summary: in which your boyfriend’s best friend wakes up and watches
warning: possessive dom yunho, sub mingi, sub reader, unprotected sex, oral, squirting, masturbation, overstimulation, choking, multiple orgasms, voyeurism, creampie
genre: smut
pairing: idol yunho x afab reader x idol mingi
word count: 4.4k
masterlist
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The hotel room was dim, lit only by the faint amber glow of the city lights bleeding in through the curtains. The hum of traffic far below was a low lull, and Mingi had been out cold for nearly an hour, one arm flung over his head, mouth parted slightly in deep sleep.
You were lying on your side, facing Yunho, your knees barely brushing beneath the sheets. You felt his fingers first, light at your waist, then his breath, warm, sweet with sleep as he leaned in close. “Baby,” he whispered, his voice thick and low, heavy with need, “you’re killing me.”
You whispered back, amused, “He’s right there.” Yunho glanced over your shoulder. Mingi was a statue. If statues snored. “It’s just Mingi,” he said, fingers sliding beneath your shirt, his touch feather light. “Even if he did wake up… he’d probably just turn over and go back to sleep.”
“Or watch,” you muttered under your breath, teasing, joking, half testing him which made Yunho’s dark eyes flick up to yours, slow and heated. “Would that bother you?” he murmured, pressing closer, his hand slipping lower now, to your hip. “If he did?” Your breath caught. “You’d be so quiet for me, wouldn’t you?” he said, voice lower now, lips brushing your ear. “So good.” His fingers moved again, slipping between your thighs now, barely touching, just enough to make your whole body ache as his fingers trailed slow and deliberate down the curve of your hip, barely brushing beneath the waistband of your shorts.
“Turn over,” he murmured, voice husky against your temple. You blinked, breath stalling. “What?” He nuzzled closer, lips skimming your cheek, your jaw. “On your stomach,” he whispered. “It’ll be quieter.” You swallowed hard, eyes flicking toward Mingi’s sleeping form. He hadn’t moved an inch, blanket tangled at his waist, mouth slightly open. Dead to the world. Still… “Yunho…” His hand slid lower, palm heavy as it squeezed your ass beneath the sheets. “You’ll keep your face in the pillow, and I won’t let the bed move.” His voice dipped even deeper, dark and slow like honey. “I’ll fuck you slow, baby. You just have to be good for me.”
You hated how fast your body responded, heat pooling between your legs, your breath already shaky. “But….”
“Do you trust me?”
Your heart thudded as you nodded.
“Then turn over.”
The sheets rustled softly as you rolled onto your stomach, cheek pressed into the cool pillowcase. Your pulse fluttered as Yunho eased the covers down your body, his hand dragging them slowly off your back and your hips. He bent low, lips pressing to your spine. “So quiet for me,” he murmured, kissing a trail down your back. “So good…” his hand slid back up your spine, this time bunching the oversized shirt you wore, his shirt, higher and higher until it was caught just beneath your breasts so he could lean over you, pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades, the weight of his body sinking deliciously against yours.
You felt him shift behind you, the unmistakable brush of him thick and hard, pressing between your thighs as he lined himself up. “I missed this,” he breathed, dragging the tip of his dick through your folds once… twice… before he pushed forward, slow, achingly slow and you gasped because you couldn’t help it as he filled you, the stretch so deep and perfect that your mouth parted in a soft, helpless moan.
Yunho froze for a second, buried inside you to the hilt before he chuckled low under his breath, his lips at your ear. “Baby…” he murmured, amusement laced with warning. “You trying to wake him up?” You whimpered into the pillow, biting your lip as he pulled out just enough to make you ache, then slid back in slow, grinding his hips against you with a low exhale. “I said quiet,” he whispered, his hand slipping beneath your shirt to palm your breast, fingers teasing your nipple until you were trembling. “You can do that for me, can’t you?”
You nodded into the pillow, your hands clutching the sheets as he started to move again, deep, slow thrusts that lit fire across every nerve. “You feel too good not to be loud,” he teased, his voice smug now, hips rolling smoother, harder. “But you don’t want Mingi to know how good I’m fucking you, do you?” Another quiet moan slipped out and Yunho grinned. “Thought so.”
You whimpered as he buried himself deeper. Every slow thrust had your body trembling beneath him, your legs spread just wide enough under the sheets to let him move the way he wanted, deliberate, controlled and deep. His hand remained curled under your shirt, cupping your breast, fingers rolling your nipple until your hips jerked back into him like muscle memory and another moan slipped from your lips, soft, breathy and desperate. And then Yunho’s hand moved. Smooth and sudden, he slid it from your breast up to your mouth, covering it gently but firmly.
“Shhh,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, voice a slow whisper of smoke. “I told you to be quiet.” Your eyes fluttered shut. The weight of his body behind you, the heat of his hand over your mouth, the slow press of his dick filling you again and again, it was too much, too good, too risky. And across the room, Mingi shifted in the other bed making Yunho go still immediately, still buried inside you, hand frozen over your mouth. The only sound was the hum of the AC and the thunder in your ears.
Then… nothing. Mingi just turned over, muttered something incoherent in his sleep, and settled back into steady, oblivious breathing as Yunho leaned down, his chest against your back now, voice low and sinful. “Told you,” he whispered, lips curving into a smirk against your skin. “Even if he did wake up, he’d just go back to sleep.” But he didn’t pull his hand away. If anything, he pressed it firmer against your mouth, his other hand gripping your hip as he began to move again, slower, deeper thrusts that dragged along every inch of you.
He fucked you like he had all night, like his best friend wasn’t sleeping just a few feet away. Every time you gasped, he gave you a warning squeeze. Every time your body tightened around him, he whispered praise against your neck. “You’re so good for me,” he murmured, his pace never faltering. “So quiet, even when I know you wanna scream.”
Yunho’s thrusts stayed slow, but they’d grown heavier, more intentional. His hand stayed wrapped over your mouth, palm damp with the soundless moans you kept trying not to let out. The other was anchored at your hip now, keeping you in place, guiding every roll of his hips into yours with precision. He was breathing harder now, quiet exhales brushing your shoulder as he bent over you, his chest pressing to your back, his dick dragging deep with each measured thrust. And you didn’t hear it. You didn’t see it. But Yunho did.
A shift across the room. A faint creak of mattress springs. A sudden absence of snoring. Yunho glanced up from the curve of your spine, eyes lifting just over your shoulder toward the other bed and froze. Mingi. Eyes half lidded, face barely visible in the shadows. Awake and watching. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared across the dark room, one hand resting under the covers, the other loosely curled by his face. His expression was unreadable, half asleep or maybe just mesmerized, but he made no effort to look away.
And Yunho held the stare. His lips curled into the faintest smirk as he gave one slow, deliberate thrust, his hips grinding into you just enough to make your eyes roll back, a soft whimper muffled against his hand. You didn’t notice the shift. Didn’t notice the way Yunho’s attention was split now, half on you, half on his best friend watching silently from the dark as he bent lower again, lips brushing your ear. “You’re doing so good,” he whispered, voice silk and fire. “Being so quiet for me.”
And then, eyes still locked on Mingi’s, he thrust again, deeper this time and Mingi’s fingers twitched beneath the sheet making Yunho’s grin deepen. But you? You were too far gone, blissfully unaware, face buried in the pillow, body arching back into every punishingly slow stroke as Yunho licked his lips, gaze never breaking because he knew exactly what he was doing. He didn’t look away. Not when Mingi’s eyes stayed on him. Not when the blanket over Mingi shifted just slightly, just enough to catch the movement of his hand sliding lower beneath the sheets.
He watched. Controlled. Kept his rhythm steady. All while you writhed beneath him, unaware that your entire body had become a private performance. For him. And now for Mingi as well. You whimpered again, eyes squeezed shut, back arching helplessly against the slow, possessive drag of Yunho’s dick inside you. His hand was still over your mouth, his other gripping your hip so tight it would bruise by morning. His breath hitched once as he watched the outline of Mingi’s hand begin to move, slow and steady, under the blanket.
Yunho’s lips brushed your ear again, voice low, but there was something else behind it now. A sharpness. “You’re taking me so well, baby,” he whispered, just loud enough for both of you to hear. “So wet for me… always so ready.” You let out a muffled moan, head turning toward the pillow, desperate and overstimulated as Yunho’s gaze flicked back to Mingi. Still watching. Still moving under the sheets, hand clearly wrapped around his own dick. Good.
Without warning, Yunho slowly pulled out of you. You whimpered in protest, wriggling your hips back toward him, but he was already moving, shifting, rolling you onto your back with careful hands making You blink up at him, dazed. “Yunho?” He shushed you with a kiss, slow and soft, one hand brushing your hair out of your face. “Shhh. Want to see you.” Before you could answer, his hands gripped your thighs, spreading you open, lifting your legs up, bending them at the knees and hooking them over his broad shoulders.
You gasped. The stretch. The angle. The intimacy of it. Was almost overwhelming as he pushed back in making your hands fly to your mouth, eyes wide as his dick slid back inside you with one slow, perfect thrust. Yunho groaned, quiet but guttural, his eyes never leaving yours. His grip on your thighs tightened, jaw flexing as he pulled almost all the way out and pushed in again, deeper, smoother, harder. “You’re so tight like this,” he rasped. “So fucking perfect.”
You could barely breathe, barely think, caught between the sweet stretch and the shameful thrill of getting fucked just feet away from your boyfriend’s best friend. But he wasn’t sleeping. Mingi’s eyes were wide now, the blanket tugged a little higher up his chest as his hand moved steadily beneath it. He was panting, trying to stay silent, trying not to move the bed. And Yunho was watching every second of it like it was his own personal reward. He looked back down at you, smiling through grit teeth. “Look at you,” he whispered. “Trying so hard not to scream for me.”
You bit your lip hard. Your whole body was coiled tight, legs trembling where they hung over his shoulders, your nails digging into the sheets. And Yunho leaned down, folding you in half more, driving even deeper as his voice dropped to a murmur, for your ears alone. But his eyes stayed on Mingi. “You’re mine.” He murmured against your skin, his voice rough, ragged, but controlled just like everything else about him.
You moaned, quiet and ruined, your hands gripping the sheets like you were trying to stay grounded. And then he grinned. That crooked, dangerous grin he only wore when he knew he had all the power. “And my best friend,” he whispered, dipping closer, his lips brushing your jaw as his voice dropped to a low, amused purr, “is getting himself off to us right now.”
Your eyes flew open. “WHAT?” You tried to turn your head, but Yunho caught your jaw, holding it gently, kissing the corner of your mouth like he hadn’t just detonated a bomb in your chest. “Mmm mmm,” he murmured, voice like velvet sin. “Eyes on me, baby.” And then he started to really move. Not slow this time. Not soft. He drove into you with one powerful thrust, then another, his hips slamming against the back of your thighs with each stroke, the angle hitting so deep it had your mouth falling open in a silent cry.
“Now you’re being loud,” he groaned, burying himself to the hilt. “What happened to being quiet for me, huh?” You whimpered, blinking through tears as your entire body rocked beneath him as he leaned down again, pressing your legs further up, deeper inside you now, your body stretching around him, made to take him like this. “Can’t help it?” he cooed, taunting, lips curling against your cheek. “Knowing he’s over there watching me fuck you like this?”
You finally turned your head and saw Mingi. His eyes blown wide, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling fast as he sat halfway up in bed now, one hand fisted under the covers, the other braced behind him. He looked wrecked. Desperate. Guilty and aroused all at once. And the sight of it made you choke on a gasp as Yunho kept moving, dragging a hand down your body, rolling your nipple between his fingers as he pounded into you. “Don’t stop now,” he groaned, kissing the corner of your mouth. “He’s already seen everything.”
Yunho was a man possessed now, hips driving into you like he was chasing a high he knew only you could give him. Your thighs trembled where they clung to his shoulders, every stroke sending waves of heat rippling through your core. You were clenching so hard around him, gasping with every thrust, your fingers tangled in the sheets like they were the only thing keeping you tethered. He felt it. He knew you were close. And so did Mingi who was still perched in bed, frozen but visibly falling apart, his chest rising and falling fast beneath his tank top, eyes locked on where Yunho was splitting you open.
Yunho turned his head just slightly, lips parted in a breathless smirk. Then, without warning he ripped the blanket off the both of you and yossed it aside like it was in the damn way. The room was dark, but not dark enough. The lights outside bled just enough silver through the curtains to illuminate your slick thighs, the glossy mess coating Yunho’s length every time he pulled out, and the way your soaked pussy clung to him like a vice, starting to squirt as he kept rutting, pounding into you, grunting, digging his fingers into your waist and slamming into you again, harder, deeper, and your body snapped.
You arched, crying out. And then you broke. A wave of liquid shot out of you, soaking Yunho’s lower stomach, the sheets beneath you, everything. “Fuck,” Yunho hissed, head tipping back as he felt you squirt fully around him, your body twitching violently with the force of it. He looked straight at Mingi, his voice smug, breathless, and absolutely filthy. “She always does that when I fuck her just right,” he groaned. “Makes the prettiest fucking mess.”
Mingi’s mouth parted, his eyes wide and dark, jaw slack as he watched your body convulse under Yunho’s, still trembling, overstimulated and leaking. You were panting, wrecked, barely able to process the aftermath as Yunho leaned over you again, licking sweat from your neck and whispering, “You should’ve seen his face, baby.” And then, with a slow, deep thrust that made you whimper. “He’s never gonna forget this.”
You were shaking, thighs trembling against Yunho’s broad shoulders, your chest heaving, lips parted in a dazed, fucked out expression. And still he didn’t stop. Yunho dragged his dick out slow, savoring the squelch of your soaked cunt clinging to him before slamming back in again deeper making you entire body jolt. “Y….Yunho…” you gasped, a sob laced with pleasure spilling from your throat. “I…. I can’t…”
“Yes, you can,” he growled, thrusting harder now, both hands gripping your waist as he rocked into you. “You’re gonna come again for me, baby. Right here. Just like that.” He shifted one hand lower, thumb slipping between your bodies to find your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles as he pounded into you relentlessly. And the pressure…. it was too much. You shook your head, back arching, voice cracking, “Baby….. it’s…. fuck too much”
“Oh, I know,” Yunho breathed, dragging his teeth over your collarbone. “That’s why it feels so fucking good.” You didn’t even hear Mingi anymore. Didn’t notice the way he was breathing harder, the way the sheets rustled with movement across the room as fucked his hand imagining he was buried inside you along with Yunho. But Yunho did. He lifted his head just enough to glance over his shoulder, eyes locking with Mingi’s and grinned. And then, softly… tauntingly, “You gonna come with her, Mingi?”
Mingi froze, just a beat, before his head tipped back, a low moan slipping out, finally, completely involuntary. The sound of him made you blink, dazed and to clench Yunho a little harder as he leaned in again, voice a low, dangerous hum at your ear. “He’s fucking his fist right now watching me fuck you. And I haven’t even really started yet.” Your eyes flew open, the reality hitting you like lightning as Yunho’s hand slid to your throat, not tight, just there. Possessive. Calming. Claiming. “Look at me,” he whispered. “You’re mine. He knows it. He can fucking watch.”
And then he slammed into you again and you cried out, sharp, loud, broken and Yunho groaned as you clenched around him, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave, body convulsing beneath him as slick poured out of you, your vision going white behind your eyes and Mingi’s moan hit the dark air right after. He couldn’t hold it back. His release ripped through him in silence and shame and awe, his chest heaving, hand still under the blanket, eyes wide and locked on you.
Yunho didn’t stop moving until your legs fell from his shoulders, until you were trembling and gasping and completely ruined. Only then did he slow, finally leaning down, pressing kisses along your jaw, his voice soft now, intimate. “You’re perfect.” Then, louder. For Mingi. “But she’s not done yet.”
Mingi knew he should’ve looked away. The second he opened his eyes and realized what was happening, what Yunho was doing to you just a few feet away, he should’ve rolled over, closed his eyes, pretended to still be asleep. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He laid there in the dark, heart hammering against his ribs, trying to stay still, to stay silent, as he watched you unravel beneath Yunho, sheets pushed aside, shirt bunched at your ribs, legs shaking, gasping and moaning into his hand like it was the only thing keeping you from screaming.
Mingi’s hand had drifted down before he even registered it, sliding beneath his waistband, fingers curling around himself. Yunho was fucking you slow, deep, possessive. Every stroke was like a threat and a promise, and when your body arched and you squirted, Jesus Christ, Mingi nearly came right then. He’d never seen anything so raw. So fucking real. Then Yunho looked at him. Locked eyes across the room. And grinned. Like he knew Mingi would never forget this. Now here Yunho was like the devil incarnate saying you weren’t done yet.
Mingi blinked. Heart stuttering as Yunho turned his head and looked right at him, still inside you, his voice low, cocky, and utterly in control. “Come on, princess,” he murmured. “You already came once. You might as well come help me wreck her.” Your head turned weakly toward Mingi, eyes hazy, lips swollen and parted. You were still panting, your body a trembling mess, but you didn’t say no. You didn’t say anything. And that silence made Mingi’s pulse slam into overdrive.
“You want him, don’t you?” Yunho whispered, tilting your face toward his. “You’ve thought about it. I know you have.” You didn’t answer with words but your thighs clenched involuntarily around Yunho’s waist and he smirked. “That’s what I thought.” He looked at Mingi again. “Take your shirt off.”
Mingi hesitated, his whole body frozen between desire and disbelief. But then he saw the way you looked at him, tired, wrecked, but eyes flicking down his bare chest when he sat up, pupils blown wide with curiosity. With want. So he stood and walked toward the bed slowly and Yunho leaned down, kissed your throat, then looked up at Mingi with a grin that wasn’t just invitation, it was challenge. “You’ve seen what I can do to her,” he murmured. “Now show me what you want to do.”
Yunho's challenge hung in the air, his voice low and commanding as he kept his dick buried deep inside you, the slow grind of his hips never faltering. Mingi hesitated at first, his face flushed deep red, eyes darting between his best friend’s possessive stare and the way your body trembled beneath him. But the tension built thickly in the dim hotel room, the city lights casting faint shadows across all of you. And slowly, Mingi shifted, his own dick still hard and leaking from the earlier release as he dropped to his knees beside your bed, drawn in despite the disbelief etched on his features, until he was right there beside you both.
Yunho's hand stayed firm around your throat, not squeezing too tight but holding you in place with that dominant grip, while his thrusts remained deliberate and unhurried. He pulled back almost all the way before sinking in again, stretching you open inch by inch, making sure you felt every ridge of him. "That's it, Mingi," Yunho murmured, his tone laced with taunt. "Come taste her. She's dripping all over my dick, and I know you want it."
Mingi swallowed hard, his breath ragged, but he moved, positioning his face near where your bodies joined. His tongue flicked out tentatively at first, lapping at your swollen clit with wet, broad strokes that sent sparks shooting through your overstimulated nerves. The sensation layered on top of Yunho's steady fucking, his dick sliding in and out right against Mingi's mouth, and Mingi groaned into you, the vibration rumbling through you. He didn't stop there, his tongue working eagerly now, circling your clit before dragging lower to swipe along the base of Yunho's dick as it plunged into you. The dual sensation was overwhelming, hot, slick pressure on your clit combined with the way Mingi's lips brushed Yunho's dick on every thrust.
Yunho grunted in approval, his hips picking up just a fraction, still controlled but deeper, filling you completely each time as Mingi's free hand wrapped around his own dick again, stroking it with desperate pumps, his fingers slick with his previous cum as he fucked his fist in time with the rhythm. He was overstimulated already, his body twitching from the intensity, yet he couldn't pull away, his tongue lapping messily at both of you, tasting your arousal mixed with the faint salt of Yunho's skin.
Your moans grew louder despite the hand on your throat, muffled only partially as Yunho's fingers tightened just enough to remind you that just because his best friend had joined, you were still his. Pleasure built in waves, your pussy clenching around Yunho's while Mingi's tongue flicked relentlessly over your clit, sucking gently now and then before returning to lap at the spot where Yunho entered you.
Mingi whimpered into you, his hand moving faster on himself, hips bucking into his own grip as overstimulation hit him hard, his dick throbbing, yet he kept going, chasing another release as Yunho watched it all with a dark grin, his gaze locked on Mingi even as he drove into you, the pace dragging out every sensation until your body quivered on the edge again. The minutes stretched on like that, Yunho's thrusts unyielding, each one pushing you higher while Mingi's tongue worked you over, alternating between your clit and the length of Yunho sliding past his lips.
Sweat beaded on Mingi's forehead, his strokes on his own dick growing erratic from the overload, but he didn't stop, his mouth open and hungry against you both. You felt the coil tightening in your core, your walls fluttering around Yunho as another orgasm built, slow and inevitable from the prolonged attention until finally, Yunho's control snapped just enough. His hand gripped Mingi's hair roughly, fingers tangling in the strands to hold him in place as his hips snapped forward harder. "Fuck, that's it," he growled, his dick pulsing inside you as he came, flooding you deep with hot spurts that filled you full.
His throat grip stayed possessive, anchoring you as his release triggered yours, your body convulsed, pussy squeezing him tight while you came hard around him, juices mixing with his own and coating Mingi's tongue who followed right after, his own orgasm hitting with a choked moan, his hand jerking his dick as he spilled again onto the side of the bed, overstimulated and trembling from the shared intensity. Yunho didn't let go immediately, keeping Mingi's face pressed close as the aftershocks rolled through all three of you, the room filling with heavy breaths and ragged gasps.
Then after the silence, a sudden burst of laughter left you, coming out breathless and full of amusement. “What?” Yunho pulled out of you, sitting back on his knees as Mingi moved back on the floor. “Wooyoung and Jongho are right next door.” You snorted because in the end, you were loud, all of you were. “Oh…” Yunho grinned and looked down at Mingi who shook his head, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I hate both of you.”
He absolutely didn’t. And he absolutely was thinking about doing it all over again.
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pairing﹢jeong yunho x fem!reader
genre﹢smut. ex-bf!yunho, age gap (reader is 24, yunho is 36), themes of obsessive tendencies and stalking, jealousy, emotional manipulation, slight yandere (if you squint), corruption kink, toxic relationship, dubcon undertones but it turns consensual, cunnilingus, choking, mean dom!yunho, implied size kink/difference [the big dick yunho agenda is real], hate + unprotected sex, missionary + mating press, praising + degradation, overstimulation, orgasm control, tummy bulge, creampie, pet names (doll, babydoll, dollface, angel, pretty girl, etc), minimal aftercare.
synopsis﹢he was the only older guy you had ever dated, and you swore you would never do this to yourself again. two years of love, obsession, and control are gone, or at least, that’s what you thought. some people don’t let go or move on — he never did. so why does he walk back into your life like nothing ever happened... this time, as your professor?
word count﹢17,9k
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these are the best eleven months of your life after ending the relationship with your now ex-boyfriend. next month you're even thinking of celebrating, because it will mark a whole year. your best friends will definitely treat it like a huge occasion, just like on that fateful day when you handed them the news on a silver platter… they had never been so happy, throwing a small party just for the three of you.
YUNHO was the only older guy you had ever dated, and you swore you would never do this to yourself again. to sum it all up, the relationship turned toxic rather quickly. you almost lost all of your friends, even your two best friends, karina and yeji, who tried their very best to shove some sense into you, but you never listened, delusional enough to believe that you could change him. oh, how naive you were, that’s why you were so easy to manipulate…
apologies came in the form of very expensive gifts, things you had always wanted, or in gentle kisses and touches that slowly wandered and eventually led to the bedroom, where you ended up naked beneath his covers. you thought it was normal, since every relationship had arguments, but that’s not what this was about. it was about toxicity, extreme jealousy, possessiveness, maybe even obsession. the man was a literal freak.
karina practically did a full analysis of him, confirming what she had said the very first time you told her about the problems that occurred between you and him: "he's a psychopath." she had been direct, telling you it wasn’t okay and that you needed to break up with him. yeji agreed with her, always wanting the best for you, adding that "older men always want to date someone younger and it's not just because of looks… please be careful."
you suffered once and learned your lesson. enjoying your vacation, cocktail in hand, while the sea breeze drifts past you, the sun hot against your skin as you lounge on the deckchair, slowly tanning. of course, sometimes you still think about the past; you can’t really stop that after spending two whole years with him. yet even though everything had been bad and suffocating, there had been a good side to him too: tall, handsome, funny and somehow rich. what more could you want?
the other thing you wanted was for your parents and close friends not to find out that you had been dating someone not two or three years older, or even a year younger, but a whole twelve years older. yes, you were twenty-one when you met him, a couple of months before your birthday, through mutual friends. one gathering led to another, and before you knew it, you were dating him, convinced you had finally found the one you were going to marry, the only man who truly knew how to be a man. alas, it turned out he was just another shark in the ocean, ready to strike at its defenseless prey.
it doesn’t matter anymore, since you’re single, genuinely happy, enjoying your summer, shining brighter than the sun itself, and everyone sees you like some kind of eternal sunshine. you finally returned to yourself, only smarter this time, no longer falling for tricks or manipulative tactics. life is good when you don’t have a man bitching in your ear about the outfit you’re about to wear or asking why you were talking to some guy for too long. the waiter, if you must specify, who was simply announcing the lunch menu.
“ah, can’t believe we have to be back at university that soon…” you said, sipping from your drink while idly chewing on the straw. karina was on your left, glued to her phone, while yeji sat on your right, carefully lining up small seashells along her thighs.
“and we’re graduating this year too… but someone decided to study at a different university, breaking our teenage dreams,” karina said as she turned off her phone, glancing at you with a playful look while you rolled your eyes.
“not my fault the one you’re in didn’t have what i wanted.” you took another sip, and yeji giggled softly. “none of us dropped out though, which is an achievement on its own.”
yes, you didn’t study at the same place as them, but that didn’t stop you from hanging out, if anything, there was even more gossip to share. and so the conversations continued, all the way until you started getting ready for dinner, and then for a few more days after that, until eventually you had to go back to seoul and wish each other “good luck for the new last year.”
you really did need some luck, because you had just found out that your favorite professor had retired. you were going to miss the woman; you had been her favorite student, but all good things eventually come to an end. everyone was already sitting in the lecture room. you had heard that the new professor was someone young, but there hadn’t been time to check who exactly he was since they were still fixing schedules and systems. the only thing you knew was that tuesday at nine in the morning was your first lecture with the new professor in question.
“i think he probably used to play basketball or football, i saw him earlier and he’s really tall,” one of the boys said, and the others quickly agreed, while you remained focused on your phone, scrolling through reel after reel, meme after meme. then you overheard the girls whispering nearby, their voices a little more excited. “did you see his hands? and him in general… he’s so fine…”
the problem with having a young professor is exactly that — he was young, and from what everyone was saying, quite attractive too. the other problem appeared the moment everyone finally sat down when the door opened. a tall figure stepped into the room, his style was effortless in a way that made it impossible not to glance twice. a soft gray cardigan hung loosely over his shoulders, the thin knit falling open enough to reveal the clean white t-shirt beneath.
the muted colors helped him blend in, making him look more like a student than a teacher. slim black pants traced the long lines of his frame, the strap of a black crossbody bag thrown diagonally across his chest, and he wore simple sneakers. his black hair fell in soft layers that framed his face, the strands straight and smooth, cut just long enough to brush the tops of his eyebrows and skim the sides of his cheekbones.
you were sitting a little further back, your phone still in your hands. the room buzzed with chatter as people continued talking among themselves until the professor cleared his throat, the sound cutting clean through the noise as he prepared to introduce himself.
“hello everyone, i’m jeong yunho and i’ll be your new photography professor this year.”
your eyes widened instantly, your head snapping up so fast it almost hurt. oh no… houston, we have a problem. you blinked several times, half expecting your vision to clear and reveal someone else entirely. maybe it was just someone with the exact same name, appearance, and voice. unfortunately for you, it wasn’t. why is your ex-boyfriend the new professor? out of all the people in the capital, it had to be him who got the position.
you sat there frozen in complete shock, your mouth slightly open until your deskmate and close university friend, jeongin, gently pressed a finger under your chin to close it as he leaned to whisper, “i guess everyone, including you, just found their new crush, huh?”
what, why, and how? was this some kind of twisted karma? because if it was, you definitely weren’t the one who deserved it. your heart started beating faster, anxiety and something close to fear crawling up. could you run away? maybe copy someone else’s notes, no… you couldn’t. suddenly you wished you were studying metaphysics with karina, because that sounded far more pleasant than this.
“i’d love to get to know all of you,” he continued, smiling as he set his bag on the desk before leaning back against it, arms loosely crossed, while his gaze moved around the room. “so i’ll share a few things about myself. and don’t worry, i won’t make you do anything today. i’ll just introduce the course and explain what i expect from you.”
surprisingly hands immediately began rising with questions. meanwhile, you were still struggling to believe what you were seeing and hearing. he hadn’t changed at all, you had to admit it. he had only gotten more attractive. always taking care of himself and being unfairly pretty, making you remember how two years ago you thought about what your future children would look like... now you want to throw up. forcing yourself to keep your composure, glancing at jeongin and making a slightly grimaced face. yeah, a crush for sure, except you wanted to crush him into pieces.
“how old are you, professor?” someone from the middle rows asked, earning a few curious murmurs from the class, making yunho chuckle, “straight to the personal questions already? alright then. i’m thirty-six.”
everyone was surprised by the answer, and all kinds of reactions rippled through.
“don’t look so shocked,” he added with a small grin. “i promise i’m not that ancient.”
“are you a full-time professor?” another student asked.
“not exactly,” yunho replied, pushing his sleeves up slightly as he spoke, revealing his forearms, “i’m a professional photographer first. i mainly work in editorial and commercial photography such as fashion shoots, campaigns, exhibitions, that sort of thing. teaching is something i enjoy doing on the side, especially with students who are serious about the craft.”
“does that mean you’re going to give us easy grades?” someone joked, making him raise an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting. “absolutely not.”
the class laughed again, a little nervous this time.
“i can be friendly,” he added, shrugging lightly, “but don’t mistake that for me being tolerant. photography is about discipline and perspective. if you’re here just to press a button and hope for the best, you’re going to struggle.”
another hand went up. “so… we won’t pass easily?”
“correct,” nodding his head once. “i expect effort, creativity, and consistency. if you work hard, you’ll do amazing. if you don’t…” he paused briefly before smiling again, “you won’t pass this course by simply showing up and smiling at me. well, at least you’ll get some nice pictures out of the experience.”
more chuckles followed, but the message had landed. the atmosphere quickly became relaxed and comfortable as he answered questions with small jokes. the students were already warming up to him, clearly charmed by how easygoing he was. as you listened to him speak, watched the way he carried himself so seriously and correctly in front of everyone, you couldn’t help but wonder where exactly all that cheerful composure had been when he was with you?
“attendance is mandatory.” and then his gaze settled directly on yours, a faint smirk pulling at his lips as he stared straight into your soul, the one he had almost taken from you a year ago. “of course, if you have to be absent, it’s not a problem, as long as it doesn’t happen often. i know some of you will be at the mall with friends. also i don’t grade by email; everything you do will be shown and discussed in class.”
the entire time he spoke, his eyes kept drifting back to you. when he paced slowly across the front of the room, even when he turned to answer someone else’s question, somehow his attention always circled back. for some reason, you held his gaze instead of looking away, and the longer you stared at him, the more that fear slowly faded until all that remained was pure hatred.
jeongin leaned slightly closer to you, lowering his voice into a teasing whisper. “well there goes our plan of skipping class to eat kfc… or getting more sleep,” he murmured, nudging your arm lightly.
thank god your best friends studied at different universities, otherwise they would have dragged you straight to the administration office and forced you to drop out for real. and honestly… you were starting to think about it yourself. the worst part was that you couldn’t switch the class for anything else. great, truly amazing. you were trapped for an entire semester.
“that’s everything for today,” yunho said after a while, clapping his hands together once as he was done answering questions and talking about cameras, “i won’t keep you any longer. enjoy the rest of your morning.”
chairs scraped across the floor as everyone began packing their things, the room filling with chatter again. you grabbed your purse quickly, already standing up before most people had even processed that the lecture was over. as you walked out with jeongin, you noticed a small crowd forming around the professor’s desk. a couple of boys and girls had already gathered there, asking questions, laughing at something he said, clearly eager to stay a little longer.
you didn’t even glance his way. no goodbye, or a polite “have a nice day”, because he didn’t deserve to have one. you just kept walking toward the door, hoping that you would manage to graduate before the sudden temptation to drop out started looking a little too appealing.
“your analysis lacks depth,” yunho says, placing your paper on his desk, making you scoff, since this is the third time now that he’s returned it for edits. lacks depth, he says… well, you did as well, asshole. if you had to edit one more thing, it honestly wouldn’t be that bad to buy a gun, and no, it definitely wouldn’t be pointed at your head.
every single tuesday he calls on you far too often in class. your assignments always come back covered in detailed comments, red ink everywhere like a declared war on your academics. you swear he’s grading you harder than everyone else, which honestly seems unfair to the people who are actually doing nothing. apparently, you’re the only one being treated like a social experiment.
“and what exactly do i need to change again, professor?” you ask, grinning through your teeth, burying every thought that would probably send you straight to jail under a perfectly fake smile. you’re this close from going insane, feeling that familiar anger rise again, the irritation that always appears when you’re forced to deal with someone you can’t stand.
for the last four weeks, your life has been hell, to say the least. during lectures he’ll ask a question, several hands go up while yours remain fiddling with a ballpoint pen, and yet he always picks you. and the first time you didn’t know the answer, what followed was a casual, “it would be nice to learn things before the test, hm?” which felt like complete humiliation, because beneath that joking tone there had been something that definitely wasn’t a joke.
once you and jeongin arrived ten minutes late, which honestly wasn’t even your fault. what were you supposed to do when your friend insisted on waiting for his coffee while there was already a long line that early in the morning? of course, a comment followed: “please be on time next time.” but when someone else walked in thirty minutes late during the same lecture, there were absolutely no remarks.
that’s exactly why you always come prepared with answers and make sure you’re always on time. you know his tricks far too well. no matter how charming his smile is, how sweetly he talks, how funny and relaxed he seems… it’s just one of his many masks. karina really was right about him being some kind of psychopath.
everyone else, unfortunately, loves the new professor. they talk about his fun classes, how nice he is, and how cool it is that he’s such a professional teaching them new techniques. some of your peers even linger after lectures just to chat with him. meanwhile, you sit there thinking that your older ex should seriously consider enrolling in acting instead of photography, because the performance he’s putting on deserves ample shiny awards proudly displayed on a goddamn mantlepiece.
the whole thing has turned into some twisted cat-and-mouse game. he teases, pushes, and provokes. you glare, don't bite back, and refuse to give him the reaction he clearly wants. despite all of that, he always finds his sneaky ways to make your life a little more miserable.
here and there, he calls you to his desk after class for absolutely no reason. “you should consider approaching a different lens for your next project,” like this couldn’t have easily been written in a single email. or he’ll start explaining camera settings you already know perfectly well, dragging the conversation out while the rest of the class disappears into the hallway.
and god forbid you see him outside the classroom. the moment you notice him walking down the hallway, you immediately pull a perfect one-eighty and walk in the opposite direction because you hate this man so fucking much, you refuse to breathe the same air as him.
what’s more upsetting is that you can’t even tell anyone. because if karina and yeji ever found out that your toxic ex-boyfriend was now your professor, they wouldn’t hesitate for a second before throwing a chair at him.
what you don’t know, however, is that he requested this university job partly because of you. actually, not partly at all, he knew exactly what he was doing. even when you were still together, he knew where you studied and what major you were in, just like you knew about his photography work. of course, teaching also gave him the chance to try something different in his career. and what better opportunity than this? his unbelievably beautiful ex-girlfriend just so happened to be one of his students, completely unplanned.
and it doesn’t stop there, oh no, everything is just starting.
jeongin begins to notice a pattern, which honestly isn’t hard to miss when during class yunho asks another question. probably ten hands rise into the air, but he still chooses you. your friend leans closer to your ear and whispers, “you must be his favorite~”
you stare at the board like you want to burn it down, alongside mister pretty devil himself, who of course, happens to wear clothes that fit his figure perfectly, fuck him honestly. “if i was his favorite, do you think i’d be studying camera obscura in this much detail?”
not to mention the way he addresses you with that smooth voice, softly calling you, “miss (name).” the moment you hear it, it’s game over. you have to respond with “yes, professor,” or “yes, sir,” like some twisted academic roleplay you never signed up for. it makes you want to vomit, bleach both your eyes and your trachea. you hate his guts so much. he has always liked being in control, and now he has it again, at least within the walls of this campus. outside of it, however, he has absolutely none.
when it comes to homework and assignments, everyone else receives short feedback, brief but explanatory enough to understand their mistakes, things like: “good composition” or, “nice lighting” and even, “if you try a black and white effect, it might work better.”
your feedback, on the other hand, is practically a full essay. it could probably qualify as a documentary script because he covers everything, even the tiniest details. he has a ridiculously keen eye for things, which apparently also makes him a professional at being a complete jerk who picks on you for absolutely no reason.
“your framing… well, it’s technically correct,” he muses, tapping the printed photo with his finger exactly where he seems most dissatisfied, “but technically correct isn’t the same as emotionally effective.”
you want to throw your camera at him and shove the lens straight down his throat, as the class sits there admiring him. “wow, professor jeong gives such thoughtful feedback.”
it also happens that he’s constantly spammed with emails from students asking if their work is passable or what more they can do to improve their visuals, so eventually he announces loudly, “if anyone needs extra help, my office hours are wednesday and thursday afternoon.”
later that same day, only you receive an email: “your project concept has potential. come to discuss it.”
you go, of course, because you care about the grade. knocking on the door to his office, and he lets you in, acting like the two of you are complete strangers. the entire conversation stays professional, purely academic, every word measured, but the tension makes your heartbeat faster. after ten painfully long minutes, you finally stand to leave, and just as your hand reaches the door, he says, that same smile on his face, “don’t sabotage your own work out of stubbornness.”
almost slamming the door behind you, but you need to have self-control and not let him know that you are slowly losing your cool.
it goes without saying that the girls in the course absolutely adore him. some of them simp for him, always giggling and gossiping. “the way he looked at me today… he said he is single, so do you think i have a chance?” or “he’s literally the most handsome professor here, why isn’t my boyfriend like him?”
you almost choke hearing that, because you know the other version of him. the one who used to kiss apologies into your neck after fights. the one whose hands knew every point of your body andwho knew you better than you knew yourself. fingers that always seemed to know exactly where to press, where to… why are you even thinking about that?
during one of his lectures, yunho suddenly says something that makes your stomach twist.
“photography is about obsession. you need to want the subject more than anything else. you have to focus on it completely if you want to capture the perfect shot.”
you freeze, eyes widening slightly at his words, because you know exactly how obsessive he can be. yunho glances at you, that smug little smile appears again, and he continues the lecture as if nothing happened.
it’s almost nightfall when the young professor arrived home. he dropped onto the couch, leaving his bag on the floor beside it, his head falling back against the cushions as he stretched his legs over the small wooden table and stretched his arms up above his head.
he exhaled once, then again, tapping his thigh with his fingers in the quiet that filled the apartment. the silence didn’t last long before a small laugh slipped past his lips. he closed his eyes, and of course, you appeared in his mind again. you were constantly there, living somewhere between his thoughts and his heart, occupying space you had no right to anymore.
weren’t you just adorable? each and every time you walked into class, you were dressed better than everyone else, always prepared and looking at him with that sneer that no one else seemed to notice. not even your deskmate, the one he sometimes caught himself glaring at out of pure irritation and jealousy, though he knew jeongin wasn’t any real threat.
you were his muse, his fallen angel, the pliable doll he had once controlled so carefully until two other puppets, your dear best friends, stepped in and cut the marionette strings, ruining the entire show. you had been so kind-hearted and obedient, so sweet and perfectly made for him… but everything had ended so quickly.
yunho knew exactly how to push your buttons; it was too easy for him. he watched every little reaction, the glares you tried to hide behind forced politeness. he fed on it more than he probably should have. still obsessed with you and completely unable to let go, hiding it well enough behind the role of a professor.
you were his one weakness, the sensitive gap between two ribs guarding the heart he had, the one thing that made the control he prided himself on slip through his fingers. he had never stopped loving you, at least not in his own twisted way. goddamnit, you looked like an absolute doll today. the dress, the way your hair fell over your shoulders, the gloss on your lips. were you going on a date with someone? with who? when? where? normally he would have known already. the thought made his jaw tighten slightly, tongue pushing the inside of his cheek. if it wasn’t for the university schedule taking up so much of his time lately, he would have kept better track of things. he hoped you weren’t going on a date with anyone.
reaching for his phone, unlocking it as he opened one of the many accounts he used. your instagram appeared on the screen, and even though your profile was private, that had never really stopped him. the pretty much convincing fake account had been accepted months ago and you had never questioned it. he doesn’t just have one fake account, there are several, each with a different purpose: one follows you, the second follows your friends, the third follows men who comment on your photos.
his thumb scrolled slowly through the posts, stopping at one in particular.
you standing by the ocean with goldensunlight catching your skin, wearing that stupidly beautiful dress that he bought. the same vacation he had surprised you with, and the irony was that he had been the one holding the camera when those pictures were taken, and then his scrolling stopped when he saw you had a story posted.
you sitting across from someone in a restaurant, a glass in your hand, smiling. the caption tagged someone… jaemin? the quiet apartment suddenly didn’t feel so quiet anymore. yunho stared at the screen a little longer than necessary, his fingers tightening slightly around the phone. he decided to do his research, and within minutes, he knew jaemin’s major, his other social media, his schedule and which classes he attends.
“so you were going on dates now, huh?” his hand ran slowly across his face before he leaned back against the couch again, letting out a low breath that almost sounded like a mocking laugh. he shouldn’t care, and what’s left of his sanity knew that, but something in his chest twisted like a scalding hot knife. the truth was simple, and it irritated him more than anything else.
his home still has traces of you. your favorite mug still in the kitchen, a sweater you forgot draped over a chair, the perfume bottle you left behind on the bathroom counter. he hasn’t moved them at all, so when passing them he’ll sometimes pause, observing your belongings like they’re priceless artifacts he forever wants to keep.
a drawer in his desk contains a perfectly organized stack of polaroids. shots he took of you while you were dating, containing multiple domestic situations of you laughing on the beach, asleep on his shoulder and drooling, you looking annoyed while he teased you endlessly, you wearing his hoodie… there’s a lot, some even nudes taken during private moments when you trusted him. nothing is displayed openly, but preserved with a date written on the back, sometimes a short note, things like mine or xoxo.
as a photographer, he justifies it to himself as art. in his mind those photos were the purest versions of you, deleting them would feel like destroying masterpieces. the man doesn’t see anything wrong with it. they were taken with consent back then, and the memories belong to him, so he never questions keeping them.
though, admittedly, yunho still adds to the collection with printed screenshots from your instagram stories. blurry shots of you crossing campus, a candid photo of you mid-laughter taken from far away during a university event. he keeps a hidden folder on his computer, where inside are hundreds of photos and videos, not just from when you dated, but also recent ones.
sometimes he records his lectures for teaching review, as the university demands, and in private, he’ll rewind parts where you speak. listening again, and again, and again, so he can get off with his dick in hand, trying to chase his high from being turned on by watching you argue with him in class. she still looks at me the same way… anger is better than indifference. your hatred is still attention, and attention for men like him is oxygen.
he studies those images and compares them to how you look in class now. noticing the differences in the way you dress, how you glare at him and refuse to look at him too long… she pretends she doesn’t belong to me anymore.
also your old professor who retired? yunho knew her; she was a well-known photographer in seoul, a colleague of his whose exhibitions he had attended more than once over the years. during a gallery event, the two of them talked for a while, as she casually mentioned that she would be retiring soon and that the university needed someone to take her place. then she also mentioned that one of her best students would be graduating soon. the way she spoke about that student caught yunho’s attention immediately. the woman even pulled out her phone, scrolling through photos from one of the class exhibitions before zooming in on a familiar face — yours.
the elder woman happily explained how talented you were, the potential you had and how you were easily one of her favorites.
that was when he applied to the university, under her recommendation.
yunho finally stood from the couch and walked toward his bedroom. he opened the drawer of his bedside table, reaching inside until his fingers brushed against a familiar photograph: a polaroid from two years ago.
you were laughing in it, leaning slightly toward a cake with him beside you on your 22nd birthday. the faint lipstick mark you had playfully pressed onto the corner of the photo was still there, and he ran his thumb slowly over it. he just stared at it, placing the polaroid carefully on the nightstand beside his phone and the nightlamp. when he finally lay down under the covers, the photograph remained within reach, the faint outline of your smile visible in the dim light.
he closed his eyes, hoping, as he drifted toward sleep, that maybe tonight you would appear in his dreams.
fridays are always a godsend, especially after sitting through a lecture with the devil the day before. anything feels better after that, especially when you’re out for lunch with jaemin. sunlight spilling through the windows, soft chatter around you, and for the first time in a while you feel at ease. he insisted on paying, of course, saying something about how you “deserve to be spoiled properly,” and honestly… you didn’t argue.
he knows what you like. not in a suffocating way that feels like he’s memorized you without permission. but in a very gentle and attentive way.
“are you free tomorrow?” he asks, stealing a bite of your cake like it’s his.
“i wish,” you sigh. “i have to attend a birthday party with my parents.”
“mm,” he hums, pretending to think, though the smile on his lips gives him away. “guess i’ll have to reschedule my very important plan of kidnapping you for the evening.”
you chuckle softly, taking another bite of the sweet treat. “you’re not funny.”
“i’m hilarious,” he corrects you, lifting his index finger. “you’re just in denial.”
rolling your eyes, but you can’t hide the smile that appears on your face. the thing you really liked about jaemin was how sweet-talking and funny he was, knowing what to say at any given moment. he has this mischievous side, but he was also very loving and attractive.
“i was going to ask you to come over,” he adds more quietly, almost shy beneath the teasing. “but… another time.”
that makes you pause, because he doesn’t push or corner you. more so, never demands you to be with him and cancel any plans you have already made with someone else. it’s like an option, not an expectation. there’s no hidden trap set ahead of time for you to fall into.
“maybe next weekend?” you echo, that playful tone came as you asked him, looking at him for a moment, and then down at the already finished cake. and that’s enough for him. his bright and boyish grin returns instantly, like he didn’t just make your heart skip.
“see? progress. next thing you know, you’ll admit you like me.”
“don’t get ahead of yourself,” you warn, pointing your fork at him.
“too late, i already did.”
“jaemin–”
“what?” he leans in slightly, eyes sparkling with that same mischievousness. “you gonna hit me?”
you narrow your eyes. “if you keep talking, maybe.”
he gasps dramatically, pretending to be scared for his life, “not the man-hater queen threatening violence again.”
“i am not a man-hater!”
“you are when it comes to me.”
“you’re annoying.”
“and who is paying the bill?”
that shuts you up completely. instead of teasing you more, he just smiles, playfully winking at you, letting you have that moment.
after lunch, he insists on walking you to the mall so you can meet up with karina and yeji. it’s not far, twenty minutes at most, but he acts like it’s a whole event, a met gala of sorts, and you should be escorted like the princess you are. you walk side by side, hands brushing at first, then naturally finding each other, fingers lacing together. the weather is warm for the autumn season. leaves crunch when people pass by, cars hum in the distance, and for a while, you forget about yunho and about everything.
jaemin talks about random things like how he and jeno tried to summon ghosts as kids, jokes about what he saw online, and somehow, you’re laughing again without having to worry or trying to come up with excuses or reasons of how you can be so happy when something else gives you joy? he looks at you with adoration in his eyes and that’s what makes you feel safe.
when you reach the mall, he slows down, not letting go of your hand immediately. he lingers for a second, like he wants to say something else, then just smiles.
“have fun, man-hater queen.”
“thank you, cake thief.”
he laughs, finally letting go but not before leaving a quick, soft kiss on your cheek. “text me when you get home,” he says, and you nod, a little stunned by this bold yet sweet gesture. he walks off with a smile, and your best friends are already waiting for you inside at the usual meeting spot.
the moment karina spots you, she’s already sprinting, grabbing yeji by the wrist and dragging her along like she’s on a mission. it’s been weeks since you last saw each other, university has been kicking all of your asses, and you didn’t realize how much you needed this until now.
“(name), babe, how are you? you don’t know how much we missed you,” karina squeals, letting go of yeji just to throw her arms around you in a near-death hug. you laugh, breath knocked out of you for a second before hugging her back.
“i missed you, too,” you manage, and then yeji is right there, pulling you into her own hug, softer but just as tight. “and you don’t know what i have to tell you.”
“jaemin?” they ask in unison, already cocking their brows up.
“how did you know?”
yeji nodded her head towards the glass storefront behind you. “we can literally see you from outside.”
“he walked you here, didn’t he?” karina snorts and you don’t even deny it. that’s enough to send both of them into giggles as they hook their arms through yours, dragging you further into the mall.
the next hour follows it’s rhythm. gossip, teasing, overlapping conversations, with you telling them about jaemin and the date earlier, how attentive he is without being overbearing. sometimes you catch yourself thinking you don’t deserve someone like that. someone so patient and sweet, but karina shuts that down immediately, while yeji nods along, reminding you that the bare minimum just feels extraordinary after what you’ve been through.
what you don’t tell them… is everything else. you don’t mention yunho, not a single word leaves your mouth. it sits somewhere in the back of your mind, tucked away like it doesn’t even exist. they deserve to know, you know they do, but you don’t even know where to start, or how they’d react. and… you’re not ready for that, to lose them, so you stay quiet. maybe sometimes silence is the solution.
you move from store to store, bags slowly piling up in your hands. makeup is a priority, you’re running low, and soon enough, you’re standing in front of rows of lipsticks, testing shades against your skin. just for a second in your peripheral vision, you catch a tall figure, standing a few meters away. you turn your head, and nothing. you blink, frowning slightly. that’s… weird. you could’ve sworn someone was there.
“(name), come here, we found the new face masks,” yeji pops up out of nowhere, grabbing your arm and pulling you along before you can think about it too much. “they’re not even that expensive like everyone says.”
letting yourself be dragged away as the rest of the day passes in a blur of chatter and shopping bags. trying on clothes and spending money like you were the granddaughter of a very wealthy ceo. maybe in a past life you were rich, because right now, money seems to disappear the second it touches your hands.
by the time you finally sit down for coffee, you take a slow sip of your ice-cold drink, letting the sweetness settle on your tongue as you listen to karina and yeji talk. your social battery was starting to fade, and you were also running out of things to gossip about, content on just listening instead of talking.
for a moment, everything is fine as it should be, until you get that feeling again, like someone’s watching. you glance up, eyes scanning the space around you, but everything looks normal. people talking, walking, laughing, nothing out of place…. you shift slightly in your seat, fingers tightening around your cup. probably your brain is messing up with you after the tiring day you had.
the day started on like that — him following, and you being completely unaware.
he saw you earlier and was there during the whole date. he doesn’t hate jaemin even if jealousy spikes, but he quickly calms himself down. the younger man is just a temporary placeholder, a distraction you picked up because you didn’t know what else to do with the space yunho left behind. his tongue presses briefly against the inside of his cheek, a habit surfacing whenever irritation starts to settle in. he already knows what to order; he’s been here before… with you. at this restaurant, same table across the room, known for its delicate pasta and overly sweet desserts you always claimed you wouldn’t finish.
it’s wrong, not because you’re laughing and enjoying yourself, but because it’s not with him.
he watches the way jaemin leans in when he talks, how quickly he smiles, casually reaching for your plate, how comfortable he acts like he’s already earned a place he doesn’t deserve. jaemin doesn’t notice the smaller things like the shift in your posture, the way your fingers tighten around your fork when you’re thinking too much, the way your eyes drift when your mind starts wandering. he sees what’s in front of him, nothing more.
yunho sees everything.
he doesn’t need to chase you. he never will. you come back on your own. anger, frustration, curiosity, it doesn’t matter what drives you, it always leads back to him. because no one else will ever know how to handle you the way he does. he doesn’t want a version of you that’s easy. he wants the one who pushes and bites back to keep the spark alive.
you think you hate him, he can see it in your eyes. hatred means you still care; you react because you are affected. indifference would be a problem. but you’re not indifferent, just confused, pretending not to see what’s already there. he missed you. not just your voice, your presence, or your body. he missed this, the way you draw him in without even trying, like a moth to a flame.
he could have walked up to you right now. say your name to strike up a conversation as your professor. what a coincidence, right? you and he in the same place, at the same time, ordering the same food. your expression would drastically change; he knows exactly what it would look like. he’s imagined it enough times, but he doesn’t move.
he doesn’t rush things anymore, learning that the hard way. you need to feel like you have space and the freedom to choose. so he waits, and that’s fine, yunho understands. after all, you’re already his… you just haven’t admitted it to yourself yet.
it was getting late, and when you finally said goodbye to your friends, he’s already on the move. you don’t seem to notice how he chooses the same subway train, standing where the reflection in the window does the work for him, watching you through the blur of the passing lights and shadows.
you’re on your phone for a while, and by the movement of your fingers, you are scrolling through instagram or tiktok. then you are staring ahead, you always get like this when your energy runs out. he knows the exact moment your thoughts start drifting and when exhaustion takes over.
someone dares to look at you for too long. yunho burns holes with bloodshot eyes as the stranger looks away. the train slows at your stop, and you step out. he follows by matching your speed, always out of sight. footsteps always a few seconds behind, stops when you stop. he’s walked this path more times than you’d ever guess. yunho’s gaze moves over everything on the street: the corners, people walking and the cars passing by, the distance between you and anything that could get too close.
you reach your building and pause for a second, opening your purse for your keys. he’s already stopped, waiting for you to step inside. the door closes behind you, as he stays where he is. his eyes lift, scanning the building, counting without thinking how long it would take to reach your floor… it should be one minute and twenty-three seconds.
he waits a little longer, enough to see the second light flicker in your bedroom. it’s the same every night with him walking you back home. what if you hadn’t come back alone? what if some creep had followed you? that wouldn’t have ended well, not for them.
his shoulders finally relax as he turns away. to anyone else, that would be the end of it. just a random man on the street… even if his home is in the opposite direction, thirty-five minutes away. hands sliding into his pockets, the quiet jingle of metal breaks the silence with each step. a small cluster of keys, shifting against each other, and one tucked among them does not belong to him. his thumb brushes over it absentmindedly; it has always been there.
yunho still has a key to your place. sometimes he visits when you’re not there, and he always knows when that is. why does he do it? even the divine beings don’t seem interested in answering that, and they don’t want to interfere either. what is he doing in your apartment? nothing, he goes there when he wants to rest. he doesn’t move things around or leave signs. he just sits on your couch and enjoys the atmosphere you created.
your bedroom door stays open, so he doesn’t need to enter to know if anything has changed. he’s like a ghost, maybe a poltergeist, one that doesn't haunt by moving objects but stealing them instead.
he opens drawers sometimes. the most familiar one is always the same — the drawer with your underwear. never takes anything new or expensive, always the ones at the bottom. old pairs, the pieces you don’t think about anymore, and you wouldn’t even notice are missing.
it’s proximity, a way for him to be close to you, or for you to be close to him.
in the living room, there’s a plush toy you never threw away. he gave it to you when you celebrated your six-month anniversary. it still sits in its place, untouched and harmless-looking. except it isn’t. inside it, carefully hidden where no one would think to look, is a small camera. he watches from time to time, when he needs to. nothing invasive, just enough for him to see you when you’re home.
someone has to make sure you get home safe, even if you don’t know it, and if it has to be him, then so be it.
your father had a lot of friends, and it just so happened that your family was invited to mr. kim’s 50th birthday, an anniversary celebrated in a rather grand and luxurious way. honestly, it felt more like a wedding than a birthday… but either way, it was still an occasion for drinking. people of notoriety greeted each other left and right, laughter and chatter filling the air, until the man of the hour finally made his entrance, the one who had every right to celebrate until the very last drop and bite were gone.
“if this isn’t my one and only goddaughter?” it should probably be mentioned that this kind and ridiculously rich man was your godfather. no blood relation, but he had always been like an uncle to you. the affluent one who spoiled you endlessly as a child, giving you everything you wanted, because clearly your parents failed to treat you like the princess you deserved to be.
“happy birthday, uncle minseok!” you said, stepping forward to hug him, genuinely happy to see him. the gifts were still left by the entrance, but you always had your own little privileges. “this is for you, i hope you like it… even if you are getting old.”
inside the small wrapped bag was a simple package of marshmallows, as your mother immediately noticed, lightly tapping your shoulder. “(name), this is inappropriate.”
“calm down,” minseok laughed warmly, taking the bag from your hands without a second thought. “she knows exactly what to give someone.” he glanced at you with a grin, because this candy has become very significant during the years, something small but from the heart. “thank you, my dear. you’ll get the second piece of cake.”
the evening continued with drinks being passed around, conversations flowing about business, and whatever gossip caught your ear. at some point, your godfather rested a hand on your shoulder, “come, there’s someone i want you to meet,” he said casually, guiding you through the crowd. “a very dear friend of mine, and an excellent photographer. you might learn a thing or two.”
you didn’t think much of it at first, nodding as you followed along, heels clicking softly against the polished floor, your drink still in hand. this would be just another introduction for you to smile at a stranger. this would hopefully be someone you could form a connection with to help you in the future when you do decide to pursue a career, but just like that, everything in your body turned upside down. your entire world tilted and your pulse quickened, because of course it had to be him.
dressed like absolute sin in a suit that made it painfully obvious he knew exactly what he was doing. professional and put together… but unlike on campus, where he toned it down by being casual and relatable to young people your age, here amongst people closer to his age and high calibre, he wasn’t holding back. the clothes fit him perfectly, outlining his frame in a way that makes you force yourself not to react — masking your expression into something neutral that doesn't scream what the hell are you doing here.
“yunho,” minseok called out, catching his attention. “ah, perfect timing, indeed. i want you to meet someone.”
yunho turned, and for a split second, his eyes met yours. there it was, that familiar recognition, gone just as quickly as it appeared. his own expression of shock smoothed out instantly, slipping into that same composed mask you had grown to despise.
“this is my goddaughter, (name),” minseok continued proudly, squeezing your shoulders by the exposed skin your dress created. “she’s studying photography as well.”
you swallowed and played along, like you were meeting him for the very first time. as if you didn’t know the way his hands felt, or how his voice sounded when it wasn’t calm and controlled, the way he used to look at you when no one else was around… as if you hadn’t let him take your virginity.
“it’s a pleasure to meet you,” you said, offering your hand with a polite smile that stung like acid to hold. his gaze lingered for just a moment too long before he took it. warm and bigger than yours, soft too, just like it always has been, perfectly made to fit.
“the pleasure is all mine, miss (name),” yunho replied, smiling at you, and god, you hate how natural he makes it sound, like you’re nothing more than a stranger he’s just been introduced to. but of course, he doesn’t stop there. the pad of his thumb brushes lightly against your knuckles before he lets go.
it wasn’t awkward, more like… unsettling in a way that made your skin itch. it wasn’t just that you saw him every week at the university, no, now he was here too, at an event where you were supposed to have fun, not stand there thinking of at least five different ways to get away with his murder. your godfather, completely unaware of the tension, patted your shoulder before turning to yunho. “i’ll leave her in your care, and (name), you might want to take some photos now that it’s still not too crowded. have fun, kiddos.”
and just like that, minseok walked away, leaving you alone with the man you hated the most.
your blood started boiling like molten lava almost instantly. the fake smile dropped the second his back disappeared into the crowd, your nails digging into your palms as you inhaled slowly through your nose and you stared at yunho with pure and undisguised hatred.
"you know it's not very polite to stare." he was fixing something on the camera, or looking at photos, you didn't know, but you knew one thing, and that was that you hated him. “so, how is your project going? did you fix what i told you to?”
you stiffen for a split second, your smile tightening as you look at him, because of course he would say that here, of all places, since he just couldn’t resist torturing outside campus.
“i wasn’t aware this was a consultation,” you reply sweetly, but your tone carries that hostile warning of a bark that tells him you are about to bite like an angry dog.
“old habits,” he hummed softly, deleting a few blurred pictures.
“yeah?” you shot back, one eyebrow rising, “then maybe you should work on dropping a few of them.”
“that explains a lot.” the way he calmly answers makes you want to punch him.
“explains what exactly? you enjoying your little performance? you’re very convincing, i’ll give you that.”
“i don’t know what you mean,” he says lightly, though the way he looks at you says the exact opposite. liar. something about the way you’re talking back instead of ignoring him, clearly tells him one thing — you haven’t moved on completely.
“you still get worked up so easily,” murmuring almost to himself, but loud enough for you to hear.
“you still talk too much,” you snapped, and he took a step closer, enough to close some of the distance, his presence more noticeable and intimidating, and you sometimes forget how tall he actually is.
a small smile tugged at his lips because, truth be told, he was enjoying this far too much. his eyes were scanning your face, studying every reaction of the grimace you tried so hard to hide. you scoffed, crossing your arms, tapping your freshly done nails against your skin, irritation written all over, and for a moment neither of you spoke. the noise of the party faded into the background as the tension stretched like silk almost pulled to the point of tearing between you.
then yunho exhaled softly, removing the camera strap from his head, he closed the lens cap and put it back in the small bag, leaving it on the desk he evidently used for work here.
“what about we take a walk?” yunho suddenly suggests, tone light, sounding harmless and innocent. “talk a few things out. it seems like you have a lot to say.”
you should have said no. you should’ve walked straight back to your parents while ignoring him like you’ve been fighting tooth and nail to do, but somehow… you didn’t. maybe it was the tone of his voice, coaxing you with the way he said it like a suggestion, not a command, even though it somehow felt like one. or maybe it was just him, knowing exactly what to say, with just the right intonation for invitation.
“fine,” you muttered, big mistake.
he guided you through the venue, away from the main crowd and toward a quieter part of the hotel where the noise began to dull and the lights softened because fewer people meant fewer distractions. now it’s just you and him, the way he’s been craving and aching for.
then he stopped.
reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. you frowned slightly as he pulled out a cigarette, placing it between his lips before lighting it and exhaling slowly, white smoke curling between the two of you before dissipating into the air.
“you’re smoking again?”
“you’re staring again.”
“i’m judging,” you correct. “i thought you quit.”
“i did,” he agrees, “for you.”
then he takes another drag, eyes never leaving yours, but you know you were the main reason, if not the only one, for him to quit. you hated the smell and the taste that transferred once you shared a kiss. or two. or dozen… neither of you ever bothered to count.
“stress does things, work, life… you find ways to relieve the tension,” he continues after a moment, carefully choosing every word to get a reaction out of you. he shares just enough, mentioning that the workload and the pressure made him go back to this bad habit, skimming over the real reason without ever actually saying it — the break up. of course, he wouldn’t admit that to you. he never gives you the full truth, only carefully selected pieces.
and as he speaks, you find yourself checking him out. you feel steel heavy shame that you are, but you can’t help it. he looks… good. no, that’s an understatement. dressed like he stepped out of some magazine, a black coat draped over his broad shoulders, a clean white button-up tucked neatly under a fitted black vest, finished off with a loosely worn black satin tie. as much as you want to deny it, to lie to yourself, roll your eyes… you can’t. when it comes to jeong yunho, all bets are off, because he’s so fucking hot.
yunho stubs out the cigarette, pressing it into the ashtray beside him. you’re both sitting on the edge of a small staircase, tucked away from most of the guests, the noise of the party distant like background static.
then, without much thought, he shrugs off his coat and throws it over his shoulder. the movement is simple, but it draws your attention to his rolled sleeves, exposing his slim but defined forearms, his veins faintly visible under the skin. his cords of muscle hold subtle tension that make it really goddamn difficult not to look. it gives him this quiet intensity, composed on the surface but never fully restrained underneath. a wildfire raging beneath a perfectly composed surface.
you really try to look away, only to realize something else, that you didn’t bring a jacket. you’re wearing a short black dress, feminine shoulders bare, the evening air cooler than you expected. it hadn’t mattered before since you won’t stay outside the venue all night, and yet before you can even think about it properly, warmth settles around you.
snapping out of your thoughts, your gaze shifts downward to see his coat now draped around your shoulders. when you look up, yunho is already adjusting his sleeves again, completely unfazed, like the gesture means nothing at all.
“so,” he says casually, sitting down beside you on the staircase, spreading his legs slightly as he leans back on one hand, the other idly flipping his metal lighter open and closed, “graduating soon, right? any plans career-wise?”
it catches you off guard. you almost scoff, because wasn’t he the one who suggested this, the one who said you had a lot to say. the truth is, you don’t, at least not to him. now he’s the one guiding the conversation somewhere… normal. like so normal that you’re not sitting next to your ex, who is actively messing with your head.
