe it would even break something. But your heart had already made the call. Fuck it.
Maybe if you saw it for yourself, really saw it, you could finally snap out of this stupid crush. Put it to bed. Get over the fantasy. Even though every part of you knew that was a lie. You grabbed your phone off the charger and opened your messages, thumbing through the chaos of your shift notes until you found the thread with Seonghwa and let him know you wanted to go tomorrow night and then locked your phone and stared at the wall for a long time while in your chest, your heart thudded a little too loud, a little too fast, as you whispered to yourself, “This is probably gonna make it worse.”
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The street outside Velvet Inferno was packed, black ropes, velvet lined doors, sharp dressed people waiting with anticipation and lip gloss, some hoping to get in, others already drunk off the idea of it. But you weren’t waiting in line. Not tonight. Not when you were with Seonghwa, who nodded at the bouncer with a smirk and tugged you gently by the wrist. “Still time to run, you know,” he said as he led you down the side alley toward the back entrance. His tone was teasing, but there was something else in it too, like he wasn’t sure if he should be dragging you in or dragging you away. “I said I was coming,” you murmured, adjusting the off shoulder sleeve of your black corset top. “And I didn’t think you meant it,” he shot back, glancing you up and down. “Not looking like that, anyway.” You ignored the warmth creeping up your neck. Your outfit had taken a solid hour of second guessing. Corset laced, form fitting black top. Wide leg dark jeans studded along the seams. Towering platform shoes that made your legs look unreal and your presence even taller than it already felt.
The hallway behind the club was dimly lit and smelled like fog machine residue and cologne. Seonghwa tapped a few beats on the staff door and the guy working security cracked it open, giving him a nod before letting you both slip inside. The dressing rooms were just ahead. Music pulsed faintly through the walls, heavy bass, muffled cheering, the rush of a crowd already half lost in the show. Mingi was somewhere in there. Completely unaware. Seonghwa led you out from the back and into the main heart of the club, bringing you towards the bar. He just grinned, lounging back as a server dropped off your drinks and you took a slow sip of yours, trying to act cool, trying not to let the rising hum in your chest give you away. Because any second now, Mingi would be on stage. And you had no idea what you were about to see. You’d only ever known him in hoodies and backwards hats, baggy sweats and sleepy eyes. That was your Mingi. But this? This was his world. And for once, you were stepping into it…..
Backstage at Velvet Inferno was a whole world of its own. Dimly lit mirrors flickered with rows of bulbs, costumes and props scattered across hooks and benches. The air was thick with cologne, sweat, body glitter, and ego. Music from the stage thumped through the walls like a second pulse, and somewhere out front, the crowd was already screaming. San was stretching, shirtless and grinning like a menace. His routine was up next. Yeosang sat on the bench nearby, buttoning a tight, sheer black shirt over his bare chest, his movements slow and precise, like every inch of him knew it was being watched even back here. Mingi was in the corner, half dressed, tugging on a pair of tight black jeans, shirt still slung over his shoulder. He wasn’t on for another two sets, but he liked being ready early. And then there was Wooyoung, draped over the bench like a cat in heat, groaning into the crook of his elbow. “God, I’m so horny,” he whined, flopping dramatically. “San and I need a third. I’m tired of rotating amateurs.”
“Maybe stop scaring them off,” Yeosang muttered, sliding on his rings and Wooyoung sat up, eyes gleaming, completely unfazed. “You know what? We should ask her.” Mingi looked up. “Who?” Something was telling him he wasn’t going to like what Wooyoung was about to say. “Your roommate,” Wooyoung said with a grin. “What’s her name again?” Mingi blinked, jaw clenching a little. “Why?” Wooyoung better not fucking say it….. “She’s hot,” Wooyoung said easily. “And if she’s lived with you this long, she’s probably used to the lifestyle. San and I need someone who can keep up. Emotionally, sexually, spiritually…. like, we light candles and everything.” Yeosang answered without looking up. “Y/N.” Wooyoung snapped his fingers. “Yes! Y/N. That’s her name.” Mingi stared at him, jaw tight. “No.” Wooyoung blinked. “No?” Mingi glared now. “No.” Wooyoung tilted his head, smile curling. “Why not?” He was antagonizing him now. “Because,” Mingi said, yanking his shirt on roughly, “she’s not like that.”
“Ohhh…” Wooyoung’s grin spread, slow and sharp. “Ohhh.” Yeosang raised a brow, glancing over. “Here we go.” Wooyoung was like a shark and Mingi’s emotions were like blood to him right now. “You like her,” Wooyoung said, pointing like it was a mic drop. “You like like her.” Mingi rolled his eyes. “Shut the fuck up.” Wooyoung laughed, giggling and clapping his hands together. “That’s why you’ve never invited her here. That’s why you don’t talk about her. That’s why you looked like you were gonna commit a crime when I said she was hot.” Mingi didn’t say anything as Wooyoung leaned in, elbows on his knees, smug as hell. “Dude. You’re in love with her.”
“Wooyoung….”
“You gonna make a move?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Mingi’s jaw flexed. “Because she’s my best friend.” Wooyoung made a dramatic face. “That’s the best kind of person to ruin your life with!” Yeosang snorted as San popped his head in, fully dressed for his set in leather pants and a harness. “Did Wooyoung start the polyamory evangelism again?” It wouldn’t be the first time. “He tried to recruit Y/N,” Yeosang said and San grinned. “Oh damn. She’s hot.” Mingi threw his towel at the nearest locker with a loud clang and Wooyoung just laughed. “Better hurry up, lover boy. A girl like that doesn’t stay single long.” Mingi didn’t answer. Because deep down, he knew Wooyoung was right. And he also knew something Wooyoung didn’t. Y/N was the one thing he could never afford to fuck up.
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You were adjusting your top when the lights dimmed and a hush rippled through the crowd as Hongjoong’s voice came through the speakers, smooth, sultry, trained like velvet over whiskey. “Put your hands together, ladies and gentlemen… for your favorite little devil…. SAN.” The spotlight hit center stage and the room exploded. You nearly spilled your drink as the crowd screamed, shrill and feral, as San sauntered out under the lights. Shirtless, with a harness of course. Leather pants hugging him like they were scared to let go. A black choker glinting under the lights. Smirk full of sin. “Oh my God… “He’s really……” you whispered. “Yep,” Seonghwa replied, sipping his drink without flinching. “He’s their chaos demon.” On stage, San dropped to one knee and rolled his hips like he was summoning something dark and holy. Women screamed. Someone threw a bra and you couldn’t stop staring. Not because of San. But because Mingi was going to walk out there soon. And you had no idea how you were supposed to breathe when he did.
You sat there frozen, drink half forgotten in your hand, as the man you’d only ever seen as Mingi’s ridiculously sweet coworker turned into something else entirely under the lights. San prowled across the stage like he owned it, like he’d built it himself. His leather pants clung to every curve, every flex of his thighs as he stalked toward the front, bathed in red light like sin incarnate. The bass pounded. The fog machine kicked. A woman in the front row stood up in her seat and screamed like she was being exorcised. Seonghwa leaned toward you, voice close to your ear. “You’re lucky you missed his firefighter set last month. He had a damn hose.” You choked on your drink. San’s body was shimmering under the lights, abs flexing with every roll of his hips. And then… he jumped down off the stage and stalked through the crowd like a panther, grabbing the arm of a woman in a rhinestone dress and guiding her onto a chaise lounge at the edge of the floor. She looked like she might faint but San didn’t give her a second to recover, just climbed up beside her, straddled the seat, and slowly rolled his hips down against hers, one hand braced beside her head, the other dragging up her thigh like he was checking the strength of his own self control.
“Holy shit,” you muttered and Seonghwa just smiled, sipping his drink. “Told you.” San leaned in like he was going to kiss the girl, but stopped just short, lips hovering a breath away. Her hands were everywhere, chest, arms, back, and San let her. Even encouraged it, grinding slow and deep while the crowd screamed and tossed bills. It was chaos. It was art. It was sex with a lighting designer. And you couldn’t stop watching as San got off the lounge and winked as he pulled the woman up to her feet, gave her a playful little slap on the ass that made the whole table behind her screech, and guided her back to her seat like a gentleman. Then he walked back to the center of the stage, arms out, chest gleaming, a grin on his face that said I just wrecked your soul and I’m not even winded and then bowed as the house lights dimmed and the stage went dark. He came strutting offstage, chest gleaming with sweat and bills sticking out of the waistband of his pants. He grabbed a towel off the rack, wiped his face, and tossed it onto the bench like it owed him money.
The dressing room was a blur of movement, Yeosang doing last minute checks in the mirror, Wooyoung adjusting his earrings, Hongjoong’s muffled voice echoing the last of San’s name through the speakers. But San? He had tunnel vision right for Mingi who was sitting on the edge of a bench, elbows on knees, fully dressed in his performance gear now, black jeans tighter than sin, a mesh shirt hanging loose over his chest, and his hair styled spiky. He was scrolling through his phone, earbuds in, probably blasting his pre set playlist to ignore Wooyoung. Until San kicked his boot. “Yo.” Mingi looked up, pulling out one earbud. “How was it?” San just grinned. Too wide. Too smug. Like he’d just won a bet no one else knew about. “Set was great,” he said. “Crowd’s wild tonight. I swear someone tried to lick my abs.” Mingi snorted. “Not surprising,” he muttered, standing to stretch. “You’re a menace.”
“Guilty.” San didn’t move. Just stared still grinning which made Mingi raise a brow. “What?” San grinned wider. “You’re not even curious who’s in the audience tonight?” Mingi grabbed his water bottle. “I don’t need to be. It’s the same as every week. Bachelorettes. Drunk office girls. That one lady with the glitter cane who tips like a goddamn queen.” San licked his lips, still grinning. “You sure?” Mingi paused, staring at him suspiciously now. “What?” San just tilted his head, leaning against the lockers like a man with secrets. “You really don’t know she’s here?” Mingi frowned. “Who?” San laughed then, shaking his head. “Y/N.” Mingi froze as San’s grin widened even more. “Seonghwa’s here too, but I wasn’t exactly looking at him.” Mingi blinked in denial. “Y/N’s not here.”
“Oh, but she is,” San said, stretching his arms up behind his head like he didn’t just casually nuke Mingi’s entire night. “Sitting in the third booth off center. Black corset top, jeans with studs. Platforms. She looks good. Like someone who absolutely should not be watching you do what you’re about to do.” Mingi’s mouth went dry. “You’re messing with me.” San smirked. “Am I?” Go look.” Mingi didn’t move. Just stood there, every muscle in his body coiled like a wire pulled tight. San patted him on the shoulder as he walked past, towel slung around his neck. “Good luck out there, lover boy.” And then he was gone. Leaving Mingi in a storm of adrenaline, nerves, and something dangerously close to hope.
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The lights dropped low again. The bass thudded once, deep and resonant, followed by a rush of fog spilling out across the stage like the start of a storm. Hongjoong’s voice purred over the sound system, dripping with anticipation. “You’ve been waiting for him… and he’s ready to ruin you.” The crowd screamed. “Give it up for the man who makes fantasy look easy…. your headliner tonight… MINGI.” You couldn’t breathe. Not when the spotlight hit the center of the stage and he walked out like he was made for it. Not when the cheers around you turned primal. Not when the bass dropped and the music started. Because there he was. Mingi. But not the one you saw every morning in his hoodie, grumbling about cereal and half asleep on the couch. This version? This version was lethal. Tight black jeans that looked like they’d been sewn onto his body. A cropped mesh shirt unbuttoned all the way down his chest, the fabric clinging to sweat slick skin and teasing every dip and plane of muscle. Thick silver rings flashed on his fingers. He moved with slow confidence, every step perfectly timed to the thump of the beat. Not rushed. Not overdone. Like he already knew he owned the room. And God, he did.
The screams rose as he reached center stage, his hand sliding down his chest as the first switch in the music hit, a slick remix of something dark and sexy, all bass and breathy vocals. You couldn’t move or look away. And Mingi? Mingi was trying so hard not to look for you. He’d known the moment the curtain parted. He felt it like gravity. The shift in his breath. The hum in his chest. The way his heart slammed once, hard, like it recognized you before his eyes even did. But he didn’t turn his head. Not yet. He started slow, hips rolling in time with the music, hands skimming down his own body like he wasn’t teasing the entire room. His movements were smooth but controlled, like he could go harder but was choosing to drive everyone mad instead. And it was working. Women screamed. Money flew. A few already stood at the edge of the stage, reaching as Mingi dropped low into a crouch, legs spread wide, one hand dragging up his thigh to his chest. His lip curled into a smirk as he popped his hips once sharp. Then again slower. But still… he didn’t look.
Your hands were clenched in your lap, knuckles white. Your drink sat untouched. Your pulse? Absolutely fucked. Seonghwa leaned closer, whispering into your ear with a grin, “You breathing?” You didn’t answer. Because just then Mingi stood and turned, his eyes sweeping the crowd. Searching. Trying to pretend he wasn’t. Trying to stay smooth. Sexy. In control. But the moment his gaze landed on you? He stopped. Only for a second. But it was enough. Enough for you to know he saw you. Enough for him to forget the choreography for a half beat before snapping back in with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. You felt it. That flicker, real Mingi, underneath the performer. And in that moment, the game changed. Because now he wasn’t dancing for the room. He was dancing for you.
He’d always been good on stage. Controlled. Smooth. A slow burn with a fuse he could light and kill at will. He could flirt without touching, seduce without a word, tease until the whole room was ready to explode and then walk off like it was nothing. But tonight? Tonight was not a normal night. He wasn’t sure what came over him. Maybe it was the way you looked, corset laced tight, sitting back like you were trying to disappear, but your eyes were locked on him like they were chained. Maybe it was the memory of all the nights he’d come home from this stage and found you asleep on the couch, unaware of what he became after dark. Or maybe it was just that he’d waited too long to know what it would feel like to really perform for you. So he stopped holding back. He turned away from the crowd, letting the music climb into a filthy, distorted drop, shoulders rolling once, twice, before he grabbed the hem of his mesh shirt and yanked it off in one smooth pull and the screams that followed shook the walls as he tossed the shirt offstage and ran a hand down his chest, slow, like he was savoring it before he turned back around and met the crowd head on. And you.
There was no mistaking it now. He was performing for you. No more playing it safe as Mingi strutted forward, bare chest gleaming and dropped into a low squat near the front of the stage, spread his knees wide, and rolled his hips up, a deep, obscene grind that had a woman near the edge drop her drink and scream and he smiled. Then came the pants. He didn’t rush it. Oh no. He turned, showing off his back, hands sliding low over his waistband. Then…. pop, the button came undone and he dragged the zipper down slowly before he bent forward and rolled his hips. And then stood again in nothing but black briefs stretched dangerously across his thighs, low enough on his hips to make your throat go dry and the room lost its mind. Bills rained down like confetti. San’s name had gotten cheers. Mingi’s got worship. The lights followed him as he walked back down the runway, body pure heat and precision, muscles shifting under skin like he was carved to be stared at. He grabbed one of the poles, spun once, and dropped into the floor with his knees spread and thighs flexed so tight you thought you might pass out. Your nails dug into your thigh as he looked right at you as he did it and held your gaze as he popped his hips again. And again. And again.
You could feel your breath catching in your throat, your body burning under his stare. You didn’t even realize you were leaning forward slightly until Seonghwa whispered beside you, “He’s gonna destroy you.” You didn’t answer. Because right then, Mingi climbed back to his feet, chest rising and falling like a man on fire and he smiled. Smug. Sinful. Targeted. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. Like he didn’t care if you were ready. Because you were already his.
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You weren’t sure how much time had passed since Mingi left the stage. Minutes? Hours? Your concept of time had evaporated somewhere around the third hip thrust. And Seonghwa had been absolutely insufferable since. “Drink some water before you pass out,” he said casually, pushing a glass toward you while lounging in the booth like he hadn’t just watched your entire soul leave your body. “I’m fine,” you muttered, eyes still half glazed. “Oh yeah? You haven’t blinked since he took off his shirt. Do I need to check your vitals, Nurse Y/N?” You took the water purely so you wouldn’t dump your drink on him. Wooyoung had performed next, of course, and it was exactly the chaotic firestorm you expected, leather pants, fire visuals, and a lot of tongue. Yeosang followed, graceful and untouchable, a sharp contrast that left the crowd breathless. But you? You barely saw them.
Your mind was still spinning from Mingi. From the way he looked straight at you. The way he moved like he knew what he was doing to you. And worst of all…. the way he smiled right before the lights went out. Smug bastard. And now the Hongjoong’s voice came booming back through the speakers, and the lights shifted, soft pinks, warm reds, the kind of glow that signaled one thing and one thing only. Audience participation. “Alright, alright, alright,” he purred, grinning as he walked across the stage. “You’ve seen them solo, but what if I told you there’s more?” The crowd screamed. “Oh, I know we’ve got some special people in the house tonight… where’s our bride to be?” More screaming as a spotlight snapped toward the left, landing on a girl in white with a tiara and glitter down her arms. She was losing her mind as Hongjoong grinned. “I think she deserves one last sin before the ring, don’t you?” Another round of unhinged cheering. “Ladies and gentlemen, for our bachelorette tonight… the Velvet Inferno All Stars!”
The lights dropped. The bass hit. And the entire team came out. San, Wooyoung, Yeosang, and, of course, Mingi, now in a sleeveless black tank and ripped jeans, hair still wild from earlier. He wasn’t even trying to perform yet. Just walking. And somehow still ruining your life. The crowd was feral as the guys spread out across the stage, moving in sync, just a taste of choreography, enough to tease, before they surrounded the bachelorette’s chair like lions circling a meal. “Now,” Hongjoong grinned, “you get to pick who gives you the lap dance of your dreams.” The bachelorette looked like she was about to ascend as San leaned forward and whispered something in her ear. Then Wooyoung dropped to his knees in front of her with a wink. Yeosang stood back, arms crossed, smug and untouched. And Mingi didn’t even approach her. Not at first. Because he was scanning the crowd again. Looking for you. And when he found you? He smirked. That same dangerous smirk he’d worn earlier. But this time? He winked and your stomach dropped.
Seonghwa leaned in. “You’re not getting out of here without at least five more people knowing you’re in love with your best friend.” You didn’t answer. Because on stage, the bachelorette finally picked her dancer. But Mingi’s eyes never left yours as the crowd erupted. San let out a dramatic, fake gasp. Wooyoung fell to the floor clutching his chest like he’d been robbed. Yeosang clapped, deadpan as Mingi just grinned. Slow. Sharp. Like he’d been expecting it. He strolled forward with that lazy, lethal confidence, towering over her like a fantasy made of smoke and basslines. The bride squealed, half standing before Hongjoong gently pushed her back down into the chair at center stage. “Stay seated, sweetheart,” he smirked. “He’ll do all the work.” Seonghwa sipped his drink beside you, not even pretending to hide his smile. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.” Your soul left your body again as the music kicked in, something filthy, heavy and slow. It wasn’t choreographed like the main sets. This was freestyle. Improvised. Raw. The dancers were encouraged to push the envelope. To read the room. Or in this case…. read you.
Mingi circled the chair once, eyes never leaving the bride. But you could feel it. His awareness of you as he straddled one leg of the chair and bent low, arms braced on either side of her shoulders, mouth brushing her ear as he whispered something that made her slap a hand to her mouth and giggle like a teenager at a sleepover. Then he dropped to his knees and placed his hands on her thighs, spreading them slowly, obscenely, before dragging them back up to her waist. She was losing her mind. Laughing. Squealing. Gripping the sides of the chair like her life depended on it. And then he climbed into her lap and you almost stood up. Instinct. Jealousy. Something primal and embarrassing that you tried to crush before it showed on your face. But of course Seonghwa noticed. “Ohhh no,” he whispered, clearly delighted. “You’re suffering.”
You ignored him as Mingi started grinding down into the bride’s lap, rolling his hips in slow, punishing waves that had women throwing money onstage like it was a religious offering. He leaned back, arms behind his head, chest on full display, eyes closed for a beat…. then he cracked one eye open and looked right at you. Still moving. Still in her lap. But his gaze? Locked. He didn’t smirk. He didn’t wink. He just stared, slow and steady, while he kept rolling his hips. You couldn’t breathe as the bride squealed again when he leaned forward and brushed his mouth along her jaw, not quite kissing, just enough to make her sob laugh and fan herself as the other dancers hyped the crowd. He stood a moment later, still grinning, and backed away as the MC brought down the lights and pulled the bride up for a round of applause. You barely clapped as Seonghwa leaned in close, eyes glittering. “He’s going to be insufferable after this.” You didn’t even wait for the lights to come back up. The second Mingi stepped offstage, you turned to Seonghwa with wide eyes and a tight jaw. “I need a drink.”
Seonghwa didn’t argue. He just grabbed his jacket and his phone, tossed a few bills on the table, and followed you without a word as you slipped past the last wave of screaming fans and out into the thick Florida night air. The sidewalk was quieter out here, but your head was still full of him. Of the way his hips moved. The smug weight of his gaze. The grind in that girl’s lap and how you could still feel it on your skin even though he never touched you. You needed something cold. Strong. Preferably on fire. “There’s a place down the block,” Seonghwa said as he fell into step beside you, not even out of breath. “Divey but not gross. Some of the guys go there after shows.” You didn’t care, you just nodded. “Perfect.” Two blocks later and you were both stepping inside a bar that was comfortably dim, the kind of place that didn’t demand conversation. The music was low, the hum of quiet voices around you almost soothing. Your drink was half empty. Your walls? A little more than that. Seonghwa didn’t push. He never did. He just sat across from you, nursing his whiskey, eyes steady as you stared at the table for a long time before you said it. “He’s my best friend.”
It came out small. Honest. Like you needed to remind yourself. Seonghwa looked at you, but didn’t speak. “I mean… he wasn’t dancing for me. Not really.” You swirled the ice in your glass with a fingertip, watching it spin. “If anything, he was messing with me. Teasing. He knows I’ve never seen him perform. He probably just wanted to make me squirm a little. Mission accomplished.” Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. “You don’t actually believe that.” You kept going like you didn’t hear him. “I mean…” you laughed, short and hollow. “Don’t you think if he actually saw me like that…. saw me the way he sees those girls in the crowd, or the ones he brings home sometimes… he would’ve made a move a long time ago?” Seonghwa’s glass clinked softly as he set it down but you didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Your throat was too tight. “I’ve been living with him for five years,” you said quietly. “I walk around in his shirts. I do his laundry half the time. I know what cereal he likes and what side he sleeps on and that he cries during sad movies when he thinks I’m not looking. And nothing’s ever happened. Not once.” You looked up finally, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach. “That means something, right?”
Seonghwa didn’t speak right away. He just watched you before finally, softly, saying, “Yeah. It means he’s an idiot. He’s also your best friend,” Seonghwa added, tone even. “Which means he probably thinks you don’t see him like that. And knowing Mingi? He’d rather suffer in silence than risk losing what you already have.” You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Because a small, stupid part of you wanted to believe he was right. But the louder part? The part that watched Mingi grind into a stranger like she was the only woman in the world? That part couldn’t help but think…. if he wanted me… wouldn’t he have said something by now….. the bell over the bar door chimed. You barely registered it at first, still caught in the haze of what you’d just said. Still chewing on the weight of your own words, feeling them echo in your chest like you’d carved them into your ribs.
But then Seonghwa’s eyes flicked up and something about the way his posture shifted made your stomach twist. You turned and there he was. Mingi. Laughing. Loud. Glowing. Still flushed from the stage. Black jeans. Flannel shirt that clung to his chest in all the worst ways. Silver chains catching the low bar lights. His hair a mess, like he hadn’t even stopped to cool down. Right behind him, San and Wooyoung pushed through the doorway like they owned the building, talking with their hands, both laughing about something Wooyoung said way too loudly as Yeosang trailed after, calm and unreadable as always, already scanning the room. They were a unit. A storm. A problem. And they saw you immediately. Wooyoung spotted Seonghwa first, and his grin bloomed like trouble. “Ohhh shit, look who finally came out to play!” San followed his gaze and his eyebrows lifted when he saw you. Mingi was still scanning the bar casually, mid laugh, until his eyes landed on your booth and stuck. His smile didn’t drop. Not quite. But it changed. Like a curtain had lifted and he was aware now. That you were still here. That you hadn’t run far enough.
Seonghwa exhaled, drained his drink, and muttered under his breath, “Brace yourself.” Too late. The guys were already heading straight for you. Wooyoung got there first, sliding into the booth beside Seonghwa without asking. “Didn’t know this was a post show party. You guys should’ve told us you were coming here.” Seonghwa rolled his eyes as Yeosang stood at the end of the booth, nodding to you with that unreadable expression. San pulled up a spare chair, flipping it around and straddling it with ease. And Mingi hovered for a second before dropping into the seat right beside you. Close enough that his knee brushed yours. Close enough to smell his cologne. His sweat. The faintest trace of whatever body oil was still on his skin from earlier. “Didn’t expect to see you again tonight. Figured I’d get home and you’d be passed out.” he said, voice low and a little rough. You turned to him, blinking slowly. “We just wanted a drink.” His gaze dipped to your lips. “Yeah?” You nodded, trying to stay calm. “That’s all.”
He hummed. “Did you enjoy the show?” You opened your mouth then closed it. Because how the hell were you supposed to answer that? You looked away as Mingi leaned back in his seat, grin pulling at the corner of his mouth as he turned to Wooyoung like he hadn’t just gutted you in one line. But you could feel it. His knee still brushing yours. His fingers resting just close enough to yours on the table to make your skin buzz…… Wooyoung slammed his hand on the table. “Tequila shots. Extra lime. We’re celebrating.” Seonghwa opened his mouth to object, but the server was already nodding and disappearing as San leaned over the back of your chair, draping his chin on your shoulder with all the innocence of a man who had just dry humped on stage thirty minutes ago. “You stayed for all of us, huh?” You gave him a tight smile. “Regretting it.” He grinned “You loved it.” He backed off just as the server returned with a tray of shots and a grave warning about their strength. No one listened as Wooyoung handed them out like a bartender on his last shift, one for each of you, no hesitation. Then he turned to you, raised his glass, and said with zero warning, “You know, Y/N… I asked Mingi if San and I could get you to be our third and he looked like he wanted to murder me.”
You choked on air. “What?” you asked, eyes going wide as Mingi tensed beside you and San coughed into his hand, failing to hide a grin. Wooyoung? Absolutely shameless. “Our third,” he repeated with a smirk. “Like… in bed. Between us. On top of us. Around us. You get the vibe.” Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “I…. what the hell, Wooyoung?!” Seonghwa was straight up wheezing across the booth. Even Yeosang finally cracked a smile behind his glass as San lifted his shot like it was a toast. “For the record, I supported the idea.” You looked back and forth between him and Wooyoung. “You two are feral,” you snapped, flushing hot. “And yet,” Wooyoung sang, tilting his head at Mingi, “he said no. Real fast. Like he was ready to throw me through a wall.” You turned to Mingi who was staring into his shot like it had betrayed him personally. “Mingi,” you said slowly. “Did you actually threaten Wooyoung?” He didn’t look up. “Not explicitly.”
“He snarled,” Wooyoung added helpfully.
“I did not snarl.”
“He made a noise. It was primal. Hot, if I wasn’t scared for my life.”
You just sat there, blinking. Because what the fuck. What did that even mean? Why would he care? And why did that tiny part of you, the one curled up deep inside, drunk on heat and nerves and years of tension, feel something dangerously close to hope? Wooyoung, never one to let go of chaos, spun his empty shot glass between his fingers with a devil’s grin. “I’m just saying, Mingi told me you weren’t into that kind of thing.” You froze as more shots arrived. Seonghwa snorted under his breath. San went suddenly quiet, eyes flicking from Mingi to you with a little too much interest. Yeosang leaned back, his face unreadable, but you swore his brows ticked up a fraction as your gaze snapped back to Mingi. He wasn’t looking at anyone. Still just sitting there, jaw tight, shoulders hunched, gaze fixed hard on the table now like he could physically will this conversation into the void. And something in you cracked.
You reached out, grabbed your shot glass, clear tequila sloshing near the rim, and turned your stare back to Wooyoung. “He has no idea what I’m into.” The whole table went still. Like someone had yanked the volume knob on reality. Wooyoung’s mouth opened into a perfect O. San actually whistled. Seonghwa pressed his lips together to stop a smile. And Yeosang murmured, just once, “Oof.” But Mingi? He finally looked up. Slowly. Eyes sharp, wide, locked on you like he’d just seen you for the first time. There was something in his expression you couldn’t place. Like your words had knocked the air out of him and he wasn’t sure whether to get angry, get flustered, or get closer. You didn’t break the stare. You just tipped your shot back and slammed the glass down like punctuation. “Cheers,” you said and San immediately grabbed his own, grinning like this was the best night of his life. “To wild revelations and poor self control,” he toasted. You didn’t look at Mingi again. But you could feel him. Watching. Burning. And you knew, without a doubt, that something had shifted for real this time.
The rounds of shots had cracked something open at the table, walls lowered, filters slipping, everything a little too loud, a little too easy. Even Yeosang was smiling now, and that almost never happened without money involved. Everyone had another drink in hand, courtesy of Wooyoung, and the conversation had swerved somewhere between sex, injuries, and unhinged post show stories. Naturally, it was only a matter of time before the chaos god himself struck again. Wooyoung turned to you and Seonghwa, chin in his hand, eyes gleaming. “So… be honest. You two ever get hit on at work? Like, emergency room drama plus sexual tension? Feels like it happens.” You rolled your eyes with a laugh. “You have no idea. Hwa once got hit on while treating a girl’s dislocated shoulder.”