“i’m planning to try abroad.”
“where?”
“i’m not going to tell you,” you glance at him, narrowing your eyes slightly. “don’t want you suddenly becoming my coworker.”
that earns a chuckle from him. “you really think i’d follow you that far?”
you don’t answer, because you’re not entirely sure he wouldn’t. he makes it very clear that he is not talking about your career. the silence settles again, but it doesn’t feel empty. it feels intentional, as if he’s waiting for the exact right moment to put the puzzle piece into place.
you shift slightly on the step, exhaling through your nose, trying to ignore how aware you are of him sitting so close beside you. the party noise is distant now, blurred into nothing. now it’s just the two of you, tucked away in a space that suddenly feels too small… then he speaks again.
“are you seeing someone right now?”
your eyes flick to him immediately, but you don’t give him the satisfaction of a proper answer. “none of your business.”
no reaction at first, just the soft click of his lighter opening again. the small flame appears, disappears, and flickers back to life as he plays with it absentmindedly. it’s almost hypnotic, the rhythm of it: small flame, bigger flame, gone again. he’s buying time, or making you sit in discomfort a little longer than necessary. you stare at it longer than you should, trying to steady yourself. it’s stupid, but it gives your eyes somewhere else to go and your mind something else to focus on.
he exhales quietly, then the lighter closes with a soft snap, and he looks at you.
“jaemin, right?” he says like he’s commenting on the weather. “he seems like a nice guy, but doesn’t seem like your type.”
everything in you stops, freezes like you’ve just touched a block of ice. your entire body goes still for half a second too long andyour expression betrays you before you can even think to control it. it’s shock at first, then disbelief, because you never told him a name, or anything of the sort. never even showed signs of you being involved with someone else.
your mind starts racing immediately — how does he know that? how long has he known? what else does he know?
only a few people know you’ve been seeing jaemin, and yes, you do post stories with him just like you do with the other people you trust, people who wouldn’t… your fingers tighten unconsciously around the fabric of his coat still resting on your shoulders.
“how do you know that?” your voice comes out lower than you intended. yunho tilts his head slightly, observing a reaction he already predicted, since just confirmed something he was quietly testing. a faint smirk pulls at his lips, he shrugs, leaning back on one hand as his gaze stays fixed on you.
“you’re the campus's new hotshot couple,” lies, obvious lies. you know it, he knows it, but the confidence in his voice makes it sound real. rumors, gossip, students talking, maybe someone exaggerating something they saw, but nothing that should have him perfectly informed with a name.
you don’t even realize your grip has tightened until the fabric of his coat shifts slightly under your fingers.
“relax, i’m not interfering.” but his tone says otherwise, “you can date whoever you want.”
you can't because you are mine.
yunho doesn’t move away while talking; he closes the distance slowly instead, testing exactly how far you’ll let him go before you stop him. knee brushing yours, nudging you teasingly, he doesn’t break eye contact, and doesn’t give you space to believe or question anything. because the way he says it doesn’t sound like permission, it sounds like ownership he’s pretending not to enforce.
“you lost the right to care about who i see a long time ago.”
oh?
amused by how you’re trying so hard to stand your ground, trembling just beneath the surface. it’s beautiful like that, so unfiltered and honest. aren’t you the prettiest little angel when you’re angry? when you’re fighting him, resisting him, convincing yourself you’ve moved on. it’s almost impressive, and adorable. your will is always too big for your own good, too loud to stay buried, always insisting things should go your way, even when reality bends differently once he is in the picture.
he’s memorizing it all over again with the way your breath changes when he gets too close, the way you refuse to look away even when it would be easier. your eyes are the most dangerous part of you, he decides. they’re full of everything at once — malice, frustration, sadness you pretend isn’t there, excitement you refuse to acknowledge. a fire that burns brighter than the weak flicker of the lighter between his fingers earlier. a fire that could bring him to his knees if he let it.
but he won’t, he knows how to protect himself.
he knows you better than anyone else ever has. better than those two annoying best friends of yours, than jeongin, better than jaemin, even your parents. better than the version of yourself you try to present to the world.
yunho doesn’t need to chase because he knows your anger will bring you to him. he doesn’t need to beg, either. not when pulling the right strings of your nervous system is far more satisfying, watching you unravel and logic slipping away piece by piece until all that’s left is emotion, exactly how he wants you. he doesn’t need you rational, he needs you emotional. to destabilize you until you’re reacting instead of analyzing, feeling instead of understanding, until you’re his again in everything but name.
your thoughts slow, your focus breaks, you start reacting instead of thinking… just like he planned.
it’s sudden when it happens, you grab his collar, and before he can even fully process it, you pull him in and kiss him. not what people would call romantic, it’s out of pure spite and the need to shut him up. it’s messy, all teeth and frustration and months of things left unsaid. it’s the words i hate you pressed into his mouth like a punishment.
yunho doesn’t take control immediately. he lets you bite his lip and put all that frustration finally into something tangible, lets you pretend this is just about physically shutting him up. yunho lets you have your moment of control, an illusion of victory, because he can feel you’re not over him… should the fact that he isn’t over you either be good or bad news?
only then does he finally respond, when your breath catches in that familiar way, something in him snaps as he kisses you back. the taste is noticeably bitter, ashy, and slightly stale. a trace of smoke still clings to him, dry against your tongue with that faint chemical edge, following the chemical romance between you that has no clear answer or reaction to this day, only that it is intense.
his lips part slightly against yours, the movement slow, testing. he deepens the kiss, blurring the line between hesitation and intent, one hand sliding up to your neck, fingers resting there, guiding rather than forcing. he pulls you closer, and the way your breath stutters in the gorgeous column of your throat, the way your body reacts to his body without thinking, tells him everything he needs to know.
then, just as suddenly, he stops. not pulling away completely, neither of you really wants to break it, but he’s the one who finally pulls back first. you’re left staring at each other, chests inviting air in and out in hurried paces to catch your breaths.
“you look at me like you hate me…” and doesn’t seem like you want to stop, though. “but you always looked at me like that.”
there’s something in his expression, satisfaction, like your reaction alone is enough. your breathing is uneven, lips slightly parted, and you hate how aware you are of him again: how close he is and how familiar it feels. your lipstick is slightly smudged, some of it transferred onto him, and the sight alone makes something twist in your stomach.
because you want more, but you don’t want to want him.
this is wrong on so many levels, kissing your ex out of nowhere, yet your body remembers him far too well, as it responds far too much. it’s frustrating, confusing, and addicting in a way you wish it wasn’t. what are you even supposed to do now?
“this isn’t a good place…” he says after a moment, glancing briefly toward the direction of the party before looking back at you. “…unless you want an audience.”
and suddenly it feels like the decision is yours, except it isn’t. because the way he looks at you says he already knows what you’ll choose.
by the time you are fully recovered his hand is already around yours, fingers lacing, as his grip doesn’t loosen, not once, he already knows you won’t pull away. he starts walking and you’re just following along without questioning it.
away from the crowd, into the quieter parts of the hotel, the lobby is nearly empty, the noise fading behind you as he moves straight for the elevators. he presses the button, and as if perfectly timed, the doors slide open to an empty cabin.
you step inside, and the moment the doors close behind you, the space feels smaller and tighter. mirrors line the walls, reflecting everything from every angle. no matter where you look, it’s him first and only then, you.
yunho and mirrors are a dangerous combination, because he doesn’t just want to feel you, he wants to watch you feel him and memorise the way you submit to his touch each and every time he manages to catch you. standing behind you, his taller frame hovering close, his chest warm against your back even if he doesn’t fully press himself in. still, if you lean back even slightly, he knows he has you.
his lips brush your shoulder, not quite a kiss, more like a promise of one. he makes you aware of everything — your breathing, the expression on your pretty face, how close you really are to him. one hand slides low, brushing your thigh right where the hem of your dress ends, while the other rises to your face. his soft fingers tilt your chin upward. he doesn’t need to do much to make you go insane; his voice does most of the work, not his body.
“all that attitude, and look at you now,” murmuring right next to your ear. the hand resting on your thigh doesn’t move further, and somehow you react more to what almost happens than to what actually does. as if hypnotized, trying to hold onto some sense of control, but it’s slipping fast, because your eyes betray you again. “is that really how someone looks when they want me gone?”
he doesn’t think of himself as a freak about it. he just likes watching, prefers you vulnerable like this. his eyes never leave your reflection, taking in the way your lips part, your lashes flutter, the way you try to close your eyes against how overwhelming it feels.
“don’t close your eyes, doll.” his voice is low, slightly rougher, his fingers tightening just a little on your jaw. you forgot how much you loved being called that, and how much it didn't help your attempts at resistance. “i want you to see what i’m doing to you.”
the hand on your leg slips beneath your dress until it finds the soft fabric of your panties, and you’re already so wet. his fingers press against you through the material, enough to make your breath hitch while moving in a slow and controlled rhythm as you squirm in result. your back arches finally pressing into him, and he exhales softly against your ear, completely obsessed with the sight of you falling apart in front of him.
“y-yun–” his name halfway leaves your lips in a soft whine, breaking into something breathier when he moves just right. he loves the way you say his name like it belongs in your mouth, and believe it or not, it’s already tattooed on your skin with invisible ink.
“keep looking.” his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, guiding your attention back to the mirror. your thighs tremble, and your hands clutch at his forearm. the way your body reacts instantly, the way he has literal heart eyes when you make that sound again, his dick pulsating at the sight as he leans down slightly, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “see how pretty you look like this?”
you move without thinking, pressing back against him, your legs drawing closer together as if it might help, when his name slips from your lips again, your eyes glossy, barely staying open like he told you to, he smiles faintly against your skin.
“good girl.” but being good doesn’t mean you get everything. if anything, it means the opposite, because he’s making you want it first. you feel it before you can think about it. he could push you further, make you admit things, but he knows you won’t, not yet.
a soft ding breaks through the moment. his gaze flicks up toward the numbers, 10th floor.
the doors are about to open, the risk of someone being there and catching you… and just like that, he stops. he withdraws, leaving you aching, breath uneven, your body still caught in the aftermath of something unfinished. the doors slide open, and thankfully, no one’s there. the hallway is empty; most guests are still downstairs celebrating, others are already asleep. not that he would care much… or maybe he would. yunho has never liked sharing or the idea of anyone else seeing what he considers his.
he reaches toward you again, and for a second you think… but no. his hand slips into the coat you’re still wearing, pulling out the key card from the inner pocket.
“come on, angel… we don’t have all night.” all night. you don’t even know what time it is. your purse is still downstairs, abandoned at the table with your parents, your phone out of reach, “need help walking?”
he asks, and that more than anything, pulls you back to reality. because when you glance at the mirror again, you finally see yourself properly. flushed and out of breath. your dress is slightly ridden up, your lips parted, your entire body still buzzing with heat that hasn’t gone anywhere. fuck. you’re left standing there, completely worked up, and he’s the only one who can do anything about it.
you know this is wrong, but your body isn’t listening. the empty hallway was your chance to leave, yet your feet never moved. you should have walked away, right then and there… so why didn’t you? zoning out and staring into the void of nothingness, thinking how no one can even compare and you hate that it’s still him who makes you lose your sanity. with yunho, it was never just attraction and maybe that’s the problem. you hate him. you hate this. you hate that you don’t hate it enough.
telling yourself you still have a choice, only that you don’t. because somehow, without realizing it, you’re already following him to his room. the door closes behind you with a quiet click that feels louder than it should, and suddenly you don’t move.
you don’t sit. you just stand there, near the edge of the bed, fingers fidgeting with the ends of the sleeves, pulling the fabric over your hands as if it might calm you somehow. your breathing still hasn’t settled, your body is still carrying everything from moments ago.
he moves further into the room as if you being here is expected and inevitable. his hand reaches up to his collar, his eyes don’t leave you, though, not once. fingers hooking under the knot of his tie, loosening it slowly, sliding it from around his neck, the fabric slipping through his fingers before he lets it hang loosely in his hand. he stands there too, looking at your posture, and the way you haven’t dared to sit or do anything at all.
his lips twitch slightly when your fingers pause for half a second, then continue. you don’t dare to talk, you don’t trust your voice right now. he takes a step closer, then another, slowly closing the space between you until it feels suffocating again, and you’re aware of him in the same way you were in the elevator.
“take a seat,” he says softly, “you don’t have to stand there like that,” and you obey.
you sit right at the edge of the bed, back straight, still clutching the sleeves, as yunho watches you for a moment longer. then, without breaking eye contact, he lowers himself not onto the bed, but down, kneeling in front of you.
it shouldn’t feel the way it does, as if he were praying to his goddess for a blessing of a lifetime. it should be unsettling, he chose this position for a reason; he wants to be right here, close enough to see every reaction you try to hide. his hands rest lightly against your legs at first, thumbs caressing the flesh as you tense, but don’t pull away.
“do you know…” fingers sliding slightly higher, tracing and craving, then there’s a pause. “how hard it was not to think about you?” not crossing any line too fast, he continued, eyes fixed on your face, “to see you every week, and pretend we are just strangers?”
his razor sharp gaze softens for what you can barely count a millisecond, before it shifts back to its sinister depths, something that looks a little too close to obsession.
“should i? or are you going to pretend you don’t want this?”
beneath the dress, fingers slipping under the fabric as he hooks into your waistband and starts to pull it down. you are leaning in just slightly, giving him the access he’s already taken. that’s all the permission he needs. the delicate lace follows, sliding down until it pools at your feet, as you gently kick them fully aside with the help of your heels.
"last chance to leave, angel... say or do something if you want me to stop.”
holding himself back, and it’s taking more effort than he wants to admit. his gaze drags over you, taking in every detail like he’s been starved of it.
you look the same. no, you like you never left him at all.
his jaw tightens faintly because god, he missed you. no matter how much time passed or how many distractions he surrounded himself with, nothing and no one helped. they didn’t look right or feel right, they simply weren’t you.
you changed, of course you did. your hair, your style, the perfume, even the way you carry yourself now, like you’ve grown into something that bites back.
but he sees through it: you are just a little sheep wearing the wolf’s head.
and he is the wolf wearing a sheep’s clothing.
something restless stirring beneath his skin, the way it creeps in, settles deep, refuses to leave. he’s been stuck on a feeling, just can't stop, once ain't enough.
his thumb presses just a little firmer, grounding himself, because he might actually lose that thin thread of control he’s still pretending to have.
“i hate you.” you say but your legs part for him. his head tilts at that, tongue pressing into his cheek, amused, your defiance only entertains him more. don’t mind him then, as he eases you back, gaze heavy on you, his hands slide firmly to your thighs, guiding you then lifting your legs to settle over his shoulders.
he looks at you like he’s about to show you what heaven feels like when its most precious and divine being finally falls from grace.
yunho loves teasing you with his words almost as much as he loves tasting you. his tongue dives in, relentless at first, exploring every twitching nerve that seems to remember him all to well, then deeper, faster and harder. he pushes in and out like he’s trying to swallow you whole, sliding in and out with perfect rhythm.
“babydoll, you’re so sweet,” he groans, licking and sucking, eyes rolling back when he finally tastes you. you're addicting. he laps up your juices, swirling his tongue on your clit. “did you save all this for me?”
his hands grip your thighs, holding you open, pressing you closer as he devours you like a meal he can’t get enough of. every moan, quiet or loud, drives him further to the sinful gates of temptation. he buries his face in you, lips and tongue hungry, mouth wet, making sure every inch of you is tasted.
“look at you, trembling for me…” he whispers, nibbling at your inner thigh between laps of your cunt. he’s relentless with the words, praising every tiny quiver, “that’s it, you’re such a good girl, letting me do this.”
god, your pussy’s perfect. can’t believe this is all his to play with after a whole year of craving you. the way he grins while teasing you, making you feel like you’re both the most desirable and most obedient thing in the world.
“you like it when i talk to you like this, hm? gonna make you scream my name before i even touch you properly,” he teases, tongue pushing deeper, fingers brushing where you couldn't even reach. every compliment and filthy line makes your body shake more, your pussy grip tighter around nothing, dripping just from his mouth and words.
he mixes praise and filth, so you’re caught between feeling worshiped and utterly used. the combination makes you desperate and completely under his control. by the time he lifts his head, cheeks wet, lips shiny with your slick, because he knows exactly what he’s done to you — and he isn’t done yet.
“mmh… yunho–” your back arches, hips rising to meet him despite yourself. you’re dripping, trembling, completely lost to the sloppy sounds of his tongue. he groans, deep in his throat, enjoying the taste of you. he doesn’t rush when he devours and dominates your senses. “fuck, you are so… hahh–”
your legs are clamping around his head as your hands tug his hair, gosh it’s still so soft to the touch. your chest heaving, voice hoarse from moaning, and yunho finally lifts his head, grinning at the mess he made glistening on his lips. wiping his mouth slowly, chuckling, because he’s left you begging without even doing too much.
“mmhm,” diving back in as his fingers brushing against your clit while his tongue plunges deeper. he just keeps going — tongue flicking, fingers circling, whispering filthy praises with every movement. “that’s it, that’s my good girl… come on, let it all out for me.”
your walls clench and your pussy gushes over his tongue, spurting uncontrollably as your legs tremble and your back arches off the surface. yunho groans, licking up every drop, smiling like the maniac he is, “god, you’re insane… look at you squirting for me.”
he doesn’t stop, still moving, coaxing out every last drop, praising you with every breath he takes. his thoughts are full of you, and soon enough, you will be full of him. “mine, you are only mine… keep coming for me, angel.”
you’ve never felt so ruined and so completely at his mercy.
“i should leave you like this,” he adds, quieter, more to himself than to you. the idea actually tempts him, letting you feel exactly how easy it is for him to get you like this. “send you back downstairs all pretty, like nothing happened…” a soft exhale followed, “...but you wouldn’t make it far.”
pulling back, but his fingers keep toying with your clit, and you’re already so sensitive from that alone. he talks dirty in that manic and possessive way of his, murmuring about how he’ll keep you in the dress and the heels, since you can’t spend the night with him… no matter how much he wants you to.
he eases your legs off his shoulders, standing up with a slow stretch, but before he can even undress, he steps back in between your shaky legs, looking down at you with that same secretive, almost warm smile. maybe it’s love, maybe it’s lust, if not both. his index finger and thumb catch your chin, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to look at him, especially when you were trying so hard not to. how cute.
“drop the act, dollface,” he growled, his fingers slide down, big palm spreading around your throat, squeezing to cut off that long-awaited breath you wanted to take, watching you closely, eyes fixed on your lips as they start to quiver with every subtle tightening of his grip. “or do i need to remind you who you belong to?”
one moment he’s choking you, the next, he’s already stripped from the waist down, preparing you to take him.
lying on your back on the bed, with him hovering above you, one long finger slides inside you, immediately feeling how tight and slick you are as he starts to move. he watches closely, eyes fixed on the way your face twists with undeniable pleasure, all while his own cock pulses hot against your leg. a second finger slips in beside the first, and you feel the stretch right away. your walls clenching around him, creaming over his knuckles as small, broken sounds leave your throat, half cough, half whine, still trying to catch the breath he stole from you.
“there it is… i was waiting for that.” and by that, he means you being ready to take him. his thumb drags over the tip of his throbbing cock, stroking himself a few slow times, and your gaze drops — was he always this big? you’re not even sure how you’re supposed to take it… how you managed before. he’s thick, lining up at your soaked entrance, pushing your walls to their limit before he’s even halfway in, your cunt already molding around his size.
missionary is always a gamble with him, because you never know which version you’re going to get: the gentle one, the mean one, the jealous one… there are options, but you’re never the one choosing. this time, he is a meanie. a creature of extreme sadism.
all you can do beneath him is squirm and cry, clinging helplessly to every inch of him he gives you, heavy as he presses in, hitting places your own fingers could never reach. he grunts softly, hips pulling back again because you’re still not full of him, not yet. he has to carve the shape of himself into your insides, and claim you properly, like he always will.
maybe you’re already close, just from the way he moves. shallow at first, his pelvis dragging sinfully against you, making your writhing body jolt upwards on the bed. he switches between soft and controlled thrusts to slow and grinding circles, anything to ease you and help your body relax, make you greedy enough to take him deeper.
“is that all you do, cry?” yunho hisses under his breath, lips brushing wet against your ear as your nails dig into his shoulders. his cock presses right against your most sensitive spot, pulling a loud moan from you, and you think it’s too deep already, when he is not even that deep. “babydoll, be a good girl for me and take every inch, yeah? no, don’t cry now… you can handle it, because you’re mine… my pretty girl.”
your eyes sting, tears slipping free, smudging your makeup a bit. it’s been so long since you had any sexual intercourse, a whole year. you didn’t even do anything more than a few careless kisses and make out sessions with jaemin, nothing that even comes close to tonight’s carnal ravaging.
you need yunho. not just inside you, you need him under your skin, running through your dna. you hate his guts, you do, but god, he fucks you so well you can feel him in your guts.
the tears fall, catching the light like silver, as if tiny diamonds slip down your cheeks as he stretches you open again.
his fingers lace with yours, pinning your hands against the mattress as he hisses filthy praises into your ear. your sensitive cunt takes every devastating thrust, each one pulling out those wet and sloppy sounds, the kind that make you want to scream again and again until your vocal cords tear apart and you lose your voice for days as a reminder of what yunho is doing to do you. what he will always do to you. the way his cock drives fully into you sends that overwhelming urge through your quivering body, threatening to make you come undone, you’re not even sure if you want to. it’s a sensation so intense, such painfully good pressure building with nowhere to go.
you’re so cockdrunk it’s insane. you always thought you were in control, always told yourself he wasn’t a good person, but the dick was too good to let go. he fits too perfectly, like he was made just for you.
“scream for me, doll,” he groans, that husky tone rolling off his tongue and straight through you, pulling a helpless whimper from your lips. his brown eyes flick over your face, taking in every desperate expression like he’s committing it to memory, because watching you fall apart is his favorite part. his pre-cum leaves a messy ring at the base of his cock, trailing down the inside of your thighs, and maybe if he weren’t so consumed by you, he’d comment on just how desperate you look.
“yu-yunho–!” his name tears from your throat as it echoes through the room. his hips snap into yours without mercy, hard enough to leave bruises. your back lifts off the bed, arching into the overwhelming rush flooding your body. you praise and beg for him, pushing him further into ecstasy as he presses you back down every time you move too much.
“you think anyone else could handle you like this?” yunho coos, his pace picking up, thrusts growing faster and faster, until your thighs start to numb. “think anyone could love you the way i do?”
“yunho, please… ahh–” you hear yourself, like you’re outside your own body and have lost control of even your own voice. all you can feel is your nails digging into his back, your body tightening around him as you suddenly break, soaking him, your release spilling over his cock. and still his eyes stay on you, he adores your face more than anything else. it’s almost as if your reactions to the pleasure only he can give you appeal more to him than the sex itself.
“you say you hate me, but i bet you were just mad at me, yeah?”
but you’re too stubborn to admit that, refusing to give him even that much satisfaction. you close your eyes, trying to reclaim some dominance over him, but he only chuckles, bringing his hips to a stop at the fading edge of his own release.
that’s what makes your eyes snap open, staring up at him. “why’d you–?”
“i asked you a question, angel,” he sneers. one hand drifts down to your clit, rubbing slow, agonizing circles that pull a helpless whine from your throat, your head tosses back.
“p-please, yu– i can’t, i–” but your legs stay wrapped tight around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, your heels pressing cold against the heat of his body.
his other hand moves, this time settling around your throat. at first, it’s loose, enough pressure to make you notice. then it tightens as he watches everything: from the way your lips part, to how your chest struggles to rise. completely focused on how dependent you become on him for air. forcing eye contact, watching you go from stubborn to needy, leaning in close to whisper instead of raising his voice.
“tell me if it’s too much… go on.” with every small twitch or squirm, it only makes his grip tighten more, restricting your breathing while muttering praise after praise. what a fucking sadistic psychopath. “so pretty like this…can barely breathe and still taking me so well.”
pushing your limits on purpose, to remind you exactly who’s in control. he feels the way you start to struggle, your body begins to give, and only then does his grip loosen.
air rushes back into your lungs all at once, burning on the way in. your chest stutters, breaths coming out broken and uneven instead of steady. your vision blurs, tears slipping freely now, and you don’t even realize you’re shaking until he notices it first. his hand doesn’t leave your throat. it stays there, fingers still curved around it, no longer squeezing, just resting.
“there you go, babydoll,” his voice drops, softer now, but no less heavy. “breathe.”
but he’s watching you too closely for it to feel like kindness. his thumb drags slowly over the spot he pressed into, feeling the rapid flutter of your pulse beneath his touch. your lips part, pulling in air that still doesn’t feel like enough, as another broken sound slips out of you.
it does something to him. you like this, glassy-eyed and trembling, wants him to hold onto this exact version of you for as long as he can. then, without warning, he leans in. his lips press against yours. it’s not an apology, far from it. a kiss that lingers just long enough to steal the breath you just fought to get back, a quiet reminder of how easily he can take it and when he pulls away, there’s the faintest hint of a smile, because he’d do it again.
“shh, don’t cry… you know i take care of what’s mine.” still too dizzy to think about anything but breathing and kissing, your legs are thrown over his broad shoulders, his hands pushing them closer to your head to get the angle just right. he watches himself slide between your folds, then looks down at you like he’s never seen anything more beautiful.
you glance down to where your bodies meet, even if every instinct tells you to pull away, but there’s nowhere to go. every movement hits heavier, deeper; your body can’t tell the difference between pleasure and pressure anymore. he drags himself all the way out at a torturously slow pace, only to push back in just as cruelly.
"s-shit… don’t move,” he groans, thrusting into you, when he finally decides to snap his hips, his pelvis pressed against yours. his fingers find your sensitive clit again, rubbing it fast to get you to cum again, throwing his head back as he thrusts one last time, before shooting his load into your aching cunt. spurts of warm cum fill your insides while you wither beneath him, all hot and sweaty, not even processing the mess both of you made under the clean bedsheets.
his cock was pulsing so hard you could feel it bulging through your tummy, filling you to the brim as you milk him dry. his palm presses flat against your lower stomach, and he actually smirks when he feels and sees the faint movement beneath, occasionally shifting his hand lower or higher just to make you lose focus mid-thought.
“you fell that, doll?”
do you feel how deep my love runs for you?
yunho looks at you like he’s completely gone, someone who operates on obsession, trying to imprint himself into every part of you, leave something behind that no one else could ever do. he’s smug about it too, of course he is. he just won in life, like out of everything in the world, he got you. fuck, wishing he had his camera right now, just to capture this exact moment. you look unreal beneath him, divine even dressed in black, an angel dragged down just for him.
his voice softens, murmuring sweet nothings under his breath as he leans in, pressing slow kisses to your cheeks, your temple, the bridge of your nose. gentler now, calming you down after everything he just put you through. a quick peck lands on your lips, lingering just a little longer than it needs to.
finally, yunho pulls out, watching closely as a small trace of him drips from you. his fingers follow immediately, sinking to keep it all in. then he pulls you up, arms wrapping around you, holding you tight against his chest, lips pressing into your hair, breathing you in like he doesn’t get enough of you, even now.
the aftercare is minimal, because it has to be. he lets you rest for a few minutes, helps you steady yourself, maybe guides you to the bathroom, helps you fix your clothes and makeup, and put your panties back on, while he dresses himself again as if nothing happened. and only now, that you’re about to leave, does he decide to act sweet.
“you good, need anything else?”
“i’ll manage, thank you very much, asshole.”
you smile through your teeth, already turning, only to wobble slightly in your heels. gee, wonder why, like you just didn't have some mindblowing sex. making your way out, you’re glowing, there’s no other word for it. a little wrecked, sure, a little unsteady, but shining brighter than the stars in the sky.
he doesn’t close the door right away, waits until you step into the elevator, as the doors slide shut and you’re out of sight. only then does he finally close it, the click echoing a little too loud in the empty room. he leans back for a second, alone with himself, because yeah, he’s an asshole, he knows that.
but you’ll always come back to him, and he’ll always come back to you.
having big gaps between classes was something you enjoyed, but sometimes hated. just like you hate everything about him. from the smug smirk that pulls at the corner of his mouth to how his fingers are inside your mouth, making you gag and be disgusted by the way he does such things like he owns you — he doesn’t.
he’s your ex, the one you’ve tried so hard to forget: the sound of his voice, the way he felt under your skin. now his lips are back on your neck, sucking, kissing, leaving marks you’ll have to cover the second you walk out of his office once he’s done fucking you on his desk. you feel his thumb press against your throat, taking his time, teasing you in ways you swore you would never let him do that again, claiming you like he never left.
trying to tell him, no but your body keeps telling him yes.
you should be disappointed in yourself, letting him pull you off track like this, letting him take control when you know better. yet, with every touch and mark sends heat racing through you, clouding your mind until you can barely remember why you hate him so much. is it because he wasn’t who you thought he was… or because you still feel something for him? hating him is easier than admitting you never stopped wanting him.
you don’t want to care; you want to despise him for what he did and for who he is. but that’s slipping away when your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, eyes roll back when he slides inside of you, filling you completely, making you forget everything else. you want to resist, hold onto the anger, but you can’t. not when he’s deep inside, hitting all the spots that make you arch and gasp, his name falls from your lips even when you swore you’d never let it happen again.
“y-yunho... faster!” you choke out, hands clawing at his back, desperate and needy, but of course, he doesn’t give in that easily. yunho only slows down, teasing you, lips curling into that infuriating grin against your skin.
“angel, i told you to be quiet, didn’t i?” he murmurs, voice low and slightly mocking, “so impatient, as always. good things come when you obey… and wait.”
you are tired of waiting and being toyed with, and if he’s going to take his sweet time, then you’ll make sure he regrets it. your nails dig into his shoulders, even through his shirt, hard enough to strain the fabric and leave marks far more lasting than the lipstick stain on that secret polaroid sitting on his nightstand.
"stop being such a dick and fuck me already!" you hate him, you repeat it to yourself over and over, until his breath is hot against your neck and his hands are gripping your hips as if he’ll never let go.
and just like that, he snaps, relentless now, giving you exactly what you begged for.
his pace quickens, the plastic creaks underneath, each thrust pushing you closer to that edge, all you can think about is him, all you can feel is him. the hate melts away, replaced by a pleasure so overwhelming it almost hurts. you are so full, burning hot by how he uses your body as a canvas to paint you all white with no drops going to waste. purity and innocence, those words don’t exist for you anymore, as they are replaced with sin and punishment.
“that’s it, pretty. feels good, yeah?” he knows exactly how the two of you collide, like you’re at war with each other. it’s rough, as it drags your pride and self-respect straight through the dirt. the relationship is so damn dysfunctional, but yunho knows you better than anyone else. you don’t even realize how much he thrives on this, how easily you let him take control. he loves you like this: soft and bratty, vulnerable and entirely his.
you hope, no, you pray, that the good thing he promised finally comes, because you can’t take much more of this. when it hits, it crashes through you at the same time as him, your cries muffled against his shoulder, your chest rising and falling as all that tension finally spills out. he will take care of you, he will always look out for you because you are his most adored and precious doll, his favorite thing to hold and ruin.
a few minutes later, after he’s helped clean you up with a towel from one of the cabinets he keeps just for these getaways. you zip your pants back up, still feeling the lingering warmth between your thighs. you just hope your panties are enough to keep things from showing through. shit… you should’ve worn the black jeans.
“i only came here to give you mine and jeongin’s project, not to get creampied.”
“baby, you know you don’t have to do anything,” he says, spinning lazily in his chair. one hand clicks the mouse as he scrolls through whatever just came into his email. “you’re my favorite student, you pass without lifting a finger. your friend, on the other hand… needs to learn how to use photoshop.”
“yeah, but…”
“but what?” he glances up at you from the computer, that same knowing look settling back in. “you missed me?”
ah, your eyes betray you again. you missed him, no matter how much your ego tries to argue otherwise. after what happened at the hotel two months ago… yeah, that was all it took for both of you to realize you can’t stay away from each other. and maybe you’ll regret it one day, but not now. you’ve already decided to keep it hidden from karina and yeji. as for jaemin… yeah, he’s nice. he’s always been, but that’s all he is now, nice. you made sure you stayed friends, nothing more, and nothing less.
so you leave yunho’s office, of course not before kissing him goodbye, not that it matters much when he’ll be at your place later anyway. “don’t forget we’re watching spiderman~” like you could forget, you know the entire plot by heart at this point.
you’re wearing a sweater that’s way too big for you, one you casually told your friends you found at a thrift store. sure, if that store was called yunho’s apartment. thankfully, no one suspects a thing, not even your two best friends, because if they did… it would be over, and you’re not ready to lose them, but the heart wants what it wants.
later, you meet jeongin at the campus café, sitting across from him like you didn’t just leave your professor’s office in a completely different state than you entered it.
“innie, thank you for ordering for me too.” you smile, taking a sip of your drink, looking… brighter than usual, too happy for someone with a four-hour gap between classes.
“yeah, no problem,” he says, watching you for a second longer than usual. “also, are you… okay? i don’t know, you just seem different lately after things ended with jaemin.”
you blink, caught off guard. “huh, am i?” a small shrug follows. “i don’t know… i guess i just decided to focus on myself for a while, not on men.”
“well… whatever it is, it suits you,” he mutters, still a little unsure. “oh– by the way, what did professor jeong say about the project?”
“he said we’ve got max points secured,” you shrug lightly. “and that you’ve improved your photoshop skills.”
“really?” jeongin perks up, grinning. “well, don’t mind me if i skip next week then.”
the first part is true, the second isn’t. you can lie to everyone else, but not to yunho. it’s harmless. not everyone needs to know everything about you, not even the people closest to you. so here you are back with your toxic ex, because being stuck on a feeling means being stuck on him. if anyone found out, they’d probably kill him first… and then you.
he knows exactly what you risk every time you come back to him. this was never a temporary game, something that could end just because you decided it should. to him, it’s an inevitable cycle. he doesn’t see himself as someone you return to; in his mind, you never truly left in the first place.
he would give you everything without hesitation. tear the world apart for you, piece by piece, if that’s what it takes to keep you where he wants. but he would ruin you just as easily, because to him, being broken by his hands is still better than letting anyone else touch what he was already his.
yunho is a monster creeping in your heart. a wolf in sheep’s clothing, the kind of character no one expects to be the villain. he isn’t some bad habit; he is an addiction with no cure, letting him consume you, until there’s barely a line left between where you end and he begins. you chose to stay, considering no one plays the role better than you do. this version of yourself that looks put together, untouchable, and guarded… while slowly giving everything away to the one person who knows exactly how to take it.
you didn’t fall for a good man — you fell for the one who learned how to look like one. you keep calling it love, even when it’s nowhere close, because you can’t tell the difference anymore. and if this is what love is supposed to feel like… you don’t want to be saved from it.
thank you phoebe ( @tinyfixon ) for doing a beta read and being an amazing editor! i love you so much and i hope mingi is going to propose to you soon <3
thinking about ... yunho, san & wooyoung fucking their pretty best friend .ᐟ
YUNHO, SAN and WOOYOUNG have been close friends of yours for years. friends who slowly became best friends, even if none of you ever labeled it out loud. unfortunately, they’re terrible at hiding how attracted they are to you.
it starts by spoiling you with gifts, cooking for you, surprising you with vacation spots, custom jewellery, designer clothes that fit you just right. at first, you brush it off, because isn’t it nice to have friends who do these kinds of things for you?
what makes cupid's arrow hit even deeper is when you give them handmade gifts in return. you’re not as rich as they are, but the effort you put in, the time and your attention, that's more than enough for them. soon, your best friends start competing with each other. a heated rivalry, always trying to outdo the others, no matter how expensive the gift or how thoughtful the gesture.
wooyoung cooks you five-star michelin worthy meals, then gently wipes the corner of your mouth, clearly trying his absolute best not to eat you instead of the food. “eh, you eat like you haven’t seen food in decades,” teasing you with that charming smile. “but i’m glad you like it~”
san helps you at the gym, showing you how to do each exercise properly, definitely not using it as an excuse to hold your waist while imagining things he shouldn’t, like putting you in a mating press. “yeah,” voice was so low and breathy behind you, “that’s right, that's the perfect form.”
yunho loves taking you on late-night drives around the city, just to relax and ease your mind. his hands grip the steering wheel, definitely not thinking about you giving him head while he makes a sharp left turn. “the moon is beautiful tonight,” he says, staring at you as you gaze at the sky, “isn’t it?”
then one day, you start to think about it, and how you love the attention. how devoted they are, spoiling you rotten. but they’re your best friends, surely they’re just taking care of you. friends help each other, right? they do things simply because… for no reason, because you deserve it.
and for no reason at all, being fucked dumb on their cocks while you suck one of them off definitely wasn’t on your bingo card, but you’re not complaining.
san and yunho stretch you open, your pussy aching as yunho’s length presses deep while san’s thickness fills you wide. it hurts so much that it feels so good, overwhelming, and you suck wooyoung since you physically can’t take all three of them at once.
you’re all burning hot: moaning, screaming, creaming. you don’t know which name to say first, because the other two will get annoyed if it isn’t theirs. so you try your best, really, but the way you whine and gasp without saying any name at all only drives them crazier.
your vocal cords are ruined right along with your swollen clit. body covered in hickeys and bite marks, starting from the collarbones, tits, stomach, neck, shoulders, and even the insides of your thighs. everything is red and purple, and some parts of your skin still carry the imprint of wooyoung’s teeth.
“come on, pretty girl… you’re doing so good for us, hmm?” wooyoung murmurs as you gag around his cock.
the other two grunt, praise spilling from them anyway. “so tight, even with two cocks inside you,” san groans, closing his eyes and pushing deeper, “baby, you’re amazing, ahh– did you know that?”
yunho follows, his cock twitching inside your walls. “only for us to see you like this, right doll? no one else should even gaze at you.”
yunho, san and wooyoung are your best friends: one of them is possessive as hell, making compromises only because he would despise sharing you with anyone else. another is sweet as honey, gentle in his touch until the curtain falls and the beast comes out. the third was born to tease you, to toy with you, to keep you on your tippy toes.
so close that every line has long since been crossed and blurred, your body slowly being colored white, inside and out. you’re praised like an angel and fucked like a dirty whore.
maybe it’s because you are a dirty little whore, but only for them. and as the saying goes, sharing is caring. they’ll try their absolute best… just not before fighting over who made you cum the most.
tags/genre: college au, ice hockey au, smut with plot, established relationship, golden retriever yunho loves his gf!!
word count: 6.0k words
synopsis: how convenient is it that you're dating one of the star players of the university's hockey team as a sports medicine major? you couldn't ask for a better test subject. of course, it becomes a little too much of a coincidence that he constantly needs you to check him for injuries, each one in a more scandalous place than the last ...
notes: 18+ content (mdni!). i think this might be one of my fave smut scenes i've written in a while so pls enjoy tee hee
“you’re going to want to focus your rom evaluation for the team in their hips,” dr. kim instructs from across the examination room. you nod without looking up, scribbling her notes on your ipad as she continues to break down what assessments you needed to perform.
“make sure to use the goniometer to—”
“follow your shot!”
“make sure to—”
“i said to follow your shot, mingi!”
“make—”
“bro, i did!”
“oh, goodness.” dr. kim huffs at the distant outbursts from the ice and shakes her head, pinching at the bridge of her nose. “these boys and their yelling.”
you laugh at her exasperation and set aside your ipad, propping your chin between your palms while your elbows rest on the padding of the examination table. you knew exactly what you were getting yourself into when you requested to shadow the university’s medical staff for the hockey team. their reputation was unmatched, both on and off the ice.
of course, it was a nice bonus that your boyfriend was on the starting lineup.
“i’ve got it,” you assure her, “i’ll make sure to submit all my notes when i’m reporting my hours.”
“good,” the older woman answers, glancing at her laptop before she rises from her rolling chair. “i’m headed back to my office, but just an email or phone call away if you need anything.”
“thank you!” you call after her as she disappears into the hallways that lead out of the stadium. the examination room becomes eerily quiet, save for the hums from medical equipment and your apple pencil tapping against your screen as you review your lecture from earlier. suddenly, the door creeps open and you hear heavy footsteps approaching you.
“can i help you?” you ask, unable to hide the smile that grows on your face when you glance up at yunho. he forces a pitiful expression onto his face, his fingers wrapped tightly around his bicep. the way he sulks, even for show, never fails to tug at your heartstrings.
“i think i’m dying.”
“i think you’re fine,” you scold and roll your eyes at his theatrics. “but, if it’ll give you peace of mind, i’ll take a look.”
“best therapist ever,” he sings, swinging tall legs so that he’s sat on the examination table before you. for one of the few occasions, he’s eye to eye with you.
“i’m not a therapist yet,” you mutter under your breath, reaching for his arm. “and if you keep faking injuries, you won’t see a real one if something serious happens.”
“but you love having me as a patient,” he retorts with a comical frown etched across his face. yunho surrenders his arm to you as you prod at the muscles across his arm through the fabric of his jersey. he stares unabashedly at you as you mentally assess him, lost in thought while you apply pressure to where he claimed his injury was.
“does that hurt?”
“i mean, define hurt.”
“yunho,” you scold, tracing your fingers along the length of his biceps for any final signs of an injury he might not be faking. seeing none, you shake your head and release your grip on his arm. “you realize you’d barely be able to lift that arm if you were actually in pain?”
“are you sure?”
“pretty sure you’re not dying.” you fail to contain your laugh at the way he bounds off of the table with glee regardless, throwing said injured arm around your waist so that you were pulled against his torso. even after a round of practice, his familiar scent still lingers on his skin and engulfs you. “although, you might kill me if your grip gets any tighter.”
“fine, fine,” he sighs and releases you with a quick kiss to your forehead. “how’s shadowing going, though?”
“well, i think,” you say, biting down on your bottom lip as you scan the room for anything you needed to address before shutting down the equipment and leading him out of the room so that you could lock up. “dr. kim has been really helpful. it’s been good to help assess real bodies and not just plastic dummies in class.”
“speaking of dummies,” yunho mutters to you as the rest of the team clamors through the narrow halls with their voices loud and resounding against the hollow concrete. they cry out when they see the pair of you, their sticks clattering against the walls and their pads squeaking against their restraints.
“so, is yunho dying?” mingi scoffs, earning a shove from your boyfriend. you shake your head and swat his arm playfully.
“not today, he’s not.”
“he might if he doesn’t tighten up his defense before our game next week,” hongjoong jokes, although the sheepish grin that flashes across yunho’s face tells you that this isn’t the first time he’s been lectured to pick up the slack on the ice.
“i’m sure he will,” you assure him, a cutting glance in your peripheral at yunho as a reminder to talk about it later. “no more faking injuries to waste time off the ice.”
“but i was—”
“bro, you were fine!” wooyoung groans, shoving past him with a dramatic sigh.
“god forbid a man just wants to spend time with his girl,” yunho hums, throwing his arm over your shoulders and continuing out of the arena while you wave a hasty goodbye at the boys with a promise to check on them during their next practice.
“that’s not natural.”
“if you don’t want your hips to lock on the ice, you better follow along.”
you sit cross-legged beside yunho later that night on the floor of his bedroom, your ipad propped against the leg of his chair so that you could practice a stretching routine you’d been recommended by one of the older sports med students. currently, the soles of your feet were pressed together with your knees as far apart as possible. yunho grumbles beside you, awkwardly contorting his long limbs so that he can mimic the instructions until a sharp yelp escapes him.
“i feel like i’m about to split in half.”
“that means it’s working.” you outstretch your arms so that you can arch your back more deeply. “and stop holding your breath.”
a wheeze escapes yunho as he tries to steady his breathing and you laugh under your breath before relieving yourself from the stretch, shifting instead to helping your not-so-limber boyfriend with his poor hip flexors. he furrows his brows at the tension in his legs, watching as you adjust his posture so that you can press your hands to his knees.
“deeper,” you instruct, applying a gentle pressure that he quickly flinches beneath.
“i think you just want to break me,” he groans through gritted teeth as he seems to finally relax into the position.
“y’know, there’s plenty of benefits to torturing yourself like this,” you scold, fidgeting with his limbs so that he doesn’t strain himself. once he’s in a comfortable stretch, you retreat and brush the hair that’s fallen in front of his eyes.
“like?”
“well, being faster on the ice, for one,” you say casually before you shift your weight to the heels of your palms on the wooden floor.
“well, i figured that much,” he chides, “what else?”
“mm,” you hum as you stare at him with narrowed eyes. he meets your gaze, now with an arched brow as he slowly releases himself from the stretch. you crawl towards him just enough so that your voice can dip lower, a teasing smile crossing your features. “tight hip flexors can really limit your range of motion. it can create tension in surrounding muscles and make … certain activities less enjoyable than they can be.”
“like?” he repeats, hooking onto your every word as a new tone overtakes his voice. he matches your expression as he pulls you onto his lap, snaking his arms around your waist to trace his fingers over the small of your back.
“any positions where the hips are extended,” you lilt, threading a hand through his hair as he stares up at you. “missionary, standing on the edge of the bed …”
“sounds like i need to keep stretching then,” yunho replies, his breath growing heavier as he ghosts his lips over yours.
a gasp slips out of you before he pulls you into a kiss, his hands sliding down your back to position you over his cock. you shudder at the familiar feeling, relishing the taste of him as he rocks your hips against his in a slow, languid motion. his kisses trail away from your lips and to your jaw, your throat. he latches onto a particularly sensitive spot and you whimper in response, throwing your head back with another shaky breath.
yunho hums against your skin and you can feel the thundering of his heart beneath his ribcage as your hands trail down his torso. he pulls away from you just enough so that you can meet his lust-filled gaze, his lips parted as he shivers under your touch beneath the hem of his shirt.
you rake your nails across the surface of his skin, warm to the touch and even warmer when you graze past his sweats. he curses under his breath, his hips lifting off of the floor to meet yours—
“bro, can i borrow your—oh—” another voice cuts through the tension and you shoot up, nearly falling out of yunho’s lap in the process. yunho glares over your shoulder at wooyoung. “fuck, sorry. i was just trying to borrow your headphones.”
“you couldn’t knock?” yunho scolds, his body rigid beneath yours. disappointed, you slide off of him and onto the floor to retrieve your ipad.
“you couldn’t lock your door?” wooyoung snaps back, glancing at you with a sheepish grin. you roll your eyes at his expression, trying and failing to appear mad at him for more than a fraction of a second before a scoff slips out of you. “carry on.” he shuts the door behind him in a haste.
yunho pouts at you in defeat. “man.”
“oh, you big baby,” you tease, shoving yourself off of the floor as he does the same. he stretches his hands overhead with a dramatic groan, his body falling limp as he pulls you towards his bed and beneath the sheets. “acting like this is the last time we’ll ever hook up.”
“still!” he protests, caging your body beside his. a comforting warmth radiates off of him as you bury your face in his chest with a deep sigh. the way he strokes your hair causes your own body to relax in his arms as you drift quickly to sleep.
at the next practice, an unexpected injury captures your attention.
you’re seated in the stands for the time being, monitoring the ways in which the players rotate their muscles on the ice and how they shift into different positions when a sharp curse echoes across the rink. the sound of skates cutting through the ice as they halt to a stop resounds against the plexiglass and you look up in curiosity.
dr. kim calls out orders from the corner of the ice, ready to assess injury as the boys assist san towards her. you shuffle down through the bleachers and quickly arrive at her side before you follow them through the tunnel. san grimaces as you help guide him onto the examination table, gripping a gloved hand over his thigh.
“here?” dr. kim asks calmly, ghosting a hand over his inner thigh before he nods once. she glances back at you and takes a step back. “you want to perform the initial assessment?”
ignoring the nerves prick at your skin, you nod with as much confidence as you could muster and approach san with a sympathetic smile. he tries to mirror your expression but it looks more pained than anything else. dr. kim settles onto her stool beside the laptop to open his records for reporting while you take a look at him.
“okay,” you begin, stepping between his knees. “can you let me know if it’s tender when i palpate?” he nods and you press your hands, more clinical and controlled than the way your hands roamed over yunho not even a full twenty-four hours prior, along the inside of his thigh.
you move with deliberate pressure, mentally expecting him to have pulled his adductor. a sharp inhale escapes him and he winces, causing you to look over at dr. kim in confirmation. you instruct him through bending his knees, moving through a series of stretches while san continues to groan and flinch under your touch.
“it’s a mild adductor strain,” you tell him once he’s been sat straight. “ice, compression, rest. we’ll keep an eye on it for the next day or so, but don’t try to push through the pain and play or you’ll feel worse by the next game.”
“good job,” dr. kim commends you quietly, filing away san’s injury before glancing up from the laptop with a satisfied smile.
san beams at you in spite of his pain. “thanks, doc.”
“anytime,” you answer, trying not to let your ego inflate from the praise. a shuffle in the doorframe forces you to shift your attention as yunho peers into the examination room. you arch a brow, silently scolding him in disbelief as he dramatically limps into the room.
“yes, yunho.” dr. kim lowers her glasses, her eyes shifting between the pair of you as san staggers away on his tender leg. yunho blinks, a string of stammers slipping out of him as his hands roam over his body before stopping on his hip.
“my, uh—my hips feel really tight,” he laments, his gaze locked on you. “i think i should get looked at.”
“so, you won’t mind if i perform your assessment, then?” the older woman asks, crossing her arms over her torso as yunho’s brows rise in surprise. you bite down on your tongue to keep from laughing as he straightens near immediately.
“no, no,” yunho answers quickly, throwing up his hands in surrender. “i just—i thought she could use the clinical hours.”
“she just earned them on someone who was actually injured,” dr. kim scolds, her gaze trailing over every inch of him. “which, you clearly aren’t.” yunho glances over at you in a plea for help that you ignore with a hum, becoming incredibly focused on sanitizing the examination table. “i know it’s all in good fun to spend more time down here, but you’re in the starting lineup. your hips take a tremendous amount of strain so i’d appreciate it if you didn’t cry wolf and have me worried about you when i don’t need to be.”
“yes, ma’am,” he replies, his shoulders slumped while mingi passes through the hallway with a low whistle for dramatic effect. you swallow, sorry for yunho’s lecture but very much aware that she was right.
the week carries on quickly. yunho isn’t as eager to disturb you in the examination room, focusing instead on running drills with the team and even allowing you to guide him through stretching routines in the nights leading up to the game. the playfulness you were used to was replaced by a stoic sense of determination you were only used to when there was a major game. you’d heard rumors of how intense the mavericks played and the type of preparation they went through before a game. you weren’t even on the ice and you felt the pressure.
dr. kim urges you to take the night off and you reject her attempts. if there were ever a time to learn about operating in a high-pressure environment, it would be a game night like this. the crowd roars around you and you look around from your spot beside the rink, along with the rest of the clinical staff at the tunnel entrance. as much as you would have loved to don yunho’s jersey for the night and be up in the stands screaming for him, your uniform and badge reel for the medical team would have to do instead.
the mavericks enter the ring first and the home crowd cheers as the sound of their skates cuts across the ice in a sea of black. the arena lights dim lightly after their entrance, the spotlight trailing to the far entrance before the announcer’s voice blasts through the speakers. you shift your weight beside dr. kim, trying to focus on her small talk while the voyagers come out onto the ice and your heart lurches from the adrenaline. you catch sight of the #11 on yunho’s jersey and press your lips shut to not cheer in support beside the stone-faced medics.
“let’s go, boys,” you say to yourself, your fists clenching and unclenching as you keep an eye on the overhead monitor to watch the game more closely.
the first drop of the puck captures your attention, bodies colliding and ice spraying in every direction while the crowd clamors over which team deserves possession. you were no stranger to the games—you’d been to countless since you’d started dating yunho and he’d been added to the starting lineup. this was different, though. being so close to the ice, knowing that you had a role to play.
“relax,” dr. kim eases, pressing a hand to your shoulder. you sigh, your eyes locked on yunho at the back end of the voyagers and the way his body moves in response to the rival players. you mentally scan every inch of him, from the rotation of his hips to the way his grip is positioned on his stick.
“yeah,” you answer, smiling apologetically without meeting her gaze. the whistle blows to signal the end of the first period, both teams hurrying to their corners and their coaches barking directions for them to adjust their plays. the voyagers were up one goal, making for an early comfortable lead.
you catch yunho’s gaze from the corner of the team’s bench, the faint hint of a smile tugging at his lips before he turns back to the coach. your heart skips a beat and you try to ignore the anxiety you felt over him potentially getting hurt in exchange for chatting with the medics about your experience shadowing so far.
a surge of adrenaline fills the arena as the crowd roars to signal the start of the second period. the puck drops and the teams are back with renewed vigor. you grit your teeth when mingi is slammed into the nearby plexiglass, a curse slipping out of him before he regains his composure and skates back towards the center. there’s something in the air for the second period with the mavericks desperate to score.
the rival center forward weaves through the voyagers with ease, moving like water as he closes in on yeosang with the sound of sticks clattering behind him. you tense at his attempt—a successful one, at that—to score a goal and grumble when the audience loses their mind at the mavericks evening the score. you clap your hands and spout words of encouragement from your corner, biting down on a manicured nail when the puck returns to center.
a heated back-and-forth possession ensues, with the voyagers barely able to keep the puck to the far end of the rink where they needed it to be. yunho sweeps into the center behind seonghwa and is able to move it away from the mavericks, cutting inward and picking up his pace as he shouts to the rest of the team.
it happens faster than you’d expected.
yunho plants his right skate against the ice to pivot as a rival defenseman barrels across the ice towards him. the sound of bodies colliding cuts through the noise and you gasp as his torso rotates and you notice a sharp, unnatural shift in his hips from the impact. he loses possession and the crowd is quick to follow before yunho winces and lowers himself onto the ice, his gloved hand grabbing at his hip to ease the pain.
medics skate onto the ice as the garbled sound of the announcer’s commentary and the referee’s whistle flood your senses, your heart pounding as you await dr. kim’s instructions. her expression is unreadable as she prepares her station and one of the stretchers without a word. you look back towards yunho and hear something about him needing to be removed from the ice. he winces, his face drained of color as he fails to stabilize himself without the help of the medics on either side of him. they say something to him beneath the crowd’s chatter and examine his leg, wincing with a groan as you recognize the injury.
you swallow dryly, trying to pay attention to dr. kim’s explanation of what the next steps of the process would be in lieu of the concern that swarmed your mind. yunho’s unable to bear weight on his leg as he’s guided off of the ice, the rest of the boys watching with pale faces as they shift him onto one of the stretchers and prepare to guide him towards the examination room. he doesn’t so much as glance in your direction and your stomach drops when you realize this was far different than anytime he’d bothered you about wanting to be seen.
your hearing is muffled as you follow behind dr. kim with the announcer introducing a second lineup defenseman in yunho’s place. the examination room at the mavericks’ arena feels much more clinical, more sterile than you were used to. you watch as yunho is moved onto the table with careful coordination, any shift in his right leg causing him to grit his teeth in pain.
“tell me exactly where the pain is,” dr. kim says professionally, snapping on a pair of latex gloves as he stands before him.
“in the front,” he rasps, gesturing to the side of his leg below his hip.
“on the planted foot when the defense forced rotation?”
“mhm.”
you shift closer, trying selfishly to catch his eye while dr. kim recites information to document in his record. your fingers tap along the keyboard as you listen further. she flexes his hip to nearly ninety degrees and he yelps, his knuckles white as he grabs the edge of the table. she arches a brow and looks at you. “labral involvement.” she turns back to yunho with a grim expression. “you’re done for tonight. you don’t want to put any more pressure on that leg or your hips or else you’re looking at a much more severe injury.”
“seriously?” he scoffs, bitter at the fact that he was about to be benched. frustration simmers beneath the surface and you finally meet his gaze, the way he looks utterly defeated. “we’re tied out there.”
“seriously,” she parrots. “ice and compression. we’ll arrange crutches, but you’re done.”
you move quickly when dr. kim leaves to speak with the coaches, desperate for something to do to fill the silence as you tried to think of a way to comfort yunho. he doesn’t look at you and just stares forward at the wall while you press the ice pack against his hip and instruct him to not move.
“wasn’t planning on it.” you look up at him and he sighs, trying to mask his frustration with a weary smile as you apply gentle pressure. “at least you know i’m not faking this time.”
“shockingly, that doesn’t make me feel better,” you grumble, narrowing your eyes at him. “i’m sorry, baby.”
“it is what it is,” he says with a resignation you weren’t used to from him. you support him quietly, guiding him to change in the locker room and helping to keep his leg elevated with the ice pack while you listen to the game coming to a close.
the voyagers return with slumped shoulders and fallen faces, confirming your suspicions that they failed to keep the lead. yunho meets them with a forlorn expression, dismissing any of their concerns for his leg in exchange for encouraging words that they would crush the mavericks at their next game.
the cold night air bites at you as you help yunho maneuver into the backseat of his car so that he could keep his leg outstretched. he curses under his breath as he lowers himself onto the leather, his hands gripping the doorframe.
“slow,” you instruct clinically and he grits his teeth.
“i’m going slow.”
you shut the door once he’s situated and circle around to the driver’s seat, settling as the engine hums to life with a sigh. thankfully, yunho’s building was easily accessible and there were elevators that would make his trip upstairs much easier. you glance at him in the rearview mirror as you pull off, your heart heavy at the expression on his face.
“i didn’t even see it coming,” he says suddenly and you tighten your grip on the steering wheel.
“i know.”
“it wasn’t even that hard of a hit.”
“it doesn’t have to be,” you inform him gently as he leans his head back against the window with a grimace. in the years you’d known yunho, there was rarely a moment where you found him anything but bright-eyed and positive. the injury absolutely crushed him, more than you feared you were able to console him for the time being.
“i’m gonna be useless for weeks,” he grumbles, more to himself than to you.
“you’re not,” you assure him, “you just need to heal.”
“hm.” you’re nearly to yunho’s apartment when he perks up suddenly, meeting your eyes in the rearview mirror. “you know, i hate not finishing something when i start it.”
“you’ll be able to play sooner than you th—”
“i’m not talking about the game.”
at the stoplight, you whip your head around and find yunho staring at you expectantly with the first smile you’d seen from him since earlier that night. you scoff at his mention of the night wooyoung had stormed in and shake your head, turning back to the road when the light changes back to green.
“you’re unbelievable.”
“what! i’m not going to be able to practice or play for a while,” he explains, gesturing to his leg dramatically. “it’d be nice to have some entertainment in the meanwhile.”
“you’re injured!” you cry out, dumbfounded as you pull up to his building. from the parking lot to the hallway in front of his door, you shut down every one of his advances to convince you that he was in any condition to make love to you anytime soon.
“okay, but what if i took the crutches and—”
“you’re going to bed!” you snap, about to take the crutches away from him entirely and have him crawl along the floorboards when he finally accepts his loss and slinks away to bed in defeat.
the first two weeks feel like hell for yunho.
he’s in no condition to play, but he’s restless beyond belief. he sits at the edge of the rink during practices, his crutches stacked beside him in an empty seat. he stumbles through the halls to the examination room so he can watch you perform routine assessments on the other boys—of course, not without comments on how he was the one who needed the most attention from you given his condition. dr. kim scolds him like clockwork, instructing him that he needed to stay put until his follow-up.
you take yunho to and from his appointment and there’s a shift in the energy from the last several weeks.
“you heard her,” he says from the passenger seat, a smug grin plastered across his face. “cleared for physical activity.”
“that doesn’t mean what you think it means.”
“yes it does.”
“no, it doesn’t.”
he leans his head back against the leather headrest, glancing over at you with a pitiful expression. “i’ve been very patient, you know.”
“you’ve been unbearable,” you tease, patting his leg affectionately. he scoffs and rests his hand over yours, silent for the rest of the ride back to his apartment.
it’s the first time in weeks he’s able to walk independently without the crutches and you observe him like a hawk as he strolls down the hallway from the elevator. there’s no staggering in his pace and his hips sit normally, no signs of pain evident in his movements or his expression. the apartment is silent when you follow him in, the rest of the boys still occupied at practice. you follow yunho into his room and settle onto the edge of the bed, about to speak when he cages you between his hands pressed into the sheets.
“yes?” you ask, glancing up at him and struggling to ignore the tension that simmered between you. weeks of anticipation buzzed along your skin, coupled with the relief that you felt knowing that yunho had narrowly escaped a permanent injury. he arches a brow, leaning in just enough so that his lips brushed over yours.
“cleared for physical activity,” he repeats, more urgently this time. “please.”
“i—yunho,” you say softly beneath the sound of your heartbeat thundering in your ears. “are you sure? i don’t want you to risk anything if—”
“i’m really tired of waiting,” he nearly begs, his voice cracking with desperation. “c’mon.”
“… okay,” you finally breathe, barely able to get the word out by the time his mouth devours yours. he shifts onto the bed with his knees on either side of you and you can’t help but pull away to monitor his movements, slow and careful but seemingly painless. “go slow.”
“no promises,” he teases, lifting your legs to wrap them on either side of his waist as he meets your lips with another hungry kiss. little by little, you allow the worry to subside and melt into his touch with a soft sigh. yunho devours the sound with a groan of his own, shifting his hips just enough so that he could press his growing erection against your core with enough pressure to make you writhe under his touch.
you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him in deeper, subconsciously shifting him to lay on his side so that he wouldn’t put strain on his hips. he obliges and turns you so that your back is pressed against his torso, quick to devour your neck in a string of open-mouthed kisses that have you grinding against him.
“fuck,” he mutters into your hair, his grip on your waist tightening with every move. you tilt your head back against his shoulder with a blissful sigh. it barely registers that he’s snaked his hand past the hem of your sweats to move your panties to the side. his breath hitches as he glides a fingertip along your folds, already dripping for him before he shoves two fingers inside of you.
“yunho,” you rasp with a tight grip on the sheets around you. he hums at the sound of his name and falls into a steady rhythm that you rock your hips against.
“just like that, baby girl,” he says through a groan, “ride my fingers.”
you oblige without protest, any rational thought long gone from your mind as you grind your hips down onto his hand. he inserts a third finger and you gasp from the sudden fullness as he continues pressing kisses to your shoulder. your mind reels from the feeling of his touch after what felt like an eternity, pleasure rocking against your core and setting every nerve ending on fire.
you can feel your orgasm clawing at you for release, your stomach tight with pleasure as your breath begins to quicken. before you can warn yunho, he slips his fingers out of you and you feel him shift slightly behind you before he lowers your sweats and lifts your leg over his. the tip of his cock brushes against your entrance and you gasp in unison when he positions himself to slide into you until he bottoms out.
yunho rumbles with a low growl as he begins to move, his entire length gliding along your walls and creating a delicious friction you hadn’t had in a while. he wraps a hand around your throat, keeping you confined to his touch as he thrusts against you in a lazy, staggered rhythm.
“good girl,” he says lowly, his grip on your neck tightening just enough to earn a whimper from you. “you like getting fucked like that?”
“mhm,” you mewl and arch your back against him, your hands grabbing at anything from the sheets to his forearm for stability as he fucks you harder. you can hear his breathing against the shell of your ear become heavier when you shift your weight to clench around him.
you tremble against yunho, your release coming even more quickly than before as you sink your nails into his arm with a drawn-out whimper in warning. he hisses at the sting and stills, slipping his cock out of you. you turn back enough to shoot him a glare in question.
“you made me wait, didn’t you?” he teases, his voice clipped from the restraint he was holding himself to.
“you were injured!” you cry out for what had to be the umpteenth time.
yunho just chuckles and shifts so that you can position yourself on top of him. you bite down on your bottom lip as you tactfully avoid his injured leg as much as possible and press your weight down onto him so that he bottoms out inside of you for the second time. you gasp, your lips parted and your eyelids heavy as you rock your hips against him to finally earn your orgasm.
without warning, yunho grabs your hips and keeps you steady so that he can buck his hips up and into you. his hair falls over his face as he pants, determined to regain control when you press a palm to his torso.
“your injury,” you pant breathlessly, your words nearly slurring.
“fuck the injury,” he groans, though it comes out in something more akin to a whine as he fights to keep up the pace. “i need to fuck you.”
“a-ah—!” you cry out when he hits a particularly sensitive spot, his fingers digging into your hips with renewed vigor as he manages to slide fully in and out of you at his own speed. a satisfied grin hangs from his lips as you struggle to stay upright in his lap, falling over and burying your face in the crook of his neck so that he can drag you—finally—to your release.
“god, baby,” you gasp, your heart nearly bursting out of your chest when he hammers into you and you feel the wave of pleasure building, building until it finally spills over. you twitch against him, shuddering as you’re finally able to succumb to your orgasm. yunho groans, not far behind before he holds you steady and comes inside of you with a drawn-out breath.
you fight to steady your breathing as you sit upright, quick to glare at him. he meets you with an exhausted smile before brushing strands of hair from your face, his chest rising and falling from his own deep breaths. he slips out of you and sighs as you venture into the bathroom and return with a bottle of water and a fresh change of clothes.