“She asked for my number while crying,” Seonghwa added proudly as he raised his glass. “Okay, but nothing beats the screwdriver guy.” You blinked. “Seonghwa.” San perked up. “Wait…. screwdriver guy?” Mingi tilted his head, brow twitching. “Yeah, what screwdriver guy?” You were gonna kill Seonghwa. “Ohhh yeah,” Seonghwa said, glancing at you with a wicked grin. “This guy walks into the ER with a screwdriver literally embedded in his skull. Just sticking out like a goddamn cartoon. And he still had the audacity to flirt with her.” Wooyoung gasped. “Did you say yes?” You wished the floor would swallow you whole because you could feel Mingi staring at you. “She didn’t say anything,” Seonghwa replied. “But get this…. he comes back a month later for follow up scans, totally healed, and smooth as hell. And she…” He leaned back smugly. “Ends up hooking up with him in the on call room.”
The table exploded. “No fucking way,” San cackled. “I love that for you,” Wooyoung declared, reaching across the table to cheers your glass as Yeosang blinked. “Was this pre or post screwdriver?” You groaned. “Post,” Seonghwa answered for you, already laughing as you hid your face in your hands, groaning. “You were supposed to take that to your grave.” Seonghwa shrugged, grinning. “Too good not to share.” You peeked through your fingers only to lock eyes with Mingi. And he looked… not okay. Not angry. Not sulking. But something had definitely shifted. His jaw was tight. One of his hands flexed slightly against his thigh. And his eyes? Still on you, but narrowed now, more focused. Like he was trying to solve a puzzle that had just gotten a new piece he didn’t like. It was a casual story. But it hit him like a loaded gun. You sat back slowly, pulse picking up as Mingi looked away.
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The front door creaked open, the hinges protesting like they knew what kind of night it had been. Mingi half carried, half guided you inside, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other catching your wrist as you stumbled slightly over the threshold. “Okay, okay, I got you,” he muttered, voice low and warm as he toed the door shut behind him. You giggled into his shoulder, completely drunk and unapologetically soft, letting yourself be steered down the hall like gravity had taken the night off. Your heels were dangling from your other hand, fingers limp around the straps. Your hair was a mess. Your corset had shifted slightly, and your voice had that dreamy slur you only got when you were too far gone to care about appearances. And Mingi was suffering. He had one hand splayed against your bare waist where your corset had ridden up. The heat of your skin against his palm was killing him slowly. You weren’t heavy, but every sway of your hips against his side, every little laugh into his neck, it was all too much. “Did I thank you for not letting me fall in the street?” you mumbled as he helped you into the apartment.
“Twice.”
“You’re strong.”
“You’re wasted.”
“I mean it,” you said, looking up at him with those half lidded, glassy eyes. “You could probably carry me with one arm.” Mingi swallowed hard. “Maybe,” he muttered. “Don’t test me.” You stopped walking suddenly making him turn, confused, until he realized…. you were just staring at him, head tilted, eyes soft. Curious. Honest in the way only drunk people and small children ever were. “Mingi,” you said quietly. “You didn’t like that story.” His breath caught as your fingers brushed his wrist. “You got weird after it. The screwdriver guy thing.” He tried to play it off, forcing a small laugh. “Wasn’t that deep.” But you shook your head. “No. It was.” You reached up, hand clumsy but gentle, fingers brushing the chain at his neck. “He was just some guy,” you whispered. “It didn’t mean anything.” Mingi’s jaw clenched. “I don’t care,” he said quickly. Too quickly. And you blinked at him, swaying slightly. “Liar.” Mingi exhaled through his nose, chest tight. “You’re drunk, Y/N.”
“Not that drunk.” He looked at you then, really looked at you. Your flushed cheeks. Your parted lips. The strap of your top sliding off your shoulder. The way your body leaned into him without even realizing it. And still, he didn’t move. Didn’t touch you. Didn’t say the thing sitting right there on his tongue. Because he didn’t know if you’d remember in the morning. And if you didn’t? It might break him. So instead, he whispered, “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”
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One week later, you were one minor inconvenience away from snapping. The ER was chaos. Of course it was. Flu season had hit like a freight train, two interns were arguing about IV placement, someone spilled coffee on the med cart, and the vending machine ate your last dollar without giving you your fucking chips. But none of that was the real problem. No, the real problem was lower. Cramping. Aching. Heat blooming in your gut in waves that had nothing to do with illness. You were on your period, bloated and irritable and craving every carb known to man. And horny. Not like regular horny. Dangerously horny. The kind of hormonal spiral that made you want to climb someone like a tree, and unfortunately, that someone was currently folded into your brain like a goddamn highlight reel.
Mingi. Mingi on stage. Mingi shirtless. Mingi grinding in slow motion with his tongue poking out slightly and sweat dripping down his chest. You growled quietly and slammed a clipboard down on the counter. “Everything alright?” Seonghwa asked, suddenly appearing beside you with a chart and a little too much amusement. “No,” you snapped. “Everything is not alright.” He blinked, then gave you one long, knowing look. “Cramping or craving?”
“Both.”
He nodded solemnly. “Mingi again?” You said nothing. But your face said everything. You hadn’t stopped thinking about him. Not since the bar. Not since the lap dance. Not since he half carried you home and stared at you like he was dying to say something and didn’t. He hadn’t brought it up since and neither had you. And that? That was driving you insane. You were stuck in limbo. Frustrated. Sensitive. Needy in ways you couldn’t even explain. And every time your mind drifted, it went right back to him. The way his hands looked on someone else’s thighs. The way his jeans sat on his hips. The way he smelled when he was that close, cologne and sweat and something you swore was designed to break you. You clenched your thighs and Seonghwa noticed. “Y/N.”
“Don’t.”
“You’re literally sweating.”
“I said don’t.” He raised both hands in surrender, but he was laughing now. “Just saying…. maybe you need to… handle it.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
You glanced at the clock, hating everything. “Because I have rounds in ten minutes, and also this is a hospital.” He gave you a slow smirk. “So no on call room hookup today?” You turned to him, eyes dead. “You are not funny.” But you were already thinking about it. Already thinking about him. And wondering how much longer you could go before you snapped completely.
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The second you opened the front door to the apartment, the scent hit you first…. your favorite candles. Not one of his woodsy ones. Not one of the weird incense sticks he picked up from that crystal shop San dragged him to once. Yours. The vanilla and lavender one you only lit when cramps were killing you and you wanted to feel human again. Your throat tightened as your bag slipped from your shoulder with a dull thud against the hardwood as you stepped further in. The living room was dimmed, lamps only, no overhead lights, and the coffee table had a neatly arranged setup of your favorite snacks. A giant bottle of water. Chocolate covered pretzels you didn’t even realize he remembered you liked. A heating pad, already plugged in. And your favorite fuzzy blanket, folded on the couch with Grey’s Anatomy already queued up on Netflix.
You stood there frozen. Like an emotional bomb had gone off and you were the only one left standing. “Mingi!” you called out, voice cracking slightly. He emerged from the hallway. Hoodie. Sweatpants. Hair damp from a shower. He looked freshly scrubbed and so soft it made something behind your ribs ache. “Hey,” he said, voice gentle, like he already knew. “Rough day?” You nodded, not trusting your voice and he smiled coming over. “I set it all up. You just missed the rain too, it started like five minutes ago, perfect sad girl weather.” And that’s when you almost lost it. Your eyes burned. Your nose stung. Not because of the cramps. Not because of work. But because how could he care about you like this and not feel it too?
You dropped your eyes to the heating pad, to the snacks, to the blanket you’d once told him was your favorite two years ago, and whispered, “You didn’t have to do all this…” He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. “I wanted to.” And that was it. The thread snapped. You sat on the couch too quickly, trying to hide your face in the blanket, but your voice cracked again when you said, “You’re gonna make me cry, and it’s so stupid.” Mingi blinked, concerned now, crouching beside you. “What? Hey. No, it’s not stupid.” You shook your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “I’m just hormonal and tired and….” And in love with you. He touched your knee gently. “Y/N.” You looked at him, trying to hold it together as he smiled, quiet and soft. “You don’t have to say anything. Just let me take care of you tonight.”
Two hours later and the soft hum of Grey’s Anatomy played through the apartment, but you weren’t really watching. It was Friday night. Which meant Mingi was working. Which meant somewhere, right now, this very minute, he was onstage. Shirtless. Smirking. Running his hands over someone else. Letting them run theirs over him. Laughing into someone’s ear. Grinding into some stranger’s lap like it didn’t mean anything. Because to him, it probably didn’t. But to you? It felt like a slow stab to the chest. You sat curled on the couch, fuzzy blanket pulled around you like armor, a half eaten bag of chips crumpled beside you and your phone screen lit up every so often from some irrelevant notification. Your heating pad had long gone warm instead of hot. But your thoughts? They were scorching. You hated how vivid your imagination was. How easily your brain conjured it. The way his thighs looked when he moved. The roll of his hips. The way his fingers looked tangled in someone’s hair the night of the bachelorette set. The way he looked at you while grinding on someone else like he wanted you to feel it. And God, did you feel it.
Even now, alone in your apartment, the jealousy crawled up your spine like a fever. You didn’t want to care. You really didn’t. He’d been dancing long before you ever stepped foot in Velvet Inferno. You’d known what he did. Hell, you supported it. Encouraged it. But seeing it? Feeling it? Knowing he was out there right now with hands on him that weren’t yours? It made your chest ache. Made your throat tight. Made your eyes sting. And worst of all, you couldn’t do anything about it. You weren’t his girlfriend. You weren’t his anything. Just his roommate. His best friend. The one he made soup for when you were sick. The one he knew better than anyone. The one he carried home drunk and tucked into bed like she was something precious. But still… Not the one he touched like that. Your jaw clenched as your hands curled in the blanket. You tried to focus on the TV, but the tears were already pressing against your lashes.
And suddenly…. you just missed him. Even though he’d only been gone a few hours. Even though he’d come home eventually. Even though he wasn’t really yours to miss in the first place.
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The music was finally dying down. Velvet Inferno had started to clear out, lingering bachelorette groups giggling out the doors, dollar bills scattered like confetti across the stage, the haze of sweat and body spray still thick in the air. Staff moved in practiced rhythm, cleaning, counting, cashing out. Mingi sat backstage in his usual spot, toweling off the last of the sweat from his neck, his black tank clinging to his chest. The adrenaline had faded, but he was still wired. Not from the show. From thoughts of you. He hadn’t been able to shake you all night. The way you looked curled on the couch before he left. That soft, tired smile. The heat pack in your lap. The blanket around your shoulders. You’d barely said anything when he left, just mumbled “have a good night” without looking up from the TV. But he’d felt the shift. The distance. And now? Now he just wanted to get home.
He was sliding on his jacket when he heard a voice behind him. “Heading out already?” Mingi turned and looked at her. Daphne. Same long legs. Same red lipstick. Same skin tight dress she always wore on Friday nights when she came to watch him work. The same girl who used to be a routine. Who never asked for anything more than what he gave, and who gave exactly what he used to want. Used to. “Yeah,” he said casually, zipping up his jacket. “It’s late.” She smiled, slow and familiar. “Wanna come back to your place?” He blinked. “What?” She smirked at him. “You said you were heading home. I figured…” She stepped closer, resting a hand lightly on his chest. “It’s been a while.” Mingi gently removed her hand. “Nah,” he said, voice quiet. “Can’t tonight.” She tilted her head, a flicker of irritation passing behind her eyes. “Why not?”
“Y/N’s home,” he said simply, not even thinking about it and Daphne’s brows lifted. “Your roommate?” Mingi nodded. “Yeah.” And my best friend. The woman I love. Daphne laughed. “So? You’ve had girls over when she’s home before.” He flinched slightly but didn’t answer. Didn’t explain that he didn’t do that anymore. Daphne took a half step closer. “Okay, fine. Come back to my place then.” He hesitated. Just for a second. But it was enough for her to see it. “Mingi,” she said, a little sharper now, “you and I both know this doesn’t have to mean anything.” Now his patience was growing thin. “I know,” he said quietly. “That’s the problem.” Candace blinked, thrown as Mingi adjusted his bag and nodded toward the exit. “I’ll see you around.” And then he was gone.
Outside, the night air hit him hard. But it wasn’t the cold that made him shiver. It was the image of you, curled on the couch, waiting for him. And the ache in his chest that told him the only place he wanted to be was home with you.
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Two weeks later and the ER was slow that day, the hum of fluorescent lights overhead and Seonghwa’s relentless nagging being the only consistent sounds in the small break room. You were sipping on lukewarm coffee, flipping through a clipboard when Seonghwa burst in with all the dramatics of a Broadway curtain call. “Please, please, please come tonight,” he begged, leaning on the desk like the fate of the world depended on your attendance. “It’s my birthday. I’m literally performing to Pony just for you. And I got you on the guest list. VIP. No excuses.” You rolled your eyes, lips twitching. “You’re trying to bribe me with Ginuwine?” He gasped. “How dare you disrespect a classic.” You laughed, trying not to cave too fast, but truth was, part of you wanted to go. Even if it meant risking seeing Mingi onstage again. Especially after that first time when the sight of him dancing for someone else nearly cracked you in half. But it was Seonghwa’s birthday… and damn it, you did miss that energy. “Fine,” you groaned, “but only because it’s your birthday.“ Seonghwa grinned like he’d won the lottery. “You won’t regret it.”
When you got home, your bare feet padded across the wood floor as you dug through your closet like a woman possessed. You weren’t even sure what you were looking for until your fingers brushed the silky fabric, pulling out that black dress. The one with the daring cutouts, gold clips, and the power to make any man forget how to spell his own name. You hadn’t worn it in ages. You barely remembered buying it. But something in your chest tightened as you held it up to your body in the mirror. Let him look, you thought. Mingi was in the shower, steam rolling under the bathroom door as you shimmied into the dress, adjusting the straps and making sure the clips were perfectly in place. The door creaked open behind you and you didn’t have to look to know it was him. You heard his steps pause. “Where are you going?” came Mingi’s voice, low and casual but with that distinct edge only someone who just walked past your door in a towel and saw you in that dress could have.
You turned slowly, watching him lean on the doorframe, towel slung low on his hips. You met his eyes, cool and effortless. “It’s Seonghwa’s birthday. He begged me to come to the club again. Said he’s dancing tonight.” Mingi blinked once. Then again as you turned back to the mirror like it was nothing. Like your heart wasn’t suddenly doing backflips. “You’re wearing that dress?” His voice was low, unreadable and you shrugged. “Yes.” Mingi didn’t respond. He just kept looking at you like you weren’t real. Like the air had gotten punched out of him. You tilted your head, a little amused. “Why?” His tongue pressed into the inside of his cheek and you saw it hit him. The memory. You saw it in the way his throat bobbed. The way he blinked like he was trying to snap himself out of something. Because you had worn that dress once before, two years ago, at his birthday party. The rooftop one with the string lights and the terrible punch. You’d shown up late and he’d been halfway through a drink when he saw you across the crowd in that exact dress. He hadn’t lasted ten minutes. He’d walked straight out. Claimed he had to take a call and never came back.
His fingers twitched at his sides and his gaze dropped again, slower this time, heavier as you shrugged, smoothing the fabric again as you turned slightly in the mirror, checking the back. “Hwa said dress slutty.” Mingi huffed out a laugh but it wasn’t amused. It was breathless. Frustrated. His hand dragged through his still damp hair, and he muttered something under his breath in a tone you couldn’t quite catch. “Something you wanna say?” you teased lightly, not looking at him. He stepped back, eyes still locked on you like you might disappear if he blinked. “Nah,” he said eventually. “Just… I remember that dress.” You finally met his eyes through the mirror. “So do I.” For a moment, neither of you said a word as the air between you thickened, warm and electric and dangerously unspoken. Then he cleared his throat, eyes darting away. “I’ll, uh… I’ll see you there.” And just like before, Mingi turned and walked away. Except this time, you heard his breath catch the second he rounded the corner.
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The club was already packed by the time you got there. Friday nights were always heavier, more tourists, more regulars, more people celebrating birthdays they’d never remember by tomorrow morning. The line outside wrapped around the block, but you didn’t wait in it. You knew better. You slipped through the side entrance like you’d been there a thousand times before, heels clicking against the hallway tile as the muffled bass grew louder with every step. And then you stepped out into the main room and every set of eyes in the place might as well have turned your way. Especially the women. It was subtle at first, side glances, a few narrowed eyes, a whisper behind a manicured hand. But the closer you got to the front, the more obvious it became. Your dress wasn’t designed for subtlety. Black. Clinging. Cut in ways that defied logic and modesty.
You sank into the velvet chair, legs crossed, ignoring the judgmental looks from the women at the bar. Let them look. Let them whisper. Let them wonder why, for the first time ever, Mingi wasn’t behind the curtain doing shots or smoking a blunt or hyping himself up for his number. Because Mingi wasn’t hyped. Mingi was pacing. Mingi was sweating. Mingi was seconds from walking onstage because he knew you were already here. In that dress. The lights dimmed just as you settled deeper into your seat, the chatter fading into a hush as a smooth, bass heavy track spilled from the speakers and a spotlight flared to life, and there he was. Yeosang. Golden skin, dark eyes, lean muscle dressed in all black and leather. His entrance was smooth and practiced, dripping with that quiet confidence only he had. The crowd responded immediately, cheers, catcalls, a few high pitched moans from the row behind you but you just smiled and sipped your drink as you watched him move with surgical precision, hips rolling, fingers dragging down his chest as he danced for the women at the edge of the stage, grinning when one of them tried to reach for his belt but Yeosang winked and stepped back just out of reach. Your gaze moved to the door behind him, the one leading backstage.….
Mingi was sitting on the edge of the couch backstage, bouncing his knee like it owed him money. Shirtless, sweat already misting his collarbones as he glared at the floor like it had personally offended him. That fucking dress. He couldn’t get it out of his head. Not the current version of you in it, though that was bad enough. No, what was really wrecking him was the memory of it. You, two years ago, walking into his birthday party without a clue what you were doing to him. Hair loose, smile innocent, body hugged tight in that goddamn black fabric. He remembered the exact second he saw you, how the world tilted, how the air left his lungs, how he had to walk out because if he didn’t, he was going to do something that would’ve ruined everything. And now? Now you were wearing it again.
“Bro, if you bounce your knee any harder, the floor’s gonna crack.” Mingi looked up to find Seonghwa zipping up his pants in the dressing mirror, shaking his head with a smirk. “She wore that fucking dress,” Mingi muttered. Seonghwa paused. “What dress?”
“The one ruining my existence.”
Seonghwa let out a low whistle and turned back to the mirror. “Well. Guess I’m not the only one getting a present tonight.” Mingi groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m gonna combust.”
“Don’t. I need you alive. You’re after me.” Across the room, San was pressed against the wall with Wooyoung in his lap, both of them shamelessly making out like they didn’t care it was a shared dressing room. Which, to be fair, they didn’t. Wooyoung’s hands were already halfway up San’s shirt, and neither of them looked like they had plans to stop. “Do they have to do this right now?” Mingi grumbled. “Have you met them?” Seonghwa said without turning around as Hongjoong pushed through the door, headset in place, clipboard in hand, his expression all business until he saw Seonghwa. “Alright, birthday boy. You’re up next, and your set’s been extended. Two full songs instead of one. You good?” Seonghwa blinked. “Wait….. what?” Hongjoong grinned. “It’s your birthday. Consider it a gift. Work the stage, soak it in. And wear the silver chains tonight, make the old women in the back row faint.” He turned and disappeared before Seonghwa could protest, leaving him staring at the mirror in disbelief. “Well,” Seonghwa said, glancing at Mingi. “Guess I’ve got more time to keep her warm for you.” Mingi rolled his eyes, but his stomach twisted.
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The lights changed again, darker now, drenched in purple and silver, bassline deep and sultry as the Hongjoong announced the next set. “Ladies and gentlemen… for the birthday boy himself…” You leaned back with a smile, just as the music kicked in, slow, smooth, something with a wicked little rhythm. And then Seonghwa stepped into the spotlight and the audible gasp from the crowd was immediate. You could hear someone behind you whisper “holy shit,” and you didn’t blame them. Seonghwa looked good. Silver chains draped across his chest, the open black blazer showing just enough skin to make knees buckle, his hair styled back but a few strands rebelliously falling forward. You sipped your drink, half listening to the screaming around you. If only your coworkers at the hospital could see him now. Confident, clean, seductive, the kind of controlled performance that made everyone pay attention.
Seonghwa didn’t beg for the spotlight. He commanded it. He hit every beat with sharp precision, giving attention to each side of the stage, a knowing smirk curling his lips. Until he found you. Your eyes widened a little as he walked toward your side of the stage, fingers tracing his chest before he pointed directly at you, hips grinding to the beat. You groaned and laughed, covering your face for a second before looking back up at him with a smirk, mouthing, “You’re ridiculous.” Seonghwa winked and didn’t break rhythm for a second.
“Someone’s enjoying herself.” Wooyoung was peeking out from the side curtain, chin resting on Mingi’s shoulder, both of them hidden in the shadows just past the curtain near the stage entrance. Mingi didn’t say a word. He was standing like stone, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes locked on you. You, in that dress. You, laughing and glowing and completely unaware that you were slowly ruining him. Wooyoung whistled low and let out a chuckle. “Goddamn… if you don’t finally make a move tonight, San and I will.” Mingi didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. Didn’t even breathe. And Wooyoung, always a menace, grinned. “You’re on next, lover boy. Better figure it out quick. I don’t think that dress is gonna last the night.” Seonghwa’s performance ended to deafening cheers, the crowd still buzzing as the lights shifted and another playlist took over the speakers for the brief intermission. You clapped and whooped with the rest of them, smiling when Seonghwa blew a kiss toward the audience before disappearing behind the curtain.
You needed a drink. Not just because it was hot in here, not just because Seonghwa had turned the place into a damn sauna, but because the momentary flutter in your chest, the one you really didn’t want to acknowledge, was starting to feel familiar. You weaved your way toward the bar, still getting looks. A few women gave polite smiles. A few didn’t bother hiding the fact they were sizing you up. The bartender handed you your drink, vodka soda, extra lime, and you sipped slowly, watching some of the staff rearrange props on stage for the next set. You’d just started heading toward the back when the line for the restroom came into view, and you groaned. Of course. You took another sip and slipped into the hallway anyway, heels clicking softly against the dark floor. It was quieter back here, the sound of music muffled by the heavy curtain and door. You were mid scroll on your phone, waiting for the next stall, when you saw her. Daphne. She was across the hall, leaning against the wall by the lounge door, laughing at something on her phone. She hadn’t changed much. And even if you hadn’t clocked the flirty body language and the way her lipstick was too perfectly smudged, you’d know that face anywhere. Because it was her. The girl you’d walked in on with Mingi.
You took another slow sip of your drink, shoulders straightening, not meaning to eavesdrop. You were just waiting your turn for the restroom, but then she laughed, a sharp, airy little thing, and it drew your attention before you could help it. She’d been joined by two other women, both dolled up in the kind of designer clubwear that screamed I’m not here for drinks, I’m here for backstage. You couldn’t help the sideways glance as Daphne sighed dramatically. “I swear to god, he gets hotter every time I see him,” she said, tossing her hair back like she was still center stage. One of the other girls giggled. “You mean Mingi?” Daphne rolled her eyes. “Who else? That man could make me forget my own name. I swear, if he so much as glanced at me tonight, I’d be backstage with my legs in the air before he finishes his set.” That earned a chorus of laughs from the others. “He’s got that energy,” another one chimed in. “Like, the moment he touches you, you know. I still think about that one night….. his hands? Unreal.”
“Please, I could still feel him the next morning,” Daphne said, sipping her drink with a smug tilt of her lips. “He knows what he’s doing. Doesn’t rush. Doesn’t talk much, either. Just grabs your throat and owns you.” Your stomach tightened, a strange, cold twist curling low. You took a slow breath, steadying yourself. It didn’t matter. They could talk about the way he fucked them all they wanted. What you had with Mingi was different. It had always been different. Still, you couldn’t help the small flicker of something in your chest, some stubborn, possessive ember sparking in the dark. You made quick haste in using the restroom before sliding back into your seat, smoothing your hands down your thighs, trying to push the unease out of your chest. The voices from the bathroom still lingered, too clear to forget. Daphne’s obnoxious giggle, one of the other girls saying something about how fast he always pulled her into his lap, and someone else laughing, “Mingi’s a slut, but like, in a fun way.” You knew better. You’d known him since you were thirteen. You’d seen every version of him, from the awkward middle schooler who used to trip over his own feet to the man now regularly grinding on stage under heavy lights. But that didn’t make it sting any less.
You crossed your legs, sitting straighter, chin up like you weren’t affected at all, even though your stomach still felt off as the lights dimmed suddenly, shifting the attention back to the stage, and the low thrum of bass pulsed through the club. Hongjoong’s voice came over the mic, smoother than the whiskey he drank. “Alright, alright… try to keep your hands to yourself for this next one. You know who he is.” A moment of silence passed, followed by a mischievous grin. “And judging by how loud some of you get when he so much as breathes…. yeah, I know you know.” The crowd laughed, whistles already rising. You blinked, heart kicking a little harder despite everything. “Put your hands together for the one and only…. MINGI!” The lights exploded in a rush of violet and gold as the music shifted. And there he was. Mingi barely looked at the crowd when he stepped out…. except for the split second his eyes found yours. A quick glance. But it landed like a punch to the chest. No wink. No smirk this time. Just that unreadable look that made it impossible to tell if he was affected by your presence… or trying hard not to be. The music started slow, deep bass with a teasing rhythm, and the screams erupted around you, the kind of shrieking only Mingi’s hips could cause. You swallowed thickly, crossing your legs tighter as he started moving, rolling his shoulders and swaying to the beat with that devastating ease he was known for.
You tried. You really tried not to stare. He was your best friend. He was also wearing pants that looked spray painted on. And you were only human. Your gaze flicked away, anywhere else, anyone else. But of course, it landed on her. Daphne. And her little fan club. Clustered just a few seats down, leaning forward in their chairs like they were watching their favorite scene in a movie. Daphne had one hand resting under her chin, eyes locked on Mingi’s chest like she already had plans for it, while one of her friends whispered something and giggled behind her hand. Jealousy rose in your throat like smoke. Stupid. Stupid. You had no right to be jealous. You weren’t his girlfriend. You’d never even kissed him. But you had seen the way he used to smile at you in high school when no one else got him. You had been the first one to know about his audition. The first to hug him when he got the job. The one who helped him with his first eyeliner wing and teased him for crying during Pixar movies. And now here he was, grinding on stage in front of everyone. Including them.
You blinked hard, forcing your eyes back to the stage as he dropped to his knees and ran one hand up the inside of his thigh, his mouth parted just slightly like he knew exactly what he was doing. No. No, you were not going to fall into the Mingi trap again tonight. Even if you already had. The second verse hit, and the lights dimmed to a smoky red, casting long shadows over Mingi’s body as he stalked down the stage with slow, deliberate steps. His eyes swept over the crowd like a predator picking his target, and you felt your breath catch when, just for a second, they landed on you again but he didn’t do anything. He just kept going. There was something different tonight. His usual energy was there, the raw confidence, the way his body moved like he knew it was a weapon, but he wasn’t pushing it as hard as he usually did. He wasn’t playing up to the crowd, no shirt ripping dramatics, no licking his fingers before dragging them down his chest. It was… restrained. Controlled. Almost like he didn’t want to give it all away. Still, the screams got louder when he rolled his hips in time with the beat, running one hand through his hair and letting his head tip back. His shirt was already long gone, tossed somewhere into the lights during the first chorus, and now his hands moved to the buckle of his belt, slow and showy but still somehow not cocky.
You caught your bottom lip between your teeth as the pants hit the floor. Black underwear. Tight. Low. Dangerous. Your heart pounded in your ears. The club was electric. One of the girls near Daphne squealed, clutching the other’s arm, while Daphne herself sat there smugly, eyes dragging up Mingi’s thighs like she owned them. You had to look away. You had to. But your eyes didn’t listen. Mingi moved to the edge of the stage, kneeling at the end of it, sweat glistening down his chest as the music hit a low, pulsing bridge. His hands slid slowly down the tops of his thighs, just barely skimming over the elastic of his underwear, and he let the tension sit there, soaking into the air like heat. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. And he hadn’t even touched himself yet. Because he was holding back. He wasn’t here to blow the crowd away tonight. He wasn’t here for the loudest cheers or the biggest tips. He wasn’t performing like a man who wanted the world’s attention. He was performing like a man who already knew exactly whose attention he had. And he was being careful with it.
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Backstage was chaos. Sweat, laughter, leftover glitter, the low buzz of someone’s portable speaker still playing the tail end of the track Mingi had just walked off to. But he didn’t really hear it. His pulse was still racing, muscles tight, lungs catching on a breath that had nothing to do with dancing as he ran a towel down his chest, flinching a little when the fabric passed over the still damp waistband of his underwear. God. He barely remembered stepping off stage. His mind was stuck on the time your eyes locked with his….. “Mingi!” Wooyoung’s voice cut through the noise like a shot. “You good? Or did someone forget it was Seonghwa’s birthday?”