“at least there’s one perk to being injured,” he lolls, his hands behind his head as he adjusts his hips against the sheets.
“don’t think i won’t be running you like the military to make sure you do all the recovery stretches,” you snap, crossing your arms over your torso at the edge of the bed.
“what did you say?” he asks, feigning ignorance. “that certain positions will help stretch out my hip flexors?”
“i don’t know if you’re remembering it right.”
“oh, i definitely am.”
“you definitely aren’t.”
“well, why don’t we test it out, anyway?”
“why don’t you elevate that leg of yours before i let dr. kim know you’re not following what you’re supposed to do?”
“yes, ma’am.” without another word, yunho beams at you as you shove a pillow beneath his ankle and pulls you back into his embrace.
「pairing」 : softdom!seonghwa x virginfem!reader x dom!yunho
「word count」 : 3.5k
「genre」 : smut, threesome
「summary」 : after years of failing to lose your virginity, you settle for a sex club. two men there give you the best night of your life.
「warnings」 : sex club, alcohol consumption, threesome, virginity loss, praise, degradation, kissing, fingering, hickies, titty sucking, clit play, oral (m and f), choking if you squint, yunho likes you vocal, big dick yunho and seonghwa, spit as lube, painful(?) first time, unprotected sex, multiple creampies, multiple orgasms, breeding kink, humiliation(?), pet names including baby, doll, little thing, darling, sweet thing
「author's note」 : based on this request! i hope you guys like it lol
the club was never really somewhere you thought you’d ever go. or even want to go for that matter. especially not a sex club.
after years and years of trying to find the right guy to lose your virginity to, it began to feel hopeless. so what better way to do it than with someone who is a borderline professional? a no strings attached, one and done situation. that’s all it’s going to be. just to relieve your sexual frustration for the night, and never go back.
the place is off of 23rd street. some joint your friend recommended after hearing you complain about your failed talking stages for the hundredth time. said something about “being in the know.”
security was strict and the sign up process was pretty in-depth, which kind of eased your nerves about who was allowed to participate.
the woman at the front helps you kindly, sensing your confusion. but when you walk past the desk, it is nothing like you imagined. though you adhere to the theme, you stick out like a sore thumb, easily being the most modestly dressed person in the building.
the theme is lace. you wore a black lace lingerie set that you had fantasized about wearing too many times, and a short sheer dress to go on top.
the lounge is dimly lit, smells expensive and faintly like alcohol. people are moving around like it’s their second nature, and you choose to take a seat at the bar - something to calm your nerves.
that’s when you see them.
not that you were searching, but more because they were kind of hard to miss. it’s two men sitting in an alcove along the far wall, and a bottle of pricy champagne on ice sitting between their glasses.
the taller one notices you first. his brown hair lazily pushed back with a hint of gel, his cheeks already red from the alcohol, and dark eyes that find yours across the room without any particular urgency. he looks like he has all the time in the world and is simply deciding whether to use it on you.
he says something to the one beside him.
and then there are two pairs of eyes on you.
the second one is different. softer-looking, maybe, but there’s something behind it - something comforting in the way he tilts his head when he sees you. like he already knows you’re nervous. and that’s okay.
you look down at your drink.
this was a mistake.
but before you can talk yourself into leaving, someone is beside you.
“what’s your name?”
his voice was low. it was the second guy you had spotted. up close he’s even more disarming. he doesn’t look at you the way you expected to be looked at here. not like a transaction.
“it’s y/n.” you share with a small smile.
“i’m seonghwa,” he says. “and that’s yunho.” a small gesture toward the alcove. yunho lifts his chin in acknowledgment, still seated, still unhurried. “first time?”
“i…uh…. yeah. first time.” the words fall out of your mouth before you even have a second to think.
“that’s good to know,” seonghwa says, and he means it simply. “we can help take care of you properly.”
he can sense your hesitation and nerves in the way you fiddle with the base of your glass.
“you don’t have to decide anything right now,” he adds. “we can just talk first.”
so you do.
seonghwa settles on a barstool next to you and orders something for himself, and tops of your glass while he’s at it. the conversation starts easier than you expected. he asks you small things. where you’re from. what you do. whether you’ve ever been to this part of the city before. just talking.
yunho joins maybe ten minutes in. doesn’t announce himself, just sits on your other side and signals the bartender with two fingers. closer up, he’s even taller than you clocked from across the room. broad shoulders, that easy flush still sitting high on his cheeks. he smells like cedar and that expensive champagne.
“she’s funny,” seonghwa tells him, like you’re not sitting right there.
“i can hear you,” you say.
yunho’s mouth pulls at the corner. “he means it as a compliment.”
“i know how to give compliments,” seonghwa says, not even defensive about it.
“you really don’t,” yunho replies, and just like that, the two of them are bickering over your head and somehow it’s the most at ease you’ve felt since you walked through the door.
the night keeps moving on, and keeps getting easier and easier to be around them two.
at some point you stop noticing the other people in the room. stop noticing the music, or the low lighting, or the way your dress felt too modest an hour ago. the nervousness doesn’t disappear exactly, but it shifts into something else.
yunho is watching you explain something - you’ve lost track of what - and there’s a particular kind of attention in his expression that makes it hard to finish your sentence.
“you okay?” seonghwa asks. his voice is quieter now.
“yeah.”
he tilts his head the same way he did from across the room. “you’re not what i expected tonight.”
“is that a good thing?”
he exchanges a glance with yunho. something passes between them but you don’t entirely know what it was.
“yeah,” yunho says, answering for both of them. his eyes drop briefly - just briefly - to your mouth, and then back up. unhurried, like everything else about him. “it’s a very good thing.”
you reach for your glass and realize it’s empty. neither of them moves to fill it this time.
“we don’t have to stay out here,” seonghwa says softly. no pressure in it.
and you think about the girl who almost talked herself into leaving.
“okay.”
——-
the room they lead you to is nothing like what the word room usually conjures. it’s warm. that’s the first thing. warm and quiet in a way that feels intentionally separating you from the rest of the lounge. there’s a low amber light coming from somewhere you can’t point out, and the furniture is dark and soft-looking, and everything about it feels comforting in a sense.
you stand near the doorway for a moment.
yunho doesn’t rush you. he moves to the small counter along the wall and pours water from a glass and sets one on the table nearest to you without a word.
“you can tell us anything,” seonghwa says, moving from the doorway. “if something doesn’t feel right, you say so.”
“and we stop,” yunho adds simply.
you nod.
“i just-” you start, and then pause, because you’re not really sure how to finish it.
“take your time,” seonghwa says.
“i haven’t done this before.” you say it to the middle distance somewhere between them. “any of it. not just - not just this. all of it.”
a beat of quiet.
yunho looks at you steadily. “we know.”
“does that change things?” you ask. and what you mean is does that make this worse. does that make me more trouble than i’m worth. does that make you look at me differently.
“it just means that we will go slow,” seonghwa confirms, coming around the side of your body to meet your eyes. “that’s all it means.”
you start to untangle inside. they can’t see it, you can definitely feel it.
yunho steps a little closer with his hand meeting your waist, and your nervousness starts to fade into something else. desire.
seonghwa’s hand comes to rest at your hip from the other side. and for the first time all night, you stop thinking about every version of yourself that almost didn’t come.
“can i?” seonghwa’s fingers find the thin strap of your sheer dress.
you nod.
he slips it off your shoulders slowly, and it pools at your feet without a sound. and you’re standing there in the black lace you’d imagined wearing a hundred times before tonight, and it feels nothing like you thought it would. it feels better.
yunho’s gaze studies your body slowly, and his expression immediately shifts. “you’re beautiful,” he says. and it doesn’t sound like something he’s said before. it sounds like something he’s just now figuring out.
seonghwa tilts your chin up gently with one finger, and his eyes search yours for a moment like he’s doing a last check.
“still okay?” he murmurs.
“yeah,” you say. “please…kiss me.”
his mouth curves. and then he closes the space between you, and his lips meet yours, gentle at first, like a question that already knows its answer. yunho’s hand moves to the small of your back, steadying you without pulling.
your lips melt into his, falling into a rhythm that starts to make heat pool in your body. his fingers find their way into your scalp, barely gripping to get a better angle.
yunho’s mouth falls to the side of your neck and he presses his large frame into your back. he sucks on the sensitive spot just below your ear, leaving a purple mark in its wake.
“we will take very good care of you,” yunho whispers, dragging his lips back up to your ear. his large hands snake around your body and grip both of your breasts, making you moan into seonghwa’s mouth.
seonghwa swallows your moan and uses it as a chance to slide his tongue between your lips. he tastes sweet, addictive, and you can’t help but to want more. your tongues dance across each other in a comfortable rhythm, and his hands slide down your body, to grip your ass.
without pulling away, you toy with the buttons on seonghwa’s shirt, undoing each one until you can pull it off his shoulders. revealing his chest, it was perfectly defined, along with deliciously toned biceps.
your fingers trace the smooth lines of his body, feeling the warmth of his skin under your palms as you push the shirt completely off. he shrugs it away without breaking the kiss, his tongue diving deeper into your mouth, exploring every inch with a hunger that matches the growing ache between your thighs.
yunho's grip on your breasts tightens just enough to send sparks through your body, his thumbs circling your hardening nipples through the fabric of your bra. he nips at your earlobe, his breath hot against your skin. "that's it, let us hear you," he murmurs, his voice low and rough, vibrating against your neck.
breaking away for a breath, seonghwa trails his mouth down your jaw, sucking lightly on your pulse point while his fingers work at the hem of your bra. he undoes the hooks, and yunho helps by sliding the straps down your shoulders. cool air hits your bare skin, but it's quickly replaced by the heat of their bodies surrounding you.
yunho's palms return to your now-exposed breasts, cupping them fully, his large hands engulfing you as he pinches your nipples between his fingers. the sharp pleasure makes your hips buck forward, grinding against seonghwa instinctively. he groans, his mouth moving lower to capture one of your nipples in a wet kiss, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak.
“these need to go,” he grazes his fingertips across the waistband of your panties, and yunho mirrors his action, sliding them down your legs in one quick motion.
their hands return to your hips, hands roaming all over the area.
yunho's hand slips between your legs from behind, his fingers brushing your slick folds. he circles your clit slowly, making you jolt. his other arm bands around your waist to hold you steady. "our baby is so wet already.”
his fingers slide to tease the entrance of your hole, collecting the wetness. “can i put them in?” he whispers.
“mmmm yes, please go slow,” you whine.
“of course, darling,” he affirmed, sliding his middle finger in oh so slowly.
your mouth falls agape, and your head leans forward onto seonghwa’s shoulder, an instant reaction to the unfamiliar pleasure. your breathing becoming obviously heavier and more shaky.
yunho could sense that you were feeling good and added in another finger, making sure to massage them across your most sensitive patch.
“nghh,” you muffle yourself in seonghwa’s flesh.
yunho’s other hand wraps around your neck and pulls you away from seonghwa. “don’t hide now, we want to hear how good we are making you feel,” he growls against your ear.
seonghwa straightens up, his lips shiny from your sucking on your breasts, and starts unbuckling his belt. he pops the button on his pants and shoves them down, kicking them aside. his cock strains against the fabric of his boxers, a clear outline of its thick length pressing forward. he palms himself through the material, stroking once as he watches you.
yunho follows suit, removing his fingers, making you grip around nothing. he stands, towering over you, and yanks his shirt over his head, revealing a chiseled chest. his pants come next, sliding down his legs until he's in briefs that do little to hide his hardening length. he steps closer, his hand replacing seonghwa's on your hip.
now fully naked, they guide you to lie back on the plush lounge seat, leaving your heart pounding. seonghwa sheds his boxers, his cock springing free - heavy and veined, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. he strokes it slowly, eyes locked on your bare pussy. yunho strips off his briefs last, his shaft even thicker, curving slightly as it stands rigid against his abs.
seonghwa kneels between your legs, slowly parting them with his large hands. you are nervous at first, trying to close your legs back together and hide your face. “don’t be shy baby, just let me make you feel good,” he reassures, parting them again.
he peppers kisses on your thighs starting from your knees, making their way up to your heat. he rests his palm and brushes his thumb your folds, grazing across your slick bundle of nerves.
you let out a low moan from the contact, and seonghwa looks up to meet your eyes. “you’re a sensitive little thing, aren’t you, darling?” he smiles teasingly.
without even waiting for a response, he dips his tongue down on your clit, sucking on it slowly, trying to gauge your reaction. when he sees that you have covered your mouth with your hand to try to muffle yourself, he continues.
his tongue laps between your folds at a pace that is not overwhelming, but just enough to keep you wanting more. yunho walks around to the head of the seat and forces your hand away from your lips.
“didn’t think i was going to let this hole go unused, did you?” he teased, running his thumb across your bottom lip. you look up at him with doe eyes as the head of his cock nudges your lips apart.
he pushes in carefully, though that doesn’t stop the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. his fingers trail through your hair, holding the back of your head for leverage. not pulling, but guiding. “you’ve sucked cock before, right?”
you nod in response, sucking him deeper, your tongue swirling around the underside. the salty taste of him filled your mouth, and you hollowed your cheeks, drawing a guttural moan from yunho.
seonghwa continues to suck on your clit, now adding two of his fingers inside. he drags his tongue down to your entrance, meeting with his fingers to taste your slick as his nose brushes across your clit.
“sweet thing,” yunho coos, cupping your cheek in his palm. he pushed his dick further back into your throat, until his pelvis meets your nose. the lewd choking sounds coming from you only make him more desperate.
but once he sees seonghwa pull away, he slips himself out of your mouth. hwa leans up, gripping his length in his hand, sliding the head across your folds to collect the slick.
“are you ready?” he asks, nudging against your entrance.
“mhmm,” you nod.
“words, doll”
“yes, please. i want it, seonghwa.”
he spits down onto your already soaked pussy, using his thumb to rubs it into your hole, as well as across your clit.
the extra lubricant allows him to slide in easily, your wall immediately sucking him in further. you wince at the pain at first, trying to adjust to the stretch. the look on your face indicates to seonghwa to go slower, which he respects.
“you’re doing good, baby. just let him in a little bit more.” yunho angles your face up to his, soft kisses following his affirmations.
"breathe, baby," he coos, pausing until you relax around him. "just like that." once seonghwa bottoms out, he stays still for a few moments, allowing you to adjust to the burn of the stretch. he moves his hips slowly, trying not to overwhelm you as he pulls back out.
"fuck, so perfect," seonghwa whispers, starting a gentle rhythm - shallow thrusts that build gradually. each slide sends sparks through you, your body adapting and craving more. yunho breaks the kiss, shifting to kneel beside you, his hand wrapping around his thick shaft as he strokes himself, watching seonghwa fuck you.
seonghwa picks up pace, hips snapping forward with controlled power once he has given you time to adjust. his cock drags along your sensitive spots as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, the lounge seat creaking under the motion.
yunho leans down, his free hand pinching your nipple as he growls, "look at you, taking his dick so well. our girl’s not so innocent anymore."
moans weren’t even coming out of your mouth. it was just whimpers and sounds of desperation. your hands grab on to seonghwa’s wrists as he fucks into you, your nails digging into his flesh.
your walls clenching around hwa drive him closer and closer to the edge. sweat starts to bead up on his forehead and his strokes become more sloppy with each passing second.
"gonna fill you up, doll," he warns, and with a final, deep plunge, hot spurts of cum flooding inside of you, triggering your release too. you clench around him, milking every drop as waves of pleasure crash over.
seonghwa pulls out slowly, a mix of your juices and his seed leaking from you. before you can recover, yunho moves in, flipping you gently onto your hands and knees. "my turn to fuck this pretty pussy" he says, voice husky.
his hands grip your hips, cock teasing your entrance, still slick and sensitive. he enters you in one smooth thrust, thicker than seonghwa, stretching you to your limits. you cry out, pushing back against him instinctively. seonghwa kneels in front, guiding your head to his softening cock, still glistening. "clean me up," he suggests, and you take him into your mouth, tasting the salty mix of cum and your own arousal.
yunho fucks you steadily from behind, each slap of skin against skin jolting you forward onto seonghwa. his curve hits just right, brushing that bundle of nerves. you suck harder, hollowing your cheeks, earning a groan from seonghwa as he hardens again in your mouth.
"fuck, your mouth feels amazing," seonghwa praises, threading fingers through your hair. yunho's pace quickens, one hand reaching around to rub your clit in tight circles. the overstimulation builds to a fever pitch, your body trembling on the edge once more.
“say you like my cock. say you love how good we make you feel,” yunho demands, bunching your hair into a ponytail, now pulling you away from seonghwa.
“it f-feels so good, yuyu,” you manage to piece the words together.
you can’t help but to come undone around yunho's cock, throbbing length as your walls flutter and squeeze. “wanna breed this tight cunt, your greedy pussy keeps sucking me back in” he moans, his peak approaching quickly.
a few more deep strokes and he buries himself deep and pumps you full of his release, grunting with each spurt. each movement creates a ring of white around the base of his cock from both of their releases. he finally pulls all the way out, making an exaggerated pop sound.
seonghwa was the first to move, his hands gentle as he eased you onto your back, cradling your head in his lap. “you did so well, taking us both like that,” he whispered, his voice soft and reassuring. he brushed sweat-dampened hair from your face, his fingers tracing light patterns along your warm cheeks.
yunho joined him, fetching a soft towel from the room's side table and wiping away the mess between your legs with carefully, avoiding your oversensitive folds to prevent any sting.
“thank you for taking care of me,” you admitted looking at yunho, then turning to nuzzle into seonghwa’s abdomen.
yunho sat next to you, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “thank you for trusting us.”
with that, you exchange contact information, and the ‘one and done’ deal is completely ruined.
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🕷️ tags: spiderman!yunho x f!reader, est. relationship, roleplay kinda, dry humping, 18+ MDNI
🕷️ wc: 1.2k
🕷️ notes: this is so short i just needed him out of my head
WIND WHIPS AROUND YOUR HAIR AS YOU LEAN ON THE BALCONY RAILING. with it carries the bustling noise of new york’s night life: drunk pedestrians, cars honking, and if you really strain enough – you can just catch a distant ‘thwip’ on the horizon. a smile graces your lips at the recognition.
you pull out your phone, bright screen still open on the last text yunho sent: be there in 5. it’s been much longer than just a mere five minutes, but you know to take his ETA estimates with a grain of salt. he can get so easily caught up, your boyfriend. especially on a chaotic friday night in the heart of the big apple.
you sigh, breath turning to fog in the cold air. in the thin cotton of your pyjamas, all that’s really keeping you warm out here is the buzzing under your skin – the excitement of your boyfriend finally coming home.
these days, he’s been crawling into bed beside you at ridiculous o’clock, cuddling into your snoring body. and by the morning, you wake up to his side of the bed cold, a love note stuck to your phone and some breakfast kept warm on the stove. it’s been too long since he’s just held you – not just a hug goodbye, but a hold that swallows you into his arms until your bodies are tangled as one. a touch that crawls up, that blooms inside you..
you flinch when your vision is suddenly cloaked in black – gloved hands cupping over your eyes from behind. your initial surprise quickly slides back into excitement, and you can’t help yourself from reaching up and hooking your fingers around his pinky.
“guess who?” comes a muffled voice from behind you. even under the mask, you can hear the giddy grin on his face.
you giggle, deciding to play into it. “spiderman?” you faux-gasp, “but i didn’t call for any help..”
he hums, palms sliding down your cheeks, fingers splaying across your chin and neck. you sigh into the touch, head leaning back and bumping into his forearms. that’s when you realise the angle – this show-off is hanging upside down.
“well, i didn’t come because of any danger, miss..” he says lowly, tilting your head back to stare at him. he inches further down on the string, mask hovering at level with your face. you can hear the way his breaths turn heavy, no doubt his eyes taking in your body. you’re proven right when his hands creep further down, just resting above your chest – fingers twitching over the dainty straps of your pyjama top. your lip quirks over how well you know him. he’s like a dog to a bone.
“but– my boyfriend’s coming home soon,” you bat your lashes at him, fully committed to the bit.
he chuckles, removing a hand from your chest to reach for his mask, pulling it up over his mouth. he licks his lips, smirking. “i’ll keep it quick then. he won’t have to know.”
then he kisses you, soft and hot, inhaling sharply like your mouth is the air he breathes. you kiss him back harder, a noise slipping from your throat in desperation, and it only serves to spur him on. his mouth moves in a hurry against yours, tongue tasting every corner of your mouth. your nose nudges his chin from the angle.
gloved hands run down your body; one stopping to grope a breast, the other reaching for a handful of your ass. you lean in, instinctually chasing the feel of his body pressed against yours in a kiss, yet finding nothing but the thin air from how he’s hovering above you. you whine from the unfairness – and you feel the way his lip curls into the kiss over the noise.
“you’re so cute,” he coos as he comes to hold your chin, a stark contrast to the way his fingers pinch your nipple. you squeak, which he quickly smothers with his mouth on yours, fingers continuing to rub at the bud until it perks through the fabric.
he pulls himself further down on the string, mouth mapping a path down your jaw and neck. nipping with his teeth and soothing with his tongue, eliciting little gasps from you into the night. he kisses all the way down to your chest, pulling your top down enough to free your tits – his mouth latching onto a nipple. you whimper, putty in his hands from how long you’ve been waiting to have your boyfriend like this.
“please..” you whine, hands trying desperately to grab at the muscles in his back as he leaves a path of lovebites from one nipple to the next. he hums, listening but not stopping. “please, yu–”
you gasp as you hear a snapping sound from above you. you blink, and you’re being pushed into the balcony railing, your boyfriend standing before you – mask off, face flushed, eyes wild. you don’t get to take in the sight of his pretty face you’ve been missing like hell for long, before he’s crashing his mouth back onto yours. the kiss feels even more impatient than the last, and the groan that leaves him is like a spotlight on the bulge pressing into your thigh.
“let’s take this inside–” you plead through the kisses, about two seconds away from ripping his damn suit off and jumping his bones.
“got no time, baby,” he mutters as he licks into your mouth. a thought forms, and he chuckles. “what about your boyfriend?”
you roll your eyes at his sass, rocking your hips forward just to watch the way his face crumples as you rub up against his boner. you repeat the action, drawing out the rolls of your pelvis, feeling your panties grow damper as they rub up and down his clothed length. yunho’s heaving at this point – he always loses it over a bit of grinding – before he’s stopping your hips, biceps tensed from the force.
“baby..” he exhales, smiling in disbelief but also in pain of not being able to take you the way he so desperately wants to right now. “i still gotta get back out there. i’ll ruin the suit–”
intent on convincing him otherwise, you wedge a hand between your bodies to just grip him through the material. he keels over, face falling onto your shoulder.
he groans, dick pulsing in your fingers. “you’ll get me fired one of these days.”
“fired?” you snort. “since when do you have a boss?”
yunho bucks his hips into your palm, sighing onto your neck. “since you.”
you crane your neck to kiss him at that – revelling in how he’s unrestrained with all the noises spilling out into your mouth. you remove your hand, and he’s quicker to press his heat back up against yours, both of you sighing in tandem from the relief.
you stay like that for a while, getting lost in the warmth of each other’s mouths, in the pressure of his clothed cock rubbing into the damp ridges of your panties. your grips on each other’s bodies turning increasingly rough, moans increasingly eager.
“take the night off?” you plea, guiding one of his hands to your breast for some extra convincing. you stifle a giggle at how he gets immediately hypnotised, kneading the flesh between his gloved fingers.
he smiles at you, all dopey and in love. “you’re the boss.”
pairing﹢jeong yunho x fem!reader
genre﹢smut. headcanon format. dilf!yunho, mom's ex-boyfriend, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, yunho in his early 40s), original characters for narrative purposes (jeong minho), mirror sex, quickie, fingering, dirty talk, praises, slight overstimulation, possessive behavior, slight mean dom, pet names (sweetheart, baby, pretty girl), light aftercare.
synopsis﹢meeting your mother’s ex from college, who is charming and entirely off-limits, a man who exists firmly in the past of your family’s history. you find yourself questioning whether some connections are truly over… or simply waiting to be rediscovered under new lights.
✦ RETURN TO THE EVENT
DILF!YUNHO is your mom’s ex-boyfriend from her college years. the thought that this extremely attractive man could have been your father makes your eyes widen every time you look at him, and at the same time, you’re painfully grateful it never worked out.
DILF!YUNHO and her are friendly now, facebook friends like everyone else. still, he can’t help but think you’ve grown into a beautiful young woman. maybe his son would like you, since you are the same age.
you part ways with DILF!YUNHO after a brief, polite conversation between him and your mom. turning your head one last time, curiosity tugging at your tail, and he’s already looking. realizing he’s been caught, he only offers a soft smile and a small wave. you don’t return it.
DILF!YUNHO, that you meet again at a random café while you’re out with your girlfriends. they’re all whispering about the handsome man sitting alone in the corner. when he gets up to leave, he stops by your table and greets you. the moment he walks away, you’re bombarded with questions. who is he? ‘say hi to your parents’. why does he know them? how do you explain that he almost became your father? so you settle for, “he’s a family friend.”
after that, you keep running into DILF!YUNHO everywhere. it almost feels like you’re stalking each other without meaning to. okay, maybe you stalked him a little, but just his facebook. you learn his birthday is march 23rd, divorced, into photography and dancing, what his son looks like, and that his name is minho. cute guy, but not really your type.
DILF!YUNHO appears like a phantom of the opera in old memories. one afternoon, you’re flipping through old photo albums with your mom. your baby pictures, others are her college stories, smiley faces frozen in time. then you stop at one photo. the girl in the middle is unmistakably your mom; she points at your godmother, some other names… and then she points to a man.
“oh, that’s yunho. remember the man we met a few weeks ago? yeah, that’s him.” you’ve never wanted to travel back in time so badly.
you ask your mother more about DILF!YUNHO, about what they were like together, how it all happened. she laughs softly, “aww, my little girl finally finds her mom’s life interesting?”
before settling down with your father, she lived like any other college student — parties, flirting, nothing serious. until yunho joined her friend group, and they just clicked. dated for two years, until he got an opportunity to study and work in a bigger city. long distance was a big no for both of them, so they ended things before resentment could grow.
DILF!YUNHO is everywhere in those pictures, and you're imagining what it would be like to be in your mom’s place: his hands on you, those lips pressed to your skin... then your mom's voice snaps you back.
“goodnight, sweetheart. i love you,” she calls softly before disappearing down the hallway to join your dad in bed. “put the albums back when you are ready,”
“love you too, mom… night.” the albums stay open longer than they should.
one moth later, your mom casually mentions that DILF!YUNHO reached out. just to catch up, she says, to invite your family over for dinner. apparently, he’s eager for you to meet his son, minho, the cute guy who's polite and easygoing.
what no one says out loud is that this isn’t really about minho at all. it’s an excuse for DILF!YUNHO to see you again without raising suspicion. and his son, poor boy, doesn’t mind if you don’t click romantically; being friends is more than fine with him.
the moment you arrive at DILF!YUNHO'S house a few days later, he can’t take his eyes off you. the short black dress you chose hugs your body perfectly, and the way his gaze lingers just a second too long doesn’t go unnoticed. not by you, and certainly not by him.
DILF!YUNHO greets you and your parents warmly and politely. then turns to you with a smile that's meant just for you, before his son steps in and steals the spotlight. dinner settles into easy conversation, light teasing from the parents filling the room. minho is kind, a little awkward in a charming way. you talk about games, laugh at the same dumb jokes. he’s a good guy, but you can already tell it’ll never be more than friendship, and he is on the same page.
but on the other hand yunho feels such fierce jealousy that you talk to his son, how sweetly you smile at him, and he hopes you won't actually like him.
DILF!YUNHO stays mostly by your parents’ side, reminiscing with your mom, laughing about college stories, catching your dad up on old memories. your mom chose well in the end, as for yunho… he seems to have chosen something too, and that’s you. their beautiful daughter, stealing glances when you think no one is looking. arent you adorable? not even trying to hide those lustful eyes.
when you ask minho where the bathroom is, you excuse yourself politely, throwing one last quick and intentional look over your shoulder. DILF!YUNHO suddenly gets an idea when your mom mentions old photo albums, and yunho stands almost immediately. “i might have them somewhere in my room,” he says casually, already moving. “it may take a few minutes. minho, keep them company, okay?”
DILF!YUNHO doesn’t go to look for albums; he goes looking for you.
DILF!YUNHO may be a wildcard, like your mom once told you, but above everything else, he is still a gentleman — or at least he tries to be. he doesn’t know you excused yourself just to breathe, but you can’t calm down. not when something in you has twisted the moment you stepped into his house, not when his presence feels impossible to ignore.
you stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, guilt blooming across your face as you try to reason with your own reflection. this is wrong, you think, so wrong. turning on the tap, to let the cold water run, but you don’t splash your face, even if your makeup is waterproof. you inhale, exhale, thoughts keep circling back to him: his voice, hands, the way his eyes undress you with one glance.
a knock at the door pulls you out of your spiral. you open it halfway, ready to apologize, to whoever is there, but the words die in your throat when you see him. DILF!YUNHO stands there, calm on the surface, but fuming inside. before you can react, his hand gently grabs around your wrist, guiding you back inside. the door shuts behind you, your back pressed against the wood, the lock clicking softly.
his other hand lifts, “shh,” his finger brushes your lips to warn you, not scare you. “not a sound, alright, sweetheart?” a glance at his watch, then back to you. “we’ve got about four minutes… let’s not waste them.”
DILF!YUNHO sees how the shock never fully lands, because your body already understands what’s happening. a second later, your back is pressed against his chest, staring at yourselves in the mirror. big hands settle at your waist, slowly tracing down to the line over the fabric of your dress, and even if he wants to tease you, there’s no time for that.
“you’ve no idea…” he says quietly, almost to himself. his breath ghosts your ear as his fingers skim the hem of your dress, brushing your thigh in a way that makes your knees weak without ever going further. “...how much of a troublemaker you are.”
your heart is pounding so loud you’re sure he can hear it. you don’t move away, and don’t tell him to stop, because you want it, want him in ways that break any morals and laws.
DILF!YUNHO is the man you’ve imagined this happening with more times than you’ll ever admit. you were reckless: curious in a way you shouldn’t have been. finding that your mom still had his number, saving it to your phone when no one was looking. late-night calls followed, texting until sunrise, receiving money in your bank account, but it is now that the game finally starts.
he cups your face, thumb brushing your cheek, tilting your face up so you’re forced to meet his eyes in the mirror. his presence is overwhelming, filling the space behind you, deep voice slips between your thoughts. “look at me,” he murmurs, not wanting to sound mean, maybe more commanding if anything. “don’t you dare look away.”
his other hand is sliding down under your dress, fingertips touching the already wet cotton panties, pressing and making you tremble, twisting your stomach. “we don’t have much time,” reminding you softly again. “so behave.”
DILF!YUNHO moves your panties aside and you close your eyes without the intention to, it's just how your body reacts, and he clicks his tongue in quiet disapproval. “ah-ah, eyes on me, sweetheart.” when you obey, his reflection watches you closely, satisfied, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. he leans in, mouth near your ear, voice dropping even lower, as he whispers, “good girl.”
a whimper, a soft gasp wants to escape your lips, but he shushes it off by putting the hand that cupped your face over your mouth. "you watch and keep quiet, understand?" nodding your head as he removes his hand, that is now sliding down your throat, to your chest, down to where his other hand is working.
DILF!YUNHO fucks you with his slender fingers, dark eyes never leave yours in the mirror.
you don’t want anyone wondering why you look so pretty and flustered when walking back out, and thankfully, he hasn’t kissed you yet. he wants you right on the edge, but speaking of the devil and his doings: his free hand sliding a finger under your chin, turning you to him as he captures your lips in his in a sweet kiss. moaning into his mouth, a blissful sound that he devours.
DILF!YUNHO pumps into your soaked folds, so deep against your poor aching clit as he continues to kiss you, tongue pushing in and exploring, "you are so fuckin' wet," fingers curling around his forearm for balance, he hums against your lips since he’s pleased.
DILF!YUNHO wants the sound of your wetness to be acknowledged by you, and how he makes you feel — pure ecstasy if both of you can describe the feeling. you don’t know whether you’re more aware of the mirror, how close you are, or the fact that you’ll have to pretend nothing happened.
DILF!YUNHO warns you softly when your eyes flutter. “don’t hide from me, pretty girl. i want you to see it when you come.” it crashes through you in a way that steals the air from your lungs, head tipping back against his shoulder as the sound you’ve been holding finally slips free. the mirror showing every little thing you try to hide: the way your knees weaken, and how your grip the edge of the sink instead of his arms.
DILF!YUNHO likes that you’re trying to be quiet. your shoulders tense when the sensation builds too fast, too much, your reflection giving you away long before you could ever lie about it. “that’s it,” the older man is almost cruel in how gentle it sounds. “just like that, baby, you got this.”
pleasure rolling through you in waves you can’t control, legs trembling as you ride it out with your head tipped forward and your eyes squeezed shut, until he reminds you again. "eyes on me." you obey, watching yourself come undone while he stands completely aware of what he’s doing to you. it leaves you shaking, chest rising too fast, tears in your eyes.
DILF!YUNHO pulls away and brings his fingers to his mouth, tasting you without shame, praising you softly for how good you are. he checks his watch, amused. look at that — thirty seconds left. just enough time for you to fix yourself and walk back out like you weren’t completely undone by your mother’s ex.
he doesn’t stop praising, murmuring how well you did for him as he grabs a towel, kneels, and carefully wipes your legs clean. a lingering kiss pressed to your thigh, quiet and possessive, before he helps you back on your feet.
DILF!YUNHO sends you out first, waits until you’ve smoothed yourself back into place, until you look presentable enough to fool anyone who isn’t paying close attention. minutes later, he follows with the albums in hand, charming smile firmly back in place. no one notices the way you’re still catching your breath, no one except him.
when it’s time to leave, your parents thank him, already talking about the next get-together.
DILF!YUNHO would love to have another gathering with your family, but maybe next time you will come alone, and of course, he won’t need a clock to devour you for dinner.
EVENT ONLY TAGLIST (comment or dm to be added) :: @matchahintonagar @pineapple-burgah @jankayuri @zerefdragn33l @atz10248 @fixonjade @taytay-00 @kaleigh-2002 @spenceatiny18 @hellomynameis-jessica
summary: in which your boyfriend overhears you call him impatient and he takes that as a personal attack
warning: dom yunho, sub reader, edging, fingering, oral, unprotected sex, choking, squirting, creampie
genre: smut
pairing: yunho x afab reader
word count: 11.5k
masterlist
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Yunho groaned. The curtains in the room had been moved, light slithering through from the sun. He blinked. Groaned. Blinked again. One arm stretched, reaching, searching for your body that was usually right next to him when he woke up. Because he always woke up before you. “Baby?” His voice was deep, groggy, barely audible.
Then he heard voices. Laughter. The noises drifting from outside the bedroom, the door cracked open, echoing from the living room. “Mmhhm…” he dragged himself up, bare feet landing on the hardwood floor. His chest was bare, plaid pajama pants hanging low on his waist. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. Due from both, sleep and you pulling at it from the night before as you rode him, telling him you were gonna milk him for everything he’s got. And fuck! You had.
He walked out the bedroom, walked across the hall to the bathroom, relieved himself with a contented sigh, then quickly washed his hands, splashed some water on his face and started walking down the hall towards the living room.
You didn’t even know he was there. Didn’t know he had woken up after you let him sleep in. You had already been up for hours and Wooyoung had showed up an hour ago, takeout bag in hand and a quick, “Entertain me, I’m bored.” Now, you were sprawled across the couch, legs thrown over the armrest, phone in hand while Wooyoung lounged on the floor, halfway through a bag of chips and fully invested in your gossip.
“I’m serious,” You say, exasperated but laughing. “Edging? Please. He lasts like ten minutes and then suddenly it’s all, nope, you’re coming now.” Wooyoung snorts. “So he’s… generous?”
“He’s impatient,” You correct, rolling your eyes. “Like, sir, relax. Build suspense. Make it a little torturous. Where’s the drama?” There’s a beat of silence, then Wooyoung grins, sharp and wicked. “You should tell him that.”
“Absolutely not,” You scoff. “His ego would combust.”
Behind the hallway wall, silent as a shadow that learned how to breathe…. Yunho hears every. single. word. And something in him… shifts. Not anger. Not even embarrassment. It’s quieter than that. More dangerous. A challenge.
“I mean,” You steal a chip from Wooyoung. “It’s not like our sex is vanilla, far from it actually.” You chew on the chip, brows furrowed in thought. “It’s just….. I’m curious.” Wooyoung looks at you. “Curious about what?”
You shrug, a smirk now tugging at your mouth. “See how long he can be patient….. and how long I can hold out.”
Yunho stays exactly where he is. Doesn’t step out. Doesn’t interrupt. Because now? Now this is interesting. His head tilts slightly, eyes unfocused for a second as he replays your words in his mind, slow and deliberate, like he’s committing them to memory. Curious. About how long he can be patient. A quiet breath leaves him through his nose, something almost amused curling at the corner of his mouth. You have no idea what you just started. No idea what you just handed him.
His fingers flex against his bicep where his arms are crossed, a slow, controlled movement. Not restless. Not impulsive. Measured. Because the thing is… Yunho could walk out there right now. Could prove you wrong in seconds. Could have you under him, over him, against the nearest surface before you even got another sentence out.
Impatient.
His jaw shifts. “Mm,” he murmurs under his breath, almost thoughtful. Not anymore. Something steadier settles in his chest, heavy and deliberate. A decision. One that stretches out in front of him like a long, winding road instead of a sprint. You want suspense? You want drama? Fine. He’ll give it to you. But on his terms.
Yunho pushes himself off the wall just enough to adjust his stance, but he doesn’t step out yet. Instead, he listens a little longer, gaze fixed on nothing, mind already working ahead. Already picturing it. Not rushing you. Not giving in the second you reach for him. Dragging it out. Watching you squirm. Watching you realize you started something you can’t control. A slow smile finally pulls at his mouth, sharp and quiet.
He exhales once, slow, steady. And then he moves. He doesn’t bother hiding his footsteps. They land deliberately against the hardwood, a quiet announcement of his presence before he even appears. He straightens slightly as he rounds the corner, rolling his shoulders back like he’s shaking off sleep, like he didn’t just stand there listening to every word. “Morning.”
Your head lifts immediately and he doesn’t miss the way your expression softens when you see him, the way your body shifts just a little on the couch, instinctively making space for him even if you don’t realize it. Yunho files that away. Wooyoung, on the other hand, narrows his eyes almost instantly, gaze flicking between the two of you like he’s trying to read a room that just changed temperature.
Yunho doesn’t look at him. He keeps his attention on you. Always you. “You’ve been up long?” he asks, voice still rough with sleep, casual, too casual. “Yeah,” you shrug, stretching slightly, completely unaware. “You looked tired, so I let you sleep.”
“Hm.” It’s soft. Neutral. Not a hint of what’s running through his head. He moves closer, unhurried, dragging a hand through his hair as he does. Every step is easy, familiar… but there’s something just a little more intentional in the way he stops in front of you. Close. Not touching. Usually by now he would’ve, an arm around you, a hand at your waist, something. He doesn’t.
Instead, his gaze drops, slow, taking you. Like he’s assessing. Like he’s already thinking three steps ahead. Then, finally, his hand lifts. Your breath almost catches, expecting it. But all he does is brush his fingers lightly along your shoulder. Barely there. Gone almost as soon as it’s there. He hums quietly to himself, like he’s satisfied with something you don’t understand. “Eat yet?” he asks, already stepping past you toward the kitchen before you can fully process it.
Wooyoung’s eyes snap to you the second Yunho turns his back, his expression lighting up with delight. “Oh,” he mouths silently. “You frown at him, confused, answering Yunho. “Yeah…. Woo brought takeout earlier.” From the kitchen, Yunho opens a cabinet, calm as ever, but his jaw tightens just slightly as he listens to the quiet confusion behind him. Good. Let it settle. Let you notice. Let you wonder. Because he’s not going to rush this.
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By the time night settles in, the air between you feels… charged. Not tense in a bad way. Just heavy. Like something’s been building all day and neither of you has said it out loud. The bathroom is already fogged when you step inside, steam curling thick in the air, the sound of the shower steady and grounding. Through the glass, you can see him, head tipped slightly back under the spray, water running down the length of him, shoulders relaxed but solid.
Yunho hears the door open. Of course he does. His head turns just slightly, enough to catch a glimpse of you through the haze, but he doesn’t say anything right away. Just watches as you step closer, like he’s taking his time with it. You slide the shower door open, stepping inside without asking, warmth wrapping around you instantly.
He smiles. Soft. Familiar. Like everything is exactly how it always is. “Couldn’t stay away?” he murmurs, voice low under the sound of the water. You roll your eyes, but there’s no bite to it, moving closer until your hands find his chest, resting there like they belong. “Please,” you mumble. “You love it.”
“I do,” he agrees easily as his hands settle at your waist, pulling you in just enough for your bodies to meet, warm skin against warm skin, the contact immediate and grounding. It’s natural. Easy. Exactly what you’re used to. Yunho’s grip doesn’t tighten right away. Doesn’t rush. His thumbs trace small, absent patterns against your sides, like he’s just… feeling you there. Like he’s in no hurry.
Your breath stutters slightly anyway. Because that’s new. “Missed me?” you ask, tilting your head up at him, teasing. You can feel his dick hardening against your stomach. His gaze drops to your lips, then back to your eyes, something flickering there, something you don’t quite catch. “Always,” he says. And then he kisses you. Slow. Not lazy. Intentional.
His mouth moves against yours in a way that makes your chest tighten, makes your fingers curl slightly against him. It’s deeper than usual, but not rushed, like he’s drawing it out on purpose, letting it build instead of taking it. You lean into it without thinking, pressing closer, chasing that familiar heat. Your hand slides up, fingers threading lightly into his wet hair, tugging just enough to get a reaction. A soft exhale leaves him, but he doesn’t break. Doesn’t lose control. If anything, he steadies.
His hands shift, one sliding slightly along your side, slow, deliberate, like he’s mapping you out instead of grabbing. “Yunho,” you murmur, barely pulling back, breath warm between you. Your fingers tighten slightly in his hair. “Touch me….”
His gaze stays on your face as his hand begins to move. Down. Slow. Sliding from your waist, down along the curve of your side, fingertips dragging lightly like he’s not even thinking about it, like it’s just instinct. His hand settles, warm against you, and for a second, he pauses. Not because he’s unsure. Because he wants to feel the anticipation spike. Wants to feel the way your body reacts before he even does anything.
And when he finally slips two of his fingers into you, he lets them slide, all the way to the knuckles. A soft exhale leaves you almost immediately, your head tipping slightly forward, forehead brushing his shoulder. Your grip tightens, fingers pressing into his skin as if to ground yourself.
Yunho’s jaw flexes. There it is. That reaction he knows so well. Usually, that’s his cue to pick up the pace, to push, to take, he knows exactly how to get you there fast, how to make you fall apart in minutes. But instead…. He slows down. Just enough to be noticeable. Not enough to stop. Thrusting his fingers, curving them a little.
Your breath stutters. “Yunho…” He hums softly, like he’s listening, like he’s paying attention, because he is. But he doesn’t change what he’s doing. His touch stays steady, controlled, building instead of chasing. His thumb traces slow, deliberate movements, against your clit, keeping you right there in that space where it’s starting to feel like too much but not enough.
Your hips shift slightly without thinking, trying to meet him, trying to get more. A quiet smirk tugs at his lips, hidden against your hair as he dips his head slightly. “Relax,” he murmurs, voice low, almost soothing. The exact opposite of what you feel. Because now it’s building. Slowly. Your breathing gets heavier, uneven, your fingers slipping against his skin as you try to keep up with something that isn’t moving fast enough anymore. Not like you’re used to. Not like you want.
Yunho keeps his pace controlled, steady, dragging it out just enough that the tension coils tighter and tighter in your stomach. He can feel it in the way you hold onto him, the way your body reacts before your mind catches up. The way you clench around his fingers. You’re getting close. He knows you are. He always knows.
His eyes lift slightly, watching your expression, every small shift, every flicker, every breath that catches just a little too sharp. There. Right there. That edge. That point where you’re about to tip. His movements slow even more. Not stopping. Just enough to make it stretch. To make you feel it.
Your head tilts back slightly, a soft sound leaving you before you can stop it, your grip tightening, your body tensing…. And for a split second… He almost gives in. Almost. His jaw tightens, a quiet breath leaving him as he holds himself right at that line. His hand pulls away right before you come. The absence hits immediately, sharp and confusing, leaving you suspended there with nowhere to go.
Your eyes snap open. “What…”
“Shit.” The word leaves him suddenly, like he just remembered something, his hand dragging back through his wet hair as he exhales. “I forgot,” he mutters, stepping back slightly, like this is just… inconvenient timing as your brain short circuits. “What?” Yunho glances toward the bathroom counter like he’s checking for something, completely composed, like you’re not standing there trying to catch your breath.
“I told Yeosang I’d queue with him tonight,” he says, almost absent, like it just clicked into place. You stare at him. Completely stunned. “You’re joking.” He looks back at you, expression calm, too calm. “Mm? No.” The water keeps running between you, steam thick in the air, but now it feels different. Heavier. Sharper. Because you’re still right there. Still wound up. And he just…. stopped.
Your brows pull together, disbelief turning into something else. “You’re seriously leaving right now?” Yunho tilts his head slightly, like he’s considering it. “Won’t be long,” he says casually, like that helps at all. “Maybe.”
You take a step toward him, frustration clear now, your hands coming up to push lightly at his chest. “Yunho.” He doesn’t move. Just looks down at you. There’s a flicker in his eyes, something controlled, something sharp, but it’s gone just as quickly, replaced with that same calm expression.
“Yeah?” he murmurs. Like he doesn’t know exactly what he just did to you. Your mouth opens, then closes, because what are you even supposed to say? Finish what you started? Don’t leave me like this? The words sit right there, but you don’t say them.
A quiet satisfaction settles in Yunho’s chest, slow and steady. His hand comes up, brushing lightly along your arm as he steps past you, easy, unbothered. “Don’t wait up,” he adds, almost teasing, almost. And then he’s gone. The shower door slides open. Steam spills out. And you’re left standing there, breath uneven, body still humming with everything he just started and didn’t finish.
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The next day is… unbearable. Not because anything is wrong. But because nothing is wrong. Yunho is completely normal. Infuriatingly normal. By the time you wake up, he’s already at his setup, headset on, voice low and easy as he talks to chat like he didn’t absolutely wreck your sanity the night before. “nah, that was clean, you just weren’t watching,” he mutters, fingers moving fast across his keyboard, completely focused.
Like he didn’t leave you in the shower, breathless and unfinished, then walked out like it was nothing. Like you didn’t spend the rest of the night tossing and turning, replaying it over and over again. You glare at the back of his head from the doorway. He doesn’t even look back. Just lifts a hand slightly in acknowledgment, still mid game. “Morning.”
You scoff under your breath and turn away, grabbing your stuff. If he wants to act like nothing happened? Fine. You’ll act like nothing happened.
Except you don’t.
Because now you’re sitting across from Wooyoung at a café, iced drink sweating in your hand, and you’re fuming. “I’m serious,” you say, leaning forward, voice low but heated. “He just…. stopped.”
Wooyoung chokes on his drink. “Stopped?”
“Stopped,” you repeat, glaring. “Like, right there. Then had the audacity to say he needed to go play games.” There’s a beat of silence before Wooyoung bursts out laughing. Loud. Head thrown back, completely unhelpful. “Are you kidding me?” he wheezes. “He left you like that for Valorant?”
“Yes!” you snap, kicking lightly at his leg under the table. “And then he acted like nothing happened this morning. Like…. like I imagined it!” Wooyoung wipes at his eyes, still laughing. “Oh, he’s sick for that. That’s actually insane.”
“I hate him,” you mutter.
“You don’t.”
“I do.”
“You don’t,” he repeats, grinning. “But I will say… this is kind of your fault.”
Your eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”
He leans forward, resting his chin in his hand, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “You were literally just talking about how he’s impatient,” he reminds you. “About wanting suspense. Edging. Drama. Torture, I believe were your exact words?”
You freeze. “…no.”
“Oh, yes,” he sings. “And I bet he definitely heard you.”
Your stomach drops. Silence stretches between you and Wooyoung’s grin turns sharp. “Yeah. That makes way more sense now.” Your brain starts connecting dots way too fast. The way Yunho was acting. How controlled he was. How he didn’t rush. “Son of a bitch….”
Wooyoung claps his hands once, delighted. “Ding ding ding!”
You lean back in your chair, dragging a hand over your face. “Oh my god.”
“Oh, he’s gonna ruin you, that man is way too competitive.” Wooyoung adds, far too cheerfully. “This isn’t a one time thing. You know that, right?”
Your grip tightens around your cup. “I’m gonna kill him.”
Wooyoung snorts. “No, you’re not.”
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By the time you get home, the sun’s already dipped low, the apartment dim except for the soft glow of the TV. Yunho is sprawled across the couch like he owns it. One arm thrown over the back, legs stretched out, a half empty drink sitting on the table beside him. The familiar red and blue flicker of a SpiderMan movie plays across his face, shadows shifting over his features. He looks… relaxed. Too relaxed.
Your jaw tightens slightly as you step inside, letting the door click shut behind you. Kicking your shoes off. He glances over. “Hey.”
“Hey,” you echo, setting your bag down by the door. Your eyes linger on him for a second longer than necessary. Watching. Waiting. Looking for something, anything, that gives him away. But he just looks back at the screen. Unbothered.
Your lips press together. Fine. If he wants to play it like that… You can play too. You walk over slowly, footsteps quiet against the floor, stopping right in front of him. He notices, his gaze flicking up briefly, one brow lifting in mild curiosity. But he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move. Just watches as you sink down onto your knees between his legs.
His eyes drop to you, attention snapping fully into place now, the movie forgotten in an instant. You don’t say anything. Just place your hands on his thighs. Dragging them upward, fingers pressing lightly, feeling the warmth of him beneath your touch as your gaze lifts to meet his. His fingers curl against the couch cushion, a small, controlled reaction, but you catch it. You feel it.
“Miss me?” you murmur softly and his eyes darken. “Always,” he replies, voice lower now. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t reach for you. Doesn’t pull you closer. And that’s when you know. This is a game. And he’s still playing it. Your hands press a little firmer, sliding higher, slow enough to be intentional, enough to make a point. To see if he’ll break. To see if he’ll lose that control.
Yunho exhales quietly, his head tipping back just slightly against the couch, eyes closing for half a second before opening again, locking right back onto you as you pull him out of his pants. His gaze stays locked on you as you move, slow, deliberate, like you’re testing him the same way he’s been testing you. There’s a quiet challenge in your eyes, something that almost makes him smile as you wrap your hand around his already hardening dick.
His hand comes up, but instead of guiding, instead of pushing, tangling into your hair, it just settles lightly against the back of the couch. Holding himself back. Letting you do what you want. A soft breath leaves him when you finally close that last bit of space, his head tipping back slightly, eyes falling shut for a second before he forces them open again as you glide your tongue up his length, sucking at the tip before bringing him into your mouth.
His jaw tightens as sensation builds, slow at first, then sharper, more insistent as you hollow your cheeks to take him deeper. His fingers flex against the cushion beneath him, grip tightening just a little, but he doesn’t interrupt you. Doesn’t rush you. If anything, he leans into it. A quiet sound slips from him before he can stop it, low and rough, his head falling back against the couch as he exhales through it.
“Yeah…” he murmurs under his breath, almost like encouragement, almost like he’s talking to himself as you gag. His hand finally moves, not to guide, but to rest lightly at the side of your head, fingers brushing just barely, present, grounding, but not controlling. His breathing grows heavier, uneven now, chest rising and falling a little faster as he lets himself feel it, lets himself react. And you can tell. You can feel it. The way he’s getting closer.
His hand slides from where it rested, fingers brushing lightly along your cheek as he looks back down at you, eyes darker now, heavier, as you look up at him through your lashes. His thumb traces once, slow, along your jaw. “Good girl,” he murmurs softly.
He lets you continue. Lets you keep, gagging, sucking, pulling him closer and closer until his hand shoots up, tangles in your hair and hold you there as he comes. You swallow every drop, moaning around him before pulling back after he lets your hair go, his dick leaving your mouth with a loud, obscene, pop. His gaze drops to you again, darker now, heavier… satisfied in a way that only fuels the tension still sitting between you.
And then…. he stands. Pulls his pants back up. Just like that. Like nothing just happened. You barely have time to react before he’s stepping away, adjusting himself casually, completely unbothered on the surface. “Shit,” he mutters, like something just clicked and your stomach drops. No way. Not again.
He glances toward his phone on the table, already reaching for it. “I almost forgot,” he says, voice calm, too calm. “I told Yeosang and San I’d get drinks with them.”
You stare at him. “You’re kidding.”
Yunho looks back at you, expression steady, unreadable except for the faintest flicker in his eyes. “I won’t be long,” he adds, like that helps. “Maybe.” It doesn’t. Not even a little. Because you’re still right there. Still wound up. Still unfinished. Still have the taste of him on your tongue.
He steps closer again for just a second, just long enough for his hand to come up, fingers brushing lightly along your chin, tilting your face up toward him. Gentle. Almost sweet. Which makes it worse. “Don’t look at me like that,” he murmurs, voice low. “You said you wanted suspense.”
Your breath catches. Because there it is. Confirmation. He did hear you. His thumb brushes once along your lip before he lets go, stepping back again like nothing’s tying him here. “Don’t wait up,” he adds casually, already turning away. And just like that…. He’s gone.
Leaving you exactly where he wants you.
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By the next night, the city feels louder. Brighter. Alive in that way that only makes everything in your body feel sharper. San decided to have his birthday in a club downtown, music pulsing through the floor, lights cutting through the dark in flashes of red and violet, bodies moving, drinks spilling, laughter loud and careless.
You’re already on edge and mot the fun kind. The lingering kind. The kind that hasn’t gone away since the night before. Since the couch. Since him. And it’s your own fault. You wanted suspense. Edge. Now you have it. You stepped out of Yunho’s truck first, heels hitting pavement, adjusting your outfit without thinking, fingers brushing over the curve of your waist, the ties at your hips, the shimmer of the fabric catching the light just right. You knew what you were doing when you picked it.
Yunho’s gaze drags over you, slow, deliberately, savoring, taking in every detail, the way the top frames you, the way the skirt sits low, the subtle movement with every step and his jaw tightens as you glance at him over your shoulder, a small, knowing look before turning and heading towards the entrance.
Inside, the music swallows everything. San’s already surrounded, Wooyoung loud at his side, Yeosang calmer but smiling, drinks already in hand. Someone shouts when they see you both, pulling you into the chaos immediately. But even in the middle of it you feel him. Yunho leans in just enough for his voice to reach your ear, low under the music. “You’re wore that on purpose.”
You tilt your head slightly, just enough for your hair to brush his shoulder. “Did I?” He huffs a quiet breath, something between a laugh and a warning as you turn, finally facing him, stepping just a little closer, close enough that he has to look down at you, close enough that the space between you feels intentional. For a second, his expression is clear, sharp, focused, holding onto that control by a thread. Then it’s gone again. Replaced with that same calm he’s been wearing. But you don’t miss the way his hand comes up. Not grabbing. Just settling at your waist. His thumb presses lightly, once, like a warning shot.
Wooyoung is already watching, eyes wide with interest, leaning into San with a grin. “Oh this is gonna be fun,” he says, barely audible over the music.
Yunho doesn’t take his eyes off you. Not even when Wooyoung orders shots and they are passed around. Not even when San is laughing too loud, Wooyoung already halfway gone, Yeosang shaking his head with a small smile as he lines the glasses up on the table. Because you’re right there. Head tilted back slightly as you laugh at something Wooyoung says, your hand resting on his arm for balance, the lights catching on your skin every time you move.
Yunho exhales slowly through his nose. Focus, he scolds himself. “Birthday boy,” Wooyoung shouts, grabbing San and pulling him closer. “We’re not doing this one at a time, everyone together!” Cheers follow. Glasses are lifted. Yunho finally reaches for his, fingers wrapping around it, but his gaze flicks back to you immediately. Always back to you. You don’t look at him. Which somehow makes it worse. “Alright,” San grins, already leaning into the chaos. “On three…”
“One!”
“Two!”
“Three!”
The burn hits Yunho’s throat, sharp and quick, but he barely registers it, setting the glass down with a quiet clink as the noise around him swells again. Because now you’re finally looking at him as he leans back against the booth, one arm draped along the back, posture loose, relaxed, like he’s unaffected. But inside? Everything is tight. Controlled. Measured.
His gaze drops briefly, just long enough to take you in again, the outfit, the way it moves when you shift, the way you know what you’re doing. A quiet breath leaves him. You wanted to see how long he could last. Called him impatient. Yunho tilts his head slightly, watching as Wooyoung pulls you into another conversation, your laughter spilling out again, easy and bright. His fingers tap once against the table then go still.
Because the truth is he could end this right now. Could pull you away, drag you somewhere quiet, to his truck, give you exactly what your body’s been asking for. It would be easy. Too easy. His tongue presses briefly against the inside of his cheek as his gaze lifts again, locking onto you with something sharper now, something quieter but far more dangerous than anything loud or obvious. Let you laugh. Let you pretend. Let you think you’re in control as he reaches for another shot, lifting it casually.
He keeps watching you. Gaze never straying for too long until, one second he’s leaning back in the booth, drink in hand, watching you like he’s got all the time in the world….. the next, your fingers are wrapping around his wrist. “Dance with me.” It’s not really a request. Yunho’s brows lift slightly, but there’s a flicker in his eyes, interest, anticipation, before he lets you pull him up without a fight.
The dance floor is packed, bodies moving in sync with the heavy bass, lights flashing just enough to blur everything into something hazy and dangerous. You stop in the middle of it, turning to face him, already swaying with the music as he steps in close. His hand finds your waist immediately, firm, grounding, pulling you into him like it’s instinct. Your body presses against his, heat building instantly between you, the music almost irrelevant compared to the tension snapping tight in the space you share.
You tilt your head slightly, looking up at him, breath already uneven as his hand moves. Deliberately slow. Sliding from your waist, down along your hip, slipping just beneath the edge of your skirt like it belongs there and your breath catches. His touch is warm, steady, unhurried… and it sends a sharp pulse straight through you. Yunho watches your reaction closely as he slides his hand up higher, tracing you over your panties. You step closer without thinking, your hands coming up to his shoulders, gripping slightly as your body reacts on instinct.
He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t push. Just lets his hand linger, finger tracing, rubbing circles, moving slowly, higher in a way that feels intentional, controlled, like he’s reminding you he can. Your lips part slightly, your voice dropping as you lean in closer. “How long are you planning on doing this?” you ask, breath brushing his ear. “How long are you gonna keep edging me?”
For a second, he stills. Not because he’s caught off guard. Because he’s savoring it. The fact that you asked. The fact that you’re already thinking about it. His head tilts, lips brushing just barely along your ear as he answers, voice low enough that only you can hear as he slips his finger inside your panties, pressing two of them against your clit and you gasp. “Until you beg for it.” The music pulses around you, loud and chaotic as he slips one of his fingers inside you.
Your hand moves before you can think too hard about it. Sliding down his arm. Fingers wrapping around his wrist. Yunho feels it instantly, his gaze dropping, sharp and focused, watching every movement like it means something. Because it does. You guide him. Clinging to him in the crowd, grinding against his hand….. Your eyes lift to meet his, something stubborn, heated, refusing to give in sitting right there in your expression. “I’m not gonna beg for it,” you murmur.
A slow breath leaves him, his thumb shifting just slightly where you’ve placed him, pressing against your clit, feeling the way your body reacts instantly despite your words. A low, quiet laugh slips from him, barely audible under the music, his head dipping closer until his lips hover near your ear. “You say that now,” he murmurs. His hand moves again, slow, controlled, exactly how he’s been all night, never rushing, never giving you enough to tip over that edge you’ve been stuck on. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”
He stops. Just like that. His hand stills. His fingers slip from you. Your eyes snap to his. “Yunho….” But he’s already stepping back. One step. Two. Out of your space like nothing just happened. Like he didn’t just have you right there again. Your chest rises quickly, the music suddenly feeling louder, heavier, like it’s pressing in on you instead of blending into the background. “You’re kidding,” you breathe.
Yunho just looks at you. Calm. Composed. Completely unfazed on the surface. But there’s that flicker in his eyes, dark, satisfied, knowing. “Not even close,” he says simply. And then he turns, walking away from you like this is nothing more than a break in conversation, weaving through the crowd with the same easy confidence he always has.
Your jaw drops slightly as you watch him go, disbelief mixing fast with frustration. And when he glances back, sees you still standing there, still trying to recover, still visibly affected….. A quiet satisfaction settles in his chest.
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The night air is cooler when you step out of the club. Quieter too. A sharp contrast to the chaos you just left behind, but it doesn’t calm anything in you. If anything, it makes it worse. Because now it’s just you and him. Yunho unlocks the truck with a click, already moving like he’s done with the night, running a hand through his hair as he slides into the driver’s seat. “Fuck, I’m starving,” he mutters, voice rough.
Of course he is. Like he didn’t just spend hours playing with you like it was his favorite game. You don’t answer. Just buckle in, staring ahead while your body still hums with everything he started, and never finished. The drive thru is quick. A pizza, a couple drinks, the exchange of cash and a mumbled thanks before he’s pulling away again, one hand on the wheel, the other already reaching for the box. He flips it open, the smell filling the truck instantly, grabbing a slice like this is the most normal night in the world. Like you’re not sitting right there. Still wound tight.
Yunho takes a bite, chewing, completely unbothered as he starts driving again. And that’s when you decide, enough. If he’s gonna play with you? You can play too. You shift slightly in your seat, subtle at first, like you’re just getting comfortable. Your hand slides down your thigh, slowly, deliberately, disappearing beneath the edge of your skirt. Your breath catches just a little. But you don’t stop. You glance at him from the corner of your eye. He doesn’t notice at first. Still focused on the road, on his food, one hand loosely on the wheel as he takes another bite.
So you move a little more. Just enough. And that’s when he sees it. His gaze flicks over. Then drops. Then snaps right back to your face. “What are you doing?” His voice is lower now. Not casual anymore. You don’t answer right away. Just tilt your head slightly, like you’re thinking about it, like it’s not obvious at all. “Nothing,” you say softly.
Yunho exhales through his nose, grip on the wheel tightening just slightly. “Yeah?” he mutters as he glances again. Longer this time. He sees everything. The way you’ve shifted. The way your breathing isn’t steady. The way your hand is moving now, two of your fingers picking up where he left you hanging earlier. His jaw tightens, tongue pressing briefly against the inside of his cheek as he forces his eyes back to the road.
A quiet, disbelieving laugh slips from him. “Seriously?” he mutters. But there’s something else in it now. Something strained. Because for the first time since this started…. He feels it. That pressure. That distraction. That pull. And you know it. You can feel it in the way his driving isn’t as smooth, the way his hand tightens on the wheel just a little more than necessary.
Yunho exhales slowly, dragging his gaze back to the road again, but this time it lingers for less time before flicking back to you as your head tips back slightly against the seat, breath coming a little less steady now, your movements slower, more deliberate, slipping one of your fingers deeper……
Your lips part, a soft sound slipping out before you can stop it, your voice barely above a whisper as his name falls from your lips, “Yunho…” And for a second…. You think you’ve got him. You feel it. The way his shoulders tense, the way his breath shifts, the way his focus cracks just enough to make you think…. This is it. He’s gonna break. But then…. Yunho just… exhales. Calm. Controlled once again as he reaches over with his free hand, grabs another slice of pizza like this is the most normal thing in the world and takes a bite. Your eyes snap to him. “Are you serious…”
“If you come,” he says, voice low but steady, cutting right through you like a blade, “I’ll drag this out longer.” Everything in you freezes. Instantly. Your breath catches. Your body stills. Yunho doesn’t even look at you again. Just chews, unbothered on the surface, like he didn’t just drop that on you. Like he’s not fully aware of the effect it has.
Then his gaze slides over. Slow. Measured. Meeting yours. And there’s no teasing there. No bluff. Just quiet certainty. A challenge. A promise. “Don’t test me,” he adds softly and the truck fills with silence. Heavy. Charged. Your hand stills completely, your pulse loud in your ears as the weight of his words settles over you.
“Asshole.” You grumble under your breath as you sulk the rest of the ride home.