Mingi blinked. “What?” Wooyoung crossed his arms, tilting his head with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. “That performance? That was, like, 70 percent. Maybe 75 if I’m being generous.”
“I hit every step,” Mingi muttered, still towel drying his hair like it would help him avoid this conversation. “Yeah, yeah, the steps were there. But the filth? The drama? The tongue and hand action?” Wooyoung held up his fingers like a checklist. “Gone. Missing. On vacation.” Mingi threw the towel at his face. “Get out of my business.”
“I would…. if your business wasn’t being all tense because a certain someone’s sitting out there looking like a sin in heels and barely even glancing your way.” Mingi froze. “She glanced.”
“Oh, she glanced,” Wooyoung agreed with a smirk. “But the other girls? They drooled. And you didn’t even give them a good reason to.” Mingi dragged a hand down his face with a frustrated sigh, ignoring the heat curling in his chest. “It’s Seonghwa’s night.” Wooyoung grinned. “Exactly! Which means you should’ve been out there slutting it up in his honor.” He threw a dramatic hand to his chest. “Instead, you came off like a sad stripper who’s in love with his best friend but trying to hide it by pretending he’s not thinking about her in that tiny black dress.” Mingi narrowed his eyes. “That was weirdly specific.” Wooyoung gave him a slow blink. “Am I wrong?” Mingi didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Because Wooyoung already knew.
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The final song boomed through the club, the kind of bass heavy anthem that had drinks sloshing, phones up, and the floor vibrating with heat and sweat. San and Wooyoung had just finished their performance with the kind of chaos only they could pull off together, shirts missing, glitter somehow everywhere, Wooyoung mouthing something obscene into a camera someone definitely had on him. The rest of the guys had joined them on stage, shirtless, glistening, hyped, all of them catching their breath as Hongjoong stepped forward with a mic and that dangerous glint in his eye again. “Alright, alright!” he yelled, breathless, cheeks flushed from champagne and adrenaline. “It’s that time again….. lap dance giveaway!” The crowd screamed. Phones shot higher. Someone whistled so loud Hongjoong flinched. “So here’s how it works,” he grinned, gesturing behind him. “All our lovely dancers are up here. But you, the audience, get to vote who gives the final lap dance of the night!” The crowd erupted into cheers again, hands shooting up, chants starting. Names were shouted, screamed, begged for, Seonghwa, San, Wooyoung, Yeosang. But then someone yelled Mingi’s name. Then someone else. And another. Until it turned into a wave. “Mingi! Mingi! Mingi!”
“Alright!” Seonghwa suddenly cut in, grabbing the mic from Hongjoong. His voice was full of playful command. “It’s my birthday, which means I get to pick who the lucky recipient is.” That brought fresh noise from the audience, whooping in anticipation as Seonghwa turned in a slow circle, gaze sweeping the room like a spotlight until it landed on you. He didn’t say your name. Didn’t need to. Because every single person in the room watched his eyes land on you. Watched that wicked birthday smirk spread across his face. “I pick…” he said, pausing for dramatic effect, still staring dead at you, “her.” The spotlight followed his gaze, landing on your stunned, wide eyed face as Wooyoung literally turned around on stage, hand clamped over his mouth, his whole body shaking with silent laughter. Because your expression? Stunned. Borderline panicked. And Mingi? He looked like he’d just been told to walk a tightrope over a pit of lava with you on the other end. “Oh, this is so much better than cake,” Wooyoung wheezed under his breath, turning just enough to glance back at the two of you. “Happy fucking birthday, Seonghwa.”
San’s hand was warm as it wrapped around your wrist, pulling you to your feet before your brain could even catch up to what was happening. “Come on,” he grinned, voice low in your ear. “Don’t make me carry you.” Your legs moved on autopilot, your heart slamming behind your ribs as the crowd parted and Yeosang appeared like some smug ass magician with a sleek black chair, placing it center stage with a little bow like tada. Your knees nearly gave out when San guided you to sit. The spotlight was on you, heat prickling down your spine, adrenaline crashing through your bloodstream. Somewhere in the fog of music and shock, you became vaguely aware of more movement behind you. A couple of the club staff were rolling out a cart with a glowing birthday cake lit up in white and gold, sparklers shooting off on either side with Seonghwa’s name scrawled across the top in elegant frosting. You could barely register the cake though. Because your eyes found Mingi. He hadn’t moved. He was standing off to the side, jaw locked, eyes dark, arms loose at his sides like he was trying so hard not to look at you but failing miserably.
And then he did look at you and it was like the whole club disappeared. Every person, every scream, every spotlight. Just his eyes on you as your thighs clenched automatically under his gaze, heat crawling up your neck because fuck, your best friend was about to give you a lap dance. In front of everyone. At Seonghwa’s birthday show. With Daphne still watching. And you still weren’t sure if this was a dream or a fever or both as Mingi finally moved and stepped in front of you, and for a moment… he didn’t move. His hand flexed at his side. His jaw clenched. The song pulsed through the air, but he stayed frozen, just looking at you like you were a loaded gun aimed right at his chest. You tilted your head, a teasing smile trying to save you both from this moment, from whatever this was turning into. But Mingi didn’t smile back. He exhaled through his nose, low and slow, and finally stepped closer and the screams got louder. But you could barely hear them. All you saw was Mingi, hesitant, trying to remember how to perform when his best friend was the one looking up at him in that dress, legs parted now just enough to flash bare thigh under the dim red lighting. He moved to the beat, slow, calculated, his fingers dragging across his chest, down the sculpted lines of his stomach. But it was cautious, more controlled than usual. Like he was holding back. Because he was. This wasn’t just a show anymore. This was you. And Mingi didn’t know how the hell he was supposed to pretend anymore.
Each step was perfectly timed, but you knew him, knew when his movements were real and when he was playing a part. And this? This was him half there, his body moving on autopilot, hips swaying gently as he circled behind you. The crowd didn’t care though, they were eating it up either way, but you felt it. That barely there tension in his hands as they hovered just above your shoulders. The stutter in his breath as he leaned in, but didn’t touch. It was the hesitation of a man trying not to cross a line he’d drawn for himself a long time ago. But then your hand lifted. Just a little as you reached behind you and placed it lightly on his thigh. And that was it. That was all it took. Mingi snapped. The second your hand pressed against his leg, his hands dropped to your shoulders, firm now, grounding himself on you as his body rolled into yours from behind like instinct had taken over, dragging his hips against the back of the chair, down the curve of your spine as the crowd screamed louder, but it sounded distant to you still, muffled beneath the rush of blood in your ears as Mingi’s hands slid down your arms, gripping your wrists gently and placing them on his chest as he stepped around to face you. His eyes locked with yours, full of something raw and deep and buried far too long. You didn’t even know where to put your hands until he guided them, keeping his over yours as he rolled his hips forward, grinding down just slow enough to feel obscene and your legs fell open allowing his knee to push between them. And when the chorus of Happy Birthday to you hit Seonghwa’s name, Mingi dropped it low.
One of his hands braced on your thigh, the other sliding up the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he rocked his body into yours like he wasn’t surrounded by people, like you were the only one in the room. Because to him, you were. And Seonghwa, bless him, just laughed, clapping along, fully aware his birthday performance had officially been hijacked by a man realizing far too late that he he should of said too long ago that he was in love with his best friend. The music pulsed louder now, slower and dirtier, like it knew what was happening. And so did he. Mingi didn’t hesitate anymore. His hands, once careful, once unsure, were everywhere now. Gripping your waist, skimming your hips, dragging up your sides like he had permission now. Like he’d finally allowed himself to stop pretending this didn’t mean something. And you weren’t any better. Your fingers slid up his chest, nails grazing the skin at his waist as your head tipped back, eyes half lidded as you let him move against you. Let him show you exactly how good his body could feel pressed this close, this tight, this intentional. It wasn’t a performance anymore. Not really. It was foreplay. The way he rolled his hips, slow, deep, then faster, grinding into your inner thigh like he needed the friction. The way your nails dug into his back, pulling him down just enough that your lips brushed his jaw. You weren’t even thinking anymore, just feeling. The scent of his cologne, the heat of his skin, the way the room spun a little every time his hand gripped your thigh and squeezed. And the crowd? Still singing. Still cheering. But quieter now. Because something was happening on stage they weren’t meant to see as Mingi leaned in, his mouth grazing your ear as his breath fanned hot across your neck. “You look like a fucking dream in this dress,” he murmured, voice low, hoarse, possessive. “You know that?” Your breath caught as you looked up at him, your best friend. Your Mingi. Except not the same Mingi you knew. This was the one who couldn’t hold back anymore as his hand slid between your thighs, not quite touching, but just hovering, the ghost of contact making your whole body ache and your thighs to press together, chest rising, eyes locked with his right as the final beat hit.
Then the music ended and the lights dimmed. And for just one breathless moment, the two of you stood frozen in the silence. Mingi’s hand still on your thigh caught between the clench of them, heat pulsing between you like the crowd never existed. The spell didn’t break until San whooped and slapped Mingi on the back like he hadn’t just dry humped his best friend in front of the entire club. Laughter exploded around the room, cake was smeared across Seonghwa’s cheek, but Mingi didn’t laugh as he looked at you. And you knew…. he felt it too. That nothing between you would ever be the same after tonight.
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The bar glowed in warm amber light, crowded but cozy, the bass of the music low enough to talk over, the laughter loud enough to ignore the awkward silences. You were still buzzing from the show, from the attention, from Mingi’s hands on you. But now, seated across from him at the long booth table, all that heat had simmered down to a prickling awareness. Every time you looked up, he was already looking at you. Every time he looked away, you wanted to ask why. But neither of you said a word. Wooyoung, of course, had no such filter. “Okay, okay…. but remember when Hongjoong walked in on me and San with that guy backstage?” he grinned, already snorting into his drink before the story even started. “Like pants around ankles, San’s hand halfway to heaven, and Joong just… deadpan. Completely dead inside.” Yeosang choked on his beer as San just threw a napkin at him. “You promised you’d never bring that up again.” Wooyoung sing songed. “Oops,” Seonghwa leaned over, grinning lazily. “Honestly, I’m just mad I missed it.” They all laughed as Wooyoung looked to you and Mingi with a devious look. “What about you two? You ever accidentally walk in on each other?” You felt your heart stop for a second as Mingi shook his head. “No,” he said instantly, like it was a dumb question. “Never.” You hesitated. It was maybe half a second but Mingi noticed. Wooyoung noticed too, but he just raised a brow and took another sip, letting the silence stretch. “Wait,” Mingi said slowly, leaning forward a little. “Why’d you pause?”
You looked at him, really looked at him. And maybe it was the lingering jealousy. Maybe it was the feel of his hands on your thighs still haunting you. Or maybe it was just time. You set your drink down carefully and met his eyes. “A year ago,” you said, voice calm. “I came home…. You were…on the couch.” His brows pinched together for half a second. “Wait…. what?” You took a long sip of your drink, eyes fixed on the amber liquid. “You were on the couch. With Daphne.” The name hit the table like a dropped glass. Yeosang’s chewing stopped. San blinked. Seonghwa looked between you and Mingi like he was watching the opening act to a car crash as Mingi sat back slightly. “You never said anything.” You met his gaze. “What would I have said? Hey, saw you getting rode last night, looked busy?” Wooyoung snorted hard. “Oh my god. You’ve been holding onto that?” You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Wasn’t exactly something I wanted to remember.” Mingi’s jaw clenched. “You… how long were you there?” You shrugged not meeting his eyes. “Long enough.” It was quiet for a long moment before Seonghwa raised his glass with a smirk. “Happy birthday to me. Damn.” The table chuckled. But Mingi’s gaze didn’t leave you. You didn’t say anything else. Just slid out of the booth and made your way toward the bar, your dress hugging every curve like it knew Mingi was watching. Because he was. Everyone was. But he looked wrecked, jaw set, brow furrowed, eyes tracking you like you might disappear if he blinked.
“Bro.” Mingi didn’t look away from where you stood now, leaning your elbows on the bar. Wooyoung leaned in, voice louder this time. “Bro.” Mingi blinked, barely glancing at him. “What?” Wooyoung leaned across the table like Mingi was two seconds from being smacked upside the head, “you practically fucked her onstage. I had to turn around.” Mingi ran a hand down his face, groaning. “I didn’t mean for it to go that far.” Yeosang snorted into his drink. “Yes you did. Now you’re just too scared to do anything about it.” Silence settled for another moment before Mingi stood and the rest of the guys just watched him go, heads tilted like they were watching a soap opera in real time as Wooyoung raised his glass. “Godspeed, idiot.” You were mid laugh, fingers lightly curled around the straw of your drink as the bartender leaned just a little closer than necessary. “On the house,” he said smoothly, sliding you another cocktail you hadn’t asked for. “Pretty girls shouldn’t have to pay.” You were about to respond, something between polite and dismissive, when a body moved in behind you, warm and familiar, towering enough that the bartender’s cocky grin faltered.
“Didn’t know we were offering free drinks for anyone,” Mingi said, voice calm but edged. His hand slid along the bar beside yours, not touching you but close enough your breath caught as the bartender gave a chuckle. “Club policy for regulars.” Mingi tilted his head. “She’s not a regular.” You finally turned your head, trying not to look startled by how close he was. “Hey.” He looked at you, not the bartender. “Hey.” The air shifted. Dense. Charged. “I was just…” you started, but the bartender cut in. “She was telling me about a cake. Big party. You guys always go this hard?” Mingi didn’t smile. “Only when it matters.” His eyes dropped to the drink the bartender had slid over to you. “You sure you want that one?” You raised a brow. “It’s just a drink.” Mingi stepped a little closer. His chest almost brushing your back. “Some drinks have strings.” You felt the words low in your stomach as the bartender, sensing the tension, awkwardly wiped his hands on a bar towel. “I’ll, uh… check on the other side.” Mingi nodded. “Good idea,” he said flatly but he didn’t move even after the guy disappeared down the bar. You turned to face him fully, chin lifted “Subtle. You just scared off the bartender.” Mingi shrugged like he didn’t care. “He was flirting with you.” You snorted. “I know.” Mingi stepped closer, crowding into your space like he had every right to be there. “And you were flirting back.” You swallowed hard, your voice a little softer now. “What if I was?” His eyes dropped to your lips. “Then I guess I’m done pretending to be just your best friend.”