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A couple days later, Yunho knows exactly what he’s done to you. He can see it in the little things. The way you shift more than usual. The way your patience is thinner. The way your eyes linger on him just a second too long, like you’re waiting for something that never comes. He’s been consistent. That’s the key. Never giving you enough. Never letting you tip over that edge. Just enough to keep you there. Teetering.
Now he’s taking you to his parents’ anniversary party. He adjusts his cuff in the mirror, expression calm, composed, like he’s not fully aware of the tension simmering just behind him. He is of course. He always is. He just doesn’t show it. His gaze flicks to you in the reflection. And for a second, he pauses. Because you look good. Too good. The kind that makes it hard to focus. Little black backless dress…..
His jaw tightens just slightly. “You ready?” he asks, voice even. Like he’s not thinking about making you leave that dress on and bending you over his gaming chair. “Yeah,” you answer. But it’s not steady. A quiet satisfaction settles in his chest as he turns, stepping closer to you, adjusting something small on your outfit, nothing necessary, just an excuse. His fingers brush your side. Light. Brief. But it’s enough.
Your breath catches. There it is. Still right there. Still wound tight. Yunho’s gaze flicks up to yours, something darker settling behind his eyes for just a second before it smooths out again. “You look beautiful.”
You glare at him
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
The party is elegant. Warm lights, soft music, people dressed too nicely to act the way they probably want to. His parents are already surrounded, laughing, greeting guests, completely unaware of the quiet war happening just a few feet away between their eldest son and his girlfriend.
Yunho keeps a hand at your back as you move through the crowd. Polite. Normal. The perfect boyfriend. But every so often his fingers press just a little more firmly against your bare skin. Just enough to remind you he’s there. Just enough to keep you aware. And he can feel it. The way you react. The way your body tenses slightly, the way your breathing shifts, the way you’re trying, failing, to act unaffected.
Yunho leans in slightly as someone passes by, his lips brushing near your ear just enough to send a quiet shiver down your spine. “You okay?” he asks softly. You nod. Too quickly and he hums, like he doesn’t quite believe you. Because he knows. He knows exactly where you are. Right on the edge. And he’s going to keep you there. Just a little longer.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
Yunho notices it before anyone else does. Of course he does. He’s been watching you all night. Not obviously, he’s too controlled for that right now, but in the small ways. The way his hand stays at your back, the way his eyes flick to you between conversations, the way he tracks every little shift in your posture like it matters.
You’re slipping. It happens fast. One of his cousins, he doesn’t even register which one at first, is talking to you, something light, something harmless. Laughing, asking a question, maybe teasing just a little too much. Normally, you’d laugh it off. Play along. Your response comes out sharper than it should. Quick. Snapped. Just enough bite in it to make the cousin blink in surprise. “I don’t care.”
The conversation stutters. Silence flickers for half a second. And Yunho feels it. His head turns immediately, eyes landing on you, sharp and focused. There it is. You didn’t mean to. He knows you didn’t. But you’re wound too tight. Too far gone. His cousin recovers quickly, brushing it off with an awkward laugh, but the moment lingers just enough to be noticeable. And now other people notice too.
Gunho is the first to step in, brows pulling together as he looks between you and his brother. “You good?” he asks, voice softer, a little concerned. Yunho’s dad isn’t far behind, his expression more subtle but still observant, eyes lingering on you for just a second longer than usual. “Everything alright?” he adds, calm but pointed.
Yunho’s jaw tightens. Not at you. At himself. Because he knows exactly why. He’s the reason you’re like this. Days of it. Dragging it out. Keeping you right there on the edge with no release, no break….. And now it’s bleeding into this. Into real life. His hand comes up immediately, settling at your lower back again, firmer this time, grounding, steady. “I got it,” he says smoothly, cutting in before it turns into anything bigger. His tone is easy. Reassuring. The kind that shuts things down without making it a scene.
Gunho studies him for a second, then nods slowly, backing off. His dad does the same, though his gaze lingers just a moment longer, like he knows there’s more there but chooses not to push. The conversation shifts. Moves on. But Yunho doesn’t. His attention stays on you. His hand tightens slightly at your back as he leans in just enough for his voice to reach you, low and quiet, hidden under the hum of the party. “Hey.” His thumb brushes once against your side, grounding, steady in a way he hasn’t been all week. “Easy,” he murmurs.
And for the first time since this started…. there’s a crack in his control. Not in the way you’ve been hoping. But in something else. Because now he sees it. Not just the game. Not just the tension. But what it’s doing to you. And suddenly…. he’s not as relaxed about it anymore.
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The next day feels slower. Dragging. Like every hour is stretched out just to spite you. You’re slumped in your seat across from Wooyoung, iced drink barely touched, sunglasses pushed up on your head as you stare at nothing in particular. Wooyoung, meanwhile, is fully locked in. Watching you. Waiting. Because you’ve been quiet for a suspicious amount of time. “Okay,” he finally says, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “You’re either about to confess a crime or lose your mind. Which one is it?”
You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “I’m actually gonna kill him.” Wooyoung lights up instantly. “Oh, we’re back to this. Good. I was getting bored.”
You glare at him. “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” he grins. “Tell me everything.” You exhale sharply, leaning back in your chair, arms crossing like that’ll somehow hold you together. “I’ve been snapping at people,” you admit. “Like…. actually snapping. I snapped at his cousin yesterday. His cousin, Woo.”
Wooyoung winces. “Yikes.”
“Exactly. And it’s not even because I’m mad at them,” you add, frustrated. “It’s because of him.”
Wooyoung’s grin turns sharp. “Oh, I know it is.”
You shoot him a look before continuing, voice dropping slightly. “He won’t even let me take care of it myself,” you mutter. “Like…. nothing. Every time I get close, he stops it. Or threatens to drag it out longer.” Wooyoung blinks…. then slowly leans back in his chair, impressed. “That’s actually insane.”
“It gets worse,” you say flatly.
His eyes light up. “Oh, I love when you say that.”
You sigh, shaking your head. “I tried to flip it on him,” you admit. “The other day. Thought if I just…. handled him first, he’d give in after.” Wooyoung leans forward again immediately. “And?” You give him a look. “And nothing,” you snap. “He let me suck his dick, swallow and then sat there, let it happen, finished, and then walked away like it didn’t mean anything.”
Wooyoung’s jaw drops. “No way.”
“Yes way,” you say, throwing your hands up as Wooyoung lets out a slow whistle. “Oh, he’s committed committed.”
“I hate him,” you mutter again, sinking lower in your seat.
“You don’t,” Wooyoung replies immediately.
“I do.”
“You don’t,” he repeats, pointing at you. “You love him. You’re just frustrated.”
You glare at him and he grins wider. “Also,” he adds, clearly enjoying himself, “you did say you wanted suspense, drama, torture…”
“Stop saying that,” you cut in, horrified.
“I’m just quoting you!” he laughs as you groan again, dropping your head back. “So what are you gonna do?” You go quiet. Because that’s the problem. You don’t know. Your fingers tap against your cup, restless, your mind already spiraling through every moment of the last few days, the shower, the couch, the car, the club… The way he keeps stopping. The way he looks at you when he does it.
Your jaw tightens. “I’m not begging,” you say finally and Wooyoung raises a brow. “Mm.”
“I’m not,” you repeat, more firmly as he takes a slow sip of his drink, watching you over the rim like he already knows how this ends. “Sure,” he says lightly and you narrow your eyes at him. But you don’t argue. Because deep down…..
You’re not as confident as you sound.
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The apartment is quiet when you get home. Too quiet. Until you hear it. The faint click of keys. The low murmur of his voice through his headset. Yunho is exactly where you expected him to be, at his setup, hoodie on, headset resting over his hair, eyes focused on the monitor. “Left side, left side…. yeah, I see him,” he mutters, fingers moving fast, controlled. Composed. Like he didn’t just spend the last week systematically dismantling your sanity.
He hears the door open. But he doesn’t turn right away. Finishes the round first. Wins it. Then finally leans back slightly, pushing the mic up just enough to glance over his shoulder. “You’re back.” You don’t answer immediately. Just stand there for a second. Watching him. Watching how unaffected he looks. Yunho feels it. That stare. He doesn’t show it, but he feels the weight of it on his back.
He swivels his chair just enough to fully face you, one brow lifting slightly. “What?” he asks and your jaw tightens just a little. “Nothing.” He studies you. Really studies you. He notices the tension in your shoulders. The way you’re standing just a little too stiff. The way your lips press together like you’re holding something back. He pulls the headset off completely now, resting it around his neck. Game still open. Chat still probably spamming. He doesn’t care. “Long day?” he asks.
It sounds innocent. Concerned, even. And that almost makes it worse. You step further into the room, dropping your bag a little harder than necessary and his eyes track the movement as he stands slowly. He crosses the room in a few easy steps, stopping in front of you, not touching yet, but close enough that you feel him. “You okay?” he asks quietly.
Your breath shifts slightly and he tilts his head just a little, gaze dropping briefly before returning to your face. “You look tense,” he murmurs. Then, almost teasing…. “Still not begging?” And he watches your reaction like it’s the final boss fight of a game he’s been waiting to finish.
You don’t answer. Not right away. You just look at him, like you’ve finally decided something. And then your hand moves. Sliding down between you, slipping beneath the waistband of his sweats like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Yunho freezes. Not outwardly. But inside? Everything locks.
His breath catches just slightly, his body going still under your touch, not pulling away, not stopping you, but very aware now. Very focused. Your gaze stays on his as you lean in just enough, voice low, steady despite everything. “New game.” His jaw tightens. Because he already knows this isn’t going to be simple as you tilt your head slightly, fingers shifting just enough to make your point clear, testing, deliberate, confident in a way you haven’t been all week.
“I’m not begging,” you say and his eyes darken. Of course you’re not. You wouldn’t make it easy. A slow breath leaves him, his hands hovering at your sides like he’s deciding whether to stop you or not. “So,” you continue softly, leaning just a little closer, “if you come…” Your lips curve faintly. “we both keep dragging this out.” Yunho exhales. Clenches his jaw tighter. Now it’s not just your edge on the line. It’s his. “And if you can hold out…” you add, quieter now, your voice brushing against him like a challenge. “I’ll beg.”
Yunho stares at you for a long second. Then another. And something shifts. His tongue presses briefly against the inside of his cheek, eyes flicking down, then back up to yours, something sharper settling in them. “You sure about that?” he murmurs. “Alright,” he says finally. And his hands come down to your hips, firm this time. Grounding. Accepting. “Your game now.”
You step away from him slowly. Your hands move with intention, peeling layers of your clothes away one at a time, never breaking eye contact for long. Every movement is measured, like you’re giving him a show you know he won’t interrupt. His arms cross briefly over his chest like he’s trying to contain himself, but it doesn’t last. His hands drop again, fingers flexing at his sides, restless now. This is different. This isn’t him controlling the pace. This is you setting it.
You take a step back. Then another. Leading him without touching him. Toward the bedroom. And he follows. Of course he does. Slow at first. Then quicker. Like something’s pulling him forward whether he wants it to or not. His eyes don’t leave you. Not once. “Yunho,” you murmur softly as you reach the edge of the bed, turning slightly, your voice just enough to pull him in further. You’re completely naked now.
Your head tilts, a faint, knowing smile tugging at your lips as you take him in, the way he’s standing there, trying to look composed, trying to hold onto that control he’s been so proud of. You see through it and step closer, voice dropping softer now, teasing, but edged with something more certain. “You look calm…” Your fingers brush lightly against his chest, trailing just enough to feel the tension there beneath his skin. “but we both know…” His hand twitches at his side as your gaze lifts to meet his, steady, confident, unshaken. “once you’re inside me…”
His composure falters for a fraction of a second, breath hitching, eyes darkening in a way he can’t fully hide now. And you see it. Victory flickers. “you won’t be able to hold back.” Yunho stares at you for a long second. Then another. His control is still there. But it’s strained now. His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek, a quiet breath leaving him as his hand finally lifts, fingers brushing your waist, slower than usual, like he’s reminding himself to keep that control.
You bite your bottom lip, stepping back and he doesn’t look away. Not once. Not as you move. Not as you climb onto the bed, slow and deliberately, like you want him to watch, like that’s part of the game now. Because it is. His chest rises slowly, a controlled inhale that doesn’t quite settle the way he wants it to. You’re right there. Completely bare. Completely unapologetic about it. And it hits him harder than he expected.
Yunho swallows once, his gaze dragging over you, slower now, not even trying to hide it. His hands move to himself, starting to strip away his own layers, no rush, no hesitation, just steady, like he’s trying to match the pace you set. But there’s tension in it. In the way his fingers flex slightly. In the way his jaw tightens. His hoodie comes off first, tossed aside without thought, his eyes never leaving you for more than a second. His focus snaps right back, locked in like you’re the only thing in the room that matters.
You shift on the bed as he steps closer, slower than usual, like every step is measured, like he’s trying to keep himself grounded as the distance between you disappears. He stops at the edge of the bed. Close enough now that he can see every detail, every small movement, every reaction you’re not even trying to hide anymore. His hands come to rest briefly at his hips, pausing there like he’s giving himself one last second as he stares at the way your nipples are hardening…..
He yanks his pants down, kicking them and his boxers off his ankles and he feels it the second the mattress dips. The moment he climbs onto the bed with you, everything narrows, his focus, his breathing, the space between you. His hands press into the mattress on either side of you as he leans over, hovering for a second like he’s deciding how close to get, how much control he still has left to work with. Not much. Not anymore.
You don’t give him time to think. Your hand reaches out, wrapping around him with quiet confidence, his dick hard already, twitching in your hand. And it hits him instantly. A sharp moan cuts through the space between you, his head dipping slightly, eyes falling shut for half a second before snapping open again, locking onto you.
There it is. That crack. Your voice is soft, teasing, but there’s something stronger underneath it now. Certainty. “You really think you can hold out, baby?” His hands flex against the sheets, fingers tightening as he looks down at you, something darker settling behind his eyes now, something less restrained. “You talk a lot,” he murmurs, voice rougher than it’s been all night.
But there’s no bite to it. No real warning. Because he’s feeling it. Every second. Every movement. His jaw tightens, breath catching again as he watches you, fully focused now, fully present in the moment he’s been dragging out all week. But it’s different now. Because now he’s in it too. Now he’s the one on the edge. His hand finally moves, coming to your waist, gripping just a little tighter than before, like he needs something to ground himself.
He lets you guide him. That’s the first mistake. The second is not stopping you when you pull him closer, when the space between you disappears completely, when the heat of you hits him all at once, sharper than anything he’s been dealing with the past few days. His breath catches. A low sound leaves him before he can stop it, his head dipping forward, forehead almost brushing yours as his eyes squeeze shut for half a second as you grip his dick, stroking slowly….
“Shit…” he breathes, voice rough, uneven. His grip tightens again, grounding himself against you like it’s the only thing keeping him steady, his breathing already heavier, already losing that slow, controlled rhythm he’s been holding onto. His head tilts, eyes opening just enough to look at you, really look at you, and whatever he sees there makes something in his chest snap tighter. Because you’re right there too. On the edge. Just like him.
Then you move. Wrap yourself around him. Sit in his lap, legs wrapped around his waist. His dick positioned to glide, slip, between your folds. You start grinding, chasing, slow at first, then more deliberate, more focused. It hits him hard. Harder than anything else has. His grip tightens on your hips, fingers pressing in like he needs something solid to hold onto, something to ground himself as his breathing starts to break apart completely.
A low, strained sound leaves him, his head dipping forward, eyes squeezing shut as he tries to hold onto what little control he has left. But it’s slipping. Fast. His chest rises sharply, uneven, his body reacting despite himself, despite the game, despite everything he’s been so sure about up until now. He’s right there too. Right on the brink.
You stop. Just like that. Your hand loosens. The movement halts. The tension snaps tight instead of breaking. Yunho’s eyes fly open. A sharp breath leaves him, almost a groan, his whole body going still for a second like he doesn’t quite process what just happened. Like his brain is catching up too slowly. Because he was there. So close. His grip on you tightens instinctively, like he’s trying to pull you back into it, like his body hasn’t caught up to the fact that it’s over.
“You….” his voice comes out rough, strained, completely unlike the calm control he had before. He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, frustration flashing across his face for the first time since this started. His hand comes up fast, gripping you, pulling you back into him before you can even react. His mouth crashes into yours, rough, desperate, all that control he’s been holding onto finally shattering.
The kiss isn’t slow. Isn’t measured. It’s everything he’s been holding back for days, poured straight into you, his hand tightening at your waist as he drags you closer, like he can’t get you close enough, like distance isn’t something he can tolerate anymore. You gasp into him, and he takes advantage of it instantly, deepening the kiss, swallowing every sound, every breath. “Yeah…” he breathes against your lips, voice wrecked now, nothing calm left in it. “Thought you were slick, huh?”
His hands slide down, gripping you firmly before lifting you up again, pulling you with him like it’s instinct. You wrap around him just as quickly as before, your legs locking around his waist, your hands gripping his shoulders as he steadies you. A sharp breath leaves him, his head dropping forward, forehead pressing briefly against yours as his grip tightens, like he’s trying to hold himself together as his dick twitches against you, aching.
But it’s too late. He’s already gone. His breathing is uneven now, his chest rising and falling against yours, every bit of that restraint he had before burned away in seconds. His lips find yours again, not as rough this time, but deeper, more consuming, like he’s trying to make up for everything all at once.
Your hips shift against him, teasing, dragging that contact out just enough to make both of you feel it again, feel everything he’s been trying to hold back, everything you’ve been building for days. Yunho’s head drops forward, his grip on you tightening instantly, fingers pressing into your skin as a low, frustrated sound leaves him…..
Your back hits the mattress, breath catching as he follows immediately, hovering over you, chest rising and falling unevenly, eyes dark and locked onto yours. His hand moves, dragging slowly down your stomach, grounding himself in it, trying to steady his breathing, his thoughts, anything that’ll keep him from tipping over too soon. Because he knows how close he is.
His other hand shifts, gripping himself briefly, more out of instinct than anything, jaw tightening as he exhales slowly through his nose. His gaze flicks back up to you, watching every reaction, every breath, every small movement like it’s information he needs to win this. Pull out when it gets too close. That’s the plan. “You think you’ve got me?” he murmurs, voice low, rough, but steadier than before, like he’s forcing it back into place.
His hand tightens slightly where it rests, his body hovering just enough above yours to keep that tension stretched, not breaking it, refusing to give you what you want just yet. Because he won’t lose. Not after everything. His forehead dips briefly toward yours, breath brushing your lips, his voice dropping quieter, more dangerous. “Not happening.”
He sinks into you slow and everything in him fractures. Enough to drag a sharp broken moan from his chest, his entire body tensing as your reaction hits him just as hard, your grip tightening, your body responding instantly, pulling him in deeper without thinking. “Fuck…” it slips out, quiet but wrecked, your walls clenching him.
His head drops forward, forehead pressing against yours as his hands tighten at your sides, grounding himself, trying, failing, to steady his breathing. Because he wasn’t ready for that. For how it would feel. For how quickly it would hit. All that control he was so sure about? Gone. His jaw tightens, a strained exhale leaving him as he tries to hold still for a second, just a second, to get himself back under control.
But your body reacts again, shifting, pulling him deeper into it, and that thought disappears almost instantly as you start to repeatedly clench him, over and over again. His breath stutters. “Don’t…” But you don’t listen. You do it again. Clenching him longer, holding and moaning…..
His hand comes up, quick but not rough, fingers wrapping around your throat, not squeezing, not hurting, just enough to ground you, to stop you. To stop himself. “Stop…” he breathes, voice low, strained, nothing like the calm control he had before. His grip tightening just slightly, not as a threat, but as a warning. “Or I’m gonna make this hard for both of us.”
You just look at him. Eyes bright. Breath uneven. And then you smile. A slow, knowing grin that sends something sharp through his chest. And you do it again. “Yeah… you’re done,” he mutters, voice rough, completely gone now. Because he tried. He really did. His hand stays where it is, grounding, steady against your throat. And then he moves. Slow at first. Measured. Like he’s trying to hold onto something, anything, that resembles control. But it doesn’t last.
Because the second he finds that rhythm, the second your body reacts to it, pulling him in, matching him, it hits him all over again. Harder this time. A strained breath leaves him, his head dipping, forehead brushing yours as his pace starts to build without him even realizing it. Faster. Deeper. Less controlled. Dick pounding into you. His grip tightens at your waist, at your throat.
Your hands come up instinctively, finding his wrist, holding onto him as if that’s the only steady thing in the room. And it only pushes him further. A low, broken sound leaves him, his composure completely gone now, every movement less calculated, more driven, reactive instead of controlled. His rhythm falters for a second, then picks up again, stronger, like he’s chasing something he can’t quite catch, like he’s trying to outrun the edge that’s been creeping up on him since the moment this started.
The second he feels how close you are, how your body reacts, how your grip tightens around him, how your breathing breaks apart, something in him snaps completely. His movements turn even sharper. A rough breath leaves him, his head dropping forward, his hand still anchoring you, keeping you right there with him as everything spirals. “Yeah… I feel it,” he mutters, voice wrecked, uneven.
His grip tightens, his rhythm faltering for half a second again before picking up again, obscene skin in skin echoing as your hands tighten around him, holding onto him like you need it, like you’re both caught in the same pull now, no control left on either side. Yunho exhales sharply, his composure completely gone, every movement driven by instinct now, by feeling instead of thought.
Your body starts tightening, your breath breaking, the way you cling to him like you’re right there, finally about to fall after everything he’s dragged you through. And it hits him just as hard. A sharp, wrecked sound leaves him, his grip tightening as everything in him surges forward….
He pulls away at the last possible second, his chest heaving as the space between you suddenly feels too big, too cold, too wrong after everything that just built. Your body reacts instantly, the loss hitting just as hard as the tension did, leaving you right there on the edge again.
He drags a hand through his hair, breathing uneven, eyes squeezed shut for a second like he’s trying to get himself back under control. His gaze drops back to you, dark, heavy, still completely affected, still very close himself. A slow, almost disbelieving breath leaves him as he looks at you, something sharp flickering in his expression, frustration, determination, something a little unhinged. “Told you,” he mutters, voice low, still uneven. “I’m not losing.”
You see it. The proof. The way his body reacts, the way he’s barely holding it together, how close he actually was. His dick leaking precum, twitching up against his lower stomach. Your breath shakes as you look back up at him, your pride finally cracking under the weight of it. Because you lost. And you feel it. And you don’t care anymore. Your hands come up, gripping him, not teasing this time, not challenging, just holding onto him like you need it, like you can’t take another second of this.
“Yunho…” your voice comes out softer now. Not defiant. Not playful. Bare. Your forehead presses against his, your breath uneven as you finally give in, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “Baby….. Please…” His body goes still for a second. Just one. Because that’s it. That’s what he was waiting for. His name falls from your lips again, more desperate this time, your grip tightening as you look at him, no more games left in your expression. “I can’t…” you breathe, shaking your head slightly. “I can’t take it anymore… please.”
Yunho exhales sharply. Like something in him finally unlocks. His hand comes up, cupping your face this time, not controlling, not stopping, just holding you there, his thumb brushing along your cheek as his eyes lock onto yours. And there’s no control left in them now. None. “Yeah…” he murmurs, voice rough, completely gone. “Say it….”
Your forehead presses into his more, breath uneven, everything in you finally giving in. “Please… let me come.”
Yunho breaks.
There’s no hesitation this time, no pulling back, no slowing down, no control left to grab onto. The second you say it, his hands tighten on you, pulling you closer. Dragging you back down and sinking back into you as quickly as he can. Your body reacts instantly, the tension that’s been building for days finally snapping, your breath catching, breaking as it all hits you at once, harder, stronger, more overwhelming than anything before as he just starts pounding, chasing your orgasms for both of you.
It’s too much. In the best way. Your hands clutch at him, holding on like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded as everything finally gives, your body giving in completely after being held right at that edge for so long. Yunho feels it. Feels you break. Groans, whimpers when you come, squirting and legs shaking.
And it drags him under with you. A low, broken sound leaves him, his grip tightening, his forehead dropping to yours again as he finally lets himself go too, no control, no restraint, just feeling as he feels you as full as he can and everything slows for a second. Just your breathing and his.
He stays there, close, not moving away, dick still half hard and buried inside you, like neither of you is ready to let the moment go yet. His hand comes up again, softer now, brushing along your face as he exhales slowly, trying to come back down from it.
His face drops into the crook of your neck, breath still uneven, warm against your skin as he exhales slowly. And then a quiet huff of a laugh leaves him, low and tired, but satisfied.
“And you thought I had no patience.” His voice is rough, softened by the way he’s pressed against you, words barely more than a murmur against your skin as you roll your eyes and call him an ass but still tell him you love him.
Because yeah, he won.
But so did you.
And for once, he’s not in a hurry to prove anything else.
The airport was loud in that constant, humming way that never really stopped. Rolling suitcases, boarding announcements echoing through speakers, the low murmur of travelers shuffling from line to line.
Ateez stood near the gate in a loose cluster, passports in hand, joking with each other while staff organized the final boarding order. Behind them, a few steps back with the other stylists and managers, you stood quietly with your arms folded, trying very hard to look normal. Which would have been a lot easier if Yunho wasn’t standing right there.
He was only a few feet ahead of you, tall enough that you could easily see over the shoulder of one of the managers to the broad line of his back. And unfortunately…. your brain had a very clear memory of that back. Just a few hours ago. Your fingers tightened around your boarding pass.
Because just hours earlier, you had been in his bedroom, tangled in his sheets, breathless and gasping as you clung to his shoulders while you rode him, him gripping your waist as he pounded up into you….
Your face heated at the memory and you forced your eyes away from him. Unfortunately, they drifted right back. Because the man had the audacity to be wearing that black Diesel top again. The loose knit fabric stretched over his shoulders in a way that should honestly be illegal. The open weave showed just enough skin underneath to make your stomach twist. And then there were the grey sweatpants. Those cursed, sinful grey sweatpants. The same ones the members constantly joked about.
The same ones Wooyoung had once loudly announced during rehearsal that Yunho “definitely does not wear underwear with.” You pressed your lips together. Do not look. Do not…. Your eyes dropped anyway. You were only human. Unfortunately, the fit of the sweats made it very obvious that Wooyoung’s theory, along with many atiny, were absolutely correct.
You swallowed and quickly looked away again, pretending to check your phone. Up ahead, San was saying something animated, gesturing wildly with his hands while Jongho and Mingi laughed beside him. Yunho chuckled softly, the sound low and warm.
Your heart flipped. Because you knew exactly what that laugh sounded like when it was pressed right against your ear as he praised, edged…..
“Try not to stare so obviously.” The voice beside you was quiet. You stiffened and slowly turned your head and met Yeosang’s gaze. He was looking straight ahead toward the members, completely calm. Except the faint smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. You blinked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Yeosang hummed. “Interesting,” he murmured. “Because I’m pretty sure you had the same expression on your face this morning when I walked past Yunho’s bedroom and heard him say….”
You elbowed him. Hard and he choked back a laugh, covering it with a cough. “Relax,” he said under his breath. “Your secret is safe.” Your eyes widened slightly. “You know?”
“Unfortunately for you,” he said mildly, “I have ears.”
Your face burned. Ahead of you, the boarding line began to move. Staff motioned everyone forward. The members started filing toward the jet bridge. And right in the middle of them, Yunho shifted slightly. Just enough that you could see his profile.
His hair was still a little damp from the shower he’d taken before leaving his apartment. Your chest tightened. As if sensing your gaze, he turned his head slightly. Your eyes met. For half a second. His expression didn’t change. Not in front of everyone. But his gaze slowly dropped… and then slid right back up to your face again. A quiet reminder that he remembered this morning too.
Your stomach flipped as Yeosang leaned closer to murmur quietly as he walked past you, “You two are not surviving an eleven hour flight behaving like that.”
You exhaled slowly. Unfortunately… he was probably right. The airport noise faded into the more enclosed echo of the boarding tunnel, the air cooler, quieter except for the rolling wheels of carry ons. The members walked ahead of you, relaxed and joking like always.
Yunho was near the middle of them, tall enough that he stood out easily above the others with Mingi. You stepped onto the plane behind the group, greeting the flight attendant politely as everyone filtered into the cabin. The members started finding their seats near the center rows, tossing bags into overhead bins, still talking over each other.
“San, that’s my seat.”
“No it’s not, check the number.”
“Move, you’re blocking the aisle.”
You adjusted the strap of your bag and started down the aisle toward your row. And unfortunately… you had to pass right by Yunho. He had already dropped into his seat beside Jongho, one long leg stretched slightly into the aisle while he scrolled through his phone. As you approached, he looked up. And immediately froze.
For just a second. His eyes slid slowly over you as you walked past. The fitted black pants you were wearing. The oversized blazer you had thrown on over your tank top before the flight. And then… your hips as you moved down the aisle. You didn’t miss the way his jaw shifted. Or the way he bit down on his bottom lip.
Your stomach flipped as you kept walking, trying very hard to act like you hadn’t noticed. Behind you, you heard Jongho snort. “Bro.” Yunho didn’t answer. “Yunho.” Still silence. Then Jongho leaned slightly closer, voice low but not nearly low enough. “You gonna stop staring at the stylist’s ass or do you want everyone on the plane to notice?”
Your heart nearly stopped as you forced yourself to keep walking like you hadn’t heard a word. Behind you, Yunho let out a quiet breath. “Shut up,” he muttered and Jongho laughed softly.
You reached your row and slipped into your seat, sliding your bag under the chair in front of you. Your fingers tightened slightly around the armrest as you could hear Yunho shift in his seat. “Relax,” he said lazily. “I’m just looking.” And Jongho laughed again. “Sure you are.”
You stared forward, trying to calm your racing heart until a few seconds later… You felt it. That same familiar sensation. Like someone’s gaze was pressing against the back of your neck. Slowly, carefully, you glanced toward the window. Just enough to see behind you. And there he was. Leaning back in his seat. Eyes locked on you. Completely unapologetic.
Your breath caught as he tilted his head slightly. The same look he had given you earlier at the gate. The one that meant he was thinking about things he absolutely should not be thinking about right now. And judging by the way his tongue briefly brushed across his lip… You had a feeling he was remembering exactly what happened this morning again.
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A couple hours into the flight, the cabin had settled into that quiet, half asleep rhythm long flights always slipped into. Most of the overhead lights were dimmed. A few staff had their reading lamps on, soft circles of light glowing over open books or laptop screens. The low, constant hum of the engines filled the space like white noise.
Somewhere a few rows ahead, Wooyoung and San were whispering about a movie they were watching, trying and failing to keep their laughter quiet. Yunho sat slouched slightly in his seat, one arm resting on the armrest, long legs stretched just enough to avoid bumping Mingi’s seat in front of him. Jongho sat beside him with headphones on, half watching something on the small screen in front of him.
Yunho, however, wasn’t watching anything. His eyes kept drifting forward. Your row sat three ahead, slightly across the aisle. From where he was, he could see the top of your head just barely over the seatback when you shifted. He shouldn’t be looking. He knew that. But every time you moved even a little, his attention snapped right back.
A quiet ding sounded as the seatbelt sign flickered on again briefly. You stood from your seat a moment later, stretching slightly before making your way toward the back of the plane. Yunho noticed immediately. Of course he did. His gaze followed you down the aisle as you passed his row, though he tried to keep it subtle.
Jongho didn’t even look up this time. “You’re staring at her ass again,” he muttered, still watching his screen but Yunho ignored him. Several minutes passed before the restroom door clicked open toward the back of the cabin. And then you stepped out. You smoothed your blazer absently as you started back down the aisle.
The dim cabin lights caught the shine of your hair as you walked, your expression calm and relaxed like nothing in the world could possibly be going on in your head. Yunho’s gaze locked on you instantly again. He straightened slightly in his seat without realizing it. Across the aisle, a few rows up, Seonghwa glanced up from his phone as movement caught his attention.
And then his eyes landed on you and Yunho definitely noticed that too. His jaw tightened almost immediately as Seonghwa’s gaze followed you as you walked past him, slow and curious in the way someone looks when they suddenly notice something they hadn’t before. Not inappropriate. But definitely… appreciative.
Yunho’s fingers curled slightly against the armrest as you continued down the aisle, unaware of the two sets of eyes watching you. When you reached Yunho and Jongho’s row, you slowed slightly to slip past Hongjoong adjusting his bag in the aisle. That meant you were standing almost right beside Yunho. Close enough that he could smell the faint scent of your perfume that was always lingering on himself as well lately.
Close enough that he could see the small crease of concentration between your brows as you waited. Your eyes flicked down toward him for the briefest second. And Yunho felt his pulse kick. Your expression stayed perfectly neutral. Professional. But the corner of your mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. Then you continued forward toward your seat.
Yunho’s eyes followed you and beside him, Jongho sighed dramatically. “You’re doing it again. And not subtly at all.” Yunho didn’t look away. “Doing what?”
“Staring.”
Yunho finally leaned back again, dragging a hand slowly over his face. Across the aisle, Seonghwa’s gaze lingered toward your row for another second before he returned to his phone. Yunho noticed that too. And something low and possessive twisted quietly in his chest.
Jongho glanced sideways at him. “Why do you look pissed?” Yunho let out a slow breath. “Nothing.” But his eyes drifted forward again anyway. Toward your seat. And the more he thought about it… the more he didn’t like the idea of anyone else looking at you that way.
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Several hours later, the cabin had grown even quieter. Most of the lights were dimmed even more now, leaving the plane bathed in a soft blue glow from the overhead panels and the occasional screen still playing a movie. A few slept with their heads against the windows. Others shifted under blankets, headphones on, lost in their own worlds. Mingi was snoring lowly and Hongjoong would have slipped into the isle of Seonghwa had pulled him back into his seat.
The steady hum of the engines had become almost hypnotic. But Yunho wasn’t sleeping. Not even close. He leaned back in his seat, arms folded loosely across his chest, staring up at the dark ceiling of the cabin. Jongho beside him had long since fallen asleep, his head tilted slightly to the side, breathing slow and steady. Yunho envied him. Because every time Yunho closed his eyes…
His brain dragged him right back to that morning. The memory hit him in flashes. Your moans in his bedroom. The soft morning light spilling through the curtains. The way your hair had fallen while you leaned over him, breath uneven, eyes locked with his as you moved against him, clenching him, his dick buried deep…..
His jaw tightened slightly as he scrubbed a hand over his face. It had been four months of stolen moments. Four months of quiet kisses and sex behind closed doors. Four months of pretending like you weren’t his when you did his hair and makeup. And today had been the worst yet. Because that morning had been rushed.
Neither of you had wanted to stop. But you both had to catch the flight. He could still hear the way you had laughed breathlessly when he tried to pull you back onto the bed. He exhaled slowly. Now here you were. On the same plane. Only a few rows away. Close enough that he could walk there in ten seconds. But far enough that he couldn’t touch you. And that was starting to drive him insane.
Up ahead, you shifted slightly in your seat. You weren’t sleeping either. Not even remotely. Your arms were folded loosely across your stomach as you stared blankly at the screen in front of you, though the movie had clearly been playing for a while without your attention.
Behind you, Yunho leaned forward slightly in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes drifted toward your row again. And sure enough… you shifted again. Like you were just as restless as he was.
Yunho exhaled slowly through his nose. Yeah. You definitely were. Because after four months together, he knew exactly what that meant. His gaze dropped briefly before lifting again. And then you stood up.
Yunho straightened slightly as you stepped into the aisle, smoothing your blazer absently before turning toward the back of the plane again. This time… your eyes flicked toward him. Just for a second. And Yunho felt that look straight in his chest.
Not subtle.
Not accidental.
The corner of your mouth twitched ever so slightly. Then you turned and started walking toward the rear of the cabin again. Yunho stared after you as Jongho stirred slightly beside him but didn’t wake. The restroom light at the back of the plane flicked on. And suddenly…. Yunho wasn’t even pretending he was going to sleep anymore.
He sat still for another minute after you disappeared inside the restroom. His eyes remained fixed on the aisle. The restroom light back there was still on. He exhaled slowly through his nose before he shifted forward in his seat, glancing sideways at Jongho. Still asleep. Good.
Yunho stood and stretched casually, like someone just getting up after sitting too long. Totally normal. Completely casual. Then he stepped into the aisle and started walking toward the back of the plane. He didn’t rush. Didn’t look around. Just walked. Most of the cabin was asleep anyway.
Or at least… that’s what he thought. Because as he passed a row near the middle of the plane…. two sets of eyes were very much open. San sat slouched in his seat, one earbud dangling from his ear while he scrolled lazily through his phone. Beside him, Wooyoung was watching the aisle with the kind of attention that meant he had absolutely not been sleeping.
The moment Yunho walked past them, Wooyoung’s eyebrows shot up. He leaned slightly toward San, whispering with a huge grin spreading across his face. “I told you.” San glanced up from his phone just in time to see Yunho continue down the aisle toward the back. Realization dawned slowly across his face. “….. no way…”
Wooyoung sat up a little straighter, trying very hard to contain his laughter. “Oh yeah,” he whispered. “You owe me.” San blinked at him, groaning. “Oh, come on,”
Wooyoung nodded proudly. “Pay up, baby.”
Yunho was now standing right outside the restroom. His hand rested lightly against the door for a second. Then he knocked softly and the door opened almost immediately. And before anyone else in the cabin could possibly notice, he slipped inside.
You were leaning back against the wall beside the sink, arms folded, trying to pretend you were calm. You weren’t. Not even a little. The second the door clicked shut, your eyes met his. That invisible tension that had been building for hours finally snapped.
Yunho crossed the space in one step. Your hands grabbed the front of his shirt at the exact same moment his hands found your waist. And then you were kissing him. Not slow. Not careful. The kind of kiss that came from hours of restraint finally breaking.
His back hit the door as you pulled him down toward you, and Yunho let out a quiet breath against your mouth like he’d been holding it the entire flight. “God,” he muttered softly between kisses as his hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer until there wasn’t even an inch of space left between you.
Your fingers slid up into his hair, tugging lightly at the strands and Yunho groaned quietly into the kiss, his forehead dropping against yours for a second as he tried to breathe. “I need you,” he murmured.
You laughed softly, breathless. “I noticed.” Your eyes flicked up to his. The heat in his gaze made your stomach tighten. “That look you gave me before you walked back here…” Your lips brushed his again. “Maybe I just needed a minute,” you whispered, teasing him.
He huffed out a quiet laugh. “Sure you did.”
Your hands slid down his chest, fingers brushing over the soft knit fabric of his top. “You weren’t exactly behaving either,” you said.
Yunho raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?”
“You kept staring.”
He didn’t even try to deny it. Instead, his hands tightened slightly on your waist, pulling you closer again. “Can you blame me?” Your heart skipped. “You’re the one who left my apartment like that this morning after riding me like you were trying to get first place in a Kentucky Derby.” he murmured.
His forehead leaned lightly against yours again. “You know how hard it was sitting back there knowing you were only a few rows away?” Your breath caught slightly. Because honestly… You had been thinking the exact same thing. Your fingers curled lightly in his shirt. “Yunho…”
His hands slid up your back slowly, stopping just beneath your shoulder blades as he pulled you closer again but before he could do much else, you turned him, guiding him backward until his hips bumped lightly against the small counter beneath the sink. He blinked down at you, surprised as your hands slid down his sides before he could finish the sentence.
Then one of them moved lower and Yunho inhaled sharply. Because your palm pressed firmly against the front of his grey sweatpants, right on the bulge there, him already halfway hard. “You do this on purpose,” you murmured.
Yunho’s head tipped back slightly against the wall behind him, a quiet breath escaping him as your hand remained exactly where it was. “Do what?” he asked, voice lower now as your fingers flexed slightly against the soft fabric. “These,” you said, glancing down briefly before meeting his eyes again. “You know exactly what you’re doing wearing them.”
Yunho huffed out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh as your hand pressed just slightly again, testing and his jaw tightened as your hand shifted again slightly against the fabric, slow and deliberate, rubbing him now.
Yunho closed his eyes briefly. The space was so small that every little movement between you felt amplified. Your knee nudged between his legs as you stepped closer. For a second he just stared at you. Then he leaned forward again, catching your mouth in another kiss. This one deeper and hungrier as you pulled him out of his sweats, the cool air in the restroom hitting him and making him hiss.
Your forehead rested lightly against Yunho’s chest for a second as you stroked him with your hand, thumb brushing over his tip. Then you looked up at him. His hair had fallen slightly into his eyes from the way you’d been tugging at it earlier, strands brushing his lashes as he looked down at you.
That same dangerous look was back in his gaze. The one that had been slowly building all flight. Your hand moved faster for a few seconds, watching the way he reacted. His head tilted back slightly again, hair falling away from his face as he tried to keep his breathing steady. The muscles in his jaw tightened, his hand bracing against the wall beside your shoulder. “Baby….. I need…”
You suddenly pulled your hand away and Yunho blinked, his eyes dropping back down to you in confusion. But before he could saying anything, you shrugged your blazer off your shoulders. The fabric slipped down your arms before you let it fall to the floor. His eyes followed the movement as you stepped back just enough to drop down onto the blazer, kneeling in front of him in the cramped space.
Your fingers rested lightly against the waistband of his sweats again, your eyes lifting to meet his. “You need me, huh…” Your mouth curved slightly as his hand slid into your hair, fingers threading through it as he looked down at you. “Please…”
You dragged his sweats down to his knees, your hand moving to grip him, wrapping around his length, opening your mouth and letting just his tip tap against your tongue. The reaction was instant enough that you almost laughed. He rolled his head back, tongue peaking out as his hand gripped your hair.
One of his hands braced harder against the wall behind him. “God…” he exhaled under his breath as your eyes lifted briefly to watch him. Your hand slid up his side briefly before returning to its place on his leg, grounding yourself in the cramped space before you dragged your tongue along him, tracing his length.
Yunho’s hand tightened gently in your hair before it tightened more and a moan left him as you finally let him sink into your mouth. Your eyes flicked up toward his face, watching the way his head had tilted back against the wall again, jaw tight as he tried very hard to stay quiet as you sucked, hallowing your cheeks.
The reaction clearly wasn’t helping his self control. Not even a little. “Fuck…” he looked down at you and lost it. Both his hands moved to grip your head, holding you there, his dick in your mouth stretched around him. “yeah…. just like that…”
You gagged when he started thrusting, thick and heavy on your tongue as he started fucking your mouth. You moaned, nails digging into his thighs as you held onto him….
You gasped, his dick popping from your mouth as he suddenly yanked you up, mouth on yours again, moaning at the taste of himself on your tongue. The kiss was deeper this time. Messier. Your back met the edge of the small sink behind you as he turned you around in the cramped space. The counter pressed lightly against your hips as his hands settled on either side of you, bracing against the counter as he leaned in again, his forehead dropping briefly against yours while both of you tried to catch your breath.
For a second he just looked at you. Then he leaned closer, his voice low and rough against your ear. “We have to be quick.” Your breath caught. But you nodded anyway. The cramped space forced you closer together as he moved, the counter cool against your back while his hands held your waist firmly. Your fingers tightened in the front of his shirt as the moment finally tipped over that edge you’d both been hovering near all flight.
He made haste unbuttoning your pants, sliding them down, tossing them behind you on the sink. You wrapped your legs around him, one hand gripped your thigh as his other guided himself to you, he groaned as he brushed your clit. “So fucking wet….”
You bit your bottom lip as he thrusted, hands digging into his shoulders as he bottomed out, a moan building, barely escaping you. “Hey,” he whispered quickly, forehead pressing against yours. “Quiet.” You bit your lip again. trying to stifle another sound as your arms slid around his shoulders.
The tiny restroom suddenly felt even smaller. The faint rumble of the plane vibrated through the walls around you, barely masking the uneven rhythm of both your breathing as Yunho gripped your waist and started moving, his forehead resting against yours while he tried to stay quiet himself.
The slow pace only lasted a few seconds because the second you clenched around him, he snapped. Your heels of your feet dug into his ass after you kicked your slides off. Your head tipped back slightly as he started thrusting deeper, faster, a cry escaping you.
Yunho reacted instantly. His hand came up, covering your mouth gently but firmly “Quiet.” He reminded though it was difficult with the way he was now practically pounding into you, the obscene noise of skin on skin starting to grow. Your eyes widened slightly, but you nodded against his palm.
Yunho let out a slow breath, his head dropping forward until his forehead rested briefly against yours again. Your hands slid back up his shoulders, holding onto him as you tried very hard not to make another sound. Yunho’s jaw tightened as he leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “You feel so fucking good….” He snapped his hips harder, a gasp leaving you, muffled against his hand as he growled. “Mine.”
You lost it. Your moans were loud against his hand, his palm warm against your lips as he felt the way your breathing had completely lost its rhythm. “Baby…. you’re getting loud…”
You reached up and gripped his wrist, pulling his hand back. “You weren’t complaining this morning…” you smirked, a loud moan leaving you. “or this morning…”
Yunho stopped and stared at you before shaking his head, a breathless laugh leaving him. “Fuck…. I think I love you…” then one of his hands reached down, two fingers circling at your clit before he dragged them lower, kissing you to muffle the cry that left you as he thrusted his fingers in alongside his dick, stretching you more, both of you on the edge….
Your eyes squeezed shut, your forehead pressing briefly against his shoulder as you tried to muffle the sound caught behind his hand again now as he pounded into you, his fingers chasing the rhythm, messy, loud, obscene.
“Yunho…. I’m…” You were whining now, legs tight around, completely gone as your orgasm hit you. You cried out, his hand that wasn’t two fingers deep inside you, slipped from your mouth and gripped your waist as his he started twitching inside you, your walls gripping him…
“Holy fuck….” He buried his face in the crook of your neck as he came, his fingers inside you slipping out as filled you, both of you clinging to each other, breathless, hearts pounding……
Both of you jumped when someone knocked on the restroom door. Yunho’s head snapped up from your shoulder while your eyes went wide, the two of you freezing like you’d just been caught committing a crime. Then came the voice through the door. “Hey.” It was unmistakably Jongho. “You two about done in there? I have to piss.”
Your stomach dropped as Yunho stared at the door in complete disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath as slapped a hand over your mouth, trying to stop yourself from laughing. Because he was still buried inside you while one of his friends and member of Ateez clearly knew exactly what was going on.
“Seriously,” Jongho continued through the door, his voice clearly amused now. “You’ve been in there forever.”
Yunho dragged both hands down his face, clearly trying to process how badly this had just gone. “Don’t say anything,” he whispered quickly to you.
“Oh come on,” Jongho sighed. “Do you think I’m stupid?” Then he laughed. “Wooyoung and San have been arguing over money about the two of you…. we know.”
You stared at Yunho.
Yunho stared at the door. “They…. what?” he said.
From the other side of the door came San’s muffled voice now. “Just open the door already, man.”
And then Wooyoung. Very loudly whispering. “Open the door! I need visible confirmation or San won’t pay me.”
Your face immediately buried itself in Yunho’s shoulder as you started laughing.
Yujin groaned softly as another knock sounded. “Yunho,” Jongho called again. “Bathroom. Now.”
Yunho sighed and leaned his forehead briefly against yours again.
thank you for tagging me val <3 looklooklook at the cute blue color i got wowwww
i'm gonna do my big three biases: ten, jaehyun, and johnny!
🏷️ : @cheers2hani @mvlszn @adrakichai @remtrack @glitterypinksworld @remtrack @spacejip @lyvhie @sinisxtea + anyone else who would like to participate!
ty for the tag mama AND YOUR COLOUR IS BASICALLY HAE'S TASTE ALBUM SO BE HAPPY!!! even my colour lowk #uglyashell 😭 peach is the ONE colour that makes my skin look yellow af but haechan looks cute in it and i guess the writing bits are nice so....
tagging @xoxiaojun @strrykais @jirsungs @skzjii @jessxxxfwd @filmrku and anyone else!
no pressure tags bc i know life is chaos: @darjeelinglemontea @livonianmaia @matznana @answer-the-sirens @mysticgargoylegriffin @autumnrainsings @byeoliesandeoki
Hehe never done one of these before, thanks for the tag <3 (I felt like such a grandpa trying to figure out how to make a post on this godforsaken app 😭)
No pressure tags: @atiny-bunny @anxiouscherubs and whoever else wants to join
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SYNOPSIS ; After watching your friends get demolished by the toxic "eras" of Choi San and Song Mingi, you're a cynical senior architecture student decides the TEEZER frat house is a literal biohazard. You're done being collateral damage—until Jeong Yunho, the house’s composed "Architect," bets $20,000 of your tuition that he can prove he’s the exception to her rule.
PAIRING(S) ; frat!jeong yunho x f!reader
WARNING(S) ; emotional manipulation, high stakes betting, past relationship trauma, toxic fraternity culture, power imbalance, explicit sexual content, smut, MDNI +18, objectifying and misogyny, alcohol & partying, strong language, surveillance control, college AU, frat AU.
WC ; 10k
Part 3/8 of THE REVERENCE SERIES.
a/n ; inspired by ain’t shit by doja cat!
The smell of cheap cologne and industrial-grade floor cleaner will always be the scent of your first year at this university.
You transferred here with a portfolio full of clean lines and steady structures, a girl who believed that if you built a foundation deep enough, nothing could shake the house. You didn't realize that the TEEZER house didn't care about foundations. They dealt in demolition.
You didn't transfer here to be a protagonist; you transferred here to be an architect. You brought a portfolio full of clean lines and steady structures, believing that if a foundation was deep enough, nothing could shake the house. But the TEEZER house didn't care about foundations. They dealt in demolition, and you had a front-row seat to the blast zone.
You remember the San Era by the way the light hit the condensation on a red plastic cup. You weren't the one in his bed—no, you were the "quiet transfer" in the corner of the library, watching from behind your sketchbook as he leaned over your friend’s shoulder. You smelled the mint and mischief on his breath and felt the secondary shiver of the jokes he whispered—the kind that made girls forget every rule their mothers ever taught them about boys with dimples and leather jackets.
For three months, you watched your friend become a ghost. You saw her slip out of his room at 5 AM because he never asked her to stay for breakfast. You watched her play the "cool girl," pretending the "no feelings" rule didn't feel like a slow-motion car crash. You remember the night it ended for her: standing in the kitchen, watching you watch him press his forehead against a new girl’s, his hand sliding into a stranger's back pocket as if your friend was just part of the furniture. When he looked at you, there was nothing but a polite, empty recognition. You weren't a person to him; you were just a witness to a checked box.
Then came the Mingi Era.
Mingi was supposed to be the apology for the wreckage San left behind. You’d found your roommate crying behind the bleachers, and you’d watched Mingi’s large hands hover over her, looking like he was afraid to break what San had already shattered. He was the "safe" one. He brought her coffee; he listened to her rants. You wanted to believe he was a shield.
But shields are meant for war, not for love. From your desk in the dorm, you realized too late that Mingi wasn't looking at your friend when he kissed her—he was looking through her, trying to find the ghost of the girl San had actually chosen. Your friend wasn't his partner; she was his gauze. She was the soft thing he used to stop the bleeding of his own ego while he pined for someone else. The day you helped her pack her bags after she found that silver earring under his bed—the one that didn't belong to her—you realized the TEEZER house wasn't a home. It was a burning building, and every girl you cared about was just being moved into a different wing of the fire.
Now, as a senior, you walk through the campus like a veteran returning to a battlefield that’s been turned into a tourist attraction.
Kim Hongjoong, the "Captain" of the house, has spent the summer rebranding. The TEEZER house is no longer the den of iniquity; it’s a "brotherhood of excellence." There are new rules. New standards. New sobriety goals.
You stand in the student union, watching a group of freshmen girls giggle as Jung Wooyoung flashes them a practiced, charming grin. You feel a physical ache in your chest—a phantom pain for the girls they are about to become.
"They look like lambs," Jiyeon says, sliding a cold brew across the table toward you.
She’s your anchor. Another transfer, another girl who learned the hard way that a TEEZER’s promise is worth about as much as a screen door on a submarine. She’s the one who held your hair back when you drank too much to forget San, and she’s the one who deleted Mingi’s number from your phone when you almost called him at 3 AM.
"They're not lambs, Jiyeon," you say, your voice flat and clinical. "They're statistics. Give them two months, and they’ll be sitting exactly where we are, wondering why they thought they were the exception."
"Maybe the 'New Rules' will change things," she offers, though her eyes say she doesn't believe it.
"Rules are just for the people who get caught," you counter. You pull out your phone, the screen cracked from the time you dropped it fleeing Mingi’s dorm in the rain. You hit play on a song that’s become your anthem, the sharp, rhythmic beat of Doja Cat filling your earbuds.
Men ain't shit...
You look at the TEEZER house sitting on the hill, its white pillars gleaming in the sun. It looks like a palace. You know it’s a tomb.
"I’m done being the girl who gets used," you tell Jiyeon, snapping your laptop shut. "From now on, I’m the one who watches. I’m the one who warns. I’m the one who makes sure that if they try to touch me, they lose a finger."
"And what about YUNHO?" Jiyeon asks, her voice dropping.
You stiffen. Jeong Yunho. He was always there. In the background of the San drama, leaning against the doorframe. In the periphery of the Mingi mess, sitting on the porch steps. He was the one who never participated in the chaos, but he never stopped it, either. He was the Architect. The one who kept the house standing while the rooms were on fire.
"Yunho is the worst of them," you say, grabbing your bag. "Because he’s the only one who knows exactly how much damage they’re doing. He isn't a wolf, Jiyeon. He’s the one who builds the cages."
You stand up, adjusting the strap of your bag. You don't know that tonight, at the "rebrand" party, the Architect is going to stop watching from the shadows. You don't know that he’s been waiting for the wreckage to clear so he can build something on the ruins.
But most of all, you don't know that he’s already decided that the only way to get your attention is to turn your own cynicism into a weapon against you.
You walk toward the TEEZER house, the lyrics of the song pulsing in your blood like a warning.
The music is curated—no heavy bass that rattles the neighbors' windows, just a clean, mid-tempo beat that feels as sanitized as the house’s new reputation. The drinks are served in glass, not plastic, as if the weight of the crystal could somehow change the predatory intent of the man holding it. You watch them all—the "reformed" brothers—moving through the room with a practiced, gentle air that makes your skin crawl.
You stand in the dead center of the living room, feeling like a deliberate glitch in their new software. You’re wearing a dress that costs more than your last three textbooks—midnight blue silk that clings like a second skin, with a neckline that says look but don’t touch. You didn't dress for them; you dressed for the version of yourself that refused to be collateral damage.
Your eyes catch San across the room. He’s tucked into a corner with his girl, the one who finally made him stop playing the "no feelings" game. He looks at you for a heartbeat too long, and you see the flash of guilt—the memory of you standing in the hallway months ago, watching him break your friend’s heart. He turns back to his girl quickly, his grip tightening on her waist as if he’s trying to shield her from the judgment in your eyes.
Then you see Mingi. He looks tired, the circles under his eyes suggesting that even with a "happy ending," the ghosts of the girls he used as gauze still haunt him. His eyes dart to yours, and he sees the sketchbook tucked under your arm—the one he knows is filled with the truth of his "safe guy" facade. He doesn't offer a smile. He just intentionally walks into the kitchen, unable to hold your gaze for more than a second.
You feel a surge of cold, electric power. You aren't the girl crying in the hallway after a party anymore. You aren't the one cleaning up your roommate’s mascara-stained pillows. You’re the survivor who stayed behind to document the demolition.
You’re the only person in this house who remembers exactly how much blood is under the fresh coat of paint. And as you adjust the silk on your shoulder, you realize that being the one they’re afraid to look at feels much better than being the one they forgot.
"You look like you're conducting a funeral," a voice says.
It’s deep. It’s steady. It’s the kind of voice that sounds like it’s used to giving orders and having them followed without question.
You turn. Jeong Yunho is standing there.
He isn't wearing a frat jersey or a backwards cap. He’s in a crisp white button-down, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that look like they could snap a person in two if they weren't so carefully controlled. He’s holding a glass of sparkling water, his eyes tracking your every movement with a terrifying level of focus.
"Funerals are for things that are dead, Yunho," you say, taking a slow sip of your drink. "I’m just here to make sure no one tries to perform a resurrection."
"Is that why you're wearing that dress?" He steps closer, his height looming over you like a shadow you can't escape. "It looks like armor. Very beautiful, very expensive armor."
"It’s a warning," you reply. "It says that the 'New Rules' don't apply to me. Because I've already seen the man behind the curtain, and I'm not impressed."
Yunho smiles. It’s not the charming, dimpled smile of San or the shy, crooked grin of Mingi. It’s the smile of a man who just found the missing piece of a blueprint.
"You think we’re all the same," he says. "A collection of mistakes in different fonts."
"I think you're the one who edits the mistakes," you counter. "Which makes you the most dangerous. You're the Architect, Yunho. You're the one who makes the rot look like a feature."
Yunho leans down, his scent—sandalwood and cold air—filling your senses. "If I'm the Architect, then you're the only site I've ever seen that I didn't want to change. I just wanted to see if I could build something that survived you."
He pulls back, his eyes dark. "You say men in this house ain't shit. You say we're all a waste of your time. Wanna bet?"
The air in the TEEZER living room felt too thin.
You stared at Yunho’s extended hand. It was a large hand, the fingers long and steady, devoid of the nervous fidgeting Mingi used to do or the possessive, wandering grip San was famous for. This was a hand that belonged to a man who knew exactly what he was doing.
"Tuition?" you repeated, your voice a low hiss so Jiyeon wouldn't hear—though she was already vibrating with anxiety beside you. "You're willing to bet twenty thousand dollars that you're not 'shit'?"
"I’m betting on my own competence, [Name]," Yunho replied, his voice a calm anchor in the sea of pulsing EDM. "And I’m betting on the fact that beneath all that 'Ain't Shit' armor, you’re still an architect. You recognize a good build when you see one. You’re just tired of looking at ruins."
"I'm not looking at anything," you snapped, finally pulling your gaze from his hand to his dark, unreadable eyes. "I’m leaving. This house is a biohazard and you’re just the guy in the hazmat suit trying to tell me the air is breathable."
You turned on your heel, your silk dress swishing against your legs, and marched toward the bathroom. You needed a second to breathe, to splash cold water on your face, to remind yourself that the Architect was just a man—not a god, and certainly not your savior.
Jiyeon was on your heels, slipping into the cramped, marble-tiled bathroom and locking the door behind her.
"Are you insane?" she whispered, leaning against the sink. "That was Jeong Yunho. He just offered to pay for your entire senior year. Do you know how many shifts at the campus diner that is?"
"It’s a trap, Jiyeon! Use your head," you said, gripping the edge of the porcelain sink until your knuckles turned white. "San used that pretty girl for his ego. Mingi used that other girl for his trauma. What do you think Yunho wants? He wants to prove he’s the 'Final Boss' of this house. He wants to be the one who finally broke the girl who couldn't be broken."
"But what if he isn't?" Jiyeon countered, her voice softening. "He’s watched everything, [Name]. He saw what they did. He’s the only one who didn't join in. Maybe the 'New Rules' aren't for the house. Maybe they’re for him."
"Men in this house don't change, they just recalibrate," you muttered, staring at your reflection. You looked sharp. You looked dangerous. But inside, you felt like a glass structure with a hairline fracture.
You took a deep breath, straightened your dress, and unlocked the door. "I’m going to take his money. I'm going to let him try, and I'm going to watch him fail. It’ll be the most satisfying demolition of my life."
You walked back out into the fray. Yunho hadn't moved. He was still leaning against the doorframe, a statue of patience. He was watching the door of the bathroom as if he knew exactly when you’d emerge.
You walked right up to him, stopping so close you could smell the faint, clean scent of his laundry detergent beneath the sandalwood.
"The terms," you said, your voice loud enough to command the space between you.
Yunho’s smirk widened. "One semester. From now until finals."
"Rule one," you said, poking a finger into his chest. It felt like hitting a wall of solid muscle. "No 2 AM texts. If it’s dark outside, you don't exist to me."
"Accepted," he murmured.
"Rule two. No 'no-strings' bullshit. You don't get to touch me to 'test the waters.' If you want my hand, you ask for it in the daylight."
"Reasonable," he agreed, his eyes never leaving yours.
"Rule three," you leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a dangerous level. "No games with the other boys. If I find out San or Mingi or Wooyoung are in on this—if this is just a 'TEEZER' prank—I don't just win the bet. I burn your reputation to the ground."
Yunho reached out, his hand finally closing over yours. He didn't shake it; he held it, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate line over your pulse point. You felt your heart hammer against your ribs like a trapped bird.
"Accepted," he whispered. "And my term? If I win—if you admit, out loud, that I’m the exception—you give me one night. No cynicism. No armor. Just the version of you that hasn't been broken yet."
The air felt heavy, charged with a current that made the fine hairs on your arms stand up. You looked at his hand, then at his face. He looked so sure. So steady.
"Wanna bet, Architect?" you challenged.
"I already have," he replied.
The 24-hour architecture studio smelled like wood glue, ozone from the laser cutters, and the collective desperation of twenty sleep-deprived seniors. It was 3:14 AM. The fluorescent lights hummed with a headache-inducing frequency that pulsed in time with the bass of the song looping in your earbuds.
Men ain't shit...
You adjusted your grip on the X-Acto knife. Your hands were shaking—a dangerous combination of three energy drinks and a profound sense of failure. Before you sat the balsa-wood skeleton of your senior project: a glass pavilion that was supposed to look like it was floating. Instead, it looked like it was dying. Every time you tried to glue the central load-bearing column, the weight of the cantilever roof caused the whole structure to groan and tilt.
"The center of gravity is off," a voice murmured, cutting through the music like a steady blade.
You didn't jump. You didn't even flinch. You knew the cadence of those footsteps—steady, deliberate, like a foundation being poured into a trench. You pulled your headphones down around your neck, the tiny tinny voice of Doja Cat still buzzing against your collarbone.
"It’s not off," you snapped, your voice hoarse. "It’s a cantilever design. It’s supposed to look like it’s defying gravity. It’s a statement on the fragility of modern structures."
"There’s a difference between defying gravity and ignoring it, [Name]."
Jeong Yunho stepped into the pool of light cast by your desk lamp. He looked disgustingly put-together for three in the morning—a clean grey sweater, his hair pushed back, no dark circles under his eyes. He didn't look like a frat boy; he looked like the man who owned the building.
He didn't take the tools from your hand. Instead, he leaned over the table, his large palms flat on the white surface. He was close—so close you could smell the sandalwood and the crisp winter air clinging to his coat.
"Look at the base," he said softly, his finger hovering just inches from your model but never touching it. "You’ve spent so much time reinforcing the facade—the parts people see, the parts that look 'bold' and 'untouchable'—that you’ve neglected the internal bracing. You’re building this the way you think you have to survive: by being the only thing standing. But even steel snaps if it has no flexibility."
You gripped the X-Acto knife tighter. "I don't need a lecture on structural integrity from a man who lives in a house held together by beer cans and lies, Yunho."
He finally looked at you. His eyes weren't mocking; they were clinical, observant, and terrifyingly gentle. "I’m not talking about the balsa wood, and we both know it. You’re exhausted. You’re carrying the weight of everyone else’s collapses—your friend from the San mess, your roommate from the Mingi era—and you’re trying to build a life that’s so rigid that no one can ever get close enough to see the cracks."
He reached out, his fingers finally brushing yours as he gently pried the knife from your hand. His skin was warm—a startling contrast to the cold metal of the blade.
"Let me hold the column," he whispered. "Just for five minutes while the glue sets. I’m not going to change your design. I’m just going to be the support you didn't account for in the blueprints."
You wanted to pull away. You wanted to tell him that men in the TEEZER house were a biohazard and he was the Architect of the waste. But your hands were so tired. And for the first time in a year, someone wasn't asking you to be their secret or their bandage. They were just offering to hold the weight.
"Five minutes," you whispered back, leaning your hip against the table as he moved in, his steady hands taking over the task you’d been failing at for hours.
"Wanna bet?" he murmured, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "I bet I can hold this longer than you think."
The air in the TEEZER house changed the moment you crossed the threshold of the third floor.
Downstairs, the "New Rules" felt like a suggestion—a thin veneer of order over a bubbling cauldron of chaos. But up here, in the hallway leading to Hongjoong’s room, the atmosphere was pressurized. It smelled of old paper, expensive leather, and a sharp, clinical focus that didn't belong in a frat house.
"He wants to see us both," Yunho whispered, his hand hovering near the small of your back. He didn't touch you—Rule Two was still in effect—but you could feel the heat radiating from him. "Just let me handle the talking. Hongjoong doesn't like variables he hasn't accounted for."
"I'm not a variable, Yunho. I'm a student," you countered, though your heart was hammering against your ribs.
Yunho didn't respond. He just knocked twice—sharp, rhythmic—on the heavy oak door.
"Enter."
The room was a jarring contrast to the rest of the house. There were no beer cans, no rumpled clothes. Instead, floor-to-ceiling shelves were packed with vinyl records and law textbooks. At the center sat a mahogany desk, and behind it, Kim Hongjoong looked less like a college student and more like a judge presiding over a high-stakes trial.
He didn't look up immediately. He was marking a line in a thick ledger, his red-tinted hair catching the light of a single desk lamp. When he finally raised his head, his eyes were like flint—sharp enough to spark.
"Yunho," Hongjoong said, his voice a low, dangerous velvet. "I've been looking at the house accounts. And the disciplinary logs. Do you want to tell me why you've spent forty-eight hours this week in the Architecture building? A building you don't have classes in?"
Yunho stood at attention, his "Architect" persona replaced by something more disciplined. "I've been assisting a student with structural analysis, Captain. It's well within the 'Community Outreach' clause of the new charter."
Hongjoong’s gaze flickered to you. It wasn't the way San looked at you (with hunger) or the way Mingi looked at you (with desperation). Hongjoong looked at you like you were a crack in a load-bearing wall.
"And the wager?" Hongjoong asked, leaning back. "The twenty-thousand-dollar tuition bet? Does that fall under 'Community Outreach' too? Or is that just a blatant violation of Rule Twelve: No gambling of personal or house assets that could result in legal liability?"
The silence that followed was suffocating. You felt the weight of the house’s reputation—the one Hongjoong was killing himself to protect—pressing down on you.
"It’s not a gamble if the outcome is certain," Yunho said evenly.
"Nothing is certain when feelings are involved," Hongjoong snapped, finally standing up. He was shorter than Yunho, but the power he radiated made him feel ten feet tall. He walked around the desk, stopping in front of you. "I've worked too hard to fix what San and Mingi broke. I've spent a year turning this biohazard into a brotherhood. I won't have you dismantling my best man just to prove a point about 'shitty men'."
"I'm not dismantling him, Hongjoong," you said, your voice steady despite the tremor in your hands. "I'm just holding him to the standard you claim to have set. Isn't that what you wanted? For the men in this house to actually be worth something?"
Hongjoong leaned in, his eyes narrowing. "What I want is order. What I want is a house that survives the Dean’s office. You are a demolition crew, [Name]. You walk in here with your sketchbook and your cynicism, looking for the rot. Well, guess what? If you dig deep enough into any foundation, you’ll find dirt."
He turned back to Yunho, his voice dropping to a warning hiss. "End the bet, Yunho. Or I add a new rule to the fridge tonight. One that says you’re no longer allowed within fifty feet of her."
"You can't do that," Yunho said, his voice hardening for the first time.
"I am the Captain," Hongjoong replied, his hand resting on the "House Charter" like a king on a throne. "I make the rules. And I break the people who ignore them. You have twenty-four hours to decide if she’s worth your spot in this house."
As you and Yunho backed out of the room, you caught Hongjoong’s reflection in the window. He looked satisfied, settled in his power. But as the door clicked shut, you whispered to Yunho, "He thinks he's the only one who can't be touched by the mess."
Yunho gripped your hand—breaking Rule Two in the shadows of the hallway. "He’s wrong. The higher the tower, the harder the fall."
The next was a Tuesday.
It was 1:58 PM. You were tucked into the farthest corner of the third-floor library, surrounded by blueprints for your senior project. You had your headphones in, Doja Cat's voice a steady shield against the world. You were convinced the bet was a fever dream—a moment of party-induced madness that Yunho would forget as soon as he woke up.
Then, at exactly 2:00 PM, a shadow fell over your table.
You didn't look up. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction. But then, a cup was placed gently on your coaster. A real ceramic cup, not a plastic one.
You pulled your headphones down. The smell hit you first—oat milk, a double shot of espresso, and a hint of cinnamon. Exactly how you liked it. The way Mingi always forgot. The way San never bothered to learn.
Beside the coffee sat a book. It was an out-of-print edition of The Ethics of Architecture, a text you’d mentioned needing in a passing comment three months ago while Mingi was busy complaining about his own life.
You looked up. Yunho was standing there, dressed in a simple grey sweater, looking like the picture of academic perfection.
"Two o'clock," he said, tapping his watch. "The sun is out. I have a plan for dinner at six. And I believe this is the book you said was impossible to find in the campus stacks."
He didn't smirk. He didn't lean in for a kiss. He just stood there, waiting for you to find the first crack.
"How did you find this?" you asked, your voice betraying a hint of breathlessness.
"I didn't 'find' it, [Name]," Yunho replied, leaning down just enough so only you could hear him over the quiet hum of the library. "I’ve had it for weeks. I was just waiting for the 'New Rules' to give me an excuse to give it to you."
He turned to walk away, but stopped, looking back over his shoulder.
"Four hours until dinner. Don't be late. I'd hate for you to lose the bet on day one."
As he disappeared into the stacks, you looked at the coffee. It was still hot. You looked at the book. It was perfect.
You felt the first, terrifying chill of realization.
Yunho wasn't just playing the game. He had built the board. And for the first time in a year, you weren't sure if you wanted to win.
The restaurant wasn't the "Grill" where San used to take girls for a performative burger. It wasn't the dark, loud pizza joint where Mingi would hide in a corner booth.
Yunho had picked a small, family-owned bistro on the edge of town, a place with white linen tablecloths and actual candles. The kind of place where you couldn't hide behind a plastic cup.
You arrived at exactly 6:00 PM, wearing a high-necked silk blouse and tailored trousers. You looked like you were heading to a board meeting, not a date. You wanted him to know this was a negotiation, not a romance.
Yunho was already there. He stood up when you approached, a gesture so old-school it felt like a provocation.
"You're on time," he noted, pulling out your chair. "I appreciate punctuality. It shows respect for the architect’s schedule."
"I'm here to collect data, Yunho," you said, sitting down and placing your clutch on the table like a barrier. "Don't mistake my presence for interest. I’ve spent the last year watching you 'brothers' operate. I saw what San did to his girl—how he treated her like a secret until she was practically invisible. And I saw Mingi... I saw how he used his girl as a human shield because he couldn't handle his own ego."
You leaned forward, the candle flame reflecting in your cold eyes. "So, tell me. Why should I believe you're anything other than the man who watched it all happen and stayed silent?"
Yunho didn't flinch. He signaled the waiter for wine—a dry white that he knew you preferred—before turning his full attention back to you.
"Because I’m the one who stayed," Yunho said softly. "When San was spiraling, I was the one who kept him from failing out. When Mingi was breaking, I was the one who made sure he didn't set the whole house on fire. I don't stay silent because I agree with them, [Name]. I stay silent because I’m the only one who knows how to fix what they break."
He leaned in, his shadow stretching across the table. "And I didn't bring you here to talk about them. I brought you here to talk about why you’re so afraid that I might actually be exactly what I say I am."
The waiter arrived, and for the next hour, Yunho executed a perfect "Daylight" strategy.
He didn't ask about your "type" or your "weekend plans." He asked about your thesis. He asked why you chose brutalist architecture over Gothic. He listened—actually listened—without checking his phone or looking at the door for a better option.
Every time you threw a "red flag" at him—a cynical comment, a reminder of the TEEZER reputation—he caught it, dismantled it with logic, and handed it back to you as a resolved issue.
"You're doing it again," you said, halfway through the main course.
"Doing what?"
"Being perfect. It’s a tactic. You’re trying to create a contrast. You want me to go home and think, 'Oh, Yunho is so much better than San.' It’s the oldest trick in the book."
Yunho set his fork down. The "Golden Boy" mask slipped for just a second, revealing something sharper, something more competitive underneath.
"I'm not trying to be better than San," he whispered. "That’s a low bar, and we both know it. I’m trying to be the man who makes you stop looking for the exit. I’m trying to win a bet, remember? And I don't like losing."
"And what happens if you win?" you challenged. "Do you just put my name on the fridge under the 'New Rules' as another trophy?"
Yunho reached across the table. He didn't grab your hand; he just rested his fingertips near yours, a silent invitation.
"If I win," he said, his voice dropping to a low, rough vibrato, "I don’t get a trophy. I get the girl who was smart enough to see through everyone else. And I think that's worth more than any tuition check."
He pulled his hand back before you could reject him. "Six minutes until eight. The sun is officially down. Rule one: I no longer exist to you. I'll walk you to your door, and I won't say a word until tomorrow at 2 PM."
He paid the bill—the full amount, no splitting—and walked you home in a silence that felt heavier than any conversation you'd ever had. When you reached your dorm, he didn't lean in for a kiss. He didn't ask to come up.
He just nodded. "Goodnight, [Name]. See you in the library."
You watched him walk away, his tall frame disappearing into the shadows of the campus trees. You went inside, locked your door, and leaned against it, your heart racing.
Men ain't shit, you thought, trying to summon the rhythm of the song. But the lyrics felt distant.
For the first time, you weren't looking at the biohazard. You were looking at the man who built the walls. And you realized, with a sinking feeling, that he knew exactly where your weaknesses were.
You were staring at the site map of the city’s historic district, your eyes tracing the street-level view as if you could find a structural reason why things fall apart. You were looking for the shear walls—the parts of a building meant to resist lateral forces like wind or earthquakes.
You felt like you were in a permanent earthquake, and the only thing staying upright was the man currently standing behind you.
"You're doing it again," Yunho's voice dropped over your shoulder.
He’s standing there, holding a roll of drafting paper.
"Looking for the rot?" you ask, not turning around. "I don't have to look far, Yunho. It’s in the DNA of this place."
"San isn't the house, [Name]. And I'm not San."
"But you’re the one who fixed his financial aid," you counter, finally turning to face him. "You’re the one who made sure his girl didn't report the 'mess' to the Dean. You didn't do that for her. You did it for him. You did it for the brand."
Yunho’s jaw tightens. For the first time, you see a flicker of something that isn't "Golden Boy" perfection. It’s resentment. "I did it because if she lost her aid, her life would be ruined. San would just find another girl, but she would lose everything. I was protecting the victim, [Name]. Not the perpetrator."
"Is that what you tell yourself at night so you can sleep in that house?"
Yunho takes a step closer, his shadow swallowing your map. "I don't sleep well in that house. I haven't in months. Not since I started wondering if you’d ever stop punishing me for things I didn't do."
As Yunho’s shadow swallowed the map, an unnatural chill settled over the studio that had nothing to do with the rain. You looked up, caught by a movement on the second-floor mezzanine. Kim Hongjoong was leaning against the railing, a thick leather-bound ledger tucked under his arm.
He didn't wave. He didn't smile. He watched the two of you with the cold, analytical gaze of a man checking a structural beam for a hairline fracture. To him, this wasn't a conversation; it was a breach of protocol. You realized then that while you were looking for the "rot" in the house, the Captain was looking for the "leak"—and he had already decided that you were the one letting the water in.
It’s a rainy Tuesday, 2:15 PM. You’re in the architecture studio, and for the first time, Yunho is late. You’re hovering over a model of a glass pavilion, feeling a strange, hollow irritability. You want to win the bet, but his absence feels like a structural failure you didn't account for.
When he finally walks in, he isn't the "Golden Boy." His hair is damp, his coat is rumpled, and he looks... human. Tired.
You stared at the glass pavilion, the tiny panes of plexiglass held together by nothing but prayer and expensive adhesive. It was supposed to be a study in transparency—a structure with no secrets.
"You're late," you said, your voice sounding like the snap of dry wood, not looking up from your X-Acto knife. "That’s a point for me, Architect. I believe 'Daylight' started fifteen minutes ago."
"I was at the Dean’s office," Yunho says, his voice rougher than usual. He doesn't bring coffee. He brings a folder. "San’s girl— her financial aid was flagged. Some technicality with the house's charter. I had to fix it."
You freeze, the blade of the knife hovering over the balsa wood. "You had to fix it? Or you had to hide it?"
Yunho sighs, dropping into the stool beside yours. He smells like rain and old paper. "She’s happy, [Name]. They’re together. It worked out."
"It 'worked out' because she survived him, Yunho!" You finally snap, turning to face him. "I was there, remember? I transferred in when she was still crying in the communal showers because he wouldn't claim her at parties. I saw the bruises on her ego. Just because he’s 'trying' now doesn't erase the fact that he treated her like a no-strings arrangement for months."
You stand up, your chair screeching against the linoleum. "And you? You were the one who helped him balance the books. You’re the one who made sure the 'mess' stayed quiet. You didn't fix her life—you protected the house’s reputation. That’s why you’re doing this with me, isn't it? I’m the last witness. If you can get me to fall for the 'Architect,' then the TEEZER house is officially redeemed."
Yunho stands too, his height suddenly suffocating. He doesn't use his calm, logical voice. He looks frustrated—genuinely, messily angry.
"You think I'm that calculated?" he asks, stepping into your space. "You think I’d spend twenty thousand dollars of my own savings just to 'edit' a reputation? I don't give a damn about the house's reputation anymore, [Name]. I haven't for a long time."
"Then why do it? Why the bet? Why the 2 PM coffees?"
"Because you were the only person who didn't look at me like I was a 'Golden Boy'!" he shouts, the sound echoing in the empty studio. "Everyone else sees the guy who fixes the mess. You saw the guy who was part of it. I didn't want to redeem the house. I wanted to see if I could be someone worth your time, specifically. Not because of a rule, but because I’m tired of being the one who just watches everyone else find something real."
He reaches out, his hand stopping inches from your face. His fingers are trembling.
"I’m losing the bet," he whispers, his eyes searching for yours. "I’m losing because I’m not playing a game anymore. I’m just... I’m just here. And I’m terrified that even if I’m perfect, it won’t be enough to make you forget who my friends are."
As Yunho shouted, imagine the Thermal Stress in a glass pane. If one side is too hot (his anger) and the other is too cold (your cynicism), the glass doesn't just crack; it explodes.
When he says he's "tired of being the one who just watches," describe the way the studio lights reflect off the dampness of his coat. It makes him look like he’s melting into the shadows. He isn't a "Golden Boy" under a spotlight anymore; he’s a man standing in the rain, begging you to see the person under the blueprint.
The rain was a rhythmic drum against the library windows, a cold soundtrack to the realization that was slowly eroding your defenses. You weren't alone at the mahogany table; Jiyeon was there, her own textbooks pushed aside, her eyes fixed on the TEEZER house visible through the fog on the glass.
"You know why San’s girl didn't drop out, right?" Jiyeon asked, her voice barely a whisper.
You paused, your highlighter bleeding a neon yellow streak across your notes. "Because she’s strong. Because she decided he wasn't worth her education."
"No," Jiyeon countered, turning to look at you. "She didn't drop out because her tuition was paid. She thought it was an anonymous grant from the Architecture department. She told me about it yesterday—how she was a 'ghost' in the system until someone manually flagged her file for a scholarship she never applied for."
You felt a cold prickle at the base of your neck. "What are you saying, Jiyeon?"
"I’m saying I saw the login logs in the admin office when I was doing my work-study shift," she said. "The 'grant' didn't come from the school. It came from a private account. Jeong Yunho’s account."
The highlighter fell from your hand, rolling across the table.
"He’s the Fixer," you whispered, the word tasting like copper in your mouth. "I thought he was just protecting the brand. I thought he was covering for San so the house wouldn't look bad."
"He wasn't protecting San," Jiyeon said, leaning in. "He was protecting her. I saw him that night, [Name]. The night San brought that other girl to the kitchen. While you were watching the heartbreak, I saw Yunho in the hallway. He wasn't laughing with the guys. He was holding your friend’s coat, waiting for her to stop crying so he could walk her home without anyone seeing her break."
"Hongjoong is looking for that money, Jiyeon," you whispered, the realization hitting you harder than the truth about the "Fixer". "He’s been auditing the accounts for weeks, trying to find out why the 'Ghost Scholarship' doesn't have a university ID attached to it".
You thought of the Captain’s office, the shelves packed with law textbooks and the heavy atmosphere of a man who believed order was the only thing that survived the Dean. If Hongjoong found the paper trail leading to Yunho’s private account, it wouldn't just be a scandal—it would be a mutiny. Yunho wasn't just fixing the "mess" San and Mingi left behind; he was actively sabotaging Hongjoong’s "New Rules" to provide a grace the Captain didn't believe in.
You closed your eyes, and suddenly you were back in the Mingi Era. You remembered the smell of the damp bleachers and the sound of your roommate’s jagged sobs. You’d always blamed Mingi for using her as gauze, for using her soft heart to stop his own bleeding.
But now, the memory shifted. You saw Yunho standing ten feet away in the shadows of the gym. He hadn't approached—he knew he wasn't the one she wanted to see—but he had stayed. He’d stayed until you arrived, making sure no other frat boys wandered back there to mock her. He had been the silent sentry, the one who ensured the demolition didn't become a total collapse.
You realized then that Yunho’s "Architecture" wasn't about building monuments to himself. It was about shoring up the walls that other men were determined to tear down.
The automatic doors of the library hissed open, letting in a gust of wind that tasted like ozone and wet pavement. You didn't stop to put on your hood. You needed the cold. You needed the rain to sting your skin, a physical distraction from the way your chest felt like a building undergoing a controlled implosion.
Jeong Yunho paid her tuition.
The thought looped in your mind, rhythmic and relentless, timed to the heavy strike of your boots against the sidewalk. For a year, you had categorized the men of the TEEZER house with the cold precision of a building inspector. You had looked for the wood rot, the rusted rebar, the cracks in the foundation. You had convinced yourself that the entire structure was a biohazard, and that Yunho was simply the man who kept the lights on while the rooms burned.
But a man who pays for a stranger’s future in the dark—without a trophy, without a "cool girl" to witness it—doesn't fit into a cynical blueprint.
As you turned the corner toward Fraternity Row, the white pillars of the TEEZER house loomed through the fog like the ribs of a prehistoric beast. In your architecture classes, you’d learned about cross-bracing—diagonal supports that allowed a skyscraper to sway in a storm without snapping. You realized, with a sickening lurch of your heart, that you had been looking for a reason to snap. You wanted Yunho to be "shitty" because it was safer to be right and alone than to be wrong and vulnerable.
The "Ain't Shit" anthem in your head was silent now, replaced by the memory of Yunho’s hand on yours in the studio at 3 AM.
The house was quieter than usual. The "New Rules" meant the porch wasn't littered with bodies or red cups, but the air still felt heavy with the history of what had happened behind those walls. You pushed through the front door, the warmth of the foyer hitting you like a physical blow. You were dripping wet, your midnight-blue silk dress from earlier—the one that was supposed to be your armor—clinging to you like a second, cold skin.
You didn't head for the stairs. You followed the low light spilling out from the common room.
You expected to find him laughing with the others. You expected to find a "checked box." Instead, you found him exactly where he always was: in the center of the mess, trying to map out a way to fix it.
He was hunched over his drafting board, the golden glow of the desk lamp carving out the sharp line of his jaw and the weary slope of his shoulders. He looked like the Architect, yes—but for the first time, he looked like a man who was tired of building alone.
You stood on the threshold, the rainwater pooling at your feet, and for a second, you didn't see the TEEZER house. You saw the Bracing.
You cleared your throat, the sound rough and jagged in the quiet room.
Yunho didn't jump. He didn't even look up at first, his pen continuing its steady path across the paper. "It's 11:45 PM, [Name]," he said, his voice a low vibration that seemed to travel through the floorboards and into your very bones. "Rule One. I don't exist."
"Screw the rules, Yunho," you whispered, stepping into the light.
The common room was a graveyard of the night’s earlier festivities—sticky rings on the hardwood, a discarded jersey on the sofa—but Yunho was a solitary island of order in the center of it. He was hunched over his drafting board, the lamp throwing his shadow against the wall like a giant watching over a miniature city.
You didn't wait for him to look up. "Why didn't you tell me?" you demanded, the rain from your jacket dripping onto the floor. "Why let me call you the 'Architect of the Rot' when you were the one paying for the repairs?"
Yunho looks up from his sketches, his expression weary. "Because if I told you, it would be another move in the game. I didn't want you to like me because I’m a 'good guy,' [Name]. I wanted you to like me because I was real."
"Hongjoong knows, doesn't he?" you ask. "That's why he’s so angry. You're using your own money to clean up the messes he pretends don't exist."
Yunho stands up, his shadow stretching across the floor. "Hongjoong believes in Rules. He thinks if you have enough laws, the house won't burn. I believe in Bracing. I know the house is always burning; I’m just trying to make sure no one gets trapped inside."
When he says the line about Bracing, imagine a building undergoing a seismic retrofit. He isn't trying to make the house perfect; he's just trying to stop the collapse. You looked at him then, and for the first time, you didn't see a TEEZER. You saw a man who was exhausted from being a load-bearing wall for people who didn't even know they were falling.
You looked at him then—truly looked at him—and the "Ain't Shit" anthem that had been your heartbeat for months finally went silent. You saw the weariness in the set of his shoulders, the way he was tired of being the only load-bearing wall in a house full of temporary structures.
You took a step closer, your wet boots leaving dark prints on the hardwood he worked so hard to keep clean.
"If you keep bracing the walls he's trying to regulate," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the rain against the window, "eventually the house is going to crush both of you."
Yunho didn't look away. The golden light of the desk lamp caught the dark intensity in his eyes—a look that was less "Architect" and more "Owner."
"Then I guess we better hope the Captain learns how to build something that doesn't need a manifesto to stay standing," he replied, his voice a low, rough vibration.
The air between you reached its Yield Point—the exact moment where a material can no longer return to its original shape after being stressed. You weren't a skeptic anymore, and he wasn't a Golden Boy. You were just two people standing in a burning building, and for the first time, you didn't want to run for the exit.
Yunho reached out, his hand steady as he cupped your jaw. His thumb traced the line of your lower lip, a silent question that broke every rule Hongjoong had ever written.
"The blueprints," you breathed, glancing at the desk.
"Let them fall," he murmured.
The first button of your jacket pops free under Yunho’s fingers with surgical precision—cold metal against warm skin—and you realize, with a slow, dawning horror, that he’s treating you like one of his blueprints. Measured. Intentional. Every brush of his fingertips against your collarbone is a line drawn in ink, every exhale against your jaw is a margin note you weren’t meant to see.
"You’re still thinking," he murmurs, his lips skimming the shell of your ear. His voice isn’t the polished, daylight Yunho. It’s rough, uneven, like gravel under a spinning tire. "Stop."
The second button gives way. His palm spreads over your ribs, thumb tracing the dip where your heartbeat stutters. You arch into him instinctively, and his breath catches—just once—before he exhales through his nose, steadying himself.
"Look at me," he orders.
You do.
His eyes are black in the dim light, pupils swallowing the brown whole. His fingers tighten on your waist, blunt nails biting through silk. "Say it," he demands.
Your breath hitches. "Say what?"
"Who I am."
The third button surrenders. The jacket slips off your shoulders, pooling at your elbows like a shed skin.
"Yunho," you whisper—just his name, no titles, no defenses.
Something snaps.
His hands are suddenly everywhere—lifting you onto the desk, scattering blueprints to the floor in a waterfall of paper. His mouth crashes into yours, hot and desperate, all pretense of control incinerated. His fingers tangle in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back, exposing your throat to his teeth.
"I’ve been watching you hate me for months," he growls against your pulse point, sucking a mark into the soft skin. "Do you have any idea what that did to me?"
You gasp as his knee presses between your thighs, the friction brutal through the thin fabric of your dress. He laughs—low, dark—when you rock against him.
"Tell me I’m the only one you see," he breathes, dragging his lips down your neck.
"You—"
His hands slide under your thighs, hauling you to the edge of the desk. His thumbs dig into the sensitive skin of your inner knees, spreading you wider. "Say it properly."
"You’re the only one," you admit, the words ripped from somewhere deeper than pride.
He groans, forehead dropping to your shoulder. His hips jerk forward instinctively, the hard line of his erection grinding against you. "Fuck. Fuck. You were supposed to be smarter than
this."
His hands shake as he hikes your dress up, fingers skimming the lace at your waistband.
"Look at you," he mutters, dragging a fingertip along the damp fabric. "Perfect. Even when you’re ruining me."
You reach for his belt, but he catches your wrist, pinning it to the desk. "No. Let me."
His touch gentles as he peels your underwear down your thighs, fingers tracing the wetness between your legs with something close to reverence. "Christ," he whispers. "You’re going to kill me."
His first finger slides in slow, torturous, curling just right. You buck against his hand, but he clamps his other arm across your hips, holding you still.
"Look at me," he repeats, voice wrecked. "I want to see it when you break."
His thumb circles your clit, pressing just enough to make your vision blur. You choke on his name—again, just his name—and his restraint shatters.
He fumbles with his zipper, shoving his pants down just enough to free himself. His forehead presses to yours as he pushes in, both of you gasping at the stretch.
"God," he pants, hips stuttering. "You feel—fuck—you feel like home."
His thrusts start slow, deep, each one punctuated by a whispered praise. "So good. Taking me so well. Knew you would."
But when you claw at his shoulders, dragging him closer, he loses the rhythm. His hands clamp on your waist, lifting you into each snap of his hips. The desk creaks under the force.
"Come for me," he rasps, biting your earlobe. "Let me feel it."
You shatter—silent, breathless—and he follows with a groan, burying his face in your neck.
For a long moment, the only sound is your ragged breathing.
Then, softly, against your skin: "I forfeited the wrong bet."
You laugh—weak, disbelieving—and his arms tighten around you.
The morning light in the TEEZER house is unforgiving. It hits the dust motes dancing over the beer-stained carpets and highlights the cracks in the walls that the "New Rules" couldn't quite fix.
Usually, this is the hour of the Walk of Shame. You’ve seen it a dozen times: girls slipping out of side doors with their heels in their hands, heads down, praying they don't run into anyone. You’ve been that girl. You’ve felt that hollow, "no-strings" chill.
But as you stand in Yunho’s room, wearing one of his oversized grey hoodies and a pair of your own rumpled trousers, the chill isn't there.
Yunho is behind you, his hands sliding around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. He smells like sleep and the lingering heat of last night. "You’re overthinking again," he mumbles, his voice raspy. "I can hear the blueprints shifting in your head."
"It’s Saturday, Yunho," you whisper, leaning back into him. "Rule One. The sun is up. I'm supposed to be invisible."
"The rules were for a man who was afraid to lose a bet," Yunho says, turning you around in his arms. He looks different in the morning—softer, but more solid. "I lost the bet. I'm playing by a different set of blueprints now."
He grabs your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours, and leads you toward the door.
"What are you doing?"
"I’m hungry," he says simply. "And the Architect never skips breakfast."
The walk down the hallway feels like a gauntlet. You pass Mingi’s door, which is cracked open. You see him sitting on the edge of his bed, looking at his phone with that familiar, haunted expression. When he looks up and sees you—sees your hand locked in Yunho’s—his eyes widen. There’s no anger there, just a profound, quiet shock. He looks at Yunho, and Yunho gives him a single, firm nod.
I’ve got her. For real.
Then, the kitchen.
It’s crowded. Wooyoung is hovering over a waffle iron, San is leaning against the counter whispering to his girl, and Hongjoong is at the table, laptop open, looking like the weight of the world is on his shoulders.
The room goes dead silent when you walk in.
It’s the "Ain't Shit" girl. The one who spent the last six months treating them like a social experiment. The one who refused to be a trophy. And she’s wearing Yunho’s hoodie.
San is the first to speak. He looks from your joined hands to Yunho’s face. "The bet?" he asks, his voice cautious.
Yunho pulls you closer, his arm draping over your shoulders in a gesture of absolute possession—not the toxic kind you saw with San, but a protective, "this-is-mine" declaration.
"The bet is over," Yunho says, his voice ringing out clearly over the hum of the refrigerator. "I lost. I’m paying her tuition."
Wooyoung whistles, a low, impressed sound. "Twenty grand for a date? Damn, Yunho. You really are a perfectionist."
"It wasn't for a date," Yunho counters, looking down at you with an expression that makes your breath catch. "It was for the right to stand in the daylight with her. And I’d pay it twice over."
You look around the room. You see the "Happy Endings" of the other girls. You see the reformed boys. And then you look at Yunho.
He isn't a secret. He isn't a bandage.
You reach up, pulling his head down for a kiss right there in front of the "Biohazard" crew. It’s a slow, deliberate kiss. It’s the sound of a song ending and a new one beginning.
When you pull back, you see Jiyeon standing in the doorway, her jaw practically on the floor. You give her a small, triumphant smirk.
"He's not shit, Jiyeon," you call out.
Yunho laughs, a bright, genuine sound that fills the house. "Wanna bet?"
"No," you say, taking a seat at the table, finally feeling like you belong in the house you once wanted to burn down. "I'm done gambling. I think I finally found a structure that’s built to last."
As the front door of the TEEZER house clicked shut behind you, you didn't look back, but you felt the weight of a gaze from the third floor. Up in the corner office, the light was already on.
Hongjoong stood at the window, watching the two of you walk away with interlaced fingers. He picked up a pen and drew a single, sharp line through Rule Twelve in his manifesto, already drafting a replacement that was twice as rigid. He thought he could out-build the chaos. He thought he could legislate the human heart until it was as predictable as a blueprint.
You smiled into the morning air, knowing the truth the Captain hadn't learned yet: the higher the tower, the harder the fall. And Kim Hongjoong was building a skyscraper in a hurricane zone.
DISCLAIMER ; this is no way of a true representation of any of the members. This is purely fiction and for the enjoyment of the reader and not to be taken seriously.
a/n ; sooo.. do you wanna bet? :P
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[yunho x fem!reader] yunho reminding you who the fuck you belong to | heed the warnings i’m not your mother: smut minors dni 18+, pwp, mean dom!yunho/hard dom!yunho, you call him sir, ownership, submission, desperation, p in v, oral m!receiving, facefucking, lots of heavy degradation, fingering, thigh fucking, orgasm denial/edging, restraining with a belt, pussy fucking (not inside☝🏻), lots of crying, cum eating, jealous yunho, he's not nice like at all. not even a little. another round to pregame aftercare. creampie. as always, let me know if i missed anything! wc 10.7k
⊹ ࣪ ˖ for my angel face lover girl @03jyh23, once the brainworms took over i really could not stop writing this. thank you for requesting, i hope i did mean dom jealous yun justice, i love playing with him. i feel like i had empty headed in my mind the entire time i wrote this, if you're reading this, please for the love of god read empty headed. my favorite joongie fic in the world, mon is so unbelievably talented & so inspiring, if you like even one sentence from this fic i promise you will devour mon’s. thats all, enjoy xoxo
You didn’t mean to piss him off.
Not really.
But there’s something invigorating about watching his jaw tighten, a clench in the hinge that shows the structure of his face. The way his brows flatten, dark and heavy over his big, brown eyes, turning them three shades darker, more charcoal than chocolate. A hand through his styled hair, veiny fingers lost in black locks, mussing it to the point where the gel is rendered useless. Yunho angry was a sight to behold, exciting, magical; it brings out a completely different side of him, one you feared as much as you revered.
Across the room in his dark suit, tailored to his perfect body, his shoulders sat squared, in perfect posture. Your dress matched, a long, navy gown, if anyone paid attention, they’d know you belong to him. You know you belong to him, Yunho knows you belong to him, Yeosang knows you belong to him, but somehow you think the message has been lost along the way.
Deep red hair sitting perfectly over his cheekbones, hiding the birthmark beneath his eye you’ve seen a thousand times, Yeosang does look good. He always looks good, biceps stretching the sleeves of every shirt, filling out every pair of pants he owns like they were made for him, it doesn’t help that he has the most contagious laugh you’ve ever heard. A silly joke, a stupid one that left him snorting, made the laughter creep up from your chest and force its way out of your lips until you were folding forward, a hand clutching your stomach.
He’s funny without even trying to be and you fall victim to it every time, every hangout, whenever you and Yeosang are in the same room. Yunho notices, of course he does, a sixth sense embedded in his veins that he says is named after you. Usually his jealousy with Yeosang is under wraps, he can see your friendship for what it is– but tonight of all nights, at the company gala where Yunho is receiving an award for his efforts, tonight is about him. And here you are, across the room, chopping it up with Yeosang instead of standing by his side so he can introduce you to everyone in the room.
You can feel his stare, harsh eyes like blades cutting into your skin, it makes your spine straighten, your heels click together. Even without words you can feel his command, summoning you to him like there was a part of him inside your head, you excuse yourself from the circle of people you were conversing with and walk back to your boyfriend, a low rumble in your belly because you know exactly what’s awaiting you.
Leaning over the tall, circular table dressed in a black tablecloth long enough that it touches the floor, one of Yunho’s knees is bent into it, his arms crossed over the surface. He watches you, eyes following your every step, aware of each person you pass like every one of them could be a threat. You keep your face innocent, your eyes big and doe-like, your hands politely holding your clutch in front of your body, a small smile on your face as you approach him at the table, nothing else on it besides two full glasses of prosecco.
“Wipe that look off your face,” he says as soon as you can hear it, his voice low and stern, “damage is already done.”
Excitement blooms in your chest, you swallow down your smile. “What do you mean?”
He steps back from the table, picking up the flute of prosecco, holding it close to his chest. He shifts his view upward, examining the crowd, “You know exactly what I mean, stop pretending, you look stupid.”
You can’t fight the smile this time, throwing an elbow over the surface of the table with your clutch, leaning on it as you pick up the glass of prosecco instead. He turns to you, eyes slimming, “You’ve had enough.”
Your brows furrow, head tilting, “I’m not even tipsy–”
“I said you’ve had enough.”
Slowly, you set the glass back on the table, his tone was clean cut, no room for disobedience. You frown, ankles crossing beneath your gown, “I was just talking, Yunho.”
“Talking,” he repeats, a ghost of a smile clawing at his lips, “laughing, leaning into him like I don’t fucking own you.”
Your breath catches in your throat as the word leaves his lips, it always ignites something deep in your gut, turns your mind to fuzz. Ownership, being his, so deeply his you don’t need to think if you don’t want to, Yunho can see the warmth spreading through your body like your skin was transparent.
He takes a step toward you, leaning down, breath ghosting the shell of your ear, “You belong to me. Never fucking forget it.”
You swallow, heart picking up speed in your chest, your voice is a little shakier than you want it to be as you whisper, “I could never forget that.”
Standing up tall again, he smiles like he remembered there’s other people in the room, “Good.” Turning his head to examine the crowd again, coworkers, staff, people who have all praised him tonight, congratulated him on his hard work. You drink in his figure, long legs that stretched on forever clad in navy, his suit jacket unbuttoned, showing the white button-up beneath. The tie that laid in the center, snug beneath his collar, just from a few words your mind escaped to the gutter, brain drifting to the things he could do with it.
“Let’s go,” he says simply, turning toward you again.
“Already?” You look around, standing straight, dessert hadn’t even been served yet. “I don’t think it’s appropriate–”
“I don’t give a fuck about what’s appropriate.” You’re lucky there’s no one around you to hear the sharp words leaving his lips, “I don’t care about this, and clearly neither do you if you’d rather go talk to Yeosang.”
“Yun–”
“Come,” the word is firm, a wall splitting your defense. He grabs your clutch from the table, tucking it beneath his armpit, placing his glass of prosecco delicately on the table, “We’ll make our goodbyes, I’ll text the driver.”
He shoots a quick text before laying a heavy hand on the small of your back, bringing you on his round of goodbyes where you smiled politely, shook hands, gave small hugs to every person you made eye contact with tonight– except Yeosang. You didn’t even meet his eye, standing off to the side while Yunho gave him a tight hug, a wide grin on his face like he wasn’t planning on tearing you apart the moment you stepped foot in your apartment.
You didn’t talk on the drive home, in the backseat of a black car you didn’t know the name of, your driver nodding his head along to what was playing on the radio. A small, muted hum, it stood as background noise for your raging thoughts, adrenaline ripping your tummy to shreds as you wonder about what comes next. It’s rare for Yunho to react like this, he’s generally a grounded, secure man, he knows you’d never leave him, he knows you’d never cheat. He’s asked you the same rhetorical question a thousand times: Who could possibly be better than him?
No one. That person doesn’t exist. You love him too much to ever even consider someone else, he was too engraved in your being, the blood in your body circulated for him, your heart beats to the rhythm of his name. Yunho was everything, everywhere, he was half of your body, your soul.
But he doesn’t play nice when it comes to his toys.
He punched in the code to your apartment with steady hands, opening the front door softly, holding his arm out for you to walk inside first. Hanging your coat on the rack, there’s a pit in your stomach, a blooming warmth of fear and adrenaline beneath your skin. You begin, “Yunho, we shouldn’t have left, I was just talking–”
He’s at your back, hands on your hips, head standing tall above yours, “You think I give a fuck about what you were doing?” His voice is rough, gravelly, tone bleeding dominance, it makes your toes curl in your heels, back straightening against his presence. “I don’t care if you were giving him the fucking heimlich, you’re mine. Do you understand what that means?”
Your breath catches, fingers tingling at your sides, eyes wide as you stare at the pale yellow wall in front of you, art covering the walls. The paintings seemed to stare back, snickering at your disobedience, saying you reap what you sow.
“Yes,” you whisper, accompanied by one singular nod.
“Yes what?”
You fight the sound that claws at your throat, “Yes, sir.”
“This body is mine,” his hands trail from your hips up to your waist, squeezing the skin beneath your gown before traveling up to your chest, holding his palms there to prove a point. “It belongs to me. Your pleasure, your pain, your actions, your mistakes, they’re all mine.”
His palms leave your chest to unzip the gown at your back, you can feel the chill of metal all the way down to the base of your spine. Pooling around your feet, you don’t move, back straight, chin held high, heels clicking together, presenting yourself for him how he taught you. Every bone in your body begged you to turn around and kiss him, you ached to touch him, to wrap your arms around him, to feel him inside you, curved and pulsing and hitting every spot that made you scream. When he steps around you, fear simmers, you come to terms with the fact that none of which is on the itinerary for tonight.
Shoulders squared, jaw locked, eyes dark, brooding. He watches you, still fully clothed, shoes kicked off, his suit remains. His eyes drink in your naked figure, already well aware of the lack of anything beneath your form fitting gown, watching how your upper body expands with each breath, the tremble in your legs, the glint of nerves in your eyes, how you’re already struggling to keep still under his heavy stare. He watches like he’s mapping out a plan, debating what he’ll do to you, how loud he should make you beg, deciding what he’s in the mood for.
He always wants obedience. Expects it. You’ve learned to not expect anything.
“What do you think you deserve tonight?”
The question sets your body aflame. Meeting his eyes, you swallow, “I don’t deserve anything, sir.”
He nods slowly, arms crossing over his chest, he hums. “Do you think you deserve my cock inside you?”
He watches how your spine bends, the slightest movement. It tells him the words out of your mouth are a bold-faced lie, “No, sir.”
“Why not?”
You can feel the heat in the tips of your ears, embarrassment, guilt, it curls into the flame of arousal flickering brighter in your gut with every second he keeps his eyes on you. “Because,” you pause. His brows raise, waiting. Your voice cracks, “B-because I was, um– talking. To Yeosang.”
“Why are you stuttering?” He tilts his head a fraction of a degree. “You know what you did. Say it with your chest.”
“I was laughing,” you continue, feeling the sweat forming at your brow, the light of the foyer too warm, too bright. You swallow, “I was laughing with him when I should have been with you.”
He hums again, debating. “Do you think you deserve to cum at all?”
“Only if you think I deserve it, sir,” there’s a shakiness to your voice, one he knows all too well, it means please.
He looks you up and down once. “Bedroom,” is the only thing he responds, a sharp word that sends your heeled feet clicking over hardwood to the room at the back of your apartment. The lights are dim, soft, misleading; the way it lays over your duvet, your furniture, a streak creeping into the bathroom, it breeds comfort. You’re scared you won’t get any tonight.
“Kneel beside the bed, face it.”
You wince when your knees splinter the hardwood beneath you. Back straight, hands flat on your thighs, you sit on your calves, ass just meeting the heel of your stilettos. He doesn’t smile, he doesn’t praise you for following directions, following order, he watches.
One second, two, five, ten. Sitting on your shared bed, suit jacket discarded, knees spread, heels of his feet edged on the base. He pushes his sleeves up to his elbows before they meet his knees as he leans over his thighs, giving you a full view of his size above you. A display, one that makes you shiver every fucking time.
“You disappointed me tonight,” his voice is low but his tone is calm and it’s worse than loud, edged, spit-soaked anger. “You know how to behave, you know better. Correct?”
“Yes, sir,” you nod once.
“Do you have anything to say about your behavior tonight?”
“I’m sorry,” you mumble. His brow arches. Louder, you repeat, “I’m sorry for my behavior tonight, sir.”
He stares, waiting, watching. One second, two, five, ten.
“Save the apologies,” he stands, fingers working at the prongs of the black leather belt, so close to your face you almost flinch at his movement. “You’ll make it up to me properly.”
You nod, words breathy, “Yes, sir.”
With one step he’s behind you, you can feel him squat down just from the heat of him, you hear the metal of the belt buckle dragging against the hardwood floor, it makes your thighs clench together. His palms are warm when he wraps his long fingers around your arms, just above your elbows, he pulls them behind your back. Silently he wraps the belt around your wrists, tying it off securely, tight enough for you to feel the restriction but not enough to cut circulation.
With another step he’s in front of you, veiny hands tugging at his tie, loosening it before throwing it, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. He works the fastening of his slacks open, fingers tugging down his zipper, with thumbs in the waistband of his briefs, he pulls them both down over his hips until they reach mid-thigh. Your eyes flicker upward to meet his gaze, holding a question in your stare– he’s not even hard yet.
“Why are you looking at me?” His brows raise, “Do you not know what to do with a cock in your face?”
Your cheeks burn as you lift up, the tips of your toes meeting the hardwood, adjusting your height to meet his flaccid cock, there’s no hesitation as you bring your head forward, tongue poking out to catch the tip of him in your mouth. You hear the change in his breathing, a small, sudden intake of air, if it wasn’t so quiet in your bedroom you’re sure it would’ve gone over your head.
The breath is enough praise to take him into your mouth with confidence, to massage your tongue slowly against the underside of him, you feel him expand; length doubling in size, the width of him stretching your lips, the weight heavy on your tongue. Slightly salty, the taste of skin, bland and neutral, he mutters a curse when you take him deeper, but you don’t struggle bobbing your head, working up a rhythm, your movement quickening with each run of your tongue over his ridged tip.
“You can do better than that,” his tone is condescending, it makes your stomach drop. His hips buck into your mouth, cock reaching the back of your throat, making you gag, an ugly noise; his small hum of pleasure is worth a thousand words of praise.
“Is this what I have to do? Fuck your throat so you take me properly?”
Your eyes fill with salty tears as his cock fills your throat, you take him deeper, faster, nose meeting the tuft of hair at his base, inhaling, moaning, gurgling around him with each bob of your head. He groans, a hand coming up to meet your styled hair, ruining it as soon as his fingers tighten in your scalp. “Don’t cry, it’s pathetic, suck my cock like you mean it. Or do you want me to think you’d rather have your mouth on Yeosang?”
Your brows knit together and you hope it’s enough, that he sees the answer you can’t communicate. He hisses when you swallow around him, “He couldn’t fuckin’ handle you, couldn’t put you in your place, he wouldn’t know what to do with you. Do you understand? That you’re something that needs handling?”
You can’t answer– he knows you can’t answer, he isn’t expecting one, he knows your response. He flashes his teeth in a nasty grin when your tears spill, hot on your cheeks, streaking your makeup. “You need to be owned, need to be used, tied up with nothing left to do but take.”
The noise you make gets muffled by his cock, he hears it, his hips roll deeper into your throat, fingers gripping tighter at your scalp.
“You love it, don’t you? When I use your mouth? Turn you into a toy?” You whine around his cock, drool gathering at the sides of your mouth, you can hear the squelch of spit. “I know you do, bet your thighs are stickin’ together already. Should I fuck them instead? Cum all over your legs while your little pussy begs me for attention? Begs me just to look at her?”
Your eyelids flutter, eyes rolling back behind them, your thighs squeeze, wrists tugging at the leather binding them. His chuckle is dark, patronizing, when he speaks the words come out tighter, “Look at you, already begging for it when you can’t even talk. Is this what you wanted? Is that why I had to watch you flirt with my fuckin’ coworker? You needed a reminder that this is all you’re worth?”
Tears flow, makeup stinging your eyes, blurring your vision, his cock so heavy, so deep in your throat, each gag around him breeds more. His other hand meets your hair, rocking your head at the same pace of his hips bucking into your mouth, you breathe through your nose, your nails cut into your palms.
“Fuck,” it’s sharp, under his breath. “There you go, make me fuckin’ cum, ‘s all this mouth is good for.”
Drool spills from the corners of your mouth, dripping onto your thighs that start to shake, knees burning where they dig into the hardwood. You’re clenching around nothing with every other thrust, wishing he was fucking into your pussy with the brutal pace he’s using on your mouth.
“Don’t you dare waste a single drop,” his voice is ragged like his breath, the only proof he was enjoying this. His palms meet your cheeks, forcing your eyes open so he can ask, “Do you hear me?”
Your eyelids flutter, ignoring the sting of tears your gaze darts upward to see his face, veiny forearms in your peripherals. Jaw slacked, cheeks splotched with pink, eyes so dark they’re burnt, pleasure etched in each line of his perfect face. His button-up splits at the hem, showing you the pocket of skin between, the veins that swim from his hipbones up to where they disappear behind the v of fabric swollen, prominent.
“Gonna ruin this throat,” he uses pressure on your flaming cheeks, holding your head still as he fucks into your mouth faster, harder, ignoring how you choke around him. “Mine to do as I fuckin’ please.”
Your face is covered by saliva, tears and melted makeup, bubbles of spit popping before they sink down your jaw, down your neck, between your breasts. The sounds you make around his cock are brutal; loud, wet, unbecoming– they push him over the edge.
He cums with a strangled noise like it was caught in his throat, his chin dropping to his chest, his eyes squeezed shut. Ropes of warmth shoot straight down your throat and you’re disappointed you can’t taste the salt, feel the slimy consistency as if it were intentional, like you fucked up so bad he was keeping his cum from you, too. You whimper when he pulls out, sucking in a needed breath, swallowing down the spit in your mouth, feeling the cool air of the bedroom brushing against the streaks of liquid on your body.
You don’t move without direction. You don’t speak without order.
He runs a hand through his hair, chest heaving beneath his shirt, he gives you no praise. He doesn’t even look at you kindly. He gives you a one-over, top lip lifting in distaste, “You’re a fucking mess. On the bed.”
Your legs are wobbly beneath you as you climb onto the white duvet, hands still secured at the base of your spine, you lay on top of them, knees still burning, swollen, uncomfortable. He doesn’t get on the bed with you, he tugs you back down to the edge by your ankles, pushing your legs up until they’re dangling. Hands on your swollen knees, he parts them, ignoring the way you suck in a sharp breath.
“Be quiet,” he’s staring between your legs, “I don’t want to hear a sound out of that mouth. Holes don’t speak.” You clench your jaw to keep it closed, thighs twitching. He continues, “Knew this slutty cunt would be soaked. ‘S all over your thighs, aren’t you embarrassed?”
You meet his eye, lips parted, but you don’t speak. His lips curve at the corner, “No? Proud of how wet you get from being used? Being nothing?”
He’s baiting you, you force your breath into submission, calm despite your heart pounding against your ribs, wild and arrhythmic. You clench around nothing, air catching on the wetness between your legs, coating your thighs, you’re not embarrassed. You could never be, not when his eyes light up, his lips curve, staring at you like he wants to do nothing less than devour you when you’re spread out for him like this.
You’re built for him, by him, and he knows it.
Warm palms sear your thighs, one sinking down your calf, fingers ghosting over one of your heeled feet. He pushes it forward, towards your chest, staring at the silver stiletto, finger following the shape of the arch, touching the pointed heel. Not even looking at you, keeping his eyes on your pedicure, he mutters, “These stay on.”
Your bottom lip quivers, trembles, fingers clawing at the mattress behind your back. His eyes find yours, “Being so obedient now, is this what happens when you’re guilty? When you know you fucked up? I get a sweet girl for once?”
Your entire body reacts to his words, a full-blown shiver that racks through you like a wave. His voice is a spell, his words are tantalizing, laced with sweetness, it throws your mind for a loop, you almost reply. Your lips open and then close, he grins like he knows he’s on the right track.
His fingers wrap around your ankle, placing it over his shoulder, his other hand leaving your thigh to paint a finger through your folds. Your lips tighten, teeth clamping down, brows furrowing at the stimulation, noise climbing up your throat with claws bared. His touch leaves as quickly as he gives it, he brings his finger up past his lips, moaning at the taste, loud and obnoxious, “It’s too bad you don’t deserve my mouth, wanna eat her so bad. I think Yeosang would like the taste too, don’t you?”
Your jaw clenches, he stores the reaction. Bringing his hand back down to your center, he uses two fingers to spread your folds, watching as you clench around nothing, as your body begs for what your mouth isn’t allowed to say. He hums, leaning down, gathering spit in his mouth before shooting it straight onto your mound, your body jumps in response. With his thumb at your clit, he adds the smallest pressure to spread the slick, your lips part, a quiet gasp sneaking through.
His eyes flicker upward, “Behave.” He rubs slow circles, barely any pressure, following your hips that buck into his hand, “Stop moving. Take it.”
Your face contorts, abdomen flexing, spine bending, teeth clamped down over your bottom lip. You try to keep your hips flush to the bed, you fail. His hand leaves your calf over his shoulder, falling to your belly, pushing down to keep you flat, “Right after I said you were being obedient, too. Shame.”
His thumb leaves your clit to push two fingers inside and your elbows bend, hands sliding up your spine, pulling at the belt keeping you restrained. A desperate moan pushes past, hips jerking against his hand pinning you down, his name falls off your lips right after, “Yunho! Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
Lips pursed, his head shakes slowly, disappointed. Your body burns, hot with embarrassment, blood carbonated, sizzling with fear, your eyes stay blown wide, watching him calculate what comes next. He doesn’t react further, instead his fingers work you open, pads of his fingertips massaging against the spongy spot inside you, your breathing becomes verbal. Shallow, chest moving rapidly, wrists fighting against the restraint, it feels too good not to move. Not to react.
He knows your weak points, knows your strengths; he uses them both to his advantage.
“Do you think I’m doing this for your pleasure?” He doesn’t look up, voice steady, he watches how your slick gushes around his digits instead, how your core takes his fingers so easily, greedily. “I should shove my cock inside you without prep, that’s what you deserve for being a whore. But I decided to be kind, and this is how you repay me? By being greedy?”
You keep your lips glued together until his eyes meet yours, “Speak.”
“I’m sorry!” Your voice is pitched, face scrunched together, he can hear the shame in your voice, feel how your body disagrees. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t deserve it, I- I, please just–”
“Shut up,” he cuts you off, “Forgot how fucking irritating it is to hear you whine.”
You feel the pressure in your face again, swimming up your sinuses, filling your waterline with salty heat. He doesn’t notice until your breathing breaks, tears already spilled, pleasure wound tight in the pit of your belly, below his palm that sits heavy and harsh.
“You’re crying again?” He sounds bored, annoyed. “You’re useless, you know that? Can’t follow simple fuckin’ directions.”
He sighs before he slips his fingers out, two hands finding the plush of your ass beneath your lifted thighs, pushing you up the bed.
“Maybe you should fuck Yeosang,” he crawls on top of the mattress with you, fingers working his buttons open while you shake your head, tears falling silently, he stares at you with lifted brows like he couldn’t be more uninterested. “You’re nearing worthless at this point.”
He throws the button-up off the bed, pulling his white tank over his head, his slacks and briefs already gone, discarded before your back hit the mattress. Face still reading uninterested, he grabs both of your legs by your ankles, throwing them over his shoulders as he spreads his knees, lowering himself until his eyes lock on your glistening folds.
“You don’t deserve my cock,” he says it like it’s something you already know. A mewl stirs in your throat, you swallow it down as he wraps his fingers around the base, pushing it through your folds. “So fuckin’ wet, she’s begging for it. You think you deserve it?”
He looks up at you just to see you shake your head no, his eyes follow the way your tear-streaked cheeks shine in the dim light.
Circling his tip over your clit, he asks again, “Not even the tip?”
You release a shaky breath, sniffing through your clogged sinuses, every bone in your body screaming yes, you’d beg for it, on all fours, you’d do anything for it. But that’s not what he wants to hear, so you shake your head once more.
“Alright,” he says it passively and it makes your brows knit together. Like if you said yes, he’d do it.
Your lips part, face warped into confusion, voice coated in a cry, “W-wait.”
“No,” he moves one of your ankles to his other shoulder, crossing them, “You made your bed.”
“Yunho–”
His eyes flicker upward, warning enough, your lips smack together to silence yourself. The tip of his cock prods at the seam of your thighs, so thick and hot and wet it makes you squirm, ankles locking over his shoulder. He smacks the side of your thigh once, “Clench ‘em for me. Be a good sleeve.”
Your breath is shaky as you tighten your thighs, body rigid, wrists fighting their restraints. Tears spill hotter, heavier when he groans out in relief, cock passing between your thighs, so close to your aching cunt you can feel your composure getting pushed to its limit. One hand holds your ankles over his shoulder, the other squeezes one of your thighs, you watch how his abdomen flexes with each roll of his hips, how his throat bobs when his head falls back in pleasure.
“Feels good,” his voice is gravelly, laced with arousal, his hips moving slow enough to draw out his own pleasure. You try to keep yourself tight, composed, enjoyable for him, but your patience is a thin band, one running taut too quickly. He picks up the pace, his hips smacking against your sensitive legs, they start to shake where they lay hooked over his shoulder.
“Stay still,” he gruffs out, “Stop shaking.”
A defeated cry escapes through your parted lips, mumbling a wilted, pathetic, “Please.”
He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, doesn’t address that you’ve spoken. You’re drifting as his grip turns tighter, fingers on your ankles, palm on your thigh, tight enough to bruise; his hips pick up speed, filling the room with the sound of skin smacking skin. You’re clenching around nothing again, so strung out and sensitive that the ripple of his cock between your thighs is close enough to friction. You can feel your pulsing clit, muscles tightening, heart picking up speed as it starts to feel somewhat pleasurable. Better than nothing, not nearly enough to get you off.
He does a double take when he notices your brows knitted up, lips parted, breath layered. His laugh is punched, taunting, “You’re getting off on this?” A whimper escapes. “I thought I told you to keep your mouth shut. This is a punishment, not a fucking position.”
You seal your lips together again, your lashes becoming a waterfall, his hand leaves your thigh just to land against your skin heavier, harder, the sound striking through the room, nearly blending in with the sound of his hips against your thighs.
“I’d be inside you if you listened. If you didn’t speak, if you didn’t flirt with my friend in front of my goddamn face,” his voice is as rough as his movements, he watches where his cock disappears, grinds his teeth when your thighs clench. “Can’t believe this is getting you off. Nothing but a cockhungry whore, doesn’t matter where I fuckin’ put it, does it?”
Your thighs clench again and he cracks ever so slightly, a splinter in his demeanor. The sound he lets out is pitched, something of a moan, small and wanting as he chases his release, “Fuck, almost as good as your pussy. Maybe I don’t need to use her at all anymore, maybe I’ll tape her shut.”
Another sob falls past your lips, head tilting to the side, “No.”
“No?” His eyes meet yours, “No?”
“I need you–”
“You’re mine,” his voice is harsher now, like you’ve finally hit a nerve. He pulls out, throwing your legs to the side, one arm scooping under you to flip you onto your stomach. Pulling you upright, on all fours, knees together, your face is buried in the bed, another sob cracking through your shaking body. “I’ll do whatever I want, this body is mine, you belong to me. You’re my property, when are you going to get that through your thick fucking skull?”
When his cock pushes past the seam of your thighs again, legs on either side of yours, it's lower. Farther away from your slippery cunt, skin still lubed up with how much you’ve spilled, his voice is edged as he lands a harsh smack on your ass, biting, “Squeeze your fuckin’ thighs, you can’t afford to disappoint me again.”
He holds his hands tight on your hips, steadying you, groaning low and long when he picks up the pace tenfold, harsher than the rhythm he was giving you before. He plants a foot on the bed, choking out a moan, “Gonna cum all over these thighs, this ass, then I’m gonna make you eat it.”
You moan, it’s a soft noise, too soft for how unforgiving he was at your backside. Your mind is cloudy, in your head, his degrading words are close enough to praise, your body responds. He lands another heavy smack to your ass, sending you deeper into the plush of the mattress, into the fuzz, you moan.
He sounds almost surprised when he says, “That’s not a fucking reward, you’re disgusting.”
Your wrists pull at the belt, thighs clenching, another shameless moan pushing past your lips. His hips stutter, fingertips tightening at your hips, “Fuck, nasty fuckin’ thing.”
He slips from between your thighs, leaving them vibrating and hot. You can hear how fast his fist moves over his length, slick and wet, lewd, his groan is a stutter as he cums, thick ropes of white landing over your ass, your thighs, warm, heavy, you can’t help but moan at the feeling. Being marked, owned, being his, however he wants you, however he’ll have you.
You hear him panting, tight breaths pushed from his lips, you know he’s staring, watching it drip, admiring the mess he made like it was art. With one hand still on your hip, he uses the other to wipe his painting off your skin, gathering it on his fingers, a glob of wet sticky warmth, your mouth waters knowing he’s about to feed it to you.
Your thighs shake as he knocks your knees apart for stability, reaching one arm forward to wrap under your belly, pulling you upward. You whimper at the force but your body follows without hands to help you.
“Here,” he sounds like he’s giving you a gift as your back hits his chest. He moves your hair out of your face, your jaw already pried open, he stuffs his cum-coated fingers past your lips and your eyes roll back. Salty, thick, nasty, you moan at how fucking dirty it feels, abdomen flexing because he’s finally giving you something. Mouth closing, tongue sucking his fingers clean, your thighs squeeze.
“Good girl,” he whispers, “Eat it all, lick my fingers clean.” You moan again, eyes opening, low-lidded as you stare at him from under your brows, swallowing. His face scrunches, lips parting, “Fuck.”
He watches as your spit-stained mouth opens when he presses down on your tongue, no evidence of his release leftover. His fingers move slowly, spreading inside your mouth like he wanted to feel the texture of your tongue, they drag down until your bottom lip folds over, your own spit hitting your chin.
“So pliant,” he whispers, watching, analyzing, “You’ll let me do anything right now, won’t you?”
You whimper, so soft and light you barely register it came from you. His other hand wraps around your front, two fingers dipping between your legs, adding pressure to your clit. You fold, or try to, his other arm wraps around your front, forearm between your breasts, fingers landing steady at the base of your throat, holding you flush to him.
“Still.” Despite the order being direct, his voice is calm, sweet almost, eyes dancing over your features, watching how your face contorts in pleasure. He keeps his pace slow, circling his fingers lightly, “Cum, just like this.”
Your instinct tells you not to trust his kindness, pressure building steadily at the base of your belly, but he works you so easily, even with small circles and light pressure, your body responds like a live wire, as if two light fingers were a vibrator on its highest setting. Your moans mix with tiny gasps, body fidgeting at the pleasure, so sensitive you think you might be running from it.
He cooes, “Come on, baby. I’m letting you cum, might be the only orgasm I let you have tonight. Impress me.”
The need to deliver, obey, appease him is too embedded in you not to listen, even if you know better. You choke on a moan, reaching your peak quicker than you should, sounds climbing in staccato, so close you could fucking taste it– he rips his fingers away just as you approach the edge and you sob, body lurching forward, “No!”
He pulls you back against him, keeping you locked in place. He shushes you, running his hands over your skin, your thighs, your stomach, comforting touches that pull tears from your eyes for the third time. You choke on a cry, crumbling into him, leaning your weight against him.
“So good for me,” he praises, voice candy-sweet. Confusion makes you whimper a mumble of his name.
He waits until your twitching subsides, still brushing his fingers over your skin, soothing the loss until you’ve forgotten it. When your sobs quiet, your breathing evens a little more, he dips his fingers between your thighs again.
“Yunho!” You gasp, bucking against him, “T-too much.”
“Shut up,” he grinds out in your ear, “Take it.”
His fingers work quicker, more pressure, pleasure builds inside you like it never stopped.
“I can’t–” You hiccup, “Please let me cum, sir, p-please let me, I can’t take it–”
The arm that’s wrapped around your front reaches farther up until two fingers push past your lips, sitting heavy on your tongue like stone. You gag around the length of them, knuckles hooked between your teeth while his other hand works quicker, tighter circles on your clit.
“Don’t remember telling you to speak,” you feel his breath on your ear, words chopped, rough, mean. “I remember telling you not to make a fucking sound.”
You’re gurgling around his fingers, more ugly noises, you’re too close to care. Electricity zaps through every limb, legs trembling, hips bucking away from his fingers because you can’t handle the pleasure even if you need it.
You’re babbling over the weight on your tongue, looking up at him with pleading eyes, mumbling begs in-between every gag, he stays focused on his fingers between your legs, pulling you as close as he can to the finish line.
“Y’gonna cum?” His eyes finally meet yours, searching your face for the answer before you can make a sound. You nod, tongue flexing under his fingers, pressure built up so tight and heavy in your body you might blow if he doesn’t let you release. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, so sticky sweet it makes you moan. His voice is sharp against your skin, “Slutty cunts don’t get to cum.”
There’s a millisecond to process his words before he rips his fingers away and that’s how long it takes for your sanity to slip. Sobs, real ones rip from your chest; ugly and booming, he lets your body go, lets you fall forward, flat against the mattress, wrists clawing at the belt, twitching and jerking so fucking shamelessly it makes Yunho smile.
“Am I breaking you, baby?” He crawls on top of you, flipping you over like your dead weight means nothing to him. “Are you finally understanding what it means to be mine?”
The word yes leaves your lips between each sob like a chant, wrists aching beneath leather, your skin was probably inflamed and swollen by now from how much you’ve thrashed against the belt, but you don’t feel it, you don’t care. You need more. You need release.
He pushes your knees up, humming, ignoring your choked sobs like they didn’t exist. “You think Yeosang would want you like this?” He smacks his teeth, “A crying, begging whore? You think he’d touch this slutty, swollen cunt?”
“No! I’m s-sorry,” you hiccup, sounding so distraught it’s almost deranged, “Please.”
“Please what?” His cock lays heavy over your leaking cunt, reaching well over your pubic bone, it makes your trembling worse. “What are you asking me for?”
“I– I–”
“Shut up,” he lowers his grip down to your thighs, the sensitive part on the inside, rutting his hips ever so slightly against your folds. Your head tilts back, letting out a sound of tight pleasure mixed with frustration, his cock on you isn’t enough. You need him inside.
“He wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole,” he continues, wrapping his fingers around the base of his length, adding pressure as his hips rut against you again. “This pussy is used. I’ve ruined it for anyone else, ruined you.”
Your spine bends at his words as he works up a rhythm, pace combined with the added pressure, his cockhead runs over your swollen clit with each thrust, it’s almost enough for you to start climbing again. You moan out in relief, in euphoria, just from having him on you.
His grip tightens on your thigh, “You like that? Being ruined? Like the idea of another man being repulsed by you?”
“Yes,” your face contorts, tears hot in the lines stretching across your skin, breath ragged, hips bucking against him when his rhythm slows.
He curses under his breath as he feels you clench, “Of course you do. This pussy only wants me. Trained to only respond to me.”
“Yes,” a little louder, laced with your climbing pleasure, “Only you.”
“Don’t cum.” You watch his knuckles turn white at the base of his cock. “You haven’t earned it yet.”
“Please!” You cry, so completely at his mercy, body shaking, heels piercing your thighs with each roll of his hips. “Please l-let me, I’ll be good– I’ll listen, I won’t ever look at him again–”
Your fingers curl into the duvet beneath you, pleasure, desperation, the stimulation you’re getting from his cockhead over your clit is enough, it’s fast enough, he said no. He’s focused on your core, how his cock slides against your slick, how it bubbles and swirls around your folds with each thrust of his hips.
“Yunho,” you cry, a little louder, more severe, “Inside, p-please!”
He grits through tight teeth, “Shut the fuck up.”
Your body locks, bones feeling tight, stuck to each muscle like one look from him had turned you to stone. Small, stuttered breaths escape you one after another, rising in pitch, he can feel the stemming pleasure in your gut, he knows it’s building, he can see it on your face.
You’re close, but he’s closer. He takes the chance, fucking into his fist before his cock meets the wet heat your folds, he grunts out a curse, fingers so tight around your thigh it hurts.
“You wanna cum?” His eyes flicker upward and your heart stops dead in your chest.
“Y-Yes– Yes Yunho, please, I’ll do anything–”
“Beg for it.”
Incoherent babbles disguised as pleas, nothing more, a display of desperation that was music to his ears. His hips stutter with each whimper, each whine, the wetness on your cheeks, your body that’s steaming under his touch, it’s so hot his stomach curls with his approaching orgasm.