You stared at him, heart stuttering in your chest like it couldn’t decide whether to leap or freeze. “What?” The word came out small, not because you didn’t hear him but because it hit you like a damn freight train. Mingi didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t try to play it off. There was a pause thick enough to cut, bass from the music thumping through the floor beneath your heels, laughter echoing from the other side of the bar, none of it touching the two of you though as he said it, voice low and rough at the edges, “Best friends don’t look at each other the way we did tonight.” Your breath caught. He wasn’t smiling. There was no teasing in his eyes. Just truth. Hot, heavy, terrifying truth. “You wanna go home?” It was simple. But it wasn’t. Because home didn’t mean your shared apartment anymore. It didn’t mean crashing on the couch with takeout and reruns of shitty reality shows. It didn’t mean what it usually did. Not tonight. Tonight, it meant crossing a line you’d both been toeing for years. You stared at him, pulse thudding in your throat like it was trying to answer for you. “Yeah,” you said softly, throat dry. “Let’s go.” Mingi nodded, sharp, determined, and gently took the drink from your hand to set it on the bar behind you, fingers brushing yours, just barely, but it was enough to ignite sparks that raced up your spine. You didn’t even look back as he led you toward the door.
Seonghwa, still nursing a half melted cocktail, watched with narrowed eyes before smirking around the rim of his glass. He set it down with a little clink and looked at the rest of the guys. “Finally,” he muttered, like he’d just won a long running bet with the universe. Yeosang grinned. Wooyoung practically choked on his drink and leaned into San as the doors opened and in walked Daphne with two friends flanking her like backup singers. She spotted Mingi immediately, a slow smirk curling on her face. “Well, well,” she purred, walking right into his path, tilting her head. “Didn’t expect to see you leaving so early…” Mingi didn’t even break stride. He didn’t even look at her. He just tightened his grip on your hand and led you straight past her like she was nothing but background noise.
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The door clicked shut behind you, the quiet thud echoing through the apartment louder than it should have. Neither of you said a word as you toed off your shoes slowly, one heel, then the other, the soft tap of them hitting the floor sounding way too intimate in the silence. Mingi did the same, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over the back of the couch, his eyes never once leaving you. The room felt heavier now. Warmer. You stood there, still dressed like temptation, your chest rising and falling just a little faster than usual as Mingi’s jaw twitched, watching you, like he was trying to keep a leash on something, something coiled deep and tense behind his eyes. “Nineteen,” Mingi finally said, voice low, like it physically hurt to get the word out. His eyes didn’t waver. “Nineteen. We were nineteen when I realized I was in love with you.” Your breath stuttered. “Eight years,” he went on, stepping closer, slowly, like he was afraid if he rushed it, you’d disappear. “Eight years pretending I didn’t want you. Eight years burying myself in other people, eyes closed, pretending it was you.” You swallowed hard, heart thudding, knees wobbling slightly from the weight of his confession as Mingi let out a shaky laugh, no humor in it. “This dress,” he murmured, gaze dropping for the briefest second before dragging back to your face. “First time you wore it, I left my own birthday party. Because if I didn’t, I was gonna drag you into the back room and rip it off you.” You stood there stunned, lips parted, head spinning. And Mingi? He just looked like a man who’d finally stopped running.
Your lips parted, breath shaky. “Do it. Mingi blinked, confused. “What?” You stepped forward, slowly, your eyes locked on his. “Rip the dress off me.” For a second, he didn’t move, like he was trying to make sure you really said it, like maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. But then his jaw clenched, nostrils flared, and something in his expression shifted, snapped. “You…” he started, voice cracking. “You can’t say shit like that unless you mean it.” You didn’t hesitate. “I do.” Mingi surged forward, grabbing you and crashing his mouth onto yours like he’d finally lost the battle with himself. His hands cupped your face at first, tender despite the heat between you, lips hungry and frantic as years of tension detonated all at once. You clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer, the kiss turning messy, deeper, desperate. When you gasped into his mouth, his hands dropped, skimming down your body until they gripped your hips tight and he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his breath ragged. “Last chance,” he whispered. “Tell me to stop, and I will.” But you didn’t. Instead, you slid his hand up the side of your dress, resting it right at the seam with your thigh, and whispered, “Rip it.” His fingers curled into the fabric, and with one hard pull, the dress tore with a sharp rrrrip, seams splitting clean down the back. It slid from your shoulders like it had been waiting to fall off you, pooling around your feet as the air hit your bare skin and his eyes darkened, swallowing the sight of you whole as he stood there, chest heaving, his gaze devouring every inch of you like he was seeing you for the first time, not his best friend in a towel, not the girl who’s lived in oversized shirts and underwear on lazy Sundays, not the one he’s caught glimpses of a hundred times in shared spaces and never touched.
This was you. Naked, save for the thin scrap of panties clinging to your hips. Wanting him. And he was completely undone. “Fuck,” he muttered, voice low, reverent, almost in disbelief. “You’re gonna ruin me.” He wrapped his arms around your thighs and lifted you effortlessly, your legs instinctively hooking around his waist as his mouth found your breast the moment you were against him, hot and hungry, tongue dragging over your nipple before he sucked it into his mouth. One hand held you firm while the other palmed up your spine, fingers splaying against your skin like he needed to memorize the shape of you. You gasped, your hand tangling in his short hair as his teeth grazed your nipple. He didn’t stop walking. He carried you down the hallway, dimly lit by the soft glow of the living room behind you. He passed his room and paused in front of your door before kicked it open gently, not even looking, his focus locked entirely on the way your body trembled in his arms, the way your breath hitched every time his mouth moved. He lowered you onto your bed like he was setting something sacred down, carefully, slowly, even though his chest was tight and his pulse wild. His mouth never left your skin, lips still wrapped around your breast, tongue swirling as he sucked and teased. The second your back hit the mattress, he settled between your legs, one arm braced beside you while the other slid down, tracing your side, your hip, dragging goosebumps in his wake.
You arched into him when his hand finally slipped between your thighs and the soft, wrecked sound that escaped him when he felt how wet you were….. “Shit…” he groaned against your chest, breath hot. “You’re soaked.” His fingers teased over the damp fabric, tracing you slowly, reverently, like he was still trying to convince himself this wasn’t a dream. Then he pressed down just enough to make your hips twitch and pulled his mouth from your breast to look up at you. “All that… from me?” he murmured, voice low and dark. “From that dance? From touching you?” A moan escaped you as you met his gaze. “Both,” you whispered, breath hitching and Mingi groaned like it punched the air from his lungs, raw and low in his throat. His fingers curled into your panties, dragging them down just enough, his gaze flicking between your face and where his hand disappeared. “You’re killing me,” he muttered, voice rough, almost pained. And then, finally, his fingers slid through your folds, slow and teasing, gathering your wetness before pushing inside. “Fuck,” he hissed, head dropping to your chest as he curled his fingers and felt you clench around him. “You feel like this for me? All night?” You nodded, your fingers threading through his hair, your thighs parting wider as your hips tilted to chase the pressure as he started moving them, slow at first, deep, curling with every stroke as your body arched under him. “Mingi,” you gasped, and he shuddered, biting down gently on your breast as he pumped his fingers faster. “Say it again,” he growled.
You grabbed his jaw, hard enough that his lips parted, his eyes snapping to yours like you’d just yanked a leash. “Fuck me with your fingers,” you ordered, dragging his face closer, your thighs tightening around his wrist. “Make me come like I’ve wanted you to for years.” Mingi’s eyes darkened, and something unholy snapped behind them. He growled, a sound from deep in his chest and then his mouth was on your neck, teeth scraping skin as his fingers slammed back into you, no more teasing, no more hesitation. He curled them hard, rough, filthy and perfect, pumping into you with the kind of rhythm that made your hips lift and your moans fall apart. “Like this?” he rasped into your throat. “Is this how you want it?” You barely managed a nod before your back arched off the bed, your nails raking down his arm, every nerve ending on fire. And he wasn’t stopping. Not until you screamed for him. Your fingers dove into his hair again, tugging hard enough to make him groan against your skin as you yanked his head back just enough to meet his eyes, eyes that were already glassy with lust, lips slick from the path they’d traced across your chest. “Don’t stop,” you panted, grinding down against his hand, riding his fingers like you owned them. “Fuck…. just like that, Mingi. God, you feel so fucking good… why the hell did we wait so long?” Your voice was wrecked, dripping filth and fire, every word going straight to his already aching dick. He swore under his breath, low and guttural, his jaw clenching as your wetness coated his hand and wrist. “You have no idea,” he growled, fingers curling harder, deeper. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.” You leaned in, lips brushing his as you whispered, “Then shut up and ruin me.”
Mingi’s whole body tensed, he was gone. Absolutely gone. Nothing about this was best friends anymore. Nothing about this was safe. Not with you saying things like that, not with your body soaked and begging for him, not with the way your thighs were trembling around his wrist as your orgasm started to crest. He’d never been more turned on in his life. “Fuck,” He groaned, voice wrecked as he watched you tremble around his fingers. He couldn’t take it, couldn’t take you like this, soaked, panting, eyes glazed over with need and begging for more. He pulled his fingers out slow, slick dripping down his knuckles, and you whined at the sudden emptiness. But before you could even finish the sound, he was already dropping between your thighs. “Spread for me,” he muttered, breath hot against your core as he hooked his hands under your knees and pushed them wide. Then his mouth was on you. Hot, hungry and possessive. His tongue slid through your folds like he’d been starving for you, moaning into you as if he’d just tasted salvation. He sucked your clit into his mouth, slow at first, teasing the way he knew would drive you insane and when you gasped and tried to grind into his face, he growled, locking your hips down with his arms. You could feel how messy it was, his spit, your arousal, his tongue working like he was trying to memorize every part of you. And the worst part? He wasn’t stopping. He wasn’t giving you room to breathe. “Mingi…” you gasped, thighs shaking, hands flying back to his hair. But he still didn’t let up. He just moaned again, eyes dark and locked on yours from between your legs as he devoured you like he was never letting you go.
Your fingers tightened in his hair, both hands gripping as you ground yourself against his mouth, chasing every wicked flick of his tongue. You could feel him moan into you again and again, deep and guttural, the sound vibrating against your clit as your hips rolled harder. “Just like that…. fuck, Mingi, don’t stop…. your mouth feels so fucking good,” you gasped, voice breathy. “Always wondered how that pretty mouth would feel between my thighs…. look at you, baby, making me so goddamn wet.” Mingi let out a desperate sound at that, eyes fluttering shut as his grip on your thighs tightened. You felt him rock forward slightly, and when you glanced down, the sight had you gasping all over again. He was rutting against the bed. Still fully clothed, still eating you out like it was the only thing keeping him alive as his hips grounded down into the mattress, trying to get even the smallest bit of friction as he moaned with every move you made. Your back arched, hands fisting tighter in his hair. “Fuck, you’re gonna make yourself come like that?” you whispered, completely wrecked. “Humping the bed like a needy little thing while your tongue’s buried in my pussy?” His growl vibrated right through you and somehow, impossibly, he started devouring you even harder before he pulled back just long enough to catch his breath, lips slick and swollen, the look in his eyes feral. You were trembling beneath him, but it didn’t stop him, his fingers slipped right back in, two thrusting deep into your soaked heat while his thumb dragged slow, tight circles over your clit. You barely had time to gasp before he added pressure, angling just right…. and then you felt it. A smaller finger, his pinky, teasing your other hole. “Mingi…. fuck…”
“I got you,” he whispered, voice ragged with need, “I got you, baby, just feel me.” It was overwhelming, his fingers stroking deep, his thumb rubbing perfectly, his pinky pushing in so carefully it made your whole body jolt. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, only chase the high he was pulling from you so ruthlessly. You reached for him without thinking, fingers tangling in his hair again, dragging him up to crash your mouth into his. It was messy, all tongue and teeth, but it grounded you just enough right before it hit. Your whole body tensed as you came hard, crying out against his mouth, your thighs clamping around his hand as you squirted, soaking him, the sheets, everything and Mingi moaned into the kiss, swallowing every sound you made as he worked you through it, eyes wide like he couldn’t believe what he just did to you. Like he wanted, needed, more. He barely had time to catch his breath again before you shoved at his chest, pushing him back until he sat at the edge of the bed, hands bracing behind him, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon. “Strip.” Your voice was low, wrecked, but laced with command making him blink once, then grinned, slow and sinful. The kind of grin that always came out on stage when the beat dropped and the lights hit just right. Except now it was for you and only you. “After all,” he murmured, fingers already moving to the hem of his shirt, “it’s my job, isn’t it?” You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. Because Mingi was already peeling his shirt up over his head, revealing that strong, lean torso you’d seen a thousand times but never like this. Never with that fire in his eyes, never with your slick still glistening on his fingers. His pants followed, slow and deliberate, teasing. And when they hit the floor, and he stood there in nothing but tight black briefs, hard and straining, the outline of him unmistakable, you couldn’t help the way your legs shifted restlessly on the sheets. “Tell me,” he said, voice a little breathless, “do I take these off too, or do you want to do it?”
You slid off the bed, the air thick between you as you sank to your knees in front of him. Mingi stood there, chest rising, lips parted, watching your every move as your fingers hooked into the waistband of his briefs, and he let out a shaky breath, hips twitching forward before he caught himself. You dragged the fabric down slowly, his briefs slipping past his hips, your eyes widening just slightly because he was big. Thick, heavy, already flushed and twitching, curving just a little toward his stomach. The kind of big that made your mouth water and your thighs press together. “Fuck,” you whispered without thinking. Your hand wrapped firmly around the base of him, and when you looked up, your voice was low, teasing and daring. “You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” Mingi’s breath stuttered. His hands clenched at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. His mouth opened but nothing came out at first, just a flush creeping up his neck, dark and undeniable. “Yeah.” His voice was hoarse, nearly a groan. “So many fucking times.” You tilted your head, your grip giving just the slightest squeeze, and his abs tensed. “Show me how much,” you whispered. “Show me everything you’ve been holding back.” Mingi’s hand slid up, fingers curling under your chin as he tilted your face up to meet his gaze. “Open,” he said, voice low and wrecked. And you didn’t hesitate, just smirked, lips parting slowly, eyes locked on his as your tongue teased the air between you. The sound he made was pure sin, one of his hands bracing atop your head as the other guided himself to your mouth, slow and deliberate. He let the tip brush your bottom lip, and your tongue flicked against it, dragging a ragged groan from his chest. “Fuck,” he breathed, as he began to slowly push in, the heat of your mouth making his jaw clench, every muscle in his body drawn tight with restraint. You started slow, the heat of your mouth wrapping around him as your tongue teased lazy circles. Mingi’s hand twitched at his side, fighting the urge to grab your hair, his breath already uneven. “Don’t do that,” he muttered, voice gravel. “Don’t tease…” But you didn’t listen. You sank down just a little more, then pulled back with a filthy pop, smirking up at him like you had all the time in the world. Like you weren’t seconds away from wrecking him. And then you hollowed your cheeks and the groan that ripped out of Mingi’s chest was downright desperate as you took more of him, hands sliding up to grip his thighs for leverage. You let your nails dig in just enough to make him twitch, then started moving, slow, controlled strokes at first, lips gliding, tongue working every inch of him with practiced ease.
“Shit,” he breathed, his hand finally tangling in your hair. “You…. fuck, baby…” But you had control now. And you didn’t let up. You looked up at him with glassy eyes, mouth full of him, and let him see the exact moment you relaxed your throat and pushed deeper, your grip on his thighs tightening as you urged him to move. And he did. Thrust by slow, shaking thrust, Mingi began to fuck into your mouth, his rhythm building as you moaned around him, the sound sending shivers up his spine. His other hand joined the first in your hair, voice broken as he whispered your name like a curse and a prayer all at once as you moaned around him, the vibration making his knees nearly give out. His grip tightened in your hair as he rutted into your mouth, breath ragged, jaw slack. You let him use you, let him fall apart like he had no control left, taking him deep, your moans growing louder, wetter, filthier. He was close. Too close. And then he groaned, a rough, strangled sound, and pulled out, chest heaving, dick glistening as it twitched in the air between you. “Fuck…” he looked down at you like he didn’t know whether to drop to his knees or throw you onto the bed and ruin you. “Not yet.” His voice was thick. “Wanna be inside you when I come.” He reached down and pulled you up with ease, one hand on your hip, the other sliding around your waist like he was ready to take control, like this was going to go the way it always did for him. But he had no idea. You pushed against his chest, hard, catching him off guard and sending him stumbling back onto the bed. “What….” Before he could finish the question, you were crawling up after him, slow and purposeful, your eyes locked on his, a wicked little smirk tugging at your lips as you straddled his hips. “Mingi,” you purred, hands sliding up his chest, nails grazing just enough to make him twitch, “you really thought you’d be the one in charge tonight?” He swallowed hard, pupils dilating, the realization sinking in as you leaned down, lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “Lie back. Be good. And let me fuck you.” You didn’t give him time to respond. Instead, you lowered yourself slowly, lips brushing his chest, the line of his ribs, the dip of his stomach, every kiss deliberate, a tease and a promise all in one as Mingi’s breathing turned ragged beneath you, his muscles tense under your mouth, but he didn’t move. Didn’t dare.
You reached his hips, sitting up, your nails dragging lightly along his sides as your eyes met his again. His hands gripped the sheets, knuckles white as you finally reached between you, guiding him to your entrance, already soaked and ready. You took your time, just the tip at first, the stretch enough to make you both exhale. Then, with one slow, deliberate roll of your hips, you sank down onto him, inch by thick inch, until he was buried inside you. Mingi’s head fell back with a choked moan, his hands flying to your thighs but stopping short of grabbing, like even now he was waiting to see what you’d let him do. “Fuck,” he breathed. “You feel….. fuck.” You smiled, starting to move, slow and deep, claiming him like you always should have. You rolled your hips in tight circles, feeling every inch of him stretch you open. Then you picked up speed, bouncing harder, riding him faster with each thrust. Your thighs flexed as you slammed down onto him, the wet slap of your bodies filling the room as you reached up, fingers wrapping around his throat, squeezing just enough to make his eyes flutter. “Look at you,” you breathed, voice thick with heat. “Taking my pussy so fucking good.” You pounded down onto him, your ass meeting his thighs with every drop as your grip on his throat tightened and you leaned in close, lips brushing his ear. “You see what you do to me, Mingi?” You pulled him up by the throat so he could watch, his eyes going wide at the sight of you coating his dick, creaming him, strings of it stretching every time you lifted off and slammed back down.
He whimpered, the sound raw and broken, hips twitching up to meet you as you kept fucking him, relentless, your walls gripping him tight. “You gonna come for me, Mingi? You said you pictured me while you were buried in someone else…” your grip on his throat tightened again, pulling yourself all the way up before slamming back down onto him. “now look at me as you come.” A broken “fuck” tore from his throat as his dick jerked inside you as he did, cum flooding your pussy in thick pulses as his body shook under you. But you didn’t stop riding him, milking every drop while your hand stayed locked around his throat. “You’re mine,” you growled, squeezing tighter. Your free hand sliding down between your bodies, fingers rubbing fast circles over your swollen clit and pleasure slammed into you hard making you cry out, pussy clenching and fluttering around him as you came gushing out around him. Before you could lift off, Mingi’s hands locked around your waist and he sat up in one fluid motion, still buried inside you, grabbing your legs, hooking them over his shoulders, holding you up like that, your back arched, his dick angled deeper. “Clench me,” he ordered, voice low and rough. You obeyed instantly, your pussy squeezing around him in rhythmic pulses. He didn’t move at first, just held you suspended, feeling every squeeze. Then he started thrusting, slow, deliberate lifts that dragged his dick almost all the way out before sinking back in. The pace building gradually, each thrust deeper, harder, until he was fucking you with full force and your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging in as he took complete control, pounding up into you while you hung onto him.
“Such a good girl,” he praised between thrusts, voice strained. “Taking every inch like you were made for it.” Your orgasm crashed over you again without warning, squirting hard around him, soaking his abs and thighs. Mingi pulled out just enough to watch the mess, holding you up so he could see your pussy pulsing and dripping before he flipped you onto your stomach, spreading your legs wide. His tongue dragged through your soaked folds, licking up the mess you’d made, sucking at your clit before kissing his way up your spine and flipped you again onto your back, wrapping your legs around his waist as he sank back into you with one smooth thrust. He sucked at one of your nipples, tongue swirling over it while he started fucking you slow and deep. One hand grabbed both of your wrists, pinning them above your head as his other braced beside you, hips snapping harder, pace picking up. Sweat slicking your bodies together. “I love you,” he panted against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours. “I love you.” You were too far gone to form words at first, just moaning and gasping as he fucked you relentlessly. “Come for me,” he growled. “Fuck…. you’re mine. Mine. I’m yours.” Your orgasm ripped through you, body shaking as you cried out, “I love you too” and Mingi followed right after, burying himself to the hilt and filling you once more, his dick throbbing as he groaned your name and stayed inside you, rocking gently through the aftershocks, both of you panting and clinging to each other. The room smelled like sex and sweat, your bodies joined, hearts pounding in sync as he kissed you, hands finally releasing your wrists so he could stroke your hair, whispering how perfect you felt around him, how long he’d wanted this, how he never wanted to let you go and you stayed wrapped around him, legs locked at his back, his cum leaking out around his softening dick while you both caught your breath, the intensity of everything you’d just done settling into something warm and possessive between you.
You stroked his back as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. Then you could think. The thought of him now after everything, onstage, not the stripping part, but the touching other women. The lap dances…. the thought made you surge with possessiveness. “No more lap dances.” It took a moment for Mingi to register but when he did, he laughed softly into your neck. “I promise from now on I will only grind on you.” He lifted his head and looked down at you. “No more sex with hot patients who flirt with you.” You laughed this time, fingers tangling into his hair, pulling him back down, your other hand moving to stroke his jaw, thumb brushing his bottom lip. “I promise from now on….” You kissed him. “You’re the only one I will fuck in an on call room.” You both laughed at that. Snuggling into each other.
The apartment was unusually quiet for a Sunday afternoon. Yunho and Yeosang had left hours ago for the last day of the the fanmeet, leaving you with complete control of the television, a blanket thrown across your lap, and Yunho’s oversized hoodie draped around your shoulders because it still carried the faint scent of his cologne. The livestream countdown ticked away on the screen and you smiled despite yourself. Being the girlfriend of someone in ATEEZ came with strange little rituals. Learning choreographies without meaning to. Recognizing the members’ in ear monitors before anyone else noticed. Knowing exactly when Yunho was about to crack a joke during a ment because one corner of his mouth always twitched first.
It also meant you’d seen Wake Up more times than you could count. Concerts. Dance practices. Now fan meetings. Every single version somehow managed to feel different. Somehow managed to drive you a little crazier every time. You tucked your feet beneath you as the camera swept across the stage, the crowd erupting loud enough that even through the television speakers it filled the apartment. “There he is…” you murmured with an involuntary smile as Yunho walked into frame beneath the lights, freshly dyed light pink hair almost glowing against the darker stage, his white shirt crisp beneath the fitted black pinstriped vest. Even from the couch, you knew exactly how warm he’d be after the performance, how his sleeves would inevitably end up rolled to his forearms backstage because he hated the feeling of damp cuffs.
The music started and your attention snagged on that familiar prop. The black silk rope. Again. “Seriously?” you muttered to absolutely no one. You’d watched this choreography so many times you could probably perform half of it yourself. You remembered the first rehearsal clip Yunho had shown you, grinning as he asked, “Too much?” while practicing with the rope in your living room. You’d rolled your eyes then, insisting he looked ridiculous. He hadn’t believed you. Mostly because your face had turned bright red five seconds later.
Now, the choreography had become second nature to him. The rope slid effortlessly through his hands as if it belonged there, each practiced movement smooth, confident, almost unfairly controlled. He didn’t have to think about it anymore. You, unfortunately… thought about it far too much. You let out a slow breath, leaning back against the couch cushion. “This is getting ridiculous.” Every performance left you with the exact same thought. Yunho was always the one in control. In every playful argument. Every time you had sex. Until that choreography. Until you’d watched him effortlessly loop black rope around his hands for what felt like the millionth time.
And somewhere between the first performance and today… a dangerous little thought had planted itself in the back of your mind. What if, just once…. the roles were reversed? You groaned dramatically, dropping your head back against the couch. “He’d never go for it.” The television, unsurprisingly, offered no sympathy. Onscreen, Yunho finished the routine with the same confident smile that had first stolen your heart, meanwhile, his girlfriend sat frozen on the couch, blanket pooled forgotten around her lap, staring at the television with an expression somewhere between exasperation, inspiration, and hard need.
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By the time Yunho and Yeosang got home, the city had settled into that familiar Sunday night lull. Restaurants still buzzed beneath glowing signs, but most apartment windows were already lit with warm lamps instead of bright ceiling lights. Yunho unlocked the front door with practiced ease. “I’m home,” he called out as the door swung shut behind them. He slipped off his sneakers, lining them neatly beside Yeosang’s. “Baby?” Still no answer as Yeosang wandered straight toward the kitchen, already opening the refrigerator. “She’s probably out.”
Yunho hummed absentmindedly. “Yeah.” It wasn’t unusual. The convenience store at the end of the block had become one of your favorite little routines whenever he was gone for schedules. Sometimes you’d wander down there for ramen at 11:00 at night. Other times you’d come back with ice cream, chips, and whatever new drink had caught your eye. More than once he’d opened the freezer only to discover four different flavors because, in your words, you couldn’t decide. He smiled to himself at the thought as his eyes drifted toward the living room.
The blanket you’d been using earlier was still tossed across the couch, one sleeve of his oversized hoodie hanging over the armrest where you’d clearly abandoned it in a hurry. An empty mug sat on the coffee table beside the television remote, the screen now dark after the livestream had long since ended. “You watched today,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else as Yeosang appeared in the doorway carrying a bottle of water. “She said she would.”
Yunho reached down, absentmindedly picking up the hoodie. It still held a faint trace of your perfume beneath the familiar scent of his own, enough to make him smile despite how tired he was. “I’m gonna shower,” he said, draping the hoodie over one arm. “She’s probably grabbing snacks or something.” Yeosang nodded. “If she brings back those honey butter chips, they’re mine.”
Yunho made his way down the short hallway, pushing open his bedroom door with the toe of his sock. The room was exactly as he’d left it that morning. His side of the bed was unmade. Your charger still dangled from the outlet beside your pillow. One of your books rested face down on his nightstand where you’d clearly promised yourself you’d only stop reading for five minutes.
He set his bag on the floor with a sigh before shrugging out of his jacket, tossing it neatly across the chair in the corner. The silence didn’t strike him as strange. Not yet.
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Steam curled lazily beneath the bathroom door, the steady rush of the shower muffling the rest of the apartment as Yunho stood beneath the hot water with his head tipped back, letting the day’s exhaustion wash off him along with the last traces of stage makeup and washout pink dye. His shoulders ached pleasantly from three days of performances, fan interactions, and endless rehearsals. It was the kind of tired that only came after giving everything you had to thousands of people.
Outside the bathroom, the apartment remained quiet until the front door clicked open and you stepped inside carrying a small matte black paper bag tucked discreetly under your arm. Or tried to anyways. “Hey,” you called softly, slipping off your shoes. Yeosang leaned around the corner from the kitchen, still holding the bottle of water he’d been nursing. “Finally.” You blinked. “What?” He pointed an accusing finger at you. “Did you get the honey butter chips?”
“No.”
His face immediately fell. “You went out… and didn’t get snacks?”
“I wasn’t really shopping for snacks.”
“Then why’d you go?”
You hesitated for the briefest second before casually lifting the paper bag a little higher against your side. “Just…needed to grab something.” Yeosang eyed the bag suspiciously. “What’d you buy?”
Your grip tightened almost instinctively. “Oh…nothing exciting.”
“Hm.” He narrowed his eyes for a second, then shrugged. “As long as it’s not another mug.”
“I do not have that many mugs.”
“You have twelve.”
“I use them.”
“You rotate through three.”
“They all have different purposes.”
Yeosang stared. “You’ve named your mugs, haven’t you?”
“…Maybe.”
He sighed. “I’ll never understand either of you.”
You laughed, grateful the conversation had veered away from the bag tucked against your side. Because inside wasn’t another mug. Or a candle that Yunho and Yeosang liked to remind you that you had too many already. The small boutique three blocks away from the apartment wasn’t technically the closest shop. It also wasn’t the kind of place you could accidentally wander into. You’d stood outside its tinted windows for nearly ten minutes before working up the courage to go inside, your heart pounding so loudly you were convinced the cashier could hear it.
Even now, your cheeks warmed at the memory. The employee hadn’t batted an eye. They’d simply asked if you needed any help. You’d somehow managed to mumble, “I’m…just looking.” And then five painfully awkward minutes later, you’d walked back out carrying one small purchase nestled inside the discreet black bag now hidden against your side. A length of soft black rope. Nothing flashy. Nothing ornate. Just enough to turn a reckless thought that had been living rent free in your head ever since you saw the choreography for Wake Up for the first time into something undeniably real.
The sound of the shower still echoed faintly from down the hall as you slipped past the kitchen. “I’m gonna put my stuff away,” you said over your shoulder. Yeosang waved absentmindedly. “If Yunho asks, tell him I’m still mourning those chips.”
“I’ll let him know.” You disappeared down the hallway, closing Yunho’s bedroom door behind you with a quiet click. Only then did you finally pull the black rope from the bag. It rested neatly coiled in your hands. Seeing it sitting there in the bedroom somehow made the idea feel much less like an impulsive fantasy… and much more like a conversation you were actually going to have.