He chokes on a groan, “You’re so fucking stupid, you don’t learn. Nothing but a dumb, desperate whore.”
You moan and he gasps, thighs twitching as he ruts into his fist like an animal, fucking himself through the orgasm that leaves your cunt, your belly, your thighs covered in cum, his third orgasm. Your knees tie together, a sob so defeated and tired ripping from your gut, your cunt pulses, he can see it. He can’t stop himself from pushing his cock inside.
“Yunho!” You all but whisper, wrecked voice bouncing off the walls, body thrashing against him.
He moans, small but there, it’s suffering and overstimulated. Your wrists burn, halfway up your back, arched so high the leather doesn’t touch you. You can feel your tears pooling in your ears, sobbing in relief and satisfaction and sheer fucking pleasure.
He doesn’t move. He sits there, face tied together in overstimulation, lips caught between his teeth, fingers holding onto your legs for purchase like he might die if he didn’t grab onto you with all his strength.
“Please,” you cry, “Move.”
His jaw clenches, breathing manual, chest rising and falling so heavily you regret the word as soon as it passes through your lips.
“I can’t take it,” you continue through the regret, another mistake. “I’m yours, Yunho, I- I belong to you, I’m your whore, your sleeve–”
“If you were my fucking whore you wouldn’t disobey me,” he grits out, you can feel his thighs shaking, but he adjusts himself to fuck into you properly. “Say it if you need to, but you’ve taken it before and I know you can take it again.”
The word is nowhere near your tongue and he knows it.
“Quit crying, then,” he moves his hands, fingers sinking beneath your back to hold your waist, thumbs sliding where they slipped through his cum on your sides. “I’m tired of hearing it. You’re getting what you want.”
“I want to cum,” you cry out, you’re sure you’ve broken skin at the heel of your palms from how hard your nails have cut into them, you can barely feel the sting. His fingers bruise your back, keeping you still, forcing you to take it as he slips out agonizingly slow, and pushes back inside.
“I don’t think you deserve it,” he sounds unaffected by being inside you, like fucking your thighs really was the same, if not better. Your sobs reflect the thought, feeling so used, full of shame; the flame of desire that dwells within your gut is nowhere close to being smothered, you need more, you need to be full of him, you need to cum around his cock.
“Ple– ase,” you choke on the word, “Y-Yunho, please.”
“Pussy missed me,” he sounds like he’s reminiscing, “Listen, she’s suckin’ me in.”
You hear it then, the squelch, the ungodly sound of his cock sliding into you fluidly. You wallow in it, the humiliating noise, the feeling of him running over that spot with every thrust, filling you up like he’s carved himself space inside you, whittled at your womb until you could take him and him only.
“There you go,” it’s not praise, it’s relief, “Finally giving up. So much better when you’re easy.”
There’s nothing left inside you but sound, desperate and aching, it fills the room on top of the sound of his hipbones slapping against your thighs, the room sounding wet and disgusting. Pressure builds, steady and true, his rhythm daunting, pushing you closer to an edge you don’t know if he’ll let you fall off of.
“This is all you need,” his voice sounds heavier, layered with pressure, “My cock fucking you full. You don’t need to think, don’t need to breathe, you don’t need to be.”
You breathe out a noise, a babble about getting close, he doesn’t hear it. You sink deeper into the haze with each thrust, consumed by pleasure, cheek sliding against the duvet every time his cockhead kisses your cervix.
“You all dumb for me?” You can hear his smile, “Fuck, are you finally broken, baby? Feel nothing but me? Thinking of nothing but me?”
The leather binding your wrists feels miles away. You’re reaching, he knows it.
His hips snap against yours, so brutal and unforgiving, pleasure is an unwrapped gift with how your orgasm hits, catching you off guard. The sound that rips through you is deafening, limbs thrashing against the duvet, your restraints, it’s too late for him to slip his cock out. He knows it, even if he does it anyway, you cry out, hips bucking against nothing searching for friction to extend your orgasm as long as you can.
He doesn’t speak when he flips you over. His hands are rough, movements quick, his cock splits you open the moment your knees hit the mattress. You don’t get a second to feel relief.
“You’re nothing but a greedy fucking whore,” each word is punched, animalistic, angry and ragged; your spine bends toward him, cunt clenching around him, toes digging into the heels on your feet. He pushes you down with one hand, “Keep that fucking back down.”
“Again,” you cry, weak and desperate, “Again.”
He’s fucking you like he hates you, like your pleasure meant nothing to him. Brows furrowed, jaw sharp like a blade, he’s angry as his cock drills inside you, chest red and splotchy, sweat beading down his mismatched skin.
“Shut the fuck up,” he growls, “Stupid bitch, you’re only making it worse for yourself.”
“I’m sorry–”
He lands a sharp smack to your ass, “Don’t fuckin’ apologize. Deal with the consequences.”
“I’m sorry!” It’s louder this time, strained. Your hips fuck back, knees buried in the bed for stability, “I need you, I need it, I need to cum again, please– please Yunho, I’ll–”
He reaches down to push your face into the mattress, “I told you to shut the fuck up, listen for once in your goddamn life.”
Mouth meeting cotton, you can’t catch your breath, shins kicking against the mattress. His pace is angry, brutal, you can feel yourself falling apart, pleasure and pain melting together, desperation and satisfaction blending into one. Your head feels fuzzy again from the loss of air, cloudy in a way that means submission, your body softens.
He lets go of your head to grab onto the belt with one hand, pulling you up, back level with your hips, your sobs becoming verbal once again. Your head hangs low, deadweight for him to hold.
“Say you’re sorry.”
Light, airy, your cloudy eyes meet the duvet, “I’m s-sorry–”
“Say it like you fucking mean it.”
You wince, “I’m so sorry, sir.”
His voice sounds rigid, like he might cum again. “Tell me what you are.”
The answer comes easy, “I’m a whore.”
He lands a sharp smack to your ass, “You’re less than that.”
“I’m n-nothing,” you whimper, “A h-hole, a sleeve.”
He lets go of the belt and you fall against the mattress, a rough sound muffled as your chest hits cotton. He flattens you with his palms, lowering his weight over your back until his skin sticks to yours, he slides one arm beneath you, under your chest, cupping your jaw with one huge palm. He guides your head to the side to see him, sweaty and angled and fucked out, but he rounds out when he sees you– face flushed, wet with saliva, tears, splotched and messy, your eyes glossy and huge and somewhere else.
He starts rolling his hips into you again, slower, just as damning, “You’re missing something.”
Your brows furrow, clenching around him, mewling out something incoherent before asking, “M-missing?”
He rolls his hips, cock brushing over that spot, you shake against him, body trembling. He bites his lip roughly like he’s forcing himself into composure before he asks, “Who’s hole? Who’s sleeve?”
“Y-Yours!” You’re scrambling to correct your mistake, “I’m y-yours. Your whore, your hole, your sleeve. Yours to use.”
He moans, soft and wilted and fucking angelic. His rhythm doesn’t falter, patient but aimed, like he wanted you to feel every inch, every vein. You can’t move, stuck under his weight, held in his palm, your face forms to gratification, lips open but silent, eyelids fluttering, you feel like you’ve given him all of you. Your pleasure, your pain, he holds it all in the palm of his hand, he holds you like you’re something sacred.
“Made for me,” his voice is quieter, soft at the edges. “Only I could love you like this. Broken, small.” He drops into just above a whisper, “Ruined.”
“Please,” you whisper, a single tear running down your cheek, “Cum inside me.”
Hot salt meets his fingers, his grip tightens ever so slightly, cock twitching inside you. “Cum for me first. Show me how well you listen.”
Your brows furrow, instinct at war with his tone, his words. Even if you don’t know how honest he is, your body reacts, rutting against his thrusts, clenching around his length that sails over the front of your walls with purpose. Climbing, reaching, you stare into his dark, focused eyes, softly whimpering, “Yunho.”
“I got you, I’ll let you,” he encourages, his tone not fully sweet. “Just this once.”
Your body trusts him, enough that your peak approaches in a cloudy haze; you tremble in pleasure, choking on a cry, crumbling against his arm that holds you still, steady, safe.
“Fuck,” it’s a hot word in your ear, “So fucking tight.”
His hips pick up and you move, tears falling hot again, overstimulated and forced in a cycle of pleasure, your wrists pull, your legs thrash, your whines pick up, his grip tightens on your jaw.
“Want me to fill this pussy up?” His breathing is as verbal as his question, “You think you deserve it?”
“Yes,” you answer in a cry, “I do, I do, please– inside, sir, Yunho, please–”
He gruffs out a noise squeezed from his throat, hips smacking against your skin, stuttering. His fingers push up on your jaw until it closes, silencing you with fingers pressed in your face, his head dipping low as he chases his orgasm.
“Slutty fucking cunt,” he growls out, lips just grazing your shoulder he lifted, “No you don’t.”
You don’t process the rejection as he lifts himself, you turn over with haste in the second it takes to settle, pleas on your tongue; he’s already crawling over you, knees beside your shoulders, fist wrapped around his cock.
“Yunho, no–”
“Learn from this.” He pumps his length with fervor, knuckles white, hips bucking into his own hand. “Remember this the next time you think about giving my property away.”
You don’t know how you have any more tears to give. Sucking down air, body thrashing beneath his thighs that pin you down, you wail. He watches, lips parting, brows furrowing, like your face and your pain was getting him off, it doesn’t take long until he’s groaning, cock spilling ropes of white onto your cheeks, your nose, your hair, your chest.
Heartbreak blooms. Chest cracking, you succumb to the tears, slipping from your half-open eyes down to the streaks of white on your face, mixing into salty, thick heat. You might be talking, repetition of no filling the air like it’d rewind time, convince him to fill you up again and leave his mark behind.
He takes his time crawling off you, turning you halfway, one hand skillfully prying the belt undone. Your arms are free but you can’t feel the air on your wrists, even as he moves them in front of you. Sitting beside you he lifts your wrists, checking them, moving the pads of his thumbs over your swollen veins on the inside.
“Fist,” it’s soft; a direct order, one without malice. You barely hear it over your cries, but you flex your fingers, make a fist, he nods once in approval, thumbs ghosting over the red, broken crescents in the heels that your nails left behind.
Tangling his fingers with yours, it’s not a show of affection, he moves your wrists in a circular motion, clockwise, then counter-clockwise, watching your face for any sign of pain or discomfort. There’s none, other than your dejected cries, he knows you well enough to know the difference.
Laying your wrists softly beside you, he crawls downward, lifting one leg, untying the buckle at your ankle. He slips your heel off your foot, pressing a kiss to the underside of your toes, another to your ankle. He moves to the other after gently laying your leg down, repeating the process, his lips soft against your skin.
He leans forward again, stretching his legs out beneath him, slinging an arm under your shoulders to tuck you into his chest. Your forehead meets his skin, wet and sticky with sweat, his cum, saliva; being eased into comfort after so long of not having it just makes you cry harder. He lets you release, one hand in your scalp, the other grazing your back, he doesn’t speak until your sobs lower, when you’ve reached a point that you have nothing else to spend.
“You did so well for me,” he whispers, lips softly meeting your roots. “Took everything I gave you, I’m so proud of you.”
All you can respond is a whimper, soft and light, the only sound you have left inside. Exhaustion lays heavy like a blanket, its weight on your eyelids, on your legs, in the arches of your feet.
“I’m gonna go get you some water.”
Your shaky arms reach, neck bending, holding him close with your palm on his waist. Meeting his eye, seeing him, you hope he can see the not yet in your eyes. His face deflates into roundness as his thumb meets your cheek, wiping slick off your skin that’s gone cold by now. His eyes sparkling and soft, he’s in caretaker mode– the doing after he takes, you aren’t ready for it yet. You need him.
His eyes flicker to your lips and he can feel the way you bend for him, into him, asking for it without saying a word. His lips meet yours with delicacy, a soft graze of his lips before you part for him, beckoning for more. He lets his lips mold with yours, open and sweet, no haste, gradual and slow, his hands exploring your skin, your palm reaching upward to cup his cheek.
“One more,” you whisper into his mouth, using all your might to form words. Your ankle hooks over his back, a shaky breath escaping you when your body meets the cold slick of his spent length. He hisses at the friction, head beginning to shake, you cut him off before he can speak. “Please.”
His eyes study your face for a moment. “You can handle it?”
“I need it,” your voice cracks on the second word. “Need to feel that you love me.”
His brows furrow, “Baby.”
“Yunho,” you whimper in the same tone, “Please.”
He catches your lips in a kiss and you’re not met with any more haste than before. It’s slow, passionate, he’s burning words onto your tongue, making you feel it instead of him saying it. He reaches down between your bodies, pumping his cock once, twice, pushing a small sound into your mouth, one you swallow down, tucking it beside your heart. Running his tip through your folds, you brace yourself, legs already shaking, bruised and battered and still aching for more.
You wince as he starts pushing inside, his lips meet your jaw. On your sides, facing each other, you throw your arms over his shoulders, his hands sinking down around your waist, from how close you lay there’s barely any room for him to feed you a full thrust. He tries, grinding his cock against that spot inside you, eating every soft, wrecked moan you spill.
“I love you so much,” he finally says, “Every inch of you, every part of this body.”
You whimper, fingers curling into his hair with no force, succumbing to the pleasure, the slight sting of overstimulation.
“You take everything,” he whispers, lips against your cheek, you feel his breath, the severity of his words. “Do so fucking well for me every time. I need you.” Your heart jumps, clenching around him, pressure stemming. He repeats, voice a little louder, “I need you, love you s’much, ‘d do anything for you.”
Your hands drop to his shoulderblades, nails sinking in, breath growing heavier, a soft moan slipping past your lips, into his mouth. You whimper, voice cracking, “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” his fingertips curl into your back, “I know, baby.”
“I love you,” your voice cracks again, breath going uneven, he kisses you softly.
Your hips move with his, meeting each roll, the slick sound of your still-soaked center a symphony in your dimlit bedroom. He hears when your breathing shifts, as you start to climb. “Yes,” he encourages, voice dripping in praise, “Cum for me, baby, you deserve it. Did so good for me.”
Your breath hitches, hips twitching against him, he rolls into you a little harder. He kisses you, tongue sloppy inside your mouth, tasting everything you’d given him tonight, taking responsibility for it all. He turns you just slightly, angling you onto your back a little more so he can piston his hips higher, against that spot inside you. Your leg dangles, leaving your body spread and open, so trusting it makes his stomach do a flip. He presses two fingers against your clit, rubbing quick, tight circles.
He knows you’re seeing stars by the loud, pitched cry from your throat, he curses under his breath, “C’mon, cum for me. Give it to me, let me have it, I need it.”
Your spine bends on command, thighs shaking, pleasure washing over you in tremors. Eyes squeezing shut, he kisses your unmoving mouth, fingers working your clit, fucking you through it, extending your release, pulling it deeper, hotter, longer.
He kisses your cheek when a tear slips out, wiping his upper lip with his tongue. Your face is bent up in pleasure, eyes big and doe-like, pupils dilated. You mumble, voice little and weak, “Please cum inside me.”
His pace quickens, chasing instead of supplying, voice caught in his chest. You kiss him again, sloppier, moaning into his mouth as he fucks into you steadily, fingers curling into his hair while you fuck him back. He chokes on a moan, hand splayed across your abdomen, hips losing their rhythm before he stutters, legs shaking, spilling everything that’s left inside him to give.
Winded, breathing heavy, Yunho’s spent. There’s nothing but the sound of your breath in the room, he keeps his cock inside you until it’s soft and even then you wait until discomfort knocks on your door to part.
“Can I clean you up?” He asks into the silence, palm still heavy over your sticky stomach.
You moan your disagreement. “We need to shower.”
He rolls over, pressing a soft kiss onto your cheek, “Are you strong enough to?”
Your head turns, meeting his eye, a smile curving your lips to a singular degree. “I don’t really have a choice. You came on me twice– three times?”
He plants his palms on either side of your head, eyes meeting the ceiling in thought. “Mouth, thighs, stomach, face, inside. Three.”
You throw your arms over his shoulders, bringing him down to kiss you. A soft, quick peck, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” he smiles into your lips, “I’ll carry you and clean you, you don’t have to do anything. I’ll change our sheets, we’ll eat something, watch our show…”
You nod slowly, brain drifting. From the most vulnerable part of your foggy mind comes a question, voice thin as you ask, “You know I don’t want Yeosang, right?”
His eyes flicker over your face, searching for the emotion that asked the question.
“Of course,” he replies, full of confidence, already spitting quick reassurance, “We’re perfect. I’m not angry at you, I’m not upset with you, I don’t have any feelings that will fester over tonight. Are you okay? Did I push you too far?”
You shake your head, “No.” Biting your lip, they scrunch to one side. “I’m okay, I just… Don’t stray too far away from me tonight. Please.”
He leans down to press another kiss on your forehead, “I won’t leave your side. I promise.”
summary: your attempts to be discreet fail, and mingi knows.
(don't have to read with previous parts to understand, but its way better with them!)
part 1: angel tears | part 2: daddy’s money | series+oneshots m.list
pairing: yunho/fem reader, mingi/fem reader
wc: 7.8k
tags: pov second person, use of y/n, nepobaby!mingi, ex!yunho, smut, jealousy, swearing, alcohol consumption, smut, etc
[minors beware!]
a/n : i wrote the second part of this high and proofread it high so forgive the mistakes and um why did this take me a month ok enjoy :3 and also this part is literally just...something. it's something. it's porn with miniscule plot if you squint.
minnie: i’d like you to come here.
minnie: use my card to get yourself a ride.
—
your heart pounds as you reach the door to his luxury apartment, the same dark wood door you were accustomed to by now. you should be used to it, walking into his place always felt like home. but now, it felt chilling, like you were walking straight into a lions den.
mingi never made you come to his place on your own. if he wanted you with him, he would pick you up, no matter how late it was. it’s never too much for my princess, as he would say. his card was just on your phone if you ever needed it, and now, the $59.90 ride charge felt dawning.
drawing in a deep inhale, your fingers find his door handle. it’s cold, doing nothing to aid the nervous sweat that makes your palms clammy. you slowly push it open, and the creak sounds hollow, far away.
mingi sits on his black armchair, a glass of what looked to be hennessy in one hand. the other rests lazily on the chairs arm with a cigarette perched between his fingers, and he doesn’t flinch nor look your way when you shuffle in. you try to stay as quiet as possible, like any sudden movement would make him pounce. the room smells like expensive cigarette smoke and eucalyptus leaves, and you could almost gag out of nervousness.
the tv is shut off. the blinds are kept closed. the only light in his apartment is the dim white kitchen light, illuminating the place in shadows and painting mingis face a grey hue.
he inhales once, the end of his cigarette crackling, and you hold your breath. when he blows out, smoke dissipates around him, and the ice in his drinks shifts, clinking once. you wring your fingers together uncomfortably, preparing yourself for the confrontation.
he smushes his cigarette on the glass ashtray beside him, slowly twisting it between his fingers like he needs it to ground him.
“sweetheart.” mingis voice curls around you like steam. his voice is different, lower.
“yes?” you reply from your spot in his doorway, praying he doesn’t notice the hitch in your breath, nor the small exhale you let out.
“come. sit across from me.” he mindlessly shakes the ice in his drink around, the clinking burying the soft pad of your footsteps. you don’t look at him, not yet, and you’re not sure if he’s looking at you either. you take a seat across from him, folding your hands nearly in your lap and keeping your form small.
he sighs. your shoulders tense on instinct.
“last night,” clink “care to explain the charge on my card?”. he continues to swirl the ice in his drink around.
“what? what ch—“ you catch yourself mid sentence. fuck. you hadn’t switched your uber card from his to yours.
your lips drop open in a small, dawning gasp, and you resist the urge to cover your mouth with one hand. your fingers tighten around the fabric of your pants.
“where did you go last night?” he asks, voice quiet but unnerving. he already knew where you were. why did he have to prolong the truth?
you don’t respond, you keep your eyes lowered in shame. every muscle in your body is tightened uncomfortably, and the tension fills the room like a live wire, ready to snap at any moment.
he gives you a few moments before speaking again. “i want to hear it from you princess.”
you feel tears well at the use of the nickname. it was one of your favourites, you used to feel like you were floating when he called you that. now, it sounds like a sick promise rolling off his tongue.
“i—i can’t.” you stutter, and the tremble in your voice is unmistakable. your chest feels like it’s going to erupt from the guilt at any possible moment, and the pound of your heartbeat rings deafeningly in your ears.
“look at me.”
you raise a shaky head up to him, hair messily displaying down the sides of your face. small beads of tears roll down your cheeks, dripping off your chin and onto your clenched hands.
he studies you, gaze sharp and intoxicating. you hold your breath.
“where were you last night?” he asks again, without so much as raising his voice. he doesn’t need to, because the slight growl in it easily gives his anger away.
“at—“ you hesitate, voice straining to mouth the words out. “the hotel…”
“that’s right sweetheart.” he praises, no affection behind his words. he swirls the ice in his drink around again, and you drop your gaze to his fingers gently grasping the rim of the glass. you need something, anything to look at besides him. you couldn’t look at him.
“do you know who hosted that get together last night sweetheart?” he says slowly, predatory. he scans your rigid form, and the way one of your legs start bouncing by habit.
“ceo song.” you mumble.
he hums in agreement. “my father did in fact,” he pauses to take an unnerving sip of his drink. “and do you know, who also owns that hotel?”
your face visibly pales, eyes widening in shock as you look up at him. “he—what?”
mingi chuckes. “that’s right. room 5004?”
you flinch. he continues. “southwest elevator?”
“just stop—please.” you manage out, strained and small. “if you want nothing to do with me, just tell me now.” you look down in shame, tears falling helplessly and creating wet spots that seep through your pants.
again, the older doesn’t say anything. he keeps quiet, letting silence envelope the room like a suffocating, sick taunt.
“if—no—“ you cut yourself off. “there’s no forgiving what i did but—“ you sniffle, letting tears continue to fall. “i’m sorry mingi.”
he studies you.
“i know i fucked up, and i—i know there’s no recovering from this,” you start to mindlessly ramble, trying to let thoughts flow out to free up space for more. where were you going to go with this? you knew you had to let go of mingi as soon as you let yunho lead you through that door, you knew that he would find out no matter what. you just didn’t expect it to be so…soon. you would have told him eventually—when you were ready. the guilt would have eaten at you. now, you aren’t even sure what you want, or better, who you want.
“you—“ sniffle “you don’t need to forgive me min,” you mumble quietly between tears, wringing your fingers together uncomfortably. “i’m so so sorry…”
teardrops fall gracefully onto your lap, a small, barely heard plop against your clothing.
“i’m angry.” mingi breathes out, barely a whisper in the stillness of the space. “i’m angry with the fact you would ever do that to me.” his ice clinks in his glass, breaking down as you are with his words. you can’t meet his eyes.
“come.”
“h—huh?” you stutter out, lifting your head.
he motions for you with his two fingers.
you stand carefully, tension layered so heavily you’re scared of disrupting it. you pad over to him slowly, shoulders drooped, head bowed.
he spreads his much larger legs, looking up at you with a look that says you know what to do.
you move to sit on one of his thighs, and he shifts slightly to make sure you’re comfortable, still a gentleman all throughout his anger.
he moves his glass towards your lips. “drink.”
you hesitate, looking between him and the strong liquor. you can already smell it from this distance, but you comply again. he gently tips it into your mouth, and when it hits your tongue, it burns. you know hennessy isn’t normally as strong as other alcohol, but his burns your tongue, and your throat. you can feel the bitter velvet taste slipping down your throat and moving through your system, leaving behind fire in its wake, and you choke. he doesn’t stop pouring though, emptying the rest of the glass down your throat while you have no other choice but to comply. he stops when the leftover ice hits your lips, finally pulling back and letting you catch your breath, studying your blushed cheeks.
“y/n…” he mumbles, plump lips almost hypnotizing. “i’m not…a jealous man.”
you stay quiet as you try to maintain your composure, staring at the assortment of silver rings that cover his fingers, still holding the empty glass.
“but i am,” he wraps his free hand around your hips, squeezing gently at your skin and sending tingly heat straight to your core. “a little territorial.” he squeezes a little harder, fingernails digging into your hips now.
you wince, pressing your legs together as pink coats your cheeks. you don’t look at him, not yet, but his sharp eyes track every movement you make.
you feel his hand snake over to your back pocket, reaching for your phone and swiftly pulling it out. at the same time, the hollow echo of his drink clinks against the side table, putting it down without a second glance.
he scrolls for a bit. you don’t see what exactly he’s doing, but you recognize the familiar white lineup of contacts. you assume he’s looking for yunho in specific—who’s original number you’d deleted a long time ago—but you ask anyway. “what are you doing?” you squeak out, voice a little shakier than intended.
“just…” he pauses, squinting as he brings your phone a tad closer to his face. “looking…” he trails off.
“o—okay…” you mumble, biting your lip to refrain from asking more questions. you feel lightheaded.
you watch his fingers move swiftly, and it looks like he’s typing. you can’t see exactly what, because mingi is smart—he turns your brightness down, and angles it just out of your line of sight. perfect, you’d even turned your ringer off before getting there, now there was really no telling what the man could be doing.
after a few moments, he hums, sighing, and his chest rises and falls slowly. you hold your breath. he shuts off your phone, placing it on the little side table.
“how do you feel?” he asks suddenly, his large hand finding your waist this time.
“a little dizzy.” you admit, melting into his touch. your body relaxes just the slightest as his thumb starts to rub circles into your waist.
“you—,” you wince a little before popping the killer question. “you’re not mad…?”
his lips curl, and you find little comfort in the way his expression darkens a little. “of course i’m mad.” his hand snakes up your back, sending a shiver up your spine. he brings his lips to your ear, warm breath tickling your neck. “but you’re mine.”
you blush at his profound statement, and he notices. the way your thighs clench. the way your lips twitch. the way your eyes look hazier than before.
“wait for me in my room.”
you look at him for a moment, studying the curl of his lips and the angle of his jaw. he’s being serious—and you are enticed.
you move off his lap when he gives your hair a small tug, and you shuffle through the polished marble floors all the way to his room. you feel his eyes on your form as you walk away, piercing holes into your back with his gaze.
fuck, you were really done for now. he’d never been so demanding, you’d never seen this side of him before. the side that commands you what to do, that makes you obey him like a mindless puppet. he’s never made you drink like that before, nor used that tone on you—unless you were in bed maybe. you shuffle onto his bed with a small hop, the plush sheets and blanket swallowing you as you wait nervously.
the apartment is eerily silent. only the hum of his computer in the corner stands witness, and the shuffle of his footsteps wandering the living room. you hear the front door lock click open, and for a minute, you think he’s going to leave. when you don’t hear anything, you turn your body to look out the door, only to be met with his large frame filling the doorway and blocking the hallway out of your view. you gulp.
he notices your throat bob. he doesn’t say anything, just stares from a distance, and the room fills with everything that’s been left unsaid.
you swallow nervously again, feeling a pinky tone tint your cheeks before you can think.
mingi crosses the room in two long strides, his large, warm hand finding your cheek and stroking it with his thumb. you slowly lean into his touch, careful not to disrupt the moment or anger the man. no words leave his lips, just a breathless stare that you can’t quite place.
“you know…” the whisper leave his lips sultrily. “i’m not a jealous man.” his thumbs finds your bottom lip, pressing softly. the repeated words sound like he’s trying to convince himself of the fact.
you don’t nod or break eye contact, only tremble slightly in his hold as he tilts your chin up higher.
“don’t be scared.” he breathes out. “i’ll be good to you.” he takes a moment to admire your awestruck features. “better than him.”
you barely feel the heat creep up on your face before he pushes you backwards, letting your back softly hit the bed as he climbs on top of you, knee quickly nestling in between your legs.
his breath smells like liquor and smoke, and somehow there’s nothing better in the world at this moment. your stomach swirls when you find his eyes, dark yet not evil. unlike yunhos that night.
“relax princess…” he mumbles, head ducking as his lips find your neck. he starts softly at first, planting slow, warm kisses along the side of your neck, where he knows you’re sensitive. you tilt your head to the other side, giving him better access as you let out a soft sigh.
he entangles a hand with yours, pushing your forearm flush against the soft sheets.
your mind swirls. the mix of alcohol and mingis scent makes you feel fuzzy. it makes you feel weak, like you’re unable to fight even if you want to.
his kisses turn into harsh bites, nipping at your flesh before he soothes it over with a swipe of his tongue. mingi knows how to not leave a mark behind—as much as he wants to claim you for the whole world to see.
you squirm, smaller hand finding his shoulders and squeezing. the man knew how to make you fall apart, even as soft as he was with you.
he does the same motion with his other hand, taking it and gently intertwining your fingers as he pushes your arm against the bed.
“mingi…” you sigh softly, clothed clit bucking gently against his knee that keeps your legs spread.
“want you…” he mumbles into your skin. “only you…” he nudges your neck with his nose, inhaling your scent that smells almost intoxicating. his grip around your hand tightens as he continues to kiss your neck, this time soft pecks that make you shiver.
the smell of liquor radiates off him, and you’re not sure if it’s the liquor he made you drink, or if you’re just lightheaded from him.
he doesn’t waste time, moving to your shirt and gently unbuttoning it, leaving your chest exposed to him. he keeps your bra on, not even bothering to slip the sleeves of your shirt off just yet—he just needs to feel your skin on his.
one of his hands frees yours, squeezing gently at your exposed waist. he slides his hand underneath the small of your back, arching you up into his hold as he moves lower.
you let out a shaky exhale when you feel his warm breath ghosting your skin. he moves slowly, yet with intent, planting open mouthed kisses to your collarbones, the crevice in between your chest, your ribcage, letting his lips trail sultrily down your body. he trails your intertwined hands down the bed with him, needing something to tether himself to the moment.
when his lips hit your lower stomach, he pauses. “princess.”
“mm” you hum softly.
“this…you. you’re all mine.” he swallows thickly, and you hear it. “right?” you think you catch a tremble at the end of his voice. he needs to hear it even if it isn’t true.
you’re not sure how to respond. he knows what you’ve done. but in this moment, you are all his.
“mhm…” you hum, a little unsure yet the answer is still there. you feel him look up.
“would you…tell everyone?”
you look up this time, sitting up and propping your upper body up on your elbows. was he asking you to be his girlfriend? now?
his eyes are wrecked. he looks absolutely torn, hair a little messy and plump lips completely swollen.
“i—“ you start, but you can’t give him a definite answer. you don’t know what to say to him.
your locked gazes linger for a couple beats longer, letting the silence hang dead in the air. he studies you, the hesitation, the way your mind is clearly running a million miles a minute.
“forget it sweetheart.” he murmurs, eyes flitting down to your pants. he resumes his actions like nothing happened, nimble fingers finding the zipper of your pants. you hesitate for a moment, before ultimately deciding to lie back down. you could have a serious talk later, when the both of you weren’t intoxicated and lust drunk.
“we’ll find out.” he mumbles again, more to himself than you this time and your stomach twists. you feel terrible.
he slips your pants off with precision, swiftly discarding them to the side and eyeing your clothed clit.
you squirm uncomfortably under his gaze, shyly trying to close your legs.
he moves your legs to his shoulders, placing them neatly before pressing small kisses to the insides of your thighs, making you jerk slightly in his grip. he watches every movement of your body, every reaction you to have to him.
he lets his hot breath fan over your pussy, sending soft shivers running up your spine. the room echoes with your soft sighs and mingis low breathing. he places his hands on your hips, squeezing softly at the skin before pressing his lips to your thin panties.
you let out a small hiss when you feel him press a kiss to your clit, and another closer to your entrance. your hands move to his hair on instinct, carding your fingers through the strands and lightly squeezing.
his tongue darts out and presses against the fabric of your underwear, wetting the spot lightly as you squirm. his hands on your legs keep you firmly in place though, letting you arch into his mouth however you please.
“t—there,” you breathe out. “more…”
mingi obeys, tongue pressing firmer against your clothed entrance. your grip on his hair tightens, back arching deeper into the bedsheets as shallow breaths leave your lips.
“want this off.” he mumbles into your heat. he snakes his hands into the insides of your thighs again, squeezing softly at the skin before grabbing your hips.
you brace for him to peel your panties off, but instead, you hear a small tear and the impact of mingis strength.
“mingi—!” you yelp, feeling your now torn underwear slipping out from beneath you and into his fingers. you knew he was strong, but he was never aggressive in nature. it just wasn’t who he was.
“shh…” he coos, pressing his lips to your inner thigh. “i’ll buy you ten more.” he whispers into your skin.
you whimper, feeling the cool air hit your exposed pussy in contrast to his hot kisses along your thighs. he looks up at you for a moment, and you see his eyes swirling with hurt, want, and something you can’t quite place yet.
he doesn’t say anything, ducking his head down again and flattening his tongue against your core. you let out a shaky exhale, properly feeling the heat of his tongue.
his hands keep you firmly in place as you start to wriggle in his grasp, feeling his tongue start to lap at your arousal coated entrance, saliva and wetness mixing together. your core throbs for more—his fingers, anything.
mingi can feel it, but he doesn’t grant you with anything more. he switches from swirling his tongue around your clit, to flattening his tongue against your entrance. every so often, he’ll stick his tongue inside and make you writhe, and incoherently mumble his name. your grip on his messy hair tightens, almost pushing him down onto you as you buck helplessly into his tongue.
tears gather at the corners of your eyes. he’s going so slow, so teasing, like he wants to see you unravel on his tongue before he gives you anything else. each swirl of his tongue on your clit makes you cry out, throwing your head back against his sheets. his sheets smell like him. the alcohol on your breath smells like him.
“fingers,” you whimper in between strained moans.
“mm?” he hums into you, making you feel the vibration of his deep voice.
“need your fingers…” you mumble, feeling a little shy now that you’ve said it out loud.
he nods, nose bumping your clit. you feel two cold fingers prod at your soaked entrance, lewd noises filling the space. he rubs at your entrance a couple of times before pushing his fingers in ever so slowly, and you feel your walls slowly adjust to the new intrusion.
he takes his time gently pushing his fingers in and out, adding more each time. you squirm, trying to move closer and get more of his fingers. he latches his lips onto your clit and you let out a pornographic moan, forgetting your objective as you arch impossibly in his grasp.
satisfied, mingi lets out a low hum and pushes his fingers all the way in, watching the swell of your breasts and feeling the way you clench around him. he fucks you slowly with his fingers, feeling your soft walls quiver around him. arousal lewdly coats the rings on his fingers, an almost clear, sticky film wrapping around them each time he fucks his fingers in and out.
he groans, watching you finally adjust and start to move your hips in time with him. the strain in his pants are almost impossibly tight, but he knows he has to keep going for this to work.
“m—mingi…” you breathe out, feeling his fingers curl and hit a spot that almost makes your vision go blank. “m’close…”
“good.” he murmurs. his tongue switches from swirling onto your clit to flicking it up and down in time with his fingers, and you swear you think you’ll pass out.
his fingers go from in and out motions, to curling up and down inside you, the sloppy, wet noises filling the space along with your sweet moans.
“agh—mingi—too much—!” you whimper out, feeling your lower body start to shake in his hold. the knot in your tummy dares to unravel with each quick motion of his tongue and fingers combined, and despite your protests, you desperately fuck onto his fingers faster and faster.
a single tear falls from the corner of your eye and tracks down the side of your face, seeping into your hair as the bed starts to creak. you tighten your legs around his shoulders, feeling his fingers hit that soft spot inside you continuously.
incoherent words of praise and his name leave your lips as you reach closer to your orgasm, and not before long, your vision goes blank. mingi groans when your grip on his hair starts to burn, as your back bows off the bed, and you let your orgasm completely take over. your body feels hot, so hot, yet you can’t see anything. you can feel his soft locks tangled between your fingers, his free hand softly massaging your thigh, and his sinful fingers stilling inside you. cum leaks out of your entrance and onto his large hand, and his cock throbs seeing the arousal coat his rings.
your scrunched up face softens along with your fingers in his hair.
“angel?”
your body shoots up faster than a bullet, legs that were previously tangled around mingis shoulders now halfway off him as you scramble up.
“y—yunho—?!” you yelp, quickly grabbing one side of your shirt to cover your exposed upper half. barely visible beads of sweat line your hairline, chest rising and falling even faster with the newfound sight. “wh—“ you start, breathless.
standing in the doorway to mingis bedroom, is a very out of breath and messy yunho. his hair is blown out like the wind payed no care to it, shirt wrinkled like he’d thrown it on last minute. you notice his fingers curl tighter against his phone, gripping it harshly like his only lifeline.
“i thought—“ he starts, voice soft and shaky as his eyes dart around. “you—“
“i texted you.” mingis voice echoes around the quiet space. the tension is so thick a single breath could slice clean through it. mingi turns, finally making eye contact with the older from his place on the floor, between your legs.
yunho looks at him speechless. his lips are glossy, swollen, obviously coated in slick from you.
it clicks for you then. mingi had gone on your phone, and texted yunho. the small click you’d heard from the hallway was him unlocking his door. did he just want yunho out of your life? he wanted yunho to see you two in the act, so he’d finally leave you a—
mingi turns to you. “you want this right?”
“w—want what?” you whisper, eyes flicking between his needy gaze and the confusion swirling behind yunhos eyes.
“both.”
“what?” you ask dumbfounded, legs still perched messily on his shoulders. you pull your shirt over your chest a little tighter, anxiously rubbing at the soft material.
“of us.” he finishes, as simply as if he’d just told you what you were having for dinner tonight.
“b—both?” you stutter, gaze flitting up to yunhos tall form still standing in mingis doorway. “mingi i—“
“like i said sweetheart,” he places a hand on your thigh, rubbing softly at the skin. you instinctively close your legs, trying to pull your shirt down and cover the last of your dignity. “i’m not a jealous man.” the words leave his lips softly, like he didn’t just make your ex walk in while you were finishing into his mouth.
“wh—yunho—?” you say, almost exasperated.
yunho looks between you, mingi, and you again.
“do you want this angel?” he repeats back to you, words slightly strained like he wants you to say no. he wants you to be his. nobody else’s. but if sharing with mingi was what it took to keep you—it couldn’t be the worse of ideas he’d ever been introduced to.
mingi doesn’t look back at yunho. yunho keeps his eyes fixed on you.
mingi ducks his head, licking a slow, stripe up your cunt, eliciting a syrupy sweet gasp to fall from your lips. you immediately cover your mouth in shock when you realize, looking over to gauge yunhos reaction.
his lips are parted. a small noise of air leaves him—shock mixed with disbelief.
he slowly stalks over to the side of the bed, his steps an empty hollow in the silence of the space.
yunhos eyes are dark. similar to the first night you’d encountered him. when he left you that morning.
he doesn’t say anything. he wordlessly gets on the bed right behind you, mattress sinking with his added weight. the pound of your heart echoes loud in your ears as you look up at him, upside down. was he…?
your thoughts don’t get to process fast enough, as you feel mingis weight shift below you. he gently brings your legs off his shoulders, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.
“good thing it’s still my turn.” he whispers, and you feel your stomach flip.
without words, him and yunho work in sync. yunho gently lifts your upper half onto his firm knees, letting your back rest against his thighs. mingi on the other hand, creeps onto the bed, belt already messily unbuckled.
he positions himself neatly at your entrance, cock pressing firmly against your slick cunt. you squirm, pressing your upper back into yunhos lower half before he soothes you with a stroke to your hair. “you’ll be okay angel…” yunho murmurs, pressing his lips to the crown of your hair.
mingi strokes once, twice, before slowly pushing himself in. you feel the burn of the stretch immediately, as mingi carefully sheathes the tip in, letting you breathe your way through adjusting. you let out a shaky exhale, half in pain, half in shock that yunhos just sitting and watching.
you feel yunhos thighs clench when you squirm, mingi holding your hips still as he feeds your hole with his cock. thin fingers lace around your wrists featherlight, but enough to send a message. you were his even with another man inside you.
your shirt falls open, messy and crinkled, and you let out a soft whine. the contrast of mingi being fully in, the cool air hitting your skin, yunhos hands wrapped around your wrists.
“m—mingi…” you breathe out, walls fluttering around his throbbing cock. you feel yunhos fingers tighten around your wrists, but you pay him no mind for now. “it hurts…”
mingi exhales, jaw dropped in a mesmerized “o” shape. he watches the space you two connect in, experimentally rolling his hips—and you squirm.
“it’s okay princess…” he murmurs, slowly grinding in and out, large hands gripping feverishly at your waist. you can feel his rings dig into your warm skin, and his fingers press deeply against your flesh. “you can take it.”
you can practically feel the jealousy radiating from yunho, his hold tightening even further around you. you try to pull your wrists away, but to no avail.
you let out a small moan when mingi shifts his hips differently, causing your back to arch off the bed. mingi lets you, holding you up with the strength of his hands as he finds a moderate pace to plow into you.
“f—fuck—!” you cry out a pained whimper, feeling your tummy burn with that familiar knot, twisting your face sideways into yunhos abdomen.
small whines leave your lips, and your body shakes from the force of mingis thrusts into you. it isn’t the roughest you’ve ever had, but with yunho here, your entire body fucking throbs.
lewd noises of skin slapping, your whines, and mingis small noises echo around the empty room, air charged with a silent voltage.
“don’t hide angel.” yunho says quietly, deadly. he moves one hand from your wrist to your chin, and he snaps your head forward, forcing you to look at mingi who eyes at you with a sickly smirk.
you whine, cheeks flushed.
“yeah? you—mmh—wanted this huh?” mingi teases, hips snapping even harder into you with a force that makes your tears form again.
you squirm again, and yunho holds you down with a hand pressed to your chest and another intertwining with your small fingers.
“d—deep—you’re deep mingi,” you whimper, mindlessly clenching around him and causing a small whine to tumble from his lips.
the bed creaks with the weight of all three bodies, and you feel yunhos cock twitch against your back when you let another helpless moan out.
mingi leans in closer, one hand planted on the bed underneath your bound arms, the other still gripping tightly at your waist.
“you like seeing us like this don’t you?” he pants, still thrusting into you like a man starved. “going fucking crazy over you?”
“ah!—no,” you manage to whine out between the force of his hips slapping against you. “i don’t—”
his fingers tighten around your waist, pressing hard against your flesh—and you almost thrash underneath his hold, letting out a pained cry that makes him twitch inside you.
“liar.” he grits out, pulling your hips down in time to meet his. “you couldn’t settle for one so you needed both.”
“so dirty…” yunho mumbles, gently pushing stray strands of hair out of your flushed face.
mingi smirks, but there’s no amusement in his features. “so greedy.”
he slams into you particularly hard, pushing your upper body flush against yunhos thighs, and you feel your back arch off the bed before you can think.
you almost sob, tears gathering prettily on your waterline. “mmh—! t—too much—“ you pant out, tears daring to stain your cheeks. he’s buried so deep inside you, you can barely process any other feeling except for the way the head of his cock kisses your sweet spot.
your thighs jolt violently, and you instinctively squeeze around mingis hips.
“there, right there,” you mumble incoherently, pulling your wrist free from yunho who seems to have forgotten the use of restraint and grabbing the fabric of mingis shirt, pulling him down, closer.
mingi happily obliges, pushing into you with the new depth. you drag him down further, eyeing him with lust clouded eyes before connecting your lips.
the kiss is messy, sloppy even. obscene noises leave the two of you, and you’d forget yunho was even in the room if not for his one hand interlacing with yours again and the cushion of his thighs against your back. you whimper into mingis mouth, and he answers with a whine of his own.
mingi pulls away first, saliva and lipgloss smeared across his gorgeous plump lips. “g—gonna finish princess.” he whines again, and you feel his thrusts turn sloppy, frantic. “want you to cum with me.”
you nod, jaw going slack as higher pitched moans tumble from your parted lips. mingi can tell by the way your eyebrows knit together and the blush on your cheeks that you’re close, and that drives him even further over the edge.
he leans in again, connecting in the most desperate way possible. his whines are muffled by your syrupy sweet higher pitched moans, and he swears he forgets how to think for a few moments.
his fingers tighten around your waist, slamming you down on his cock, hitting that spongey spot inside you that drove you wild. your noises turn intense before you eventually black out, vision going spotty as your orgasm washes over you. your legs tremble around his waist, and your hand still interlaced with yunhos squeezes hard. he lets you, shallowly pressing his aching cock into your back.
mingi follows shortly after, sloppy thrusts coming to a slow as he buries himself to the hilt. a small whine leaves him as thick ropes of white coat your insides, filling you up impossibly full as he holds you there, twitching and riding his own orgasm out.
“my god princess…” he murmurs into your ear. the rasp in his voice paired with his slow thrusts into your aching cunt make you shiver, and you lace your free hand into the back of his hair.
“mingi…” you whine softly, chest rising and falling in time with his. the room is still, and yunhos hand in yours softens.
the air is silent for a few moments, only you and mingis mingled breaths filling the space. it takes you a couple moments to recover, before mingi eventually pulls out, leaving you feeling empty and full all at the same time.
he presses a small kiss to your forehead, pushing himself up off you.
you let out a soft gasp when you feel a pair of arms pull you up, one tucked under your breasts and roughly caging your ribs.
“my turn doll.” yunho growls into your ear, pushing you down onto your tummy just in time for mingi to sit up and catch you. you feel your chest hit the plush bed, and you brace yourself against the sheets for yunhos impact.
mingi carefully strokes your hair when you let out a fucked out whine, combing his large fingers through the messy strands and cooing at you.
yunho leans forward and pulls the rest of your shirt off you, and you have no choice but to let him while mingi comforts you. you feel his clothed length press against your leaking cunt, and he experimentally rolls his hips when he feels you against him.
“angel…” yunho hisses under his breath, feeling your sopping arousal. “so fucking wet…”
mingi smirks down at you, tugging softly at the back of your hair to gauge your flushed cheeks and far away eyes.
“you’re so pretty princess…” mingi murmurs, slowly tilting your chin to meet yunhos gaze. “show him that fucked out face…show him what i can do to you.”
you pull your lower lip between your teeth in shame, and yunho could finish just from the expression on your face. the tear streaked cheeks, the swollen lips.
“fuck.” yunho mutters, and you hear small shuffling as he unzips his pants.
it doesn’t take long before the head of his cock is nuzzled right at your entrance, pressing softly into your soaked folds as he moves his hips back and forth.
a small, exerted breath leaves his lips, and you can hear the tension unfold in his movements. one hand finds your hip, squeezing harshly at the your soft flesh. the other slaps at your ass, making you fold forward and arch further into mingis hold.
“o—ow…” you whimper, face smushed into mingis legs.
“i’ve got you princess…” he says, low and promising. “i’ve got you.”
yunho looks up at the younger for a split second, rage in his eyes at the obvious sweet talking. was mingi always putting you on a pedestal like that? no wonder you’re always such a brat now.
yunho sheathes his tip inside, giving you no room to adjust, or even breathe. you squirm. yunho feels different from mingi, angrier even.
he lets out a content sigh when your cunt greedily swallows him in, taking his swollen tip and leaking precum. your cum mixed with mingis makes your walls warm and wet, easy to penetrate like yunho wants. but the thought of another man being in the picture makes him want to fuck you till you forget.
“fuck angel—“ he gasps, his hips slowly pushing in and out of you. “s—so fucking wet…”
you feel his fingers tremble around your hips, pulling you back to meet his thrusts as he fucks you on his cock. he doesn’t build it up, or start soft. yunho fucks you like he’s punishing you for something unforgivable.
you mumble a series of messed up words, ones mingi can’t decipher as he grazes a hand down your bare back. his touch sends sparks shooting straight to your core—a third orgasm already starting—and your fingers tighten around the bedsheets, grasping for anything to ground yourself.
“mmfh—“ you muffle into mingis thighs, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes. “hurts…”
yunho adjusts your hips, and mingis large hand pushes the small of your back down, forcing you to arch down even further for him. you swear you see stars.
“yeah?” yunho grunts, punctuating with a particularly hard thrust. he stills inside you as deep as he can, leaning down and pushing even further into you.
you feel his breath ghost your ear, his face right by mingis thigh. “my angel’s so fucked out…” he breathes, words so sharp it makes your stomach coil and your pussy clamp around him. “you might forget who you belong to.”
you let out the most devastating, high pitched whine, burying your face fully into mingis thighs and kicking your legs. you feel his cock barely kissing your sweet spot at the new angle. the small action does nothing to the larger though, and he leans back after pressing a gentle kiss to your hair.
he moves his hands to the hinge of your hips, squeezing once before pulling you back onto him again.
you feel movement from mingi. “you guys are getting me fucking bothered.” he voices lowly from above you, and you look up with teary eyes between yunhos increasingly hard thrusts.
mingi slowly runs a hand up and down his already hard length, rings still stained from your previous activities. he lets out a low groan, hips starting to move into his own hand.
“can you take more sweetheart?” he asks, snaking his fingers under your chin.
you pout and let out a small gasp, head moving slightly in his hold as yunho fucks into you from behind. you feel his grip tighten around your hips, pulling you back even harder against his crotch.
before you can answer, “she can take it.” yunho pants, slightly out of breath. “you wanted this didn’t you?”
fingers finding your scalp and yanking you out of mingis hold force a small yelp out of you, and you swallow down a large gulp. sultry moans fall from your lips like a whispered prayer, and mingis gaze darkens.
“c’mere sweetheart.” he cooes softly, pushing his hips closer to your already open jaw. “open up for me.”
you stick your tongue out, looking up at him with eyes that make his cock throb. you narrowly miss his length with each deep thrust yunho pushes into you, before finally taking him in starting with the tip.
“that’s it.” yunho grunts. he roughly pushes your head back down, letting go of your hair. you feel mingis tip hit the back of your throat, and you stutter around him, throat closing up and eyes watering immensely.
yunho mutters a curse under his breath, kicking your legs even further apart and forcing you to practically sit on his cock as he controls your legs.
“mm—mmmh—!“ you whimper, strained on mingis cock, the vibration going straight to his stomach and forcing a low groan out of him.
“it’s okay…it’s okay sweetheart…” mingi assures you softly, moving your hair out of your face. “m—my god…your tongue feels so warm…”
yunho forces a couple more sadistic moans out of you, making you a pathetic mess on mingis length. drool falls from your lips and onto the silk sheets, tears track down your face and onto your chin.
a harsh slap across your ass from yunho makes your body thrash, and you claw at mingis pants, a syrupy sweet moan echoing on his cock.
his hand tightens in your scalp, a breathy whine leaving his lips. the burn makes your tummy coil tighter, clenching around yunho who lets out a soft sigh.
“c’mon angel, you can do better than that.” yunho remarks, much to your dismay. he pauses for a second, angling his knees differently so they dig deeper into the bed.
you whine loudly in protest, jaw growing tired and hips getting sore.
slap
another heavy slap against your ass almost makes you scream, and yunho continues with his new leverage.
“you wanted this, don’t you dare complain angel.” he says between grunts, the new angle punishing. you can feel him burying deeper and deeper with each thrust, making you sob around mingi as you claw desperately at anything you can.
yunho was jealous. so jealous he needed to make you sob. he knows mingi could never push you to cry like this.
he gets pulled out of his thoughts by a sultry whimper leaving you, and you squirm and wiggle your hips to try and get out of his harsh grasp.
“you move,” he starts, thrusts shallowing. “and i’ll fucking stop. you want me to stop angel?”
your body physically slumps in defeat, and you shake your head no, small and limp.
“so good…” mingi praises. “you’re so good…”
satisfied, yunho continues, his cock now brushing your sweet spot with each thrust. you cry again, tears fully streaming down your cheeks as you choke around mingis length. your throat feels so full, no doubt sore tomorrow. your cunt feels so content, pulsing around yunhos each time he touches that spongey spot inside you.
“c—mmh—close—!“ you whine frantically onto mingis cock, and mingi seals it with a hand in the back of your hair and his hips being pushed deeper into your throat. you moan around him, and you feel his length twitch on your tongue.
your eyes water. yunhos hips grow sloppy, desperately plowing into you as his gasps turn into higher pitched whimpers.
mingi grows breathless, and the knot in your stomach dares to untangle right then and there.
“y—you’re so pretty love—“ he whines, biting his lip as you hollow your cheeks around him.
yunho leans his upper body down onto your back, pressing messy, frantic kisses to your shoulder blades as he plunges impossibly deeper into you.
“g’na…cum angel…” he whimpers quietly, between his rough thrusts. for the first time that night, you hear the gentle yunho, the sincere yunho.
with a pained cry, you feel your orgasm slowly creep up on you. your cheeks flush bright red, your knees lock up, and you fist both hands into the bedsheets as you finish with yunhos tip kissing your cervix. mingi follows right after with a soft groan, unable to hold himself back as he watches your eyebrows crinkle and your eyes glaze over.
at the same time, yunho tips over the edge with his bottom lip smushed prettily on your shoulder and his hips stilling deep inside you. a gentle whine spills from his pink lips as thick ropes of white paint your insides and coat your throat full of filth, both men keeping themselves there and forcing you to take it.
it takes a couple moments of both yunho and mingi shallowly riding their orgasms out into you, before you regain your vision and the slightest bit of sanity.
exhausted pants and small whines leave all three of your lips, both yunho and mingis chests heaving and your cunt absolutely throbbing around yunho.
mingi is the first to slowly leave your mouth with a small pop, a lewd string of slick connecting his length with your lips.
“my girl…you’re so good…” he whispers delicately, thumbing at your cheek. you can barely nuzzle into the warmth of his touch, body completely numb and spent. he turns around in, tucking himself back into his boxers. he bends down and presses a soft kiss to the crown of your head, leaving you and yunho in the aftermath in pursuit of clean towels.
when mingis steps fade into the washroom, yunho mumbles incoherently into your shoulder, picking himself up with small kisses to your sweat tinted skin. he laces his fingers into yours, squeezing gently.
when he pulls out, he lets out a low sigh, and you audibly whine, feeling the emptiness immediately and clenching around nothing.
“mm…yunho…” you mumble, partly muffled into the sheets.
“what is it angel?” yunho sighs in fond admiration.
“i’m thinking…we should all have a serious talk…pretty soon…” you trail off, eyelids growing heavy as you sigh into the mattress.
summary: in which your best friend and his new bike are driving you crazy and you’re not the only one who’s been secretly in need to change the trajectory of your friendship
warning: possessive hard dom yunho, bratty sub reader, public sex, fingering, squirting, oral, mouth fucking, face riding, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, biting, spanking, choking, unprotected sex, creampie
genre: smut, romance, slow burn friends to lovers
pairing: yunho x afab reader
word count: 30k
masterlist
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The first week of October always hit Los Angeles with this strange in between warmth summer clinging to the sidewalks, autumn brushing cool fingertips along your arms. The high school campus buzzed with late afternoon noise as students spilled out toward buses, cars, and trouble they wouldn’t admit to. You stepped out of the staff building with your tote bag slung over your shoulder, rubbing a hand over your face. Subbing four days a week didn’t sound exhausting on paper, but your last period had been sophomores, which was practically a contact sport.
Yunho was picking you up today since your car will be in the garage for the next couple of weeks. A breath caught in your throat. His bike. Of course he’d take the bike. Of course he’d make this harder. You tried to walk casually toward the front gates, but the rumble hit before you turned the corner, low and smooth, the kind that curled itself right under your ribs. Then he appeared, pulling up along the curb like every fantasy made real.
Black and white sport bike. Glossy. Aggressive. And Yunho astride it like the universe selected him personally. He wore a fitted white shirt, one that made his shoulders look unfair, and a dark helmet with the visor lifted just enough for you to see the smirk tugging at his mouth. Several students waiting for rides noticed immediately.
“Miss Y/L/N!” one of the juniors whispered loudly to her friend, elbowing her. “THAT is your ride?” Another gasped, dramatic and delighted. “No way….. is that your boyfriend?” You choked on nothing. “Absolutely not,” you said, aiming for stern but landing somewhere between flustered and dying inside. Yunho heard them. Of course he did. He lifted his chin, amused, eyes fixed on you like you were the only person on the street. The students weren’t subtle.
“Oh my god, he’s hot,” one said. “Hot? That man is a walking problem,” another muttered.
Your pulse tripped over itself as Yunho swung a leg off the bike and leaned on it casually, one hand on the handlebar, the other tugging off his helmet. His hair fell perfectly, naturally messy from the ride. He waved. He actually waved at your students. The audacity. A couple girls squealed. Someone took a picture. You tried very, very hard not to combust as you approached, Yunho’s gaze dragged down you. “Rough day?” he asked softly, voice warm, teasing under the surface.
You exhaled. “You didn’t have to bring the bike. Your truck is perfectly fine.” His smile deepened. “Sure I did.” He held the extra helmet out to you like it was nothing, like this wasn’t the very scenario you’d been avoiding since he bought the damn bike. You slipped it on, hoping your hands didn’t shake as much as they felt like they were shaking. He watched you secure the strap, his eyes warm behind the fall of his hair. “You good?” he asked, voice dipping into something low.
You nodded. “Yeah.” Lie. You were absolutely not good as he swung back onto the bike, the seat shifting under his weight, the engine humming alive beneath him. He glanced over his shoulder, patting the small space behind him. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll go slow.” You knew he was teasing. You also knew he wouldn’t. Yunho drove like he lived, smooth, confident, a little dangerous but laid back.
You approached the bike like it might bite you, swung your leg over, and settled in behind him. There was no space. None. Your knees bracketed his hips, your chest hovered dangerously close to his back. “Hold on,” he said. You hesitated for half a second. Just long enough for him to reach back, find your hands, and pull them gently around his waist. A simple motion. Casual, even. But the moment your palms landed on his stomach, warm through the thin cotton of his shirt, you felt everything inside you tilt. “You good back there?” he asked, voice a little tight now.
You swallowed. “Mm hm.” He chuckled. Soft. Too fond. “Alright. Let’s go.” He pulled away from the curb with the easy precision of someone who was annoyingly good at everything he tried. The bike vibrated beneath you, the engine’s low rumble matching the thrum in your chest. Wind slid around your helmet, cool against your arms. Your fingers curled instinctively into his shirt as he turned onto the main road. He felt it, of course he felt it, and his posture changed in the smallest, most devastating way. A subtle shift of his shoulders. A breath pulled deeper than needed. A tension that slid right beneath your hands. He liked you holding him.
Los Angeles blurred past in streaks of gold and fading sun as he picked up speed, leaning into a turn that pressed you closer against him. Your thighs tightened around him, your chest brushed his back. He made a sound, quiet, almost swallowed by the engine, but you felt it, the pulse of it through his spine. “Still good?” he called back, voice steady but not entirely even. “Yunho,” you muttered, your face heating inside your helmet, “I’m holding on so I don’t fall off.”
“Yeah,” he said, the word almost a laugh. “I know.” But he didn’t sound like he minded. Not even a little as he pulled into your street, slowing to turn into the apartment lot, your hands remained locked around him. He didn’t ask you to let go. Didn’t shift away. If anything, he leaned back the tiniest bit, like he didn’t want the ride to end. He parked beside his truck. Killed the engine. The sudden quiet left your heartbeat loud in your ears. He didn’t move. Neither did you. Until finally, he said, voice low, “You can let go… unless you don’t want to.”
You shoved him, rolling your eyes though your heart pounded even more at his teasing. “Shut up.”
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By the time evening settled over the apartment, the whole place carried that soft, lived in warmth you’d grown too comfortable with. You’d showered, graded a few papers, changed into something cozy, and made exactly zero progress on shaking off the memory of riding home pressed against your best friend’s back. It didn’t help that he was off from the bar tonight. Which meant he was home. Which meant temptation was walking around barefoot in the living room.
You stepped out of your room on the way to grab a late snack, only to stop dead in the doorway because the whiplash hit you hard. There he was. Stretched across the couch in spiderman pajama pants. A loose white tee clinging to him like the universe wanted you to suffer.
Hair messy from where he kept shoving his hands through it. Headset around his neck. Eyes focused on the screen like he was born to hold a controller. Gamer Yunho. Motorcycle Yunho. Domestic roommate Yunho. Walking wet dream best friend Yunho. It was a catastrophic combination.
The game’s glow washed over his face as he leaned forward, elbows to knees, muttering something under his breath at whatever enemy he was fighting in the horror game. His voice was low, rough with concentration, and it sent a quiet shiver down your spine. He didn’t notice you right away. He never did when he gamed, this was his world. But you noticed everything. The way the muscles along his arms flexed when he gripped the controller. The way his shirt rode up when he shifted, exposing a sliver of skin above the waistband of his pajama pants. The way he’d occasionally lick his bottom lip when he focused, completely unaware that it counted as a felony in some states.
You stood there too long. Long enough that he felt you. He always felt you. His head tilted back over the couch, eyes finding you with unsettling ease, a lazy grin curving his mouth. “Hey,” he said, voice warm, familiar. “I figured you would be asleep.” You swallowed, trying to seem unaffected even as your brain was screaming. “Tried to.” He chuckled, deep and slow. “You’re more than welcome to watch kill zombies, besides… I know you have a thing for Leon Kennedy.”
“I do not.” You totally did. You walked toward the kitchen, but your eyes betrayed you and flicked to the motorcycle keys sitting on the coffee table next to him. It wasn’t fair. How he could be this….. relaxed, dorky, sprawled in superhero pajama pants, playing Resident Evil, and still look like the kind of man who’d ruin you against a wall if you asked. Another round of gunfire sounded from the TV, but you weren’t listening. You were watching him, and realizing every part of you was stretched thin.
He’d been driving you crazy for months. Realizing you definitely were seeing your best friend for the last decade as more than just a friend. The bike pushed it over the edge. But this? This soft, domestic version of him? This was the version that made you want to climb into his lap and confess every stupid feeling you’d kept locked away.
Yunho paused the game suddenly, turning his head just enough to look at you from the couch. “You okay?” he asked quietly. “You’ve been staring.” And he wasn’t teasing this time. He was reading you. Concerned. Curious. Too aware. Your breath hitched. You shrugged, trying to sound casual even though your pulse hadn’t steadied since you walked into the room. “Just tired. Long week,” you said, offering him the softest smile you could manage.
Yunho nodded like he understood, but something in his expression flickered, worried, curious, maybe even a little protective, before he clicked his headset back on and unpaused his game. Or… tried to. You grabed a bag of chips and bottle of water from the kitchen before you crossed the living room toward the coat closet, muttering under your breath about your combat boots because you were sure you’d shoved them in here earlier in the week. The closet light flicked on, paper bags rustled, and you crouched down to dig through the bottom shelf.
Behind you, Yunho’s game resumed its chaotic gunfire and explosions. He should’ve been absorbed again, lost to the world like he always was when he played. Except he wasn’t. His eyes kept darting sideways. Over his shoulder. Then fully turning his head because he couldn’t help himself. His concentration evaporated the second you bent forward. The pajama shorts you wore weren’t even scandalous, just soft, loose cotton, the kind meant for quiet nights in and comfort over anything else. But when you crouched down and leaned into the closet, they tugged snug around your hips, the bottom of your ass peaking out. Yunho’s lips parted. Just slightly. Like something short circuited.
He tore his gaze back to the TV, jaw flexing, fingers tight around his controller. Two seconds later, he glanced again. You were still bent over, still rummaging, still mumbling to yourself in this soft, sleepy tone that hit him harder than it had any right to. His gaze dragged down your legs, then snapped back up because he was trying to be decent. Trying very, very hard. He turned to the TV again. A zombie attacked him. “Damn it,” he muttered, barely paying attention as your voice floated out from the closet. “What?”
“Uh…. nothing. Game.” He cleared his throat, adjusted his posture, tried to pretend his pulse wasn’t hammering as you shifted positions, leaning farther in. The hem of your shorts lifting higher. Yunho’s hand froze on the controller. Every neuron in his body fired at once. He swallowed, hard, suddenly desperate for oxygen. He’d seen you in shorts a thousand times. Seen you in worse. You lived together. You shared summers, heat waves, lazy Sundays on the couch, movie nights where you stole his blanket.….
Maybe it was the bike ride earlier. Maybe it was the way you held onto him. Maybe it was the smell of your shampoo still lingering against the back of his shirt hours later. Maybe it was that he’d been in love with you since he was seventeen and living with you for the past few years had slowly dismantled every wall he ever built. Whatever it was, he could not look away. When you finally found the boots, triumphant little noise and all, you backed out of the closet and straightened, catching him in the act. His eyes shot to the TV like he’d been doing nothing wrong. But the tips of his ears? Betrayed him instantly. You lifted an eyebrow. “You okay over there?”
“Fine,” he said too fast. “Totally fine. Great.” He died in the game again.
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The next evening, Mikey’s Point was already in its usual Friday rhythm, the bar’s low amber lights, clinking glasses, music pulsing just enough to feel like a heartbeat under the floorboards. Yunho wiped down the bar with the practiced ease of someone who’d been doing this job long enough to be unbothered by the chaos around him. Or he would’ve been, if his head wasn’t still stuck in last night’s apartment scene. If he wasn’t replaying the way your shorts hugged you when you leaned into the closet. The glimpse of your ass. Remembering your arms around him on the bike, your chest pressed to his back, your breath catching when he told you to hold on.
He dropped the bar towel. Swore under his breath. Picked it back up before anyone noticed. “You good?” a voice asked next to him. Scott, broad shoulders, blonde, annoyingly charming smile. The kind of guy customers flirted with because he looked like he belonged in a surfing commercial. Yunho liked him fine on most days. Today was not most days. “Yeah,” Yunho muttered. “Just tired.”
Scott nodded, then leaned an elbow on the bar, expression casual. “Hey, by the way… your friend single?” Yunho froze. “What?” Scott grinned. “Your friend. Your roommate. Hot, little smile that looks like it’ll ruin lives?” Yunho blinked. Hard. He’d introduced you once, mostly because Scott had walked up at the wrong moment. Yunho had regretted it immediately. “She’s single?” Scott asked again and Yunho’s jaw flexed. His first instinct was, no, absolutely not, not for you, not for anyone with functioning vision. The word was right there on his tongue.
But he couldn’t say it. Because you were single. And you weren’t his. Not like that. Not in any way that mattered outside his chest. So he swallowed the irritation, the jealousy, the flash of heat in his stomach. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “She’s single.” Scott’s grin widened like he’d just won the lottery. “Good to know. Think if I ask her out next time she stops by, she’d say yes?” Yunho’s heart stopped. It was stupid. It shouldn’t matter. He had no claim on you, he’d spent years pretending he didn’t want one, convincing himself being your friend was better than losing you altogether. But hearing another man talk about you like that, about asking you out, lit something ugly and sharp in him.
He masked it with a shrug that felt like it took all his strength. “I… don’t know,” he said, eyes dropping to the drink he was pouring. “You’d have to ask her.” Scott chuckled. “Oh, I will.“ Yunho’s grip on the glass tightened. Just for a second. And for the first time in a long time, Yunho imagined it, not just you being asked out, but you smiling at someone else, touching someone else, laughing the way you did with him but for another man.
His stomach dropped as Scott slapped his shoulder, oblivious. “Wish me luck, man.” Yunho forced a laugh. “Yeah. Sure.” But inside? Inside, something jealously territorial and long restrained finally stirred. Ask her out? Over his dead body.
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Yunho rode home later than usual, the air cool enough that it slipped under his jacket and bit at the edges of his nerves. The bike roared down sunset lit streets, but even the thrill of it couldn’t drown out Scott’s voice looping through his head. He revved the throttle harder than he meant to. The thought of anyone else touching you scratched under his skin like a fuse burning short. By the time he pulled into the apartment lot, his jaw was tight, his shoulders knotted. He parked the bike, stripped off his helmet, and exhaled into the crisp night.
The windows of the apartment glowed warm. Inside, everything was quiet. He slipped in softly, toeing off his boots by the door. The living room lamp cast a golden pool across the couch where you lay curled under a blanket, TV humming low with some late night documentary you’d long stopped watching. You were completely passed out. Face soft. Hair messy. One hand tucked under your cheek. And even like this, you hit him with that punch in the chest feeling he’d never managed to shake. “Hey,” he whispered, stepping closer. “You didn’t wait up for me, did you?”
No answer. Just the slow, steady rise and fall of your breathing. His frustration from earlier… softened. Melted. Turned into something warm and devastatingly tender as he crouched beside you, brushing a stray hair from your forehead with a touch so light he hoped you wouldn’t feel it. It was selfish, but he let himself look, really look at you while you slept. The vulnerability, the peace, the trust of being this undone in front of him. His chest tightened. “You’re driving me crazy,” he breathed, barely a sound.
After a minute, he slid one arm under your knees, the other behind your back. You stirred just a little when he lifted you, but your head naturally fell into the crook of his shoulder like your body had decided this was normal. Like it belonged there. He carried you through the hallway slowly, inhaling the faint scent of your shampoo, the warmth of your body pressed to his. Your hand slipped up his chest instinctively, fingers curling lightly into his shirt. Yunho froze for half a second, breath catching. Then he held you closer.
When he reached your room, he nudged the door open with his foot, lowered you gently onto the bed, and pulled the blanket over you. You let out the softest sigh, turning your face into the pillow. He stood there longer than he meant to. Just watching you. Just wanting. Just hurting a little. Right before he turned off the lamp, you murmured something in your sleep, too soft to make out, but his name was in it. He swallowed hard. “Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispered as he closed your door quietly behind him.
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You shuffled into the kitchen with sleep still clinging to your voice, hair a little wild, sweater hanging off one shoulder. Yunho was already there, leaning against the counter, sipping coffee, pretending not to stare at you like you were his first thought of the morning and his last thought last night. “Morning,” he said, voice deep and warm. You blinked at him, then frowned. “Did you… carry me to my room last night?” He froze mid sip. A tiny, traitorous flush crept up his throat. “Uh… yeah. You fell asleep on the couch. I didn’t want your neck to snap in half.” You narrowed your eyes. “You could’ve just woken me.”
“You looked comfortable,” he said quietly. Something warm fluttered in your chest. You ignored it. Or tried to as he grabbed his keys, dangling them teasingly. “Come on. I’ll take you to work.” You hesitated. “The bike again?”
“Unless you want to walk because my truck still needs a new battery.” He smirked. Completely illegal. You grabbed quickly got dressed, grabbed your bag and followed him out. The morning air was cooler than yesterday, a crisp bite against your skin as he handed you the helmet. The second you settled behind him, your body remembered everything it shouldn’t. Your arms slipped around his waist. Your thighs hugged his hips. Your chest pressed to his back.
And then the engine growled. Low. Deep. A vibration that moved straight through the seat, through him… and straight through the thin jeans you had on. You stiffened. Oh no. Absolutely not. Absolutely yes. He didn’t notice, too focused, checking mirrors, easing out of the lot. But the moment he accelerated, the vibration hit you again, right where you shouldn’t be feeling anything. Your breath hitched. Your grip tightened. Your thighs pressed closer around him before you could stop yourself.
You bit your lip to keep a moan from escaping. The vibrations were edging you, you could feel yourself starting to get wet against the cotton panties clinging to you. Yunho’s head tipped slightly, like he sensed something, but he kept driving, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing behind him, between his best friend’s legs. Every shift of his body pushed back against you. Every vibration pulsed exactly where you were trying not to react, eyes fluttering, your heart pounding. Every turn made your hips press into him a little more.
You squeezed your eyes shut as you felt it. That first sign an orgasm was building. Yunho felt your fingers curl into his shirt. Felt your breath stutter against his neck. Felt the way you clung just a little too tightly. His grip on the handlebars flexed. “Everything okay back there?” he called over the engine. He seemed to be asking you that a lot lately. “Fine!” you squeaked. You weren’t fine. You were seconds from spontaneous combustion.
He sped up slightly, nothing wild, just enough for the bike to purr beneath you again. The vibration rolled through your lower body, and you bit down on your lip so hard it almost hurt as you felt the fastest orgasm of your life rip from you. You clinged to him harder, legs shaking a little as you clenched your jaw to keep from making a sound. By the time he pulled into the school parking lot, your heartbeat was a frantic, traitorous mess. You forced your legs to work as you climbed off, praying he couldn’t see the flush burning up your neck or the small wet spot between your legs.
You handed him the helmet with what you hoped was a normal expression. “You okay?” he asked, eyebrows lifting just a hair. He was studying you. Too closely. “Perfect,” you said too quickly, too brightly. “Absolutely perfect.” He tilted his head. Then his eyes dropped to your cheeks… still pink. A slow smile tugged at his lips. “You sure?”
You nodded aggressively. “Yes. Thank you for the ride. See you later.” You turned so fast you nearly tripped over your own feet. Behind you, you heard him chuckle, low, warm, maddening.
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The teachers’ lounge smelled like reheated pasta, burnt coffee, and exhaustion, basically every weekday at noon. You sat at the round table with your lunch half eaten, scrolling on your phone, when Lisa plopped down across from you with all the chaotic energy of someone who still had hope in her eyes. Lisa was your age, maybe a year younger. Cute, bubbly, always wearing brightly patterned sweaters that shouldn’t work but somehow did. She bit into her salad, chewed twice, then leaned forward like she was about to reveal state secrets.
“So…” she said, lowering her voice dramatically. “Who’s the hot biker that drops you off every morning?” You blinked. “What?” She nodded eagerly. “Hot. Biker. Tall. Every kid in third period is talking about him.” You nearly choked on your water as Lisa continued, eyebrows raised. “Like, I had three sophomores tell me you’re living in a romance novel. One kid said, and I quote, Miss Y/L/N man is, like, Bucky Barnes or something.’”
You sputtered. “He is not Bucky Barnes!”
“Right, sorry,” Lisa said, waving her fork. “But he’s definitely… something. Who is he?” You forced yourself to breathe. “He’s my roommate….. my best friend.” Lisa froze mid chew. “Your best friend looks like that?” You shrugged helplessly, stabbing at your food. “I’ve known him since I was fifteen. He’s just… Yunho.”
“Oh my god, it has a name,” she whispered, leaning back in her chair. “Okay, no. Tell me everything. Do you two date? Hook up? Are you like…. friends with tension? Please say yes because I swear even the lunch ladies were talking about him!”
You dropped your fork.
“Lisa.”
She held up her hands defensively. “I’m just saying! He pulled up this morning and I happened to be walking in, and he stared at you like…. like he wanted to ruin everyone else’s chances of existing.” Heat flushed up your neck. “We’re just friends.” Lisa’s eyes narrowed like she was grading a suspicious essay. “Do you want it to be more?”
You hesitated. One beat too long and Lisa gasped. “You do!” You covered your face. “Please stop.” She grinned wickedly. “I knew it. I knew it. Look at you turning red.” Then she leaned in again, conspiratorial. “He single?” Your heart lodged in your throat. “As far as I know.”
“Oh.” She blinked. “Then… are you going to make a move? Because if you’re not, I might.” You snapped your head up so fast your neck popped. “Lisa.” She burst out laughing, waving you off. “Relax! I wouldn’t. He already looks at you like you hung the moon. It’d be a waste of my time.” You tried to glare, but you were flustered and she was relentless. Lisa took a sip of her iced coffee, studying you over the rim. “Seriously though… you should think about it. Guys don’t stare the way he stares unless they’re in deep.”
Your pulse skipped. Your stomach flipped. Your face felt hot all over again. “Lunch is over,” you said, standing up even though you still had five minutes left and Lisa smirked. “Yeah, but denial is exhausting. Go hydrate.” You tossed your napkin at her, but your smile gave you away as inside your chest, something small and dangerous fluttered awake.
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The last bell echoed through campus like a mercy announcement. Students spilled out in clusters, laughing, shoving, gossiping, sprinting for freedom. You stepped out with your bag over your shoulder, mind still spinning with Lisa’s lunchtime commentary. You’d laughed it off at the table. Pretended it meant nothing. But the words clung to you now, sticky and impossible to shake, weaving themselves into thoughts you weren’t supposed to have.
When you rounded the corner, the sight of him hit you like always, with that stupid mix of warmth and adrenaline. Yunho was already there. Bike parked along the curb. Helmet in one hand. The other braced casually on the handlebar as he waited. He looked unfair in the afternoon sun, hair tousled, jaw shadowed, shoulders relaxed like he wasn’t currently unraveling on the inside. A group of teens nearby stared openly, whispering. Pointing. Some even lifted their phones. Yunho ignored all of it.
His eyes found you instantly. And something in him loosened, even as something else tightened. Scott. Scott with his too big grin and too many questions. Scott, who was planning to ask you out next time he saw you. He watched you cross the courtyard now, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, smiling at something a student said. His chest tightened in that familiar painful way. He didn’t want you to get on the bike today. He wanted to keep you off it.
Because the way you held him. The way he felt you tremble, barely, but enough. The way your thighs squeezed around him like instinct. He was starting to lose it. But when you walked up to him with that small tired smile, he forgot every reason to distance himself. “Hey,” you said softly. “Thanks for picking me up again.”
“Always,” he said, voice a little rougher than intended as students started murmuring nearby. And behind his steady expression, one thought burned, Scott isn’t getting within ten feet of you. “Ready?” he asked, handing you the helmet. You nodded, but your fingers brushed his when you took it, and he inhaled like the touch meant something.
Your pulse jumped as Yunho glanced at you, quietly, searchingly, as if trying to decode something you weren’t admitting yet. He forced his expression neutral, chin tipping toward the bike. “Hop on,” he murmured and your stomach dipped. Your pulse tripped. Because the vibrations. Because your thighs. Because the spontaneous orgasm you got that morning. But you climbed on anyway, arms slipping around him. And Yunho, despite every reason not to, let himself savor the feeling of you holding him like you were his. Even if he didn’t have the right to call you that. Yet.
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Saturday crept in warm and slow, sunlight leaking through the blinds like it had no respect for your plans to sleep in. You eventually dragged yourself out of bed and into the kitchen where Yunho was already up, hair mussed from sleep, standing at the counter eating cereal straight out of the box. He looked…. annoyingly good for someone who wasn’t even trying. White fitted shirt. Dark jeans slung low on his hips. The chain around his neck catching the light just right. He had that quiet, freshly woken softness that made your stomach flip even when you pretended it didn’t. “Morning,” he said around a mouthful of cereal.
“Morning.” You poured coffee, leaning a hip against the counter. “You working tonight?”
“Kind of. Mikey’s anniversary party. Fifteen years with owning the bar.” He tossed another handful into his mouth, shrugged. “He’s making it a whole thing.“ You nodded. “I’ll probably swing by later.” He froze. Like actually froze. “Later?” he repeated slowly. “Why… later?” You blinked at him. “What do you mean why?” He scratched his jaw, eyes narrowing a fraction. “I just figured you had better things to do.”
You snorted. “You’re my only friend and it’s a Saturday… I have nothing else to do.” His jaw flexed once, twice. A bead of tension rolled through his shoulders. “I just….. Scott keeps aggravating me about asking you out…”
You blinked. “Your coworker?” The look on his face was priceless. He didn’t look jealous. He looked offended you didn’t immediately understand. “Yeah,” he said. “My coworker.” You lifted a brow, leaning back against the counter with a little shrug, oblivious to his spiraling. “He’s kind of hot.” Yunho didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Just stared at you like the universe personally tapped him on the shoulder and said, Hey man, here’s your villain origin story. “Hot?” he echoed, voice scraping low. “Scott?”
You nodded casually. “Yeah. He’s cute.” Yunho set the cereal box down so slowly it was almost funny. “Cute,” he repeated under his breath like the word personally insulted his ancestors. His chest rose with a deep inhale as he pushed a hand through his hair. And the way he steadied himself on the counter? Like the ground tilted under him? You bit back a smile as he muttered something so soft you almost didn’t catch it. “Unbelievable.”
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By the time the sun dragged itself low enough to bleed orange through the bar windows, Yunho was already two hours into his shift. His jacket hung on the hook behind the bar, leaving him in that fitted white shirt that made half the regulars stare a little too long before ordering their drinks. The anniversary party wasn’t supposed to start until eight, but Mikey had apparently decided “anniversary” meant “start drinking at four,” so the place was already buzzing. The jukebox played something bass heavy, glasses clinked, and a handful of people were setting up decorations while Mikey alternated between giving emotional speeches and yelling at the balloons.
Yunho was wiping down the counter when Scott slid in beside him with that surfer boy grin like he didn’t sense the impending doom hovering three inches above his head. “Big night,” Scott said, tossing a towel over his shoulder. “You good, man?”
“I’m fine,” Yunho muttered, even though his jaw had been tight since breakfast. The words, He’s kind of hot, wouldn’t stop echoing in his skull like a cursed ringtone. Scott nodded, started filling a round of beers for a table, and leaned closer over the noise. “So… you think she’s coming tonight?” The glass in Yunho’s hand almost, but not quite, cracked. He didn’t look up. “Who?”
Scott blinked at him like this was obvious. “Y/N.“ Yunho’s jaw ticked. “She might,” he said, aiming for casual but landing closer to a slow burn homicide fantasy. Scott brightened. “Good. Good. I, uh… still wanna ask her out.” He shot Yunho a grin. “Thanks again for the green light, by the way.” Yunho stopped moving completely. Like someone unplugged him. The only part of him alive was the muscle in his cheek that twitched hard enough to send a tiny shockwave across the bar.
“Green light,” Yunho repeated, voice low and flat. Scott didn’t notice the death omen in his tone. “Yeah! You said she’s single, and you didn’t say you were into her or anything, so I figured why not? And the way she looks at you sometimes? She must be comfortable with guys like us.” Yunho’s head snapped toward him so fast Scott actually flinched. “Guys like us?” Yujin echoed.
“Yeah,” Scott said, oblivious. “Hot, tall, good with our hands…”
“Scott,” Yunho said quietly. Too quietly. The calm before the storm kind of quiet. “Stop talking.” Scott raised his brows. “What? I’m just saying…”
“You should stop talking.”
Scott blinked. “You okay, dude?”
Yunho forced a breath. Then another. Then gripped the counter like that was the only thing tethering him to the earth. “I’m fine,” he said through half clenched teeth. “Just work.” Scott just shrugged and moved to the other end of the bar to drop off drinks, humming like he hadn’t just stepped directly onto a landmine with a smile on his face.
Across the room, Mikey slung an arm around a balloon column and declared he loved all his employees more than whiskey. Someone cheered. Someone else tripped over a stool. Yunho barely heard any of it. All he could think about was you maybe walking in tonight. You in something cute. You smiling. You laughing. You talking to Scott. Scott asking you out.
His fingers curled around the counter, knuckles pale. Not happening. Not tonight. Not ever. Shit…. He was being possessive. He swallowed hard, grabbed a shaker, and started making drinks he didn’t even remember the orders for.
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Two hours later, the bar was absolutely unhinged in the most predictable Mikey’s Point fashion. Someone attempted karaoke. Someone else dropped a tray of wings and declared it performance art. Mikey was on his third “I love all of you so much” speech while hugging a cardboard cutout of Jim Beam.
Yunho barely heard any of it. He was running on autopilot behind the bar, body moving, brain stuck somewhere between simmering jealousy and absolute denial that Scott existed. The air was warm, smelling of citrus, beer, and cheap aftershave. His shirt clung to him slightly from the heat and movement, and each time he wiped the counter down, someone’s eyes followed the flex of his arms.
He didn’t care. He couldn’t care. Because every time the front door opened, he looked up. And every time it wasn’t you, something in his chest tightened. Scott noticed. Of course Scott noticed. “You waiting on someone?” he asked over the noise, sliding a drink down the counter. “No,” Yunho lied. Badly. Scott just smirked. “Hope Y/N shows. I wanna catch her before she gets too many drinks in her.”
Yujin’s grip on the glass he was holding went white knuckle as the door opened one more time. And this time, everything in Yunho simply stopped. Like someone hit pause on him. You stepped inside the bar, confident, glowing from the warm evening air, hair falling beautifully, and wearing that outfit. Green and black marble print, clinging to your curves like it was painted on. A thin piece of fabric holding up a neckline that absolutely should not have been legal in a public establishment. Your stomach showing. Your waist cinched. Skirt barely long enough to qualify as a skirt. And the combat boots…. the combat boots he’d watched you bend over the other night searching for…. tied the whole thing together in a way that made a low punch of heat slam into him.
He didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Every neuron in his skull fired at once. Holy. Hell. Your eyes scanned the crowded room, a little shy but determined, and then you spotted him behind the bar. The smile you gave him? Soft. Excited. Familiar. Like seeing him made the whole room better. Yunho felt his lungs forget how to function. Scott, standing beside him, let out a low appreciative whistle. “Damn,” he said. “She looks…”
Yujin cut him a look that could’ve set a forest on fire. Scott wisely shut up. But he wasn’t the only one staring. Half the bar stopped moving. Men elbowed each other. Women whispered. Someone near the pool table muttered a quiet “Jesus Christ.” And Yunho felt pride and panic tangle violently in his chest. He swallowed hard, jaw tight, pulse thundering.
You came closer, weaving through the crowd, hips swaying in that dress that was going to haunt him for the rest of his mortal life. He realized, with bone deep certainty…. He was one second, one breath, from snapping. Because you were beautiful. You were his best friend. And you had absolutely no idea what you were doing to him.
When you finally reached the bar, you leaned your elbows on the counter and smiled up at him like he wasn’t currently considering burning the whole building down. “Hey,” you said brightly. “Sorry I’m late. You guys look busy.” Yunho’s mouth opened but nothing came out. Nothing. His brain had ceased operations. Scott recovered first, stepping forward with unnecessary confidence. “Wow, Y/N. You look….”
Yunho slammed a glass down so hard Scott jumped back. “Busy,” Yunho said loudly, startling Scott and nearly the whole left side of the bar. “We’re busy. Scott…. go get table nine’s order.” Scott blinked. “Table nine doesn’t…”
“Go,” Yunho growled and you raised a brow at him, amused, oblivious to the riot under his skin. “You okay?” He dragged in a breath, tried to act normal, failed miserably. “You… look…” His voice cracked. He cleared it. “You look nice.” Nice. Nice. He wanted to punch himself as you grinned. “Thanks. You look good too.” He absolutely did not react externally. Internally? Full body combustion.
Yunho needed something to do before he did something catastrophic. So when you leaned forward on your elbows and asked, “Can you make me something?” he latched onto the task like a lifeline. “What do you want?” he asked, voice low, almost steady. You shrugged, smiling like you knew you were killing him. “Something sweet.”
He nodded once, sharp, like taking an order was somehow the most serious responsibility he’d ever been given. He grabbed a shaker, ice clattering inside, his movements clipped and overly controlled as he reached for bottles. You watched him work in silence at first. But then his sleeves pulled tight around his arms. And the muscles in his forearms flexed when he shook the mixer. And the chain around his neck brushed against the fabric of that fitted white shirt when he leaned forward.
You swallowed. God, he looked good. The concentrated look on his face, the gentle tilt of his head as he tasted the mixture with a bar spoon, the way he adjusted ingredients until it was perfect… it all felt a little too intimate. Like seeing him in his element let you peek behind some curtain you weren’t supposed to lift. He slid the finished cocktail toward you. “Try it,” he murmured. You took a sip… and blinked. “Yunho. This is amazing.”
His face softened for half a second, pride, relief, something warm flickering behind his eyes, before he caught himself. Straightened. Cleared his throat. “Good,” he said. “I’ll, uh… be right back. Gotta grab drinks for the far tables.” He walked away before you could say anything else. You leaned on the counter, straw between your lips, watching him weave through the crowd. Watching how he moved, tall, confident, easy on his feet, while customers immediately reached for him with smiles or hands or too long stares.
He didn’t notice. Or pretended not to. But you sure did. He grabbed a tray from a server, loading it with beers and mixed drinks. When he lifted it with one arm like it weighed nothing, you caught yourself biting your lip. And then a burst of laughter from the other end of the bar pulled your attention. Two girls leaned against the counter, leaning way too close as Yunho stepped back behind the bar. Both of them were dressed up, hair perfect, makeup flawless. They watched him like he was the entertainment, giggling, whispering behind their hands, flipping their hair as he approached. One of them traced her finger along the counter right toward him. The other licked her straw while staring directly at his mouth.
He didn’t flirt back. But he smiled politely, that soft, charming smile he used with customers, and your stomach dipped. Because you weren’t used to feeling this. You weren’t used to watching other women openly eye him like they had every right. Not since college. Not since way before you started seeing him as more than just your best friend. One girl leaned forward, tapping the bar. “Hey, handsome. Can we get two of whatever you recommend?”
Yunho nodded, grabbing bottles, sliding into work mode. Shaker. Ice. Pour. Shake. Pour again. The girls giggled. One of them twirled her hair and sighed, “God, he’s hot.” Your grip tightened just slightly around your glass. You tried to tell yourself it was nothing. He was a bartender. People flirted with bartenders all the time. And yet… every time he reached for a bottle, the girls’ eyes dragged down his torso. Every time he leaned forward, they leaned in, too close, too eager. Every time he smiled that polite smile… your chest tugged in a way you did not want to examine.
You looked back at your drink, trying to play it off. But then something shifted in the air. A feeling. A pull. You looked up…. and caught him watching you. Not the girls. Not the drinks. You. His eyes were locked on you from across the bar, expression unreadable, jaw set in a way that said he knew exactly what he was doing to you. And that he definitely saw the way you were reacting. He didn’t break eye contact. Not even when one of the girls touched his arm. He just stared at you like the whole room was noise and you were the only thing that mattered. Your breath hitched. And deep beneath the counter, out of sight, his fist curled tight.
He was in the middle of pouring a drink when he saw it, Scott drifting back behind the bar like a golden retriever with a mission, wiping his hands on a towel and heading straight toward you. Yunho’s entire body went tight. For a second, he tried to focus on the shaker, on the two girls practically crawling over each other for his attention. “Hey bartender, you free after you get off,” one giggled. He didn’t look at her. Didn’t even pretend to.
Because across the bar,
Scott leaned in close to you. Too close. And you laughed. A soft, easy little laugh he hadn’t heard all night. His stomach dropped straight through the floor. Scott said something else, something that made you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and you smiled at him. Smiled. At fucking Scott. Yunho felt heat crawl up his spine, sharp and ugly, an emotion he’d suppressed for years suddenly waking like it’d been waiting for this exact moment to roar to life. The girl nearest him brushed her fingers against his forearm.
“Hey, do you….”
He pulled away without thinking, eyes fixed on you and Scott. Scott was leaning a hip against the bar, talking animatedly, throwing you that bright surfer boy grin like he invented charm. And you, wearing that barely legal dress, looking like a sin he’d dreamt about too many times, were actually engaging. Listening. Smiling. Laughing again.
Yunho’s pulse hammered. No. Absolutely not. You weren’t supposed to look at Scott like that. You weren’t supposed to give him that smile. You weren’t supposed to tilt your head in that soft way that Yunho had always considered his. Scott reached out and tucked a piece of your hair behind your shoulder. Yunho stopped breathing. Something snapped cleanly inside him, no noise, no warning, just a violent tightening in his chest that felt dangerously close to losing his mind.
He set the drink down too hard. The glass clacked against the counter, loud enough for the girls to blink at him. All he saw was Scott leaning closer. And your lips curving into shy, surprised little smiles. The same lips he’d stared at and imagined kissing. The same lips he wanted on his skin so badly it felt like a problem. Then Scott said something that made you laugh again, head back this time, and Yunho’s vision actually went fuzzy.
He wasn’t jealous. Jealous didn’t even touch this. He was unraveling. His chest burned, fingers curling tight around the counter edge until his forearm flexed under the strain. He clenched his jaw so hard the muscle jumped. His breath came slow and shallow, like he was trying not to do something reckless. Because you were sitting there, looking like that, smiling at someone else. And Scott, who didn’t know you, didn’t love you, didn’t get to want you, was soaking up every second of your attention. Yunho felt his composure thinning by the second.
Scott leaned in again, lowering his voice so you had to lean toward him to hear. You did and Yunho nearly walked over the bar. The girls beside him exchanged confused looks. “Are you okay?” one asked gently. Yunho dragged his eyes away from you long enough to give them a clipped nod. “I’m fine.” He wasn’t fine. He wasn’t remotely fine.
Because you were touching Scott’s arm now, just lightly, conversational, innocent. But Yunho saw it. Felt it. Somewhere deep in his chest, something territorial and dark uncurled itself, stretching like it had claws. That’s mine. The thought wasn’t rational. Wasn’t fair. Wasn’t allowed. But it was loud. And it was real.
Your head tilted as Scott said something else, and you laughed again, soft, warm, pretty, and Yunho made a sound low in his throat he didn’t mean to make. That was it. He couldn’t watch this another second. He tossed the towel aside, stepped away from the girls, and stalked down the bar toward you. Eyes sharp. Jaw tight. Every line of his body carved with purpose. And Scott, blissfully unaware he was seconds from being removed from the gene pool, kept talking.
Until Yunho stopped right behind him. Right behind both of you. Close enough that you felt the heat of him before you even turned. Scott was mid sentence, something about “places that stay open late” when Yunho stepped up behind him, presence hitting like a shadow falling over both of you.
You turned slightly, and Yunho was already there, bar towel gone, posture loose in a way that was clearly fake, the faintest hint of a smile on his mouth that absolutely did not reach his eyes. He leaned an elbow on the bar, casual, friendly, neutral if you didn’t know him. “You two having fun?” he asked lightly. “Am I interrupting something?” The tone was easy. The eyes were lethal.
Scott brightened, oblivious. “Nah, man! Just talking. I was actually asking Y/N if she wanted to…”
You cut in before he could finish, partly to be polite… partly because Yunho’s stare felt like it had weight. You bit your lip. A tiny, impulsive motion. Dangerous. “Scott was asking if I wanted to join him later,” you said softly, “after he gets off.” You could feel Yunho go still. Not visibly. Not obviously. But internally? The man flatlined. His chest barely moved with the breath he took. His jaw flexed once. Twice. Scott didn’t notice a damn thing. “Yeah!” he said enthusiastically. “There’s this spot on Melrose…”
Yunho spoke over him. “Since when do you go out after work, Scott?” Scott blinked. “Uh… since forever?” Yunho hummed like he didn’t believe him. Or maybe like he was imagining shoving him into the ice machine. You tilted your head, watching Yunho watching you. He wasn’t smiling anymore. Not really. He looked… controlled. Contained. Tension coiled tight under that fitted white shirt, breath slow like he was actively trying not to react.
And then he did something subtle, so subtle Scott missed it completely. He angled his body closer to you. Not touching. Just… closer as Scott kept rambling. “So yeah, I told Y/N if she wants to chill, maybe grab a drink after we close, or hit that rooftop spot…” Yunho’s eyes flicked to your lips. Just for a second. But you saw it. Felt it. Then he spoke again, voice deceptively light. “You said yes?”
You opened your mouth but Scott jumped in. “She didn’t say no yet.” Yunho’s gaze snapped to him. A calm little smile curved his mouth. “Oh,” he said softly. “She didn’t say yes, either.” Scott laughed awkwardly. “Not yet.” Yunho’s expression stayed polite. Friendly. Even kind. But his eyes? His eyes said, Try it. I dare you.
Before Scott could angle closer, before he could try another charming grin or whatever else he thought might work, Mikey’s voice blasted across the bar like a cannon. “SCOTT! Get your ass over here and bring me those drinks I asked for twenty minutes ago!” Scott jumped so hard he nearly dropped the bar towel. “Oh… uh…. coming!” He flashed you a quick wink, a bold one, like he genuinely thought the two of you had chemistry. Then he jogged off toward Mikey, weaving through the crowd with a little extra swagger.
Yunho watched him go. Not casually. Not neutrally. Like a man tracking a threat. When he finally turned back to you, the shift in the air was instant. He was close, closer than before. Not touching, but the heat of him felt like a hand on your waist. His voice dropped low, rough at the edges, nothing like the friendly bartender tone he’d used earlier. “So…” he said quietly, eyes locked on yours. “You really going out with him?”
You froze. Not because of the words, you could’ve brushed those off. But because of the way he said them. Deep. Controlled. Tension coiled tight beneath every syllable. And something else beneath that. Something raw. Something he didn’t want you to hear but couldn’t hide. You managed a soft, confused, “What?”
Yunho’s gaze flicked from your eyes to your lips and back. Once. Slowly. His jaw tightened. “You were smiling at him.” Your breath caught as he kept going, voice quiet but intense, the kind of intensity that wasn’t anger. It was want. Jealous want. “You were laughing,” he added, like the words physically bothered him. “At his jokes.”
You blinked. “Yunho…”
“And you didn’t tell him no.”
You felt heat bloom in your chest. The room was loud, really loud, but somehow everything blurred around the edges until it was just him in front of you, shirt tight across his chest, hair slightly tousled from running his hands through it, eyes dark with something he wasn’t saying yet. “You didn’t tell him no,” he repeated, softer this time. Barely audible. “Why didn’t you?”
Your pulse jumped. Because the question wasn’t innocent. It wasn’t friend to friend. It was a man asking why you’d even consider someone else when he was standing right here. Your voice came out smaller than you intended. “I… I didn’t know I needed to.” Something dangerous flickered across his face. You’d thrown a spark into a room full of gasoline.
Yunho inhaled once, shallow, sharp, like he was fighting something in his chest. Then he leaned a little closer, eyes never leaving yours. “You don’t,” he murmured. “You don’t owe me anything.” But there was a pause. A long, telling pause. “But I need to know… if you actually want to go with him.” Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. Because this? This wasn’t teasing. This wasn’t protective best friend mode. This was Yunho cracking open. This was the truth slipping out despite him trying to hold it back.
Your lips parted, you weren’t even sure what was about to come out…. And Yunho watched your mouth like it might break him. For a moment, you just stared at him, Yunho standing there, muscles tight, breath uneven, eyes locked on you like he couldn’t look anywhere else even if someone set the bar on fire. Lisa’s voice drifted through your head like a spark, Guys don’t stare at you the way he stares unless they’re in deep.
And maybe it was the dress. Maybe it was the heat of the room. Maybe it was the way he’d walked over like he couldn’t stand another second of Scott near you. But for the first time, you didn’t swallow your feelings. You didn’t back down. You pushed. Softly at first, then with a wicked little shove. You lifted your chin and said, “Maybe.”
Yunho blinked once. Slow. Like the word punched through his ribcage. You kept going. Because that look on his face, sharp, tense, wrecked, made you bolder. “I mean… I haven’t really gone out with anyone in a while,” you said, voice low enough that only he could hear it over the music. His throat moved. Once. Hard. “And…” You glanced away briefly, like admitting something embarrassing. Then you looked right back at him, inhaling a slow breath. “Maybe I want to get laid.”
Time stopped. He didn’t speak. Just stared at you like he genuinely couldn’t tell if you were joking or if the universe was testing him on a spiritual level. “What?” he finally managed, voice rough. You shrugged lightly. “Yeah. It’s been a while. And Scott seems nice. So maybe hooking up with someone wouldn’t hurt.”
Yunho’s expression didn’t change much, not outwardly, but something violent shifted behind his eyes. His jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumped. His hand on the bar curled into a fist. His breath came in a deeper drag, like he was fighting back words he absolutely should not say in public. He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t snap. But the restraint looked physically painful. “You’re just gonna…” His voice cracked. He swallowed and tried again. “You’re just gonna go home with him? Tonight?”
You bit your lip, deliberately this time. He noticed. Oh, he noticed. “I might,” you murmured. Yunho stared at you like you’d reached in and twisted something vital. The party noise kept going, laughter, music, clinking glasses, but between you two? It was silent. Charged. Electric enough to burn. His voice dropped, barely a sound. “You’re not serious.”
You tilted your head. “Why wouldn’t I be?” That was the spark. The one that hit the gasoline. Yunho leaned in, not touching, but closer than he’d ever allowed himself to be in a public space, his voice a low, desperate growl right next to your ear. “Because he doesn’t get to touch you like that.” Your breath hitched so hard you actually swayed. You turned your head enough to meet his eyes, heart slamming against your ribs. “And who,” you whispered, pulse racing, “says he doesn’t?”
Yunho didn’t hesitate. “Me.” The word hung between you like smoke. Me. Not a joke. Not a slip. Not a misunderstanding. He meant it. Every rough, protective, possessive letter of it. Your lips parted, you didn’t even know what you were going to say. Something sharp. Something soft. Something dangerous. But the reply was already building in your throat.
“Yunho! I need you at the other end!” a server yelled over the music. “Now! We’re slammed!” Yunho stiffened. For half a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t look away from you. Didn’t blink. Like he was physically unable to step back. Then reality sucker punched both of you at the same time. His jaw flexed. His breath dragged slow and deep through his nose. And he forced himself to straighten. He didn’t touch you. But God, he looked like he wanted to.
His eyes dragged over your face, your lips, your throat, the flush on your cheeks, like he was burning the moment into himself before walking away. “I have to…” He swallowed hard. “I need to… get back.” Your heart slammed against your ribs. “Yunho…” He shook his head once, tiny, pained. “Don’t… don’t go anywhere.” His voice cracked just enough that you felt it in your knees.
Then he turned. Walked away. Shoulders tight, back rigid, hands flexing once like he needed something to hold onto that wasn’t you. And suddenly the bar felt too loud. Too bright. Too hot. You exhaled shakily and sat back, gripping the edge of your drink like it could anchor you. Your brain was no help at all. He said me. Not casual, not flirty, claiming. Territorial. He said it like it hurt him to hold back any longer.
Your thoughts spiraled fast. He doesn’t want me going out with Scott. He doesn’t want me hooking up with anyone. Was that jealousy? Was that… something else? Has he always been like this? You pressed your thighs together under the bar, pulse thundering. And then, because the universe wanted you to suffer…. You remembered the way he leaned in. The sound of his voice in your ear. The look on his face when you said maybe you wanted to get laid. Heat flooded your chest, your stomach, all the way down.
You couldn’t focus. Couldn’t breathe right. Couldn’t look anywhere except where he’d disappeared behind the crowd. Your heart flipped so hard it hurt. Your hands shook as you brought your drink to your lips, throat tight.
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The party had only grown louder as the night stretched on. People danced between tables, a couple regulars were doing shots off the counter, and Mikey had fully surrendered to being fifteen years of bar ownership drunk. And across the room, at your corner of the bar, Scott was in full golden retriever courtship mode. He leaned closer every time he spoke. He laughed too loudly at his own jokes. And he’d begun inching his hand toward yours on the counter like a man venturing into shark infested waters without realizing it.
Yunho noticed every. Single. Millimeter. From the opposite end of the bar, where he was supposed to be working, Yunho watched with a tight jaw and a drink shaker clenched in his hands like it had personally offended him. He tried to tune it all out. But he couldn’t. Because Scott kept smiling at you like he’d won something. Because you kept smiling back, a little flustered, a little unsure, a little dangerously cute. Because he could still hear your voice in his head like a gunshot, Maybe I want to get laid.
He still felt the echo of his own reply burning under his skin. Me. Christ. What the hell had possessed him to say that? He told himself it was the crowd. The heat. The alcohol in the air. The jealousy ripping at his ribs. But none of it changed the truth he’d been choking on for years. He wanted you. Body, mind, everything. And now Scott, Scott with the too big smile and the easy confidence and not a clue in the world was shooting his shot. Right in front of him.
Yunho’s eyes narrowed as Scott placed a hand lightly on your lower back. Your breath caught and didn’t move away. Yunho’s grip tightened on the shaker. Metal squeaked. Someone waiting for their drink slowly backed away. “Uh… Yunho?” a server whispered. “You okay?” He didn’t answer. Didn’t even hear her. His entire focus was locked on you. The dress. The boots. The way you leaned in when you laughed. And Scott moving closer with each passing minute.
Yunho’s heartbeat hammered a steady, dangerous thrum beneath his ribs. He told himself to calm down. He told himself he had no claim on you. He told himself he’d already pushed too far earlier. None of it worked. Because now Scott was whispering something into your ear and Yunho saw red. Before he could storm over and commit a felony, someone clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder.
“Yunho,” Mikey announced, swaying slightly as he attempted to steady himself. “Stop looking like that.”
Yunho blinked. “Like what?”
“Like you’re about to piss on her leg and mark her in my bar,” Mikey slurred as the shaker slipped in Yunho’s hand. “What… I’m not…. that’s not…”
“Oh, spare me,” Mikey said, waving him off with the grace of a drunk flamingo. “I know a man about to go feral when I see one.”
“I’m not…”
“You’re jealous.”
Yunho froze as Mikey rolled his eyes dramatically. “Everyone can see it. The bartenders. The customers. The couple making out by the jukebox probably felt it spiritually.” Yunho opened his mouth, ready to deny everything, lie his way into normalcy, pretend nothing was happening, push it all back into the box he’d kept sealed for years. But Mikey squinted at him, pointed toward Scott like he was calling out a fire hazard. “Look at him. Poor guy has no idea you’ve been trying to glare him into an early grave with your eyeballs.”
Yunho pressed his lips together. Said nothing. Because the alternative was telling the truth. And he wasn’t ready for that. Mikey groaned. “Go.” Yunho blinked. “Go where?” Mikey shoved him, actually shoved him, toward your end of the bar. “To her,” he said. “Before you kill Scott. Or yourself. Or my business. In that order.” Yunho hesitated. “Now,” Mikey added sharply, then hiccuped. “Before he asks her to leave with him and we all have to watch you spontaneously combust.”
Yunho didn’t need another push. He was already moving. Slow. Measured. But with a look in his eyes that had nothing to do with work anymore. And everything to do with you. He moved through the crowded bar with purpose in every step, the kind that had people subconsciously shifting out of his way. Music pulsed. Glasses clinked. Laughter rose and fell around him like static. But none of it reached him.
All he could see was you at the counter, Scott leaning in too close, your smile dimming with uncertainty as he talked. Every instinct in Yunho screamed at him, Go to her. Take her away from him. Say something. Do something. He got halfway across the bar… and then he stopped. Stopped so suddenly a server nearly ran into his back. Because the truth, the one he’d been dodging all night, hit him like a fist, If he crossed that distance… If he stepped into your space now, with his chest tight and his pulse wild and that jealousy clawing through him… he wouldn’t be able to pretend anymore.
He wouldn’t be able to walk it back. Wouldn’t be able to hide behind jokes and almost confessions and careful boundaries. He would want you. Openly. Fully. Dangerously. And if he misread a single thing, If you didn’t want him back….. he’d lose the one person he couldn’t live without. Fear. Actual fear. Settled cold and deep in his stomach. His breath caught. His hand curled into a fist at his side. For the first time all night, he backed away. One step. Two. Three.
Your laugh drifted across the bar again, this one softer, polite, like you were trying to navigate Scott’s attention without being rude, and it shattered something inside him. He turned sharply. Walked behind the bar with stiff, clipped movements. Snatched his jacket off the hook like it had personally offended him, the leather dragging roughly across the counter as he yanked it close. A couple of patrons looked over, confused.
Yunho needed air. Space. Distance from you before his heart ripped itself out of his chest and threw itself on the floor in front of everyone. He shoved through the back door into the cool night. The sudden quiet hit him like a shock. He exhaled hard, one breath, two, but it didn’t calm the frantic pounding in his chest. His bike stood at the curb under the streetlight, black and white and familiar. A grounding point.
He walked straight to it, braced both palms on the seat, head hanging low between his shoulders. His knuckles whitened against the leather. He closed his eyes. What the hell am I doing? What am I supposed to do with this? With her? With me? You were his best friend. His person. The girl he’d known half his life, the girl he’d fallen for long before he even understood what falling meant. And now? Now you were wearing a dress that made his brain short circuit. You were laughing at another man’s jokes. You were talking about wanting to get laid. You were slipping through every piece of control he had left.
He dragged a hand through his hair, breathing deep, trying to steady the storm inside him. He didn’t want to ruin things. Didn’t want to lose you. Didn’t want to scare you off or confess something you weren’t ready to hear. But he also couldn’t stand in that bar another second watching Scott try to take something, someone, he’d been quietly loving for years.
The night air bit at his skin, cooling nothing as he leaned one hip against the bike, head tipped back, eyes closed as he whispered to the empty street, “Get a grip, Yunho… before you fuck everything up.” But when he opened his eyes…. He still wanted to walk back inside. He still wanted to take you away from Scott. He still wanted you. And the wanting was getting harder to deny.
Yunho didn’t know how long he stood there beside his bike, jacket half on, chest rising and falling too fast, the night air doing nothing to cool the heat flooding his veins. He was trying. Trying to pull himself back into the version of him he always showed you. Calm. Easygoing. Steady. But the storm inside him hadn’t listened. The door behind him creaked, a soft, subtle sound. He didn’t turn. He already knew it was you.
Your footsteps approached slowly, hesitantly, gravel crunching beneath your boots until you were just a few feet behind him. “Yunho?” His eyes fluttered shut again. Of course you followed him. Of course you noticed. Because you always did. You stepped closer, voice soft, threaded with concern. “Are you okay? You just… stormed out. I thought maybe…”
He let out a short, low laugh. Except it wasn’t really a laugh. More like a sound dragged out of him because the pressure had finally cracked. “You have no idea,” he murmured and you froze. The tone wasn’t joking. Wasn’t casual. Wasn’t friendly. It was rough. Unsteady. Frustrated in a way that had nothing to do with work and everything to do with you.
Yunho raked a hand through his hair again, the leather of his jacket creaking as he gripped the edge of the bike seat for balance. He turned his head slightly, not fully facing you yet, like he wasn’t sure he could look at you without everything spilling out. “You shouldn’t have followed me out here,” he said quietly.
You swallowed. “Why not?”
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Because I’m trying really damn hard to get myself under control.” Your breath stalled as he straightened slowly, finally turning enough to face you, not all the way, but enough that you could see the tension in his jaw, the tightness in his throat, the storm still burning behind his eyes. “You saw the way I left,” he said, voice low and frayed. “That was me trying to be smart. Trying not to say something I can’t take back.”
You stepped closer before you realized you were moving. The space between you hummed. “What… what would you say?” you asked softly. Yunho’s laugh came out again, sharper now, brittle, like he was on the edge of something he couldn’t back away from. “You really don’t know?” he asked. That did something to your chest. You shook your head, whispering, “I’m not sure.”
Yunho’s eyes closed for just a moment, his breath shuddering out as if your uncertainty hurt more than anything Scott had done all night. Then he opened them. Fully. Looking straight at you now. “No,” he said softly. “You should be the last person out here with me. Because I’m two seconds away from saying too much. From ruining everything.”
Your heart raced. “Try me,” you whispered. And for the first time all night, maybe the first time ever, Yunho didn’t look scared of the words. He looked scared of how badly he needed to say them. He stared at you like you were the moon crashing into the earth. For one breath, he looked ready to close the distance completely, to step into you, take your face in his hands, and finally let everything he’d been burying spill out.
But then fear flickered. Real fear again. And he tore his gaze away. He shook his head, jaw tense, throat working like swallowing the truth physically hurt. “No,” he muttered, voice low. “I can’t… I can’t do this with you. I won’t ruin what we have.” Then he turned from you. Actually turned his back, hands braced on the handlebars of his bike, shoulders tight enough to crack. The cool night air filled the empty space between you, humming with everything unsaid. He wasn’t walking away. He wasn’t leaving. He was just facing the one direction where he didn’t have to look at you, didn’t have to see the one person capable of shattering every wall he’d built.
And maybe a week ago, you would’ve let him hide there. But not now. Not after the way he said, me. Not after the way he stalked across the bar like he owned the floor beneath your feet. Not after the way looking at Scott talking to you had turned him into something feral. You stepped forward, boots crunching on the asphalt, until you were just inches behind him.
“You’re jealous.” The words sliced through the quiet like heat through frost. Yunho went rigid. Just frozen in place as if the truth hit him like a hand to the chest. Slowly, painfully slowly, he lifted his head. He didn’t turn around yet. Didn’t speak. But his fingers curled tight around the leather seat of the bike, knuckles pale, breath shallow and uneven as you took another step toward him, voice steady even though your heart hammered. “You’re jealous,” you repeated, softer now, more certain. “That’s why you stormed out.”
His shoulders rose with a deep inhale, shaky, barely controlled. Still no answer. You could feel him unraveling by degrees, the quiet tremor in his breath, the way his jaw clenched beneath the angle of his head turning, the war inside him reaching its breaking point. “You don’t want me to go out with Scott,” you whispered. “You don’t want me laughing with him. You don’t want him touching me.” The night held its breath.
Yunho slowly turned his head just enough to see you over his shoulder, eyes dark, raw, stripped down to something he couldn’t hide anymore. He looked wrecked. He looked like you had pried open something he’d been holding closed for years with nothing but a few soft, terrifyingly honest words. And when he finally spoke, his voice was nothing but truth. “Don’t,” he whispered, voice breaking at the edges. “Don’t say it unless you’re ready for what comes after.” But he didn’t deny it. Not once. Not at all.
The night felt impossibly still. Yunho stood there with his back half turned, breathing like every inhale hurt, jaw tight like he was bracing for impact. Didn’t say anything else. Because he knew if he did… you’d both cross a line neither of you could ever uncross. And then, your voice cracked the silence. Soft. Shaking. Bare, like you’d peeled your heart open and set it in your palms.
“I…”
Yunho froze.
You swallowed hard, voice trembling as you forced the rest out. “For months now… I’ve…” Your breath hitched, but you didn’t stop. “all I can think about is you.” Yunho’s fingers slipped from the bike seat. He didn’t turn around as you kept going because if you didn’t say it now, you never would. “I turned down that math teacher a couple weeks ago,” you whispered. “We flirted for a while, but the second he actually asked me out…” You sucked in a shaky breath. “all I could think was that I wanted you to ask me.”
Yunho’s shoulders jerked like you’d struck him. You stepped closer, close enough that the warmth of your body brushed the back of his arm. He still didn’t turn. You kept going, voice breaking in the middle of the sentence. “And then I told myself that was stupid. That you’re my best friend. And that if you wanted me like that… then you would have…. You would’ve said something years ago. You would’ve…”
“Stop,” Yunho rasped. But you’d already opened the wound. “And tonight, seeing you with those girls, seeing you being… hot and funny and yourself… I realized just how much I’ve been pretending.” He turned. Finally turned. Slow, like he wasn’t sure he could physically handle the rest of what you were about to say without his knees giving out. His eyes were glassy under the streetlight. Dark. Too emotional. Too raw. You met that look head on, chest rising and falling. “I wanted you,” you whispered. “I still want you. And I didn’t say anything because I thought if you felt the same, you would have made a move. You would have… done something.”
Silence. The kind that shakes. Yunho stepped forward once instinctively, then stopped himself like he hit an invisible wall. His voice dropped to something low and rough, thick with disbelief and something dangerously close to relief. “You really think I didn’t make a move,” he said quietly, “because I didn’t want you?” You blinked, confused and breathless. “I mean… am I wrong?”
He let out a shaky laugh, one that sounded like he’d been holding it inside his ribs for years. “Baby… the only reason I haven’t touched you is because I didn’t think I was allowed to.”
You stood there beneath the dim streetlight, heart pounding loud enough you swore he could hear it. Yunho stared at you like he was seeing every version of you at once, the fifteen year old girl who’d moved to his town, the best friend who’d grown into his safe place, the woman standing in front of him now in a dress that made him dizzy. His chest rose with one slow, unsteady breath. Then another. Then he stepped closer. Not fast. Not dramatic. But with the kind of purpose that meant there was no going back.
His voice came out low. Unfiltered. Wrecked. “I’ve wanted to be with you since we were seventeen.” Your lips parted. He didn’t look away. Not even for a heartbeat. “That night you got drunk for the first time,” he went on, voice cracking at the memory. “When I carried you home because you couldn’t walk straight.” Your breath hitched, the memory flickering through your mind like a flash of light. The warmth of his arms. Your head resting against his shoulder. The safe, steady smell of him. The way you’d pressed a sloppy kiss to his lips when he laid you on the couch.
Yujin swallowed hard, shaking his head at himself. “You kissed me,” he breathed. “You probably don’t even remember it.” You did. Oh, you did. But you’d chalked it up to embarrassment, a stupid teenage mistake, something he would’ve forgotten by morning. “I stood in your living room after you passed out,” Yunho said softly, “trying not to lose my mind because that tiny little kiss…” His voice trailed off, breath unsteady. “It was the best thing that had ever happened to me.”
Your knees nearly gave out as he stepped even closer now, close enough that the heat of his chest brushed yours when you breathed in too deeply. “And ever since then,” he whispered, “I’ve wanted you. Every year. Every version of you. I wanted you when we graduated. When you moved out. When you moved back in. When you brought home that idiot, Steve, you dated for two years.”
Your eyes widened. “You didn’t like him?”
He laughed softly, bitter edge slipping into the sound. “I wanted to fight him every time he put his arm around you.” He dipped his head a little, eyes locked on yours, breathing you in like he’d been starved of oxygen for years. “And tonight?” he murmured. “Watching Scott touch you like he had the right?” His jaw flexed. “I thought I was going to snap and put him through Mikey’s wall.” You shivered. You’d never heard him talk like this. Never seen him stripped this bare. Never imagined he’d been carrying this much longing, this much restraint, this much want inside him for so long.
He lifted a hand, slow, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you yet. His fingers brushed your cheek and you nearly melted. “I’ve been in love with you since that night,” he whispered. “And I didn’t make a move because I didn’t want to lose you. Because I thought if I got it wrong, if I scared you off… I’d never forgive myself.”
Your breath came out shaky. “Yunho…”
His forehead rested softly against yours now, his eyes closing like the contact itself was a relief. “So don’t tell me I’m jealous,” he whispered. “I’m way past jealousy.” Your heart stuttered. “What are you, then?” you whispered. He opened his eyes, and the way he looked at you could’ve set the world on fire. “I’m yours,” he said softly. “I’ve always been yours.”
His confession hung in the air, warm and trembling, as if the night itself didn’t dare move until you did. He looked at you like he’d just handed over every secret he’d ever buried. Like the next breath you took had the power to save him or ruin him. And you didn’t look away. Not once. Instead, you stepped even closer, chest brushing his, your voice a whisper that cracked something open inside both of you. “Then make me yours too.”
For half a second, Yunho didn’t breathe. His pupils blew wide. His jaw clenched. Something wild flickered across his face, hunger, relief, disbelief, years of yearning collapsing into one unstoppable pull. “God,” he murmured, barely a sound. “Come here.” And then he kissed you. Not gently. Not cautiously. Not like a man testing a boundary. He kissed you like he’d been waiting since seventeen and his patience had finally snapped.
His hands cupped your face first, desperate, reverent, before sliding down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your back hit the cool metal of his bike, the vibration shivering through you as he pressed you there, pinning you with his mouth. You gasped into the kiss, fingers fisting into his shirt, and that was it, that tiny sound, that finished him. He groaned, deep and rough against your lips, kissing you harder, fuller, his body molding to yours like it had been built for this.
Your lips parted and his tongue swept in, tasting you, learning you, claiming you without hesitation, without apology. Years of swallowed feelings poured into each heated, hungry kiss. Your hands slid up his chest, over the lines and warmth of him, and he shuddered, nudging his thigh between yours as if he couldn’t stand not touching you everywhere at once. The kiss turned messy fast, panting breaths, soft whimpers from you, low curses from him, the two of you chasing each other’s mouths like you’d been starved of this for far too long.
His fingers slipped under the hem of your skirt, gripping your hips hard enough to make you gasp. He moved you against the line of his thigh, swallowing your breath with his mouth.
“Yunho…” you whispered against his lips and he kissed the word right off you. “You have… no idea…” he breathed between kisses, “how long I’ve wanted to feel you like this.” Your head tilted back as his mouth trailed down your jaw, your throat, kissing you like he intended to memorize every inch. Your fingers threaded into his hair and he groaned before pressing you even tighter against the bike. The two of you were heat and hunger and inevitability, every second coiling tighter, hotter, deeper.
Yunho looked at you, lips swollen, breath unsteady, forehead leaning against yours like he needed the contact to stay grounded and you dragged him back into a kiss that left him gasping. He exhaled a shaky laugh that sounded like surrender and triumph tangled together. And you felt it, the shift, the spark, the years of tension snapping into place. He didn’t even bother pretending he could keep his hands off you anymore. The second you pulled him closer, he lifted you, effortless, like your body belonged in his arms, and set you on the seat of his bike.
The cold leather under you. His warm body between your thighs. The sharp shock of want that hit him when you wrapped your legs around his waist. “Jesus…” he breathed, voice low enough it vibrated against your skin. He didn’t give you time to respond. His mouth was on your neck again, slow at first, tasting, testing… and then hungrier when you tilted your head back, giving him more.
One of his hands slid up your outer thigh, fingers dragging along your skin with a deliberate slowness that made your breath catch. He gripped higher, thumb brushing where your skirt had ridden up, and your whole body jolted like it recognized him. He felt that reaction and smiled, dark, surprised, like he hadn’t expected you to tremble for him this fast. “Sensitive?” he murmured against your throat, lips grazing the pulse his mouth had just coaxed into pounding.
You swallowed hard. If only he knew. If he knew what happened the other day… what the vibration of this very bike did to you while you were on the back of it… how you had bitten your lip into silence, thighs shaking… He’d lose his damn mind. The memory flashed behind your eyes, sharp, hot, forbidden. The long stretch of road. Your chest pressed to his back. The way the engine rattled through the seat, through your thighs, through your entire body until you couldn’t think straight and the world went white and you had to hide your face against him so he wouldn’t hear you come undone.
He kissed the hollow of your throat, slow and deep, his other hand sliding up your spine to anchor you to him. Your breath hitched, too loud. He froze for a second, feeling it, and pulled back just enough to look at you. His pupils were blown wide, lips swollen from kissing you senseless. “You’re shaking,” he said softly, sounding wrecked and proud all at once. “And I’ve barely touched you.” Your fingers curled into his hair, pulling him closer, dragging him back to your neck because you needed his mouth there the way you needed air.
He groaned when you tugged, hips pressing into yours instinctively, a slow grind that made your lashes flutter. If he kept going, you were going to… “Baby…” he whispered into your skin, voice hoarse, “you’re killing me.” No. He had it backwards. He was the one unmaking you, piece by piece. His hand slipped higher on your thigh. His mouth found a spot on your neck that made your whole body tighten. You grabbed his jaw, not rough, but firm enough that his breath caught, eyes snapping to yours with something dark and wanting. Your thumb brushed his lower lip. Your voice dropped to a whisper that felt like you were confessing a crime.
“You know…” Another shaky breath and his pupils widened. “I hate this bike.” He blinked, thrown off. “You… what?” You leaned in, lips skimming his cheek, your breath warm against his ear. “Because it drives me crazy.” Yunho’s fingers flexed on your thigh as you continued, slow, deliberate, watching the realization sharpen in his eyes. “You on it…” Your nails trailed lightly up his neck. “The sound…” Your legs tightened around his waist. “The feel of it…”
He swallowed hard, chest rising against yours, his hands coming up to grip your hips like he needed something to hold onto. Then you dropped the bomb that took the ground out from under him. “The way it made me come the other day when you took me to work.” Yunho froze. Completely. You let the words sink in, lips brushing his jaw as you whispered the rest. “And I had to walk around for hours with a wet stain between my legs.”
A sound left him, low, strangled, not even a word, just raw need hitting him so fast he actually stumbled a half step closer like gravity yanked him into you. “Baby…” His voice was unsteady, wrecked, like he couldn’t believe what he just heard. “tell me you’re not messing with me.” You lifted his chin so he had to look directly at you. “Does it sound like I’m joking?” His breath hitched audibly. His fingers dug into your hips. The tension in him snapped into something hotter, heavier, something he’d been holding back for years. “You came on my bike,” he repeated, voice low enough to vibrate through your bones.
You nodded once, slow. “And you didn’t tell me,” he said, disbelief and hunger tangled together. Your lips brushed his. “I’m telling you now.” That was it. That was all he could take. He crushed his mouth to yours, kissing you like the confession had broken every restraint he’d ever had. His hands slid under your thighs, lifting you, dragging you forward on the seat so your body pressed completely against his.
The kiss turned fierce instantly, hotter, messier, desperate, the kind that felt like the two of you were making up for every lost year in a single, breathless moment. Yunho kissed you like he’d been waiting years to taste you, his mouth hungry and sure, his breath mixing with yours as his hands roamed your hips like he had every intention of learning your body by touch alone. Your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him closer, the cool leather of the bike contrasting with the heat blooming between you. He broke the kiss only long enough to breathe against your throat, voice roughened to something barely human.
“Let me feel you.” His hand slid down, fingers trailing the length of your thigh so gently it made your whole body tremble. When he reached the edge of your skirt, he hesitated, barely, his breath catching as if asking for permission without daring to speak it out loud. You didn’t want hesitation. Not from him. Not now. His fingers brushed the thin fabric between your legs, a soft press that made your breath stutter. He froze again, looking up at you from beneath heavy lashes, waiting for you to guide him, to give him that final, irrevocable yes. Instead of answering with words, you reached down. Slowly. You slid your hand over his, your fingers warm against his skin, and guided him, deliberate, steady, until he understood exactly what you wanted.
His breath left him in a quiet, stunned sound when you nudged his hand, urging him to slip the fabric aside. Your panties shifted with the motion, baring the heat he’d only imagined until now and Yunho inhaled sharply. Your hand stayed over his as he eased the fabric aside fully, giving him access to the soft, heated place he’d fantasized about more times than he’d ever admit. His fingers trembled because he wanted to touch you, wanted to feel how warm you were for him, but he waited for your lead.
You guided him lower. Barely a shift. Just enough. His fingers brushed your slit, a feather light stroke, and your entire body jolted. He felt it. “Oh… sweetheart,” he whispered, forehead falling against yours, breath shaking with want. “You’re already… like this for me?” You nodded, unable to speak, your fingers tightening over his wrist, silently begging him to keep going. He did. Slowly. Carefully. Like he was touching something sacred.
Your head tipped back as he touched you again, more sure this time, his breath hitching at the way your body reacted to him, your hips bucking, your thighs trembling around his waist, your hand clutching his shoulder just to stay grounded. Yunho kissed the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the spot beneath your ear that made your pulse trip. “Tell me,” he murmured, fingers moving in a steady, devastating rhythm now against your clit. “Tell me what you need from me.”
But your breath was already breaking, your body already arching into his touch, and he smiled, dark, heated, helpless, because he’d never seen you like this, never imagined you’d melt for him this easily. And now? He was addicted. His mouth was on yours again, hot and hungry, swallowing the sound you made when his fingers finally slipped past that last delicate barrier. Slow. Intentional. Like he wanted to feel every inch of you accepting him as thrusted two inside you, your walls instantly clenching them.
Your whole body tightened, hands flying up to grip his shoulders, nails curling against the warm fabric of his shirt just to keep yourself from slipping off the bike. “Easy,” he murmured against your lips, though his own breath was shaking. “I’ve got you.” And he did. His free arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, anchoring you against him while the hand between your thighs moved with devastating purpose. Each slow, deliberate motion made your hips lift into his palm, made your breath stutter, made his restraint unravel a little more each time you whimpered into his mouth.
He kissed you deeper, tongue brushing yours, swallowing every broken sound you tried to hide. “Y/N…” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours as he pulled his fingers almost all the way out only to thrust them back and curve them. Your thighs tightened around his waist, a moan leaving you as your own fingers tangled in the back of his hair as he worked you open with steady, devastating patience. His breath hitched each time he felt your body flutter around him, each time you pulled him closer, needing more.
Then, without warning, he shifted just enough to reach into the pocket of his jeans. You barely had time to register the movement. Metal jingled. A key turned between his fingers. The bike beneath you came alive. The engine rumbled to life with a deep, throaty growl that vibrated up through the seat, through your legs, through your entire body. Your breath punched out of you and Yunho felt it. “Yeah,” he whispered, voice roughened beyond recognition. “That’s what I wanted.”
The vibration met the rhythm of his hand, and the combination nearly sent you arching off the seat. Your fingers clutched at his shoulders now, your mouth falling open against his. He caught your bottom lip between his teeth, groaning softly at the way you reacted, the way the engine beneath you made your hips jerk helplessly into his hand, his fingers pounding into you now. “Look at me,” he said, lifting your chin with his free hand. Your eyes were hazy, lips swollen, legs trembling around his waist.
He looked wrecked. Completely undone by the sight of you unraveling for him. “You’re going to come apart on my bike,” he murmured, brushing his mouth over yours, “I want to see it this time.” His fingers pressed deeper. The engine thrummed harder. And you cried out softly into his shoulder.
“Hold onto me,” he murmured against your mouth. Because the vibration of the bike thrummed steady beneath you, deep and relentless, meeting every movement of his hand like the two sensations had been designed to work together. Your thighs tightened around him. Your nails dug into his shoulders. Your hips moved on instinct, chasing each stroke of his fingers, every glide deeper than the last. Yunho groaned when he felt you react, a low, warm sound that rolled through his chest and straight into you. “That’s it,” he whispered, lips brushing your jaw. “Just let me feel you.”
His hand moved faster now. Firm. Sure. Rhythms that made your pulse flutter wildly against his lips. The bike’s steady rumble traveled up your spine, pairing with his touch until your whole body was trembling, breath catching in desperate little bursts you couldn’t hide even if you tried. “Yunho…” you gasped, holding onto him like you’d fall without him. He kissed you hard, swallowing the sound, his free hand sliding up your back, holding you steady while your body arched into his. “You’re close,” he breathed, forehead dropping to yours. “I can feel it… sweetheart, you’re right there.”
You were. The vibration. His fingers. His breath hot against your neck. The way he watched your face like your pleasure was the only thing in the world that mattered. Everything built at once, fast, intense, overwhelming. Your legs trembled violently around his waist. Your breath shattered. Your hips ground helplessly into his hand, chasing the crest rising inside you, his fingers buried knuckle deep. “Come for me,” he whispered, voice wrecked.
The words pushed you right over the edge. Your release hit you hard, a deep, rolling wave that tore a soft cry from your throat as your body clenched around his fingers. Your head fell back, eyes fluttering shut as the sensation rushed through you, stronger than anything you’d felt alone in your bed at night thinking about him. Yunho held you through it, kissing your throat, murmuring soft curses against your skin as your body shook and your breath broke in his ear.
And then he felt it. The warm rush against his hand. The damp heat soaking into the leather beneath you. He froze for a heartbeat. Then he groaned, a low, disbelieving sound, as he pulled his fingers slowly from you, glancing down at the wet sheen glistening across his skin… and the dark stain spreading across the seat of his bike. “Y/N…” he whispered, lifting his gaze back to your flushed, trembling face. “You just ruined my seat.”
You could barely breathe as he kissed you, slow, deep, possessive, and settled between your shaking legs, hands gripping your thighs as if anchoring himself. “Do you have any idea,” he murmured against your lips, “how long I’ve wanted to do that to you?” Your heartbeat was fluttering wild as he held you through the last pulses of your release, his forehead against yours, his breath uneven, his hands shaking from everything he just felt you unravel against.
He was still murmuring something soft against your cheek when you reached down. Completely unbothered by how wrecked you both were. You slipped your fingers around his wrist and Yunho froze. You lifted his hand, the one that had just been inside you, the one still damp, still glistening in the low light. His eyes widened, breath catching. “Baby…” he whispered, voice warning and begging at the same time, “what are you….”
You brought his fingers to your lips and his breath stopped. You held his gaze as you slowly drew his fingers into your mouth. Yunho’s knees nearly buckled. His jaw clenched, eyes darkening so fast it was like a storm rolled through him in real time. Watching you, his best friend, the girl he’d loved since forever, slip his fingers past your lips? It punched the air out of his lungs. He swallowed hard, chest heaving. “Y/N…” His voice cracked. “You’re going to kill me.”
You hummed softly around his fingers, tongue warm and sinful, and he actually had to brace a hand on the bike beside your head just to stay upright. His eyes fluttered, breath shaking as he watched you taste yourself from his hand. When you finally let his fingers slip free from your mouth, he looked wrecked. Destroyed. Hopelessly in love in a way he didn’t stand a chance against.
You leaned in, lips brushing his, your voice low and sweet and completely unhinged in the best way. “Take me home,” you whispered, “so I can taste you too.” Yunho stared at you like he’d just realized something dangerous and exhilarating at the same time…. His best friend wasn’t just bold. You weren’t just wild. You weren’t just everything he’d ever wanted. No. You were insane. Deliciously, gloriously, wonderfully insane. And he adored it.
A slow grin curled at the corner of his mouth, the kind of smile born from pure, stunned desire and a little awe, too. “Oh my god…” he whispered, shaking his head as if trying to process you. “You’re out of your mind.” Your fingers hooked his belt, tugging him closer. “So you’re not taking me home?” you teased. He didn’t answer with words. He kissed you, harder, deeper, hungrier, both hands cradling your face like he finally understood he wasn’t dreaming. When he pulled back, his forehead stayed against yours, his breath hot and uneven.
“You’re not leaving our apartment again until I take you to work Monday.” He pulled back only so the two of you could get on his bike. He guided your legs tight around his waist, reached for his helmet and slid it over your head with shaking hands. Then he swung his leg over the bike, his voice rough and reverent as he settled in front of you. “Hold on,” he said, glancing back with a look that wasn’t just lust, it was possession and disbelief and devotion all tangled together.
His adrenaline spiked as he pulled his gloves out his pocket, you could feel it in the tense set of his shoulders, the way his breath shuddered, the way his hands gripped the handlebars like he needed to focus on not turning around and taking you right there behind the bar. He lifted his head, eyes closing for one slow breath. Because he knew. The second he got you home…. the second that apartment door shut… he was going to lose it. Completely.
He revved the engine once, a sharp, impatient growl, then pulled out of the alley with you wrapped around him, every inch of him vibrating with the need to get you home as fast as he could without losing control on the road. This wasn’t just desire. It was adrenaline. Years of waiting. The heady knowledge that tonight, everything changed. And the second that apartment door closed behind you both… nothing would ever be the same.
The night air rushed around you, cool against your still warm skin, sharp enough to make you gasp against his back. You wrapped your arms tighter around him, your cheek against his shoulder blade, breathing in that familiar mix of clean soap and leather and the faintest hint of bar smoke from his shift. But the real problem? The real danger? The steady hum of the bike beneath you. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t rough. But after what he’d just done to you… it felt like a live wire pressed between your legs. And he knew. Of course he knew.
Your fingers flexed against him without meaning to, a tiny, involuntary clutch the moment the vibration traveled up your spine. His shoulders tensed instantly beneath your palms, his grip tightening on the handlebars. You felt the breath he sucked in. You felt the low sound he bit back. He tilted his head just slightly, voice raised enough for you to hear over the wind. “You okay back there?” He already knew the answer. You hid your face against his back, mortified and already melting.
“Yunho…”
That was all you managed. Just his name, shaky, needy, warning and pleading at the same time. His hand left the handlebars for the briefest moment, sliding back to squeeze your thigh without looking, without missing a beat, a silent, I know. The bike picked up speed. Not reckless. Not dangerous. Just… deliberate. Enough for the vibration to deepen, to pulse steady, to make your breath catch in your throat. You pressed closer to him, thighs tightening around his hips as the sensation curled low in your stomach, stealing your control all over again.
Yunho felt it. He felt the way your legs gripped him. He felt your breath stutter against his back. He felt your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt. And he didn’t say anything for a long moment, like he was savoring it. Like he was memorizing the way you reacted to him now that he knew exactly what the bike did to you. When he finally did speak, his voice was low, rough, and shaking with restraint. “You’re getting worked up again, aren’t you?”
You buried your face against his spine, the vibration rolling through you with every bump of the road. “Yunho…” You sounded breathless, frustrated, and desperate in a way that nearly undid him. “It’s not fair…” He laughed softly, not mocking, but stunned, disbelieving. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice dropping to something dark and warm, “I’m not doing anything.”
You tightened your hold on him as the next wave of sensation coiled through you. “That’s the problem,” you whispered and he groaned. Actually groaned, a low, rough sound carried away by the wind, one hand gripping the handlebars harder like the only thing keeping him from pulling over was sheer willpower as his head tipped forward for a moment, jaw clenched. “We’re almost home.”
The ride up the ramp into the apartment’s parking garage felt endless and way too short at the same time. Yunho’s breath was still uneven when he finally eased the bike into the spot beside his truck, the engine settling into a low rumble before he cut it off. Silence fell heavy. Not awkward. Not uncertain. Just charged. He swung one leg over and stood, pulling off his gloves slowly, like he needed those extra seconds to steady himself before he turned around and faced you.
You were still catching your breath when you reached up and unclicked the helmet strap. Your fingers trembled slightly, just enough that he noticed. You lifted the helmet off and shook out your hair, the soft garage lights hitting your flushed cheeks, your kiss swollen mouth, the dazed shimmer still lingering in your eyes. Yunho stared. Not politely. Not subtly. He stared like a man watching the aftershocks of his own undoing. Then you swung your leg to get off the bike and your knees wobbled. Just barely. Just a soft buckle. But enough that you grabbed the seat for balance.
His jaw flexed. His breath hitched. Something hot and primal flickered behind his eyes. “You okay?” he asked softly. But the question was a lie. He didn’t want you to say yes. He wanted you to admit what he already saw. You handed him the helmet, still touching the bike like you needed the extra second to steady yourself as he unlocked his truck and tossed his helmet inside. Your thighs pressed together involuntarily, the ghost of the ride still humming through you. When you straightened, it was slower than normal, your legs clearly not trusting you yet.
Yunho swallowed hard, eyes dragging down your body and up again. The realization hit him like a punch…. he did this. His fingers twitched like he wanted to catch you, lift you, pin you against the nearest surface all at once. You finally met his gaze. The look you gave him, hungry, wrecked, wanting…. nearly took him to his knees. He stepped closer. Not touching. Not yet. But close enough that the heat from his body warmed your already sensitive skin. “Shaky?” he murmured, voice deep.
You nodded once, swallowing hard and his eyes softened in a way that was somehow more dangerous than anything he’d said all night. “Come here,” he whispered. You moved toward him, your legs still not entirely steady. And the moment you were within reach, he lifted a hand, slow, fingertips brushing your hip. The gentleness wrecked you. Because you could feel the restraint… the control…. the craving simmering right under the surface.
Yunho dipped his head, breath ghosting your temple. “Let’s get upstairs,” he murmured, voice rough. “Before I lose it down here.” The walk from the garage into the building felt different now, every step heavier, hotter, the air between you still charged from everything that happened on the bike. Yunho stayed close, his arm brushed yours with every step, close enough that his hand hovered at your lower back like he was trying, really trying, to be respectful for one more minute.
You caught him glancing at you twice. Once at your swollen lips. Once at your slightly shaky legs. Both times he dragged in a breath like he was one second from losing it completely. You reached the elevator. He hit the button. The doors slid open….. and there was your downstairs neighbor, Kevin. Of course. Wearing gym shorts, a tank top, earbuds around his neck, sweat still clinging to his collarbones. And the second he saw you, his whole face lit up.
“Hey!” he said, immediately grinning. “Didn’t know you were out tonight. You look…” Yunho stepped in front of you. Not dramatically. Not aggressively. Just a clean, unmistakable shift of his body that placed you directly behind him. A silent, No. Not tonight. Kevin blinked, thrown. “Uh…. hey, Yunho.” Yunho didn’t answer. He just pressed the elevator button for your floor with controlled, absolute calm… except you saw the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers curled slightly like he was holding onto the last of his patience.
Kevin looked around Yunho’s shoulder to smile at you again. “You two hanging out tonight?” he asked. “Because if not, I was going to ask if you wanted to come down for…” Yunho turned. Slowly. But the look he gave Kevin? Yeah… Kevin shut his mouth fast. “We’re busy,” Yunho said, voice low, even, not raised at all, but carrying enough weight that Kevin actually took a step back.
Your breath caught. Because Yunho didn’t look angry. He looked possessive. Dark eyed. Unapologetic. Like he had finally stopped pretending you were just his best friend. Kevin cleared his throat. “Right. Got it. Didn’t mean to….” Yunho lifted a hand slightly, not hostile, just enough of a gesture to shut the conversation down. “We’re going up,” he said.
The elevator doors closed. And for a second, it was just the three of you in a tense, humming silence. Kevin stared straight ahead, suddenly very interested in the floor numbers. You stood behind Yunho, heart pounding, watching the broad line of his back rise and fall with each slow breath. He looked calm, but you knew him too well. His hands slipped casually into his pockets. But his fists were clenched.
Kevin glanced at you again, about to attempt a smile but Yunho shifted. Just half an inch. Closer to you. Blocking more of you from view. A silent claim. Kevin’s mouth snapped shut again. When the elevator dinged for Kevin’s floor, he all but stumbled out, giving a quick awkward nod. “See you guys later,” he muttered. The doors closed again and Yunho exhaled, long and low, turning to face you fully now that you were alone.
He stepped closer. Close enough that your back brushed the elevator wall and he braced one hand beside your head, caging you in without touching you. His eyes were dark, still burning from earlier, from the bike, from your shaky knees, from Kevin daring to look at you like that. “He flirts with you all the time,” he said softly, voice controlled but vibrating with restrained heat. “I’ve tried to ignore it. I’ve tried to let it go.” Your breath hitched. “But sweetheart…” He leaned in, lips brushing your cheek without kissing it. “After tonight?” His voice dipped lower. Dangerous. Certain. “I’m not sharing you.”
Your pulse kicked as he moved even closer, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “Not with Kevin.” A kiss against your cheek. “Not with Scott.” A kiss brushing the corner of your mouth. “Not with anyone.” Your hands lifted to his chest on instinct, clutching his shirt. “And when we get inside,” he murmured, his lips ghosting yours, “I’m going to show you exactly what that means.” The elevator stopped. The doors opened but he didn’t move. His breath caught against your lips as he whispered, “Let’s go home.”
The apartment door clicked shut behind you with a soft thunk, the kind of sound that normally meant nothing… but tonight, it felt final. Like crossing a threshold you could never step back over. Yunho stood there for a moment, back against the locked door, hand still braced on it as though he needed that last second to pull himself together. Your boots tapped lightly against the entryway tile as you stepped farther into the apartment, kicking them off, familiar, shared, safe, and yet your heartbeat still ran wild beneath your ribs.
He watched you. Not with the wildness from downstairs. Not with jealousy. Not with restraint teetering at its edge. But with something stunned. Almost reverent. Like he still couldn’t believe you were here with him like this. You turned to face him, leaning your shoulder lightly against the hallway wall, the soft glow of the living room lamps warming your skin and your lips curled as he took his jacket off. “You know,” you said, voice light, teasing, even though your pulse thudded loud enough you felt it in your fingertips, “until tonight… I never knew how possessive you are.”
Yunho’s breath punched out of him. Not loud. But sharp. His eyes flicked down your body, slow, dragging, dark, and when they lifted back to yours, his entire expression had changed. He pushed off the door in one slow step, tossed his jacket on the open kitchen counter. He didn’t rush you. He didn’t crowd you. He just walked toward you with a focus so intense it made your knees go soft again.
When he stopped in front of you, he lifted a hand and tucked a piece of your hair gently behind your ear, thumb lingering at your jaw. “Possessive?” he repeated softly. You nodded, trying for playful, but your voice shook just a little as he leaned in, lips brushing the edge of your cheek, not kissing, just close enough that you felt the warmth of his breath. “I’m not possessive,” he murmured and your breath caught. His nose skimmed your temple, the faintest touch, sending goosebumps racing down your spine. “I’ve just spent years pretending I didn’t want to grab you every time someone else looked at you.”
Your pulse stuttered. “And now that I know you want me too…” He whispered this directly into your ear, his voice warm, low, certain. “I’m done pretending.” You exhaled shakily, your hands automatically catching his shirt, pulling him closer without thinking. He let out a soft, almost amused breath, the sound of a man who just realized teasing him is your love language, and he likes it far too much. “You really had no idea?” he asked, brushing his knuckles down your neck. “After all the times I cut off guys trying to talk to you? All the times I stepped between you and Kevin? All the times you laughed at some guy’s joke and I went quiet for the rest of the night?”
Your mouth fell open and he smiled. “That wasn’t me being protective, baby.” He tilted your chin up with two fingers. “That was jealousy.” Your heart flipped. “And now,” he added, stepping closer until your back pressed to the wall, “you’re teasing me about it.” He dipped his head, lips grazing your cheek again, slow, intentional, claiming without touching your mouth. “Keep going,” he whispered. “See what happens.”
Yunho didn’t even have time to react. One second he was caging you against the entryway wall, voice low enough to melt your spine… and the next…. You put your hands on his chest and pushed him back. Not hard. Not to escape. But with a deliberate, teasing shove that knocked the breath straight out of his lungs. He stumbled one step, two, surprised, eyes widening as he caught himself. And then you smiled. Slow. Knowing. Dangerous.
A spark lit in his eyes. “Oh,” he murmured, breath catching, “so that’s how we’re playing now?” You didn’t answer. You just walked toward him, step by slow step, and he walked backward automatically, entranced, until the two of you drifted into the open living room. He didn’t touch you. Didn’t grab you. Didn’t pull you in. He just watched you advance on him with that teasing tilt to your chin, that sly glimmer in your eyes, and something in him clicked sharply into place.
You were a brat. A gorgeous, soft voiced, impossible to resist brat. And the realization wrecked him. Because if this was how you behaved with someone you wanted? If this was how your teasing looked up close? If this bold, taunting version of you had been around other men before him…. He hated it. He adored it. He needed it aimed at only him. You stopped in front of him, close enough that he could feel the warmth off your body but not close enough to touch.
His breath shivered as you tilted your head, eyes locked on his like you were studying him, tasting the moment, savoring the tension stringing tight between you. “How many times,” you said softly, stepping even closer, “have you gotten yourself off to me?” Yunho’s whole body went still. That question hit him like a blow to the chest, fast, hard, unguarded, and for a heartbeat, he didn’t breathe. His jaw flexed His hands curled at his sides. A flush hit his throat and spread up to his ears. “Y/N…” he whispered, voice low, warning, desperate. “Careful.”
You weren’t finished. You slid your fingers up his chest, slow and taunting, eyes never leaving his. “Once?” Another step. “Twice?” Your body brushed his, feather light and intentional. “Or…” you leaned in, your breath brushing his lips, “was it more?” He inhaled sharply, a sound low and raw that came from somewhere deep. He grabbed your waist, not rough, but firm, grounding himself before he did something he couldn’t reel back. “You really want the number?” he asked quietly and your lips parted. “Yes.”
He let out a shaky laugh, stunned, wrecked, half delirious from finally seeing this side of you. “You don’t understand,” he murmured, leaning in just enough that your noses brushed. You smiled up at him. “Try me. That was the moment he realized it…. You weren’t afraid of his want. You weren’t intimidated by how deep his feelings ran. You weren’t fragile or shy or cautious with him. You were bold. Demanding. A little unhinged. And completely his now.
“Alright,” he whispered, brushing his lips over yours without kissing you. “I’ve touched myself to the thought of you more times than I can count.” Your breath hitched as his forehead rested against yours, his fingers tightening at your hips. “Did other guys get this version of you?” he murmured. “Anyone else get to see you act like this?” Your smile widened, the kind of smile that dared him to snap. “Maybe.”
He groaned, deep and frustrated and hungry. “Never again.” You slid your hands up his chest again, not to pull him close this time, but to push again. He stumbled backward, breath catching, and the back of his knees hit the couch. Before he could react, before he could even grab you, you shoved him lightly, confidently, and he dropped onto the cushions with a low, startled exhale. He stared up at you. Wide eyed. Chest rising fast. Every muscle in his body tightening like you’d just torn open a dream he’d never dared speak aloud.
You sank to your knees between his legs and Yunho’s breath stopped. Completely. His hands hovered in the air for a second like he didn’t know whether to touch you or dig his fingers into the couch to stay alive. His voice fractured. “Baby…” You looked up at him through your lashes, the soft glow of the living room lights catching the curve of your lips, the flush on your cheeks, the confidence rolling off you now that the tension had snapped in half. Then you set your hands on his knees, slowly sliding them up the strong lines of his thighs.
“Yunho,” you whispered, tilting your head just enough to make him curse under his breath. “You gonna let me taste you now?” He broke. Silently. Utterly. His head tipped back against the couch, eyes squeezing shut for half a second like he needed a physical reset to survive what you just said. Because this…. you on your knees for him, your voice like silk and sin, your hands sliding up his legs, your eyes lifted and full of intention… this was something he had imagined so many times he’d lost count.
When he finally looked down at you again, he looked ruined. Absolutely, beautifully ruined.
“Baby…” His voice was low, rough, like gravel dragged across velvet. You squeezed his thighs lightly, leaning just a fraction closer. “You gonna let me or not?” His breath shuddered as you ran your hands higher, tracing the muscle through his jeans, and he spread his legs for you without thinking, like his body answered you before his mind could catch up. His fingers curled into the couch cushion. His voice dropped to something that vibrated through both of you. “I’ve pictured this…” His throat bobbed “so many times it should be illegal.”
Your smile was slow, wicked, pleased. “Good.” Your fingertips brushed the edge of his waistband. “Then enjoy the real thing.” Yunho’s eyes fluttered shut like the moment was too much, too overwhelming, too perfect to look at directly. You shifted closer on your knees. Then, slowly, deliberately, you reached for the button of his jeans. Your fingers brushed his stomach as you worked the button open, sliding the zipper down inch by inch. His muscles clenched under your touch, a soft groan slipping from him when the denim loosened around his hips.
You dragged the jeans down and froze. Not because of his reaction. Not because of the heat rolling off him. But because staring back at you…. were bright red Deadpool underwear. For a second, you just blinked. Then your lips parted. Then you nearly burst into laughter. Yunho looked down at you, confused at the sudden halt, his breath still ragged from moments before. “What’s wrong?” he murmured.
You bit your lip hard, shoulders shaking and he followed your gaze downward. And immediately covered his face with one hand. “Oh my god,” he muttered through his fingers. “I forgot I wore those today.” You tried to hold it together. But the sight of this man, this ridiculously hot bartender who rode a motorcycle and had you coming apart on his bike…. sitting on the couch in comic book underwear… It was too much. A tiny giggle escaped. Then another.
You slapped a hand over your mouth, eyes wide and sparkling as he groaned, dragging his hand down his face, cheeks a little flushed, ears red. “You’re killing me,” he said. “I’m trying to be….” A helpless gesture at himself. “this. And you’re laughing at my underwear.” You crawled closer, hands sliding up his thighs again, warmth returning to your gaze. “I’m not laughing,” you said, still fighting a smile. “I’m… charmed.” He narrowed his eyes playfully. “You’re absolutely laughing.”
You shook your head, leaning in until your lips brushed his inner thigh, your voice dropping to something low and wicked. “Yunho,” you murmured, “you being a nerd is one of the hottest things about you.” His entire body jolted as he lifted his head, stunned. “It is?” You nodded slowly, letting your teeth graze lightly against his skin. He sucked in a breath so sharp it shook. Then you looked up at him with a smile that could end civilizations. “Now,” you whispered, fingers hooking into the waistband of those ridiculous, wonderful Deadpool underwear… “let me take care of you, nerd.”
Yunho’s head fell back against the couch with a broken, breathless sound that said very clearly, you weren’t the only one who was about to lose it. You curled your fingers into the waistband of his Deadpool underwear, and Yunho’s whole body went still, lungs held, muscles tight, eyes locked on yours like he was bracing for impact as you dragged them down. Slowly. Too slowly for him. He lifted his hips for you without thinking, helping you tug them lower until they cleared his thighs and then you froze again.
Reality hit you like a warm, breath stealing shock. You’d always suspected. Every accidental brush against him when he walked around the apartment half dressed… every time he’d stepped out of the bathroom in just a towel… every morning he padded to the kitchen in loose sleep pants… every summer he’d worn swim trunks…. you always knew he was built for trouble. But seeing him now, fully, undeniably, no room for doubt….. Yeah. Your breath left your lungs in one slow, stunned wave. Your hands stilled on his thighs. Your lips parted. Your eyes widened before you could school your expression and Yunho noticed. He definitely noticed.
His eyebrows lifted slightly, a flush rising up his neck, and he let out a shaky, incredulous breath. “What?” he asked, voice low and breathless. “Why’d you stop?” You didn’t answer at first. You couldn’t. Not when all those little hints over the years had just crystallized into something very real and very impressive sitting there in front of you. You swallowed, heat blooming across your cheeks as you stared, his dick hard already, thick, long…. Yunho blinked again, slower this time, as realization dawned. A slow, almost shy smile tugged at his lips. “Hey…” he murmured, dropping one hand to cup your chin gently. “You okay?”
Your voice came out softer than you meant. “I just…. you’re big.” Bigger than anyone you ever been with before. His breath stuttered as his hand slipped from your chin, dragging through his hair in pure disbelief, cheeks flushing deep like he hadn’t prepared for that kind of honesty. “Oh,” he said, voice cracking faintly. “Uh… thanks?” You laughed softly, still a little breathless, still staring even though you tried not to. “You have no idea,” you murmured, your fingers brushing lightly along his hip, “how many times I wondered…”
Yunho sucked in a breath like you’d touched him somewhere far more sensitive. He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a delicious, sinful whisper. “Sweetheart,” he said, “if you look at me like that… I’m not going to last long.” You finally lifted your eyes to his. Bright. Warm. Wrecked. And the truth settled between you like gravity… all those accidental glimpses over the years? All those half noticed outlines in sweatpants, towels, pajama bottoms, trunks? None of them prepared you for this. None of them even came close. And Yunho was watching your reaction like it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.
You placed your hand on him, warm, soft, sure, and he made a sound so low it barely qualified as breathing. His fingers curled into the couch cushions, knuckles white, jaw tight like he was forcing himself not to grab you and guide your hand as you started to stroke him slowly at first. Exploring. Testing. Running your thumb over his tip. Watching every twitch of muscle in his stomach, every sharp inhale, every time his head fell back just a little too far. “Y/N…” he murmured, eyes fluttering shut, “please…”
Oh. So he was impatient. Interesting. You tightened your grip just a little, sliding your hand in a rhythm that made his hips jerk despite his attempt to keep still. He bit down on a quiet groan and pressed his head back into the cushion. “Yunho,” you teased softly, “relax.”
“I’m trying,” he said through a tight breath, “but you’re… you’re killing me.” Your smile turned slow and mischievous. Good. You shifted closer on your knees, bringing your face level with him, your fingers still working in that steady, deliberate rhythm that made his breathing uneven. Then you leaned in and let your tongue touch him. Just the tip. Barely a graze. A soft, warm flick that sent a violent shiver through his entire body. His hips bucked, just once, but he caught himself, gripping the couch so hard the fabric pulled under his fingers. “Baby….” His voice cracked on the word.
You did it again. And again. Each time a teasing tap of him against your tongue, like a dare as you looked up at him through your lashes, your voice warm and wicked. “Yunho,” you whispered, tapping him gently against your tongue once more, “are you the dominant type?” His eyes flew open. Dark. Heavy. Roughened with something deep and barely restrained. You tilted your head, still stroking him lazily with your hand as you dragged your tongue lightly along the edge of him, tracing at a vein. “Like to be in charge?”
He made a sound, low and absolutely broken, and his hand shot halfway toward your hair before he yanked it back, gripping the cushion instead. “I do,” he said, breath shaking violently, “but you’re not giving me a chance to act like it.” You smiled up at him, brushing your lips just barely over him in a way that made his entire body jolt. “That’s because,” you whispered, “I want to see how long you can behave.” Yunho groaned, head dropping back, chest rising fast. “If you keep doing that,” he warned softly, voice dripping heat and restraint, “I’m going to stop behaving.”
You dragged your tongue along him once more, slower this time. “Promise?” you murmured before finally taking him into your mouth. Yunho lasted about half a second before he snapped. His hand shot forward, fingers threading into your hair with a grip that wasn’t rough, but wasn’t gentle either. A grip that said he’d been holding himself back for too long and was suddenly done with that.
A shaky breath left him, his thighs tensing under your palms. “Oh… sweetheart…” His voice dropped so deep it vibrated through your whole body. “You have no idea what you just woke up.” You swallowed a little more of him, soft, teasing, testing and he groaned, loud this time, his head falling back against the couch before he dragged his gaze down to watch you. And what he saw? You on your knees, mouth around him, eyes lifted like a dare? It ruined him.
His grip tightened in your hair. Guiding. Controlling. Claiming. “Look at me.” You did. Your lips wrapped around him, your tongue tracing him in a way that made his breath break. His fingers curled more firmly in your hair, holding you exactly where he wanted you. “Good girl,” he whispered, heat sinking into every syllable, “you take me so good.” Your pulse jumped and he noticed and smiled, dark, hungry, knowing. “You like that, don’t you?” His thumb stroked your cheek as he slowly guided your pace. “You like when I take control.”
You hummed around him, the vibration making him swear quietly under his breath and his grip tightened. He didn’t force you but he directed you. Firm. Precise. Dominant in a way he’d clearly been behind closed doors. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice threaded with praise and something far filthier. “Just like that… don’t rush. I want to feel every second of your mouth on me.” You hollowed your cheeks a little, and he almost buckled. His free hand flexed against the couch cushion before sliding to your jaw again, thumb brushing your bottom lip where it stretched around him.
You took him deeper, just a little, and his hips jerked again despite himself. His hand instantly tightened in your hair and on your jaw. “Careful,” he warned, breath shaking as you pulled back just enough to speak, lips brushing him in a way that made him curse. “Or what?” Something in him broke. A low, guttural sound left his throat. His hand in your hair wasn’t hesitant anymore. It was decisive. Possessive. He tilted your head up just enough to meet your eyes, his thumb brushing your lower lip again, voice warm and commanding. “Open.” You did, tongue out and his breath hitched.
“You listen so well when you’re on your knees for me,” he murmured. “Keep going, sweetheart. Let me feel that mouth.” And then he guided you down again. Firmer. Slower. Completely in control now. Your hands clutched his thighs, your breath warm against him, your mouth following the rhythm he built with his grip in your hair. Praise spilled from him in low, broken whispers. “Just like that. Perfect. You’re driving me insane. Mouth looks so good wrapped around me.”
You moaned around him, and his entire body jolted, his hand gripping harder at the sound. “Sweetheart…” he whispered, voice nearly unsteady, “I didn’t know you could be such a submissive brat…” His thumb traced your cheek as he guided you again, slower this time, savoring every second as you changed your rhythm. Slow at first… then deeper… then all the way, taking him until your lips brushed your knuckles and Yunho let out a sound that wasn’t even a word. His hand flew to your hair again, not pulling you down, just holding you like he needed the anchor.
You kept going, your mouth warm around him, your hands braced on his thighs as he struggled to keep his hips still. Every time you took him deep, his muscles jumped under your palms, his breath stuttering hard. He tried to keep talking. He tried. “You… god…“ You pulled back with a wet, slow slide that nearly made his eyes roll, catching your breath for a heartbeat before leaning in again, but this time, you stopped just shy of touching him.
Yunho blinked down at you, dazed, panting, already reaching for your jaw before he realized he was doing it. And that’s when you said it. “You gonna fuck my mouth,” you murmured, dragging your tongue in a slow, taunting line along him, “or are you just gonna keep talking while I do all the work?” Yunho froze. Absolutely still. A dangerous, electric stillness. His breath left his chest in a slow exhale, his head tilting, eyes darkening like a storm breaking open. Your lips brushed him again, teasing, testing. “I asked,” you whispered, “if you’re going to…”
He grabbed your chin, guiding your face upward until you were forced to look right into his blown out pupils. His thumb stroked your bottom lip, slow and claiming. “Say it,” he murmured, leaning just slightly closer. “If you want me to use your mouth, sweetheart, you’re going to tell me.” He brushed his thumb across your lip again and your pulse kicked so hard you felt faint. “Go on,” he whispered, breath warm. “Ask nicely.”
You didn’t answer him with words. You rose up onto your knees, leaned in, and kissed him. Hard. Hungry. Your hand curled into his shirt, dragging him down toward you as your teeth caught his bottom lip, gently at first, then sharp enough to make his breath stutter. He groaned, low and broken, as you tugged his lip between your teeth before letting it snap free as you whispered it against his mouth, the words brushing his lips like a sin he’d begged for. “Fuck my mouth.”
Yunho didn’t breathe for a full second. Then he broke. His hand slid into your hair, gripping with purpose this time, tilting your head back just a little so he could look at you, really look at the pretty, reckless, bratty person on their knees asking for him to ruin them. A sound ripped from his throat, part laugh, part disbelief, part every dark fantasy he’d ever shoved down finally surging to the surface. In one smooth, decisive motion, he stood, guiding you with him, his hand firm in your hair but still careful, still letting you feel the difference between dominance and harshness.
His other hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he looked down at you like you were the single most dangerous and irresistible thing he’d ever seen. “You think I haven’t imagined this?” he growled softly. “You think I haven’t thought about your mouth for years?” Your breath hitched as his grip tightened just slightly in your hair. “You want me to take over,” he murmured, his tone now a low, molten command. “You asked for it.” You swallowed and he smiled as you opened for him again.
His breath left him in a rough exhale, his fingers tightening in your hair as he guided you back toward him, angling your head just the way he wanted. “Good,” he whispered, voice thick, “just like that.” Then he moved. Slow at first, testing your rhythm, guiding your mouth down around him, letting the heat of you make his jaw clench. Then deeper. His grip in your hair was tight. He drew you in again, this time letting his hips meet the motion of your mouth. The sound he made, it wasn’t loud. It was quiet, wrecked, a breath ripped from somewhere deep in his chest.
“That’s it,” he rasped, adjusting the angle with a slow drag of his fingers in your hair. “Let me… yeah… just like that. Let me have you.” Your palms pressed against his thighs, feeling the way they tensed under your touch each time he guided you down, each time his control slipped just a little more. Your eyes met his and that broke the last piece of restraint he had. His hips rolled forward, shallow at first, then more deliberate, his hand tightening as he used your mouth with a steadily building rhythm.
“You’re unbelievable…” he breathed, staring down at you like he couldn’t believe you were real. “Letting me do this… letting me take you like I’ve wanted to…” He swallowed hard, breath shaking as he thrust again, deeper this time, his voice cracking as he noticed you reach down between your legs and start rubbing at your clit. You moaned around him, the sound vibrating through him so sharply he nearly doubled over.
His hand flexed in your hair, guiding your pace just a little faster, each movement more precise, more desperate, his control slipping in the most intoxicating way as you grinding against your own hand, mouth full of him. “Look at you…” he whispered, his voice rough and low as he moved again. He groaned as you sucked, moaning around him, a sound that shot straight through you, and his hand tightened as he thrust into your mouth with a pace that made your eyes flutter. “That’s it… take it… you wanted this…” Another thrust. Another groan. His breath hitched.
Yunho was already losing it. Your mouth, your pace, the way your eyes lifted to meet his every time he thrust forward, your own fingers now buried inside yourself…. he was hanging on by a thread thinner than breath. His rhythm stuttered, hips tightening as pleasure built sharp and fast along his spine. His hand loosened in your hair, his hips beginning to retreat, instinct and conscience fighting for control…. but you didn’t let him. Your hands slid up his thighs, firm, steady, bracing him exactly where he was as you leaned in and took him deeper.
His breath left him in a ragged sound that didn’t even resemble his usual voice. “Wait…. Y/N…” You didn’t stop. Your mouth wrapped around him again, slow at first, then stronger, your tongue working him with the kind of deliberate pressure that destroyed whatever resolve he had left. His knees buckled as you hollowed your cheeks and he broke. Absolutely, completely broke. A strained gasp ripped from his chest, his fingers tightening in your hair as his head fell back against the couch, his whole body trembling as the wave hit him, hot, overwhelming, shuddering through him with nowhere to go except into your waiting mouth.
You swallowed. And his world stopped. His breath hitched hard. His hand froze in your hair. His other hand braced on the top of your like he needed to keep himself upright. “Sweetheart…” His voice was wrecked, unsteady, reverent and disbelieving. “You’re…” You swallowed again, slow and deliberate, your eyes on him the entire time. He made another broken sound, something between a groan and a prayer as you finally let him slip from your mouth with a slow drag, your lips swollen, your breathing warm and uneven. His body was still trembling, his jaw slack as he stared down at you like you’d just rewritten the laws of gravity.
You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, then rose onto your knees just a little, close enough that he could feel your breath against his lower stomach. His vision dimmed as you looked up at him with the softest, filthiest smile he’d ever seen. “Worth the wait?” Yunho didn’t give you an answer. The moment you finished speaking, he grabbed your waist and pulled you up from the floor and straight into his lap with a force that was all instinct, all need. You landed straddling him, your knees on either side of his hips, your chest pressed into his, both of you breathless and shaking from what you’d just done to him.
His mouth crashed into yours. Not sweet. Not cautious. A hungry, desperate kiss that tasted like surrender and years of wanting you in silence. His hands slid under your skirt immediately, palms hot on the back of your thighs as he pulled you closer, pressing you flush against him and you felt it. His length, still sensitive from the way he’d lost himself in your mouth, still thick and hard beneath you, pulsing against the heat between your legs. You let out a soft, involuntary sound right into his mouth and he groaned in response, a wrecked, high sound he’d never made in front of anyone before, and pulled your hips down against him like he couldn’t get you close enough.
You rocked into him once. Just once. And his breath broke as you reached down between your bodies, your fingers sliding along the rigid shape of him through the open front of his underwear. His whole body shuddered as you angled him, your breath warm against his cheek. “I need you now,” you whispered, raw and shaking. And while he was still trying to process that, you used his length to nudge your panties aside. Yunho’s eyes widened, his jaw going slack as you began to sink down onto him. Slow at first, just enough for the stretch to steal your breath, your hands braced on his shoulders as you lowered yourself onto him.
Yunho whimpered. Actually whimpered, a soft, strangled sound of pure overload as his hands flew to your waist, fingers digging into your skin. You moaned, head tipping back as your body adjusted around him, the sheer fullness making your thighs tremble. He was big. And inside you fully now, every inch seated so deep you felt him pulse. “Yunho…” you breathed, voice breaking. “God you…. you feel so good….” He squeezed his eyes shut like he needed a second to survive the sensation, his forehead pressing to your collarbone as his breath trembled. “Baby,” he whispered, almost laughing from disbelief, “you’re perfect… too perfect”
You rolled your hips once. Just once. And he let out a low, helpless sound into your skin, fingers tightening on your hips hard enough to anchor him. He looked up at you then, eyes blown wide, face flushed, hair falling into his forehead as you sank down again, taking him even deeper. Slow still, testing the stretch, savoring the depth, then faster, your hands braced on his shoulders as you lifted and dropped onto him with a rhythm that was pure instinct.
Yunho’s mouth fell open. No sound at first. Just this stunned, undone expression, like he couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that his best friend, the person he’s loved since he was seventeen, was riding him like she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment. Then the sounds came. Quiet, strangled, breathless groans as every downward motion pulled another broken noise out of him. You didn’t slow. You picked up speed, your hips slamming down onto him with a pace that nearly knocked the air out of both of you, the wet heat of you taking him again and again while he tried to hold himself together and failed spectacularly.
His hands flew to your waist, trying to anchor you, trying to steady you, trying to survive you as you slammed down again. He swore, head falling back, voice cracking with the sheer intensity of feeling you so tight, so warm, so desperate for him. You grabbed the back of his neck, panting into his mouth as you moved on him harder. “I can’t…. I can’t stop… you feel too good…..”
“Alright,” he breathed, standing up so fast you gasped, your legs instinctively wrapping around him as he lifted you with his hands locked under your thighs. Your body stayed connected to his, still full of him, still pulsing around him. You clung to his shoulders, breath catching as the new angle made him hit deeper. He groaned, a deep, shattered sound, and thrust up into you once, hard and your whole body shook. “Y/N,” he rasped against your ear, walking you backward toward the hall with your body bouncing on him with every step, “if you keep taking me like that, I’m not going to make it to the bedroom.”
You whimpered as he thrust into you again mid step, the impact stealing every bit of breath from your lungs. He tightened his grip on you, his steps heavy, determined, each one punctuated with another deep thrust that made you cling harder to him. “Which room?” he panted against your neck, kissing the skin there in desperate, open mouthed presses. “Yours? Mine? Sweetheart, pick fast, because I’m about to lose it…”
You moaned into his shoulder, your voice barely holding together as he kept pounding into you while walking. “Yours…” you breathed. “take me to yours….” He let out a low, grateful, ruined sound. And then he did. He slammed his bedroom door open with his foot, carried you inside without stopping. He carried you straight to his bed, your legs locked tight around his waist, your mouth on his like you were both trying to make up for every year you went without touching each other.
He didn’t let you down. Not even for a second. His hands stayed under your thighs, holding you up with so much strength it made your breath catch, and while you were kissing him, messy and desperate, he was already thrusting up into you again. Hard. Deep. The kind of rhythm that made your whole body jolt in his arms. Your fingers tangled in his hair, your other hand clawing at his shoulders as every motion pushed a broken sound out of you. His breath shook against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours as he moved inside you with the kind of pent up hunger that had been waiting almost a decade.
“Yunho….” you gasped, your voice cracking. “I… you’re….”
“I know,” he panted against your mouth, lifting you higher just to slam up into you again. “Baby, I know. I’ve got you. Hold on to me.” You tried to kiss him back, you really did, but your voice kept breaking, every thrust stealing the breath right out of your lungs. Your legs started trembling around him. He felt it instantly. His hands tightened around your thighs, supporting all your weight as he thrust into you even slower, deeper, dragging a sound out of you that made him shudder.
“That’s it,” he whispered into your neck, kissing your skin between breaths. “Come for me. I can feel you…. please…” Your legs locked around him, your nails digging into his back as your whole body tightened, the pleasure snapping so sharply it dragged a helpless cry out of you. “Yunho!” He held you through it, one arm wrapped around your back now, the other gripping your thigh so tightly he was probably leaving marks, thrusting you through the wave, kissing your jaw, your cheek, anywhere he could reach.
Your climax hit hard, too hard, and your body jerked in his arms, your breath breaking into little gasps. You clung to him, shaking uncontrollably as he kept moving, kept whispering against your skin, kept holding you like you were something precious that finally, finally belonged to him. When the pleasure crested, your body tensed again with the aftershock, and that’s when he lifted you. Pulled you up, your back arching as he slid out of you, and the moment he did, your release spilled over. A sharp, sudden rush.
Yunho froze mid breath. His mouth dropped open, eyes going wide as he watched the way your body reacted to him, the way your thighs trembled, the way liquid hit his stomach, the bed, the floor, everywhere, squirting. “Y/N….” his voice cracked, nearly a whisper, “holy…” You weren’t even fully aware, your head was buried in his shoulder, trembling, barely holding on. He held you through all of it. Strong arms around your back. One hand cradling your spine. His breath shaking against your ear.
You were shaking so hard he lifted you and set you gently onto the bed, brushing your hair from your face, still breathing like he’d run a marathon. He looked wrecked. And in love. And hungry for more. His palm slid up your spine, warm and grounding, before he cupped your cheek and tilted your face toward his. His eyes were soft now, not tame, never tame, but softened with something deeper. Something reverent. Then he kissed you. Slow this time. Deep. Unhurried, like he wanted to learn every shape your mouth could make against his.
He guided you backward until your head hit his pillows, his body hovering over yours, still panting lightly from everything you’d just done to him. His hand stroked down your side, over the curve of your waist, lingering like he couldn’t believe he was finally allowed to touch you like this. You were still catching your breath when his mouth left yours, traveling down your jaw, your throat, the line between your collarbones. He kissed every inch he passed, like he was memorizing the map of your skin. When he reached the edge of your green top, the one he’d been staring at all night at the bar, trying and failing not to imagine taking it off, he paused. His fingers slid along the hem. “This,” he murmured against your skin, a smile tugging at his lips, “has been driving me insane since the moment you walked in.”
You felt heat rush through you all over again as he lifted his head just enough to look into your eyes as his hands slipped beneath the fabric, palms warm against your ribs. He gathered the bottom of your top slowly, not ripping, not rushing, just savoring the moment. His knuckles brushed your stomach, your ribs, the swell of your breasts. Every inch he uncovered, he kissed, his lips soft and lingering, like he was blessing your skin with his breath. When he finally lifted the top over your head, he sat back on his heels for a moment, eyes washing over you with a slow, reverent hunger. Then he leaned in again, kissing the newly exposed skin above your chest, down your sternum, across your stomach, his pace maddeningly slow.
His hands moved to your skirt, thumbs stroking the waistband with agonizing patience. He looked up at you. “This little skirt,” he murmured, lips brushing your hip, “nearly got me fired tonight.” You laughed breathlessly, and he smiled like he’d been waiting to hear that sound in this context for years. Then, gently, his fingers curled into the waistband of your skirt and slid it the rest of the way down your legs, kissing the inside of your thighs as it pooled on the floor. His hands roamed upward, slow, reverent, mapping the curves of your hips, your waist, your stomach, like he couldn’t believe you were really lying naked on his bed for him.
You reached for him, breathless and wanting. He didn’t let you though. He caught your wrist gently, eyes dark and soft all at once. “No, sweetheart,” he whispered against the inside of your knee, “I’m not done looking at you.” You trembled as he sat back on his heels then, chest rising and falling harder than before. Without breaking eye contact, he hooked his thumbs under the band of his underwear and shoved them and his pants on down and completely off with a single sweep of his foot. His shirt was next. He grabbed the back of it, yanked it over his head, and tossed it somewhere toward the corner of the room without looking.
Then he looked at you again. Every muscle in his arms, chest, stomach tight and tense with the kind of restraint he didn’t usually need but absolutely needed right now. “My turn,” he murmured, voice lower than it had been all night. Before you could speak, he reached for your hips with both hands and pulled you across the sheets like you weighed nothing. You let out a startled sound as he shifted your body, repositioning you exactly where he wanted you, near the edge of the mattress. Your back hit the pillows. Your legs parted instinctively. And that was when you realized what he was doing. He climbed onto the bed, grip firm on your hips as he slid beneath you, guiding your thighs over his shoulders and your breath hitched. “Yunho…”
“Come here,” he said, voice rough, hungry. “I want you right here.” He pulled you forward with a strength that made your stomach flip, adjusting your legs so your knees framed his head, your thighs tensing around his ears as he settled between them. You tried to lift yourself up, nerves sparking through your entire body. He didn’t let you. His palms pressed to the outside of your thighs, warm, steady, holding you exactly where he wanted.
“Baby,” he murmured, looking up at you from between your legs like you were something holy, “sit.” Your breath caught. “You want me to…”
“Yes,” he said, grip tightening just enough to make your pulse jump. “I want you to ride my face.” Heat flooded you so sharply you swayed. He noticed, and his smile turned slow and dangerous. “You did all that to me tonight…” his thumbs stroked your trembling thighs, “now you’re going to let me take care of you.” He pulled you down that final inch, just enough for you to feel the warm brush of his breath against your pussy.
At first, you didn’t move. Not because you didn’t want to. Because the moment his mouth touched you, your whole body jolted like you’d been plugged into something electric. His fingers tightened on your thighs, his tongue easing you open with soft, slow strokes. He wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t greedy. Not yet. He was savoring you. Letting you adjust to the feeling of his mouth exactly where he’d wanted you for years.
Your hands slid into his hair, your hips hovering just a little, breath catching on every measured, deliberate stroke of him beneath you. “Sweetheart…” he murmured between kisses, his voice low against your skin, “come on… don’t hold back from me.” You trembled. Then you rolled your hips once. Just once. And his entire body reacted. A deep sound vibrated into you, half moan, half gratitude, half finally, his hands shooting up to grip your thighs and pull you down more firmly onto his mouth.
You gasped, your knees tightening around his head as he licked deeper, firmer, his tongue finding a rhythm meant to unravel you slowly. Your breath broke into little stutters as you moved again, a little faster this time. And then a little more faster. His moan rang through you like a shockwave. That’s when you gave in. When instinct took over. You started riding his face in earnest, building a rhythm that felt too good, too addictive, his mouth guiding you, meeting every movement with hungry precision.
Your thighs shook around his head. Your breath tangled in your throat. His grip tightened until you could feel his fingerprints warming your skin. He moaned again, deeper this time, the sound vibrating straight through your core. Tongue thrusting in and out of you. His hands slid to your hips, anchoring you, pulling you down so he could taste you deeper, sloppier, needier. He was losing it. But so were you.
You rode his mouth harder now, the same way you clung to him on the back of his bike, reckless, breathless, completely uninhibited. Your hips rocked against his lips, chasing every stroke of his tongue, your moans getting louder with every pass. His dick twitched helplessly between his legs, aching, pulsing, untouched and desperate. He wasn’t focused on his pleasure right now, he didn’t even care, he was obsessed with yours.
His fingers dug into your hips as you smirked down at him, riding his face harder, your voice thin and taunting and desperate all at once. “You’ve… you’ve been wanting this for years, haven’t you?” He moaned so loudly the bed shook. You laughed breathlessly, grinding down again. “Yeah… I can tell.” That broke him. His mouth grew hungrier, his tongue firmer, his grip tightening as he devoured you like you were the only thing on earth that could keep him alive. You cried out as his pace matched yours, as if he was urging you to lose yourself again, begging silently for it.
Your legs were shaking again.
Your hips were stuttering. The room was spinning. And he held you there, mouth open, tongue eager, moaning into you like he’d die if you stopped. “Yunho…” you gasped, fingers fisting his hair, body trembling…. and he pulled you down harder, his voice a low, feral growl against your skin. “Come for me.”
Something in you broke loose. You tightened your grip in his hair, planted your knees around his head, and rode his face like your life depended on it. Your hips moved with frantic, desperate need now, grinding against his mouth with a rhythm that made his breath hitch under you.He didn’t shy away. He held you there, fingers digging into your hips, arms strong and steady as he met every movement with his mouth, his tongue sliding deeper, firmer, hungrier. Your thighs were trembling so hard they shook the bed. Your breath came in broken, wild bursts. Your voice kept slipping out of you, soft at first, then louder, then barely even words.
He moaned into you. A deep, low sound that vibrated through your entire body and stole the last of your control. You screamed. Not a cute little moan. Not a gasp. A broken scream, your hands flying as your whole body arched forward, collapsing around the sensation of his tongue driving you straight over the edge. The wave hit hard, fast, sharp, your thighs locking desperately around his head as your release shook through you in violent pulses. But Yunho didn’t let you pull away. He held you down, hands tight on your hips, keeping you on his mouth as your body convulsed through the orgasm. His tongue kept moving, slow strokes, deep pushes, little circles that dragged every last ounce of pleasure out of you.
Your scream dissolved into choked cries, your body jerking uncontrollably as overstimulation hit. He groaned into you again, arms tightening, pulling you down harder onto his mouth, refusing to let you escape the intensity. He wanted it. He wanted all of it. Every tremor, every sound, every ounce of pleasure he could force out of you. Your hips bucked. Your hands flew to his hair again, not sure if you wanted to push him away or hold him there forever.
His tongue pressed deep into you, deliberate and slow, and another wave hit, smaller than the first but just as overwhelming, your thighs shaking uncontrollably as you cried out again. He finally eased up but didn’t stop. He gave one more slow, hungry stroke with his tongue before kissing the inside of your thigh, breathing hard against your trembling skin. You collapsed forward, hands catching on the sheets, your body still twitching with aftershocks.
Your legs were still trembling when Yunho pulled you into his arms, breathing hard, kissing your shoulder, grounding you after the intensity he’d just pulled out of you. But you weren’t done. Not even close. You slid your hands up his chest, feeling the way it rose and fell in uneven breaths. You kissed him once, slow, deep, savoring the taste of yourself still faint on his lips, then you pulled back and let your mouth trail along his jaw. His breath caught instantly. “Y/N…” he murmured, eyes fluttering shut as your lips traced the sharp line of his jawbone,
Your mouth drifted lower, kissing down the strong column of his neck, lingering on his pulse until you felt it jump beneath your lips. Yunho groaned, quiet, helpless. Your tongue traced a slow path over the spot, and you felt him shudder. Then you nipped him. A sharp, teasing bite right where his neck met his shoulder. You smiled against his skin and did it again, slower this time, teeth dragging just enough to make his breath stutter, your tongue following to soothe the sting. He cursed under his breath as your kisses drifted down, moving from his neck to his collarbone, then lower to the broad expanse of his chest. His hand slid into your hair, not to stop you, just to feel you, to guide you without forcing as you pressed your lips to his sternum.
He let out a low, shaky sigh. Then your mouth moved left, soft kisses, slow licks, and you paused right over his nipple. Yunho’s breath hitched violently. He tried to hold still. He failed. Your tongue glided across it, light and teasing, and his whole body jerked like you’d hit a nerve wired straight to his spine. You lifted your head just enough to meet his eyes. “Sensitive?” You smirked and his jaw clenched. And you sank down again. This time, you opened your mouth around him, slow, warm, deliberate, letting your tongue circle before you bit. Not hard. Just enough to make his breath break. Then you tugged.
Yunho growled. A deep, low sound that vibrated through his whole chest and made his hand fist in your hair with a groan. He sat up so fast you gasped, his hand sliding down your back to grip your hips with dark, hungry intent. And you moved. Quick. Fluid. Laughing breathlessly as you slipped right out of his grip. “Y/N…” he warned, voice low and dangerous, “don’t you dare….” You backed away from him across the bed, eyes locked with his, a wicked glint flashing through yours. He lunged forward to grab you and you dodged him, giggling. “Come on,” you teased softly, backing toward the foot of the bed, “you’re faster than that… aren’t you?”
You turned around, bending over the foot of his bed, hands braced on the comforter, your back arched, your hips lifting high… and you gave your ass a slow, taunting shake. Yunho froze like you’d hit him with a stun gun. His breath left him in one sharp exhale as you looked over your shoulder, meeting his eyes with the most bratty grin he’d ever seen in his life. “What’s wrong” you asked sweetly, rolling your hips again.
That was it. That was the last thread of restraint holding him together. Yunho stepped toward you like a predator who’d finally cornered his prey, slow, deliberate, every muscle tight with hunger. His dick hung heavy and aching between his legs, twitching with every step as he stalked closer. “Brat.” he murmured, voice dropping to something dark and sinful as you wiggled your hips again, teasing, inviting, wicked.
He made a sound in his throat, half groan, half disbelieving laugh, and closed the last steps between you in a heartbeat. His hand came down on your hip, gripping hard, pulling your hips higher. “So this is how you want it?” he growled behind you, chest rising against your back as he pressed close without entering you yet. “Bent over my bed… shaking yourself at me like you want to be ruined?” You pushed back against him, just enough to feel the warm, hard pressure of him along your backside. He inhaled sharply. “Yunho…” you whispered, your voice dripping with challenge, “do it.”
He didn’t give you a chance to move. He grabbed your waist with both hands. Pinned you there. And you could feel him, hot, throbbing, ready, sliding along your entrance in a slow drag that made your whole body jolt. He groaned against your spine. He didn’t push inside you. Not yet. Instead, he slid forward just enough for the warm length of him to press against your entrance, then he dragged upward. Slow. Teasing. The entire length of him gliding along your folds, up to your lower back, then back down again.
Your breath hitched so sharply your knees almost buckled. “Yunho…” you gasped, pushing back instinctively and he grinned. A dark, wicked, triumphant grin you’d never seen on him before. “Impatient now?” he murmured, dragging himself along you again, slower, deliberate, letting the head of him catch and slide in a way that made your whole body quake. “Where’s all that brattiness you had a second ago?”
You pushed back harder this time, trying to make him slip into you, but he held your hips still, refusing to let you take control. “Let me…” your voice cracked, frustration spilling into the moan, “Yunho, stop teasing…..” He laughed softly. “Sweetheart… you started this.” He lifted his hips and dragged himself along you again, this time pressing a little firmer, just enough to make you gasp and arch your back, chasing him. You pushed back again, desperate now. And that’s when he did it. His hand slipped off your hip, and came down on your ass in a sharp, firm smack.
Your moan hit the room instantly, loud, broken, shocked, and somehow needier than anything you’d made yet. Yunho went still. Absolutely still. “Oh my god,” he whispered, staring at the way your body responded, “you liked that.” You were already pushing back again, voice breathless. “Baby…. do it again… please…..”
His breath left him in a ragged groan. “You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered and brought his hand down again. Harder. Your whole body jolted forward, a desperate sound ripping from your throat as your back arched beautifully for him. You looked back over your shoulder, eyes dark, lips parted, a sinful little smile tugging at them. “Give it to me.”
Yunho grabbed your hips, hard, positioned himself exactly where he wanted you and you could feel the head of him press right against your entrance, no more teasing, no more dragging, just pure, trembling need about to snap. He leaned over you, chest against your back, voice breaking against your ear. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, “hold on.” You sucked in a sharp breath, your elbows bending as your back arched, your fingers clenching at the sheets. The stretch hit deep and slow, your body tightening around him with a heat that made his jaw go slack.
He pushed deeper and your knees trembled as inch after inch filled you, his breath shaking against your spine, one hand locked on your hip to keep you steady. Then he bottomed out. A soft, helpless sound left you and a broken, guttural one ripped from him. “God…” he whispered, forehead dropping between your shoulder blades, “you feel unreal.” His free hand slid up your back. Slow. Possessive. Tracing your spine with aching precision, like he wanted to memorize every curve of you. The warmth of his palm trailed higher, over your ribs, between your shoulder blades, up the back of your neck…. until his fingers slipped into your hair.
He kissed the back of your shoulder once, like he needed something to ground him as you pushed your hips back the slightest inch. He groaned, then he pulled out, slow, deep, the friction making your whole body tense, before he thrust back in. Hard. Your mouth fell open, a moan ripping out of you as your hands clawed at the sheets. Yunho’s grip in your hair tightened, guiding your head down slightly, angling you perfectly for him. “Sweetheart…” he breathed, thrusting again, deeper this time, “you’re gripping me so tight….” Another thrust. Your knees nearly buckled. He held you up with both hands, one gripping your hip, the other tangled in your hair, and set a steady, powerful rhythm that had your breath stuttering with every movement.
Each time he drove into you, your ass met his hips with a sound that made him curse into your shoulder. Your voice broke into little gasps, each one pushing him closer to losing control. He leaned over you, chest flush against your back, his hand in your hair tightening as he thrust harder, deeper, the pleasure building in both of you like a tide that couldn’t be stopped. “That’s it…” he panted, kissing your shoulder, your neck, anything he could reach, “take it… take all of me….”
You moaned his name, desperate, breathless and his pace quickened, his grip in your hair anchoring you exactly where he wanted you as he thrust into you harder, your body pushing back on instinct, matching him with need that felt like it was burning through every nerve you had. “Yunho…” you gasped, voice breaking, “don’t stop….” His hand fisted your hair tighter, pulling your head back just enough for his lips to graze your ear as his thrusts grew harder, deeper, your body catching every movement, your breath breaking, his rhythm so relentless you could barely hold yourself up.
He felt it. The tremble in your legs. The way you tried to brace on the sheets but kept sinking. The way your sounds came out thin and wrecked. He slipped the hand in your hair lower… down your spine… around your waist… And then he pulled. You gasped as he dragged you upright, your back slamming against his chest, his hips still snapping up into you from behind, harder now with the new angle, your whole body jolting against him. Your head fell back onto his shoulder with a cry. His breath hit your ear, hot and ragged. “Look at you…” he groaned, his arm tightening around your waist to keep you from collapsing entirely. “Can’t even hold yourself up for me anymore.”
Your hands flew back, gripping his thighs, your body arching with every sharp thrust. He shifted his grip, his fingers sliding up, up, until his hand curled gently, firmly, around your throat. You exhaled a broken sound the second you felt it and Yunho groaned like the air punched out of him. His thumb stroked the side of your neck, slow and possessive, while his other hand gripped your hip, dragging you down onto him each time his hips surged up.
His grip tightened just enough to claim, not restrain, his breath trembling as he pressed his forehead to the side of your head. “You’re mine.” The words hit you harder than his thrusts. You cried out, back arching, your walls tightening around him so suddenly his rhythm faltered and he let out a strangled moan. He thrust up again, harder, his hand tightening on your throat as he held you against him, your body bouncing on his with every sharp movement. “You hear me?” he growled into your ear, voice shredded. “Mine.”
Your legs gave out entirely but he didn’t let you fall. His arm locked around your torso, his hand at your throat keeping your head tilted, your back arched beautifully for him as he pounded up into you with a rhythm that shook the bed. He kissed your jaw, your cheek, your shoulder, desperate and hungry between breaths. “Say it,” he groaned, his hips snapping up with a force that made you scream. “Tell me who you belong to.” You sobbed against him, breathless, shaking, undone. “Y… Yunho….”
His grip on your throat tightened. His hips slammed up into you again. “Say it.” You tried to breathe. To speak. To hold onto something solid. But all that came out was a choked, cracked sob, “Y… you… I’m yours….” Yunho broke. A sound tore out of him, his hand tightening at your throat in pure instinct before he released you entirely, catching your waist with both hands. “Baby…” he gasped, “come here…..” He pulled out of you so fast your knees buckled. Before you could fall, he turned you over, flipping your trembling body onto your back like you weighed nothing. His mouth crashed onto yours in a kiss that was desperate and breathless and warm, like he was trying to swallow every ounce of those words you’d just given him.
His hands cupped your face. Your thighs wrapped around his hips instinctively. Your chest rose and fell in broken breaths as his lips devoured yours. He kissed you like he’d waited a decade for this moment, like he couldn’t believe he finally heard you say it. Then, without breaking the kiss, he slid one hand down your stomach. Lower. Between your thighs. You gasped into his mouth as his fingers parted you gently, your pussy still trembling from everything he’d done to you on his face and from just moments ago. He pulled back just enough to breathe your air and look into your eyes. “Let me feel you,” he whispered, voice wrecked.
His other hand reached down, wrapped around his dick, and you could see it twitch in his grip, still soaked, still achingly hard. He dragged himself along your folds, slow, teasing, pressing his hips forward so you felt every ridge of him slide against your clit. You gasped, choking on a moan. He kept going. Up. Down. Dragging himself over you again and again in slow, sinful strokes meant to unravel what little sense you had left. The friction hit you like lightning. Your thighs spasmed. Your breath broke. Your fingers tightened desperately around his wrist as you shook your head helplessly.
He grinned, a dark, breathless, hungry thing, and pressed himself against you a little harder, moving his hips in deliberate circles. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, kissing you again, swallowing the sound you made, “come for me.” You did. Violently. Suddenly. A rush that ripped through your stomach and your legs and your spine all at once. Your whole body arched off the bed, hands clamping around his wrist so hard he groaned, your voice breaking into a desperate, shaking cry.
And Yunho watched you fall apart with awe carved into every line of his face. “That’s it…” he whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth as your climax pulsed through you, “give it to me… all of it…” You collapsed back into the pillows, trembling uncontrollably, still clinging to his wrist as aftershocks shook through you. He leaned over you, forehead touching yours, breath hot and uneven, his dick still pressed against you. He lifted your leg. Then the other. Spreading you open beneath him, your thighs soft and shaking, your breath thin and uneven as he positioned himself between them. “Y/N…” he whispered, staring down at where your bodies met, “look at you.”
His voice cracked as he lined himself up with one slow drag of his hips, the head of him brushing your sensitive entrance and your whole body jolted. You clutched at the sheets as his hand slid to your inner thigh, thumb stroking gently as he whispered, “Hold yourself open for me.” You grabbed your thighs, spreading yourself wider, exposing every soft, trembling part of you. Yunho inhaled sharply, a sound that came from somewhere deep and starved as he pressed forward. Slow. Deep. You felt every inch of him glide into you, the stretch making your legs shake all over again, your mouth falling open in a soundless cry. Your walls fluttered, still oversensitive, still pulsing from your last climax.
He bottomed out, hips flush against yours, both of you breathless and shaking for different reasons. Your body clung to him, a warm, tight drag that made both of you gasp. And Yunho looked down. He shouldn’t have. Because the second he saw the way your body clutched around him, the way you glistened around his length, the way you pulled him back in like you couldn’t let go, his voice broke into a helpless moan. “Baby… you….” He pushed in again. Your body welcomed him with a soft, involuntary squeeze that made his knees tremble as you started to cream around him.
A soft, wet bloom each time he pulled back, coating him, marking him, pulling him deeper with every glide. Yunho’s head dropped back. “Oh my god…” he gasped, voice strained and thick, hand tightening on your thigh. He thrust again, not hard, but deep enough to feel the way you fluttered and coated him even more. He looked down again. And groaned. Long. Low. Destroyed. Your legs shook uncontrollably. His thrusts grew a little faster now, still deep, still deliberate, but driven by the sight of you softening and creaming around him with every movement. He was hypnotized. Completely undone.
His voice dropped into a broken whisper. “You’re mine… all of this… all of you… mine…” And he kept watching you take him. Again. And again. And again. He couldn’t look away from the way your body took him, couldn’t look away from the way you coated him, pulled him back in, squeezed around him like you were made exactly for him. But then your voice hit him. A soft, helpless sound. A broken whimper of his name. His head lifted. Your legs shook around his hips. Your fingers clawed at his shoulders. Your lips parted in a cry you couldn’t hold back. And suddenly teasing you, watching you, none of that was enough.
He needed you close. Needed you right here. Yunho leaned forward, bracing himself on his forearms until his forehead pressed against yours, your noses brushing, your breaths mixing, your bodies fully connected. Your hands flew up, gripping his biceps, dragging him closer with a desperate little sob. His next thrust hit deep. You gasped, back arching, eyes fluttering, body trembling around him. His forehead pressed harder to yours, his voice cracking against your lips. His breath broke. He thrust again, harder, the sound of your bodies meeting filling the room, your cries getting louder, your nails sinking into his back.
“Fuck….” he gasped, hips stuttering, “I love you.” Your breath caught in your throat. Your hands trembled around his shoulders. Your eyes filled with something hotter than lust as you choked on a sob. “Yunho… I…..” But he kept going. Deep hard thrusts that pushed the air from your lungs, his voice shaking with each one. “I love you.”
Your voice broke completely. “Yunho…. please… please come for me….. come inside me…” He groaned, a sound so deep