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The bathroom mirror had long since disappeared behind a layer of steam as Yunho ran a towel through his damp pink hair one last time. The hot shower had done exactly what he’d hoped. His muscles felt looser, the lingering ache in his back softened to something manageable after another full day of smiling, dancing, and waving beneath bright stage lights. He adjusted the towel secured around his waist before reaching for the doorknob and going down the hall to his bedroom.
You were perched against the headboard in one of his old tshirts, absently scrolling through your phone. His lips curved into a smile. “There you are. I thought you went missing.”
“I was only gone for a little while.”
Yunho wandered farther into the room towards his closet. “I came home and you weren’t here. I even called for you.” He was teasing because you and the guys all loved to call him clingy.
“I heard from Yeosang.”
He chuckled. “Apparently he was more concerned about honey butter chips than where you were.”
“He seemed pretty devastated I didn’t get any.”
“He’ll survive.” You smiled faintly before dragging your eyes down his damp body, gaze lingering at the obvious bulge of his dick behind the fluffy white towel wrapped around his waist.
Yunho noticed but decided to let you continue instead of tease you as he tilted his head. “So…” He stopped beside the bed. “Where’d you go?” Your gaze moved from the small drop of water you had been following as it moved slowly down his stomach to back up to his eyes. “Just out.” You shrugged.
“Out where?”
“The neighborhood.”
He gave you an amused look. “The neighborhood’s kind of big.” You shrugged again with what you hoped looked like casual indifference. “I just needed to grab something.”
“What’d you grab?”
“Nothing important.”
“Hm.” Yunho knew you well enough to recognize when you were being deliberately vague. Normally you would’ve happily told him about every aisle you’d wandered through, every impulse purchase you’d almost made, and whatever cashier had tried flirting with you.
Tonight… you were dodging.
His gaze drifted toward the nightstand as he reached for the charger he’d left plugged into the wall that morning. And that’s when he noticed it. The small matte black paper bag sat neatly beside his phone. It wasn’t large. The top had been folded over twice. No logo faced him, only plain black paper with short rope handles. He frowned slightly. “I don’t recognize that bag. Where’s it from?”
Your heartbeat stumbled. “Oh…” You glanced over far too quickly. “Yeah.” He picked up his phone but kept looking at the bag. “So that’s what you went out for?”
“Mhm.”
“What is it?”
You sat your phone down. “It’s…” You searched for an answer that wasn’t technically a lie. “…something I wanted.” He looked back at you with a suspicious look. “You’re being incredibly mysterious.”
“Am I?”
He stepped closer, leaning one shoulder lightly against the wall as he studied you for another moment. There was something different tonight. Not bad. Just….. Off. You wouldn’t quite meet his eyes for more than a second before looking away again. And every few moments your attention drifted toward the black bag as though checking it was still there and then right back to his dick. Yunho followed your gaze once more and when it drifted back to the bag…. “Can I look?”
Your eyes snapped back to his. “No.” The answer came so quickly that even you blinked and he couldn’t help laughing. “That was suspicious.”
“It’s…a surprise.”
“A surprise? For me?”
“…Eventually.”
He folded his arms, an amused grin slowly spreading across his face. “Now you’ve definitely made me curious.” You offered him your most innocent smile as he narrowed his eyes playfully. You looked away for all of two seconds just long enough to convince yourself he’d drop the subject.
Yunho, on the other hand… he’d absolutely no intention of letting his curiosity die that easily. The moment your attention drifted back toward your phone, he moved.
“Yunho!” Before you could react, he’d leaned across the nightstand, snatched the little black paper bag by its rope handles, and taken two long steps backward with a grin that screamed catch me if you can. “Hey!” You shot off the bed. “Give that back!”
He laughed, holding it just out of reach. “You’ve been acting suspicious since I got out the shower.”
“It is literally none of your business.”
“…My surprise isn’t my business?”
“You weren’t supposed to find out yet!”
“Too late.”
“Jeong Yunho.”
“Y/N.”
You folded your arms. “Don’t.”
“I just want one little peek.” His fingers were already unfolding the neatly creased top of the bag.
“Yunho…”
He glanced up, catching the genuine panic on your face and that only made him more curious. “What on earth could possibly have you this nervous?” Without waiting for an answer, he reached inside and your heart dropped into your stomach. “No, no, no…”
His fingers brushed something soft. Fabric. He slowly drew it out and looked at the neatly coiled length of black rope slipping from the bag into his hand and the room fell completely silent as Yunho just kept staring at it. His brows furrowed together. “What…” His eyes slowly lifted from the rope to you. Then back to the rope. Then back to you again. “What?”
You suddenly found the floor incredibly interesting.
“Baby? Why…” He held the rope up slightly, still looking utterly bewildered. “Why did you buy rope?” You rubbed the back of your neck, cheeks burning so hot you were convinced they could light the room.
“It’s…” you didn’t know how to say it. [[[[ “Baby I really want to tie you up and use you.”
Yunho looked at the rope again, then at the little black bag still dangling from his other hand. Realization didn’t hit all at once. It arrived in pieces. “Wait. Is this because of Wake Up?” It’s not like he was oblivious. He’d noticed the way you would get flustered at the choreo.
“…Maybe.”
Yunho stood frozen for another minute, still holding the neatly coiled rope as the corners of his mouth slowly, helplessly curled upward. He looked at you with an expression somewhere between stunned, amused, and deeply turned on. He gripped the rope and moved to stand in front of you where you still sat on the bed. He used his free hand to reach up and grip your chin gently making you look up at him. “Is that what this is?” His thumb brushed across your bottom lip. “You want me to tie you up, baby?”
You almost said yes without thinking. Almost completely forgetting what you bought the rope in the first place. “It’s…” you darted your tongue out, wetting your lips. “it’s not for me….”
Yunho stared at you, his grip on your chin holding on until the realization hit him and his hand fell. He was quiet for a few minutes before he spoke. “You….” A disbelieving breathless laugh escaped him. “you want to tie me up?”
You narrowed your eyes at him as he laughed. “Yeah…. that’s not gonna happen.” He shook his head and you pushed him back as you stood up. “What?” You felt like you were being rage baited. Him laughing like the idea, the fantasy you had, was ridiculous. Like there was no you would ever tie him up. So….. you pushed him. “Are you a pussy?”
Yunho’s laughter stopped. His eyes darkened almost instantly and his grip on the rope tightened. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” You looked down at the rope in his grip then towards his bulge still hidden behind the towel and smirked when you noticed his dick twitch. He liked this. He just refused to admit it. “You can’t do it. Unfortunate.” You moved your hand, all the nerves you had earlier about bringing this fantasy to him, gone. You slid your hand up his chest. “I had so many…..” you let out a little breathless laugh. “ways to use you.”
Use him….. the thought alone made Yunho’s dick twitch again. He could feel himself getting hard. He’s never let anyone in control before. He’s always been a very dominant person in bed. Even in the two years the two of you have been together the closes you ever got to taking control is when you ride him. And that didn’t really count for much.
“Look at you…” your voice was full of false concern as you slid your hand back down his chest and moved it right against his dick. “you’re already hard just thinking about it.”
Yunho’s mind raced the second the words left your mouth. He kept replaying the image of you binding him, taking control, using every inch of him while he lay helpless. The thought should have felt ridiculous, but his dick twitched hard again, betraying how much the idea turned him on. He swallowed, jaw tight, trying to look unaffected even as the tips of his ears turned red.
After a long moment he exhaled through his nose and muttered, “Fine… you can try. But we both know you’ll have me pounding that pussy to come before you can finish.” He pressed the coiled rope into your hand, fingers lingering against yours like he was still deciding whether to snatch it back. You didn’t give him the chance. Your free hand hooked onto the towel around his waist and yanked it off in one swift motion. His dick sprang free, thick and flushed, already leaking at the tip and the sight made your pulse jump because he was harder than he wanted to admit.
Yunho shifted toward the bed, but you snapped the rope across his bare ass with a sharp crack making him jolt and a startled grunt escaping him, but he refused to turn around or let you see the way his dick bobbed at the sting. Instead he climbed onto the mattress without a word, settling on his back against the pillows. “So… like how do you wanna do this?” His voice came out rougher than usual.
You grabbed his wrists, looping the rope around them with quick, confident knots as Yunho watched every movement, eyes darkening as you pulled the bindings tight. Once his hands were secured you shoved him flat, climbing over his hips and dragging his bound arms above his head. The rope stretched taut when you looped it around the headboard. He tested the restraint immediately, biceps flexing, but the knots held firm making a low, involuntary sound leave him when he realized he truly couldn’t get free.
You slid off him slowly, pausing just long enough to drag your tongue over the leaking tip of his dick. Yunho’s hips jerked upward, chasing the wet heat, but you were already moving away, standing beside the bed and peeled your clothes off piece by piece while he watched, chest rising and falling faster with every inch of skin you revealed, dick twitching visibly when you finally stood naked in front of him.
“By now you’d already have me sprawled out,” you said, voice low and teasing, “trying to edge me while burying your tongue in me.” The image hit him hard and his dick jerked again, a fresh bead of precum sliding down the length as you crawled back onto the bed, kissing up his thighs, letting your breath ghost over his balls before dragging your tongue in one long stripe from base to tip. You never took him into your mouth though. Instead you continued upward, nipping at his chest until your teeth closed around one nipple and Yunho hissed, hips bucking as more precum spilled from him.
You straddled him again, his dick trapped hot and hard against your stomach. It throbbed against your skin, the tip brushing the underside of your breasts when you leaned forward to kiss him then sat back up and rocked your hips just enough to let the length slide between your folds, coating him in your wetness while your clit dragging along the ridge of him. Yunho groaned, voice strained. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”
You teased him just like that for a good long minute before reaching down and wrapping your hand around his dick. You stroked him slowly at first, savoring the way his abs tightened, then picked up speed until your fist was flying over him. “Look at you,” you murmured, “already leaking all over my hand. You like being tied up don’t you.” Yunho’s only answer was a broken moan as you brought your index finger to your mouth, sucking it slowly until it glistened.
Yunho’s eyes widened as you reached between his spread thighs, panting and watching your hand disappear lower. The first press of your fingertip against his hole made his entire body tense. You pushed inside carefully, working the digit deeper while your other hand kept stroking his dick. “Holy fuck,” he gasped, the word cracking into a whimper when you started thrusting your finger in time with your strokes. “God, baby…. your finger feels so good… fuck, don’t stop….. please….” His dick pulsed in your grip, balls drawing tight and right as his breathing turned ragged and his thighs started to shake you pulled both hands away.
Yunho blinked up at the ceiling, chest heaving, dick twitching angrily in the sudden absence of touch. “What are you doing?” he demanded, voice hoarse as you crawled up his body until your knees framed his head. “You want my pussy, baby?” His mouth opened, the word, please, already forming, but he bit it back at the last second and you smirked. “Yeah, you do.” You lowered yourself, settling over his face.
Yunho’s tongue met you immediately, plunging deep, groaning into your folds as you rocked against his mouth. His bound hands jerked uselessly at the headboard while you rode his face, using his tongue exactly how you wanted, gripping the headboard, grinding yourself against him, crying out when he sucked your clit and held on until your thighs trembled and you came with a sharp cry, grinding down harder. You couldn’t move for a second, catching your breath before sliding off of him, leaving his chin and lips shiny with your release.
Yunho panted, still tugging at the rope. “Okay… come on… I need…..” You cut him off by straddling his hips again and reaching between your bodies, lining his dick up and sinking down in one slow motion until he bottomed out. Both of you moaned at the stretch, your walls clenching him as you started a slow pace, rolling your hips in deep circles, grinding your clit against his pubic bone with every downward stroke.
Yunho’s breathing grew ragged fast again, he was already overstimulated from everything you’d done to him so far that the orgasm hit without warning. He came with a choked shout, dick pulsing inside you, flooding you. But you didn’t stop. You rode him straight through it, pace increasing until the wet sounds of your bodies filled the room.
You leaned forward, wrapping one hand around his throat and squeezing just enough to make his eyes roll back and make him whimper, the sound high and needy as you kept pounding yourself down onto him, your own pleasure building until you started to squirt around him, splashing between your thighs. Your legs shook but you didn’t let up until the tremors became too much and you had to stop, lifting off him on shaky limbs.
Yunho lay wrecked beneath you, chest heaving, dick still twitching and glistening as you grabbed his legs, folding him in half until his knees nearly touched his shoulders. His eyes went wide, a mix of shock and raw need as you climbed back on, sinking down onto his overstimulated dick once more.
The new angle let you take him even deeper and Yunho moaned brokenly with every thrust, completely lost. “Please… fuck, baby… fuck… take it… please… it’s yours…” The words tumbled out of him in a desperate babble, voice cracking as you rode him hard, the wet slap of skin echoing as you chased your own release. “Yunho…. say it….” You held onto his legs. “say you love it.”
“Fuck….” He jerked against the rope then tightened his grip on it just taking it. “Yes…. Fuck… yes…. Baby use me… fuck me…”
And you did. You kept pounding yourself on him relentlessly, your walls fluttering as you felt him throbbing. Yunho came again with a loud, helpless moan, dick jerking inside you. The feeling pushed you over the edge, crying out, walls clenching harder now as you came, body shaking. You stayed seated until the last aftershocks faded, milking him for everything he had before slowly lifting off of him, both of you panting and spent.
Yunho’s wrists were still bound above his head, chest glistening with sweat, expression dazed and thoroughly fucked out. The rope had done exactly what you hoped, left him completely at your mercy, and he hadn’t been able to hide how much he loved every second of it.
You dragged yourself off the bed, snatching his robe off his closet door, pulling it on and staring at your ruined boyfriend. “I’m gonna take a shower.” You bent down, kissing him, then turned and started walking towards the door.
“Y/N…” Yunho jerked at the rope. “I’m still tied up.” You didn’t even glance at him as you opened the door. “I won’t be long.” He gaped at you as you left him there. “Y/N! Get back here! Baby, please! This isn’t funny.” He slammed his head back against the pillows as Yeosang peeked in the room, took in the sight of him naked and bound….. “Mingi, they’re done.”
“What?” Yunho jerked at the rope as the shower could be heard turning on down the hall. “Yeosang… get me out…”
Yeosang just snorted and left as Mingi rounded the corner. “Dude…” he started laughing. “you get loud, you know that?” He walked inside, “where’s my charger I let you borrow?” Yunho glared at him. “Fuck your charger! Get me loose.” Mingi ignored him, finding his charger on the bedside table. He grabbed then dug his phone out of his pocket.
“What are you doing!” Yunho stared as Mingi angled his phone then it flashed taking a picture. “DELETE IT.” Yunho snapped, he was jerking so hard at the rope now the headboard started banging against the wall. “Damn man….” Mingi grinned at him as he shoved his phone back into his pocket and started walking back out of the room. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
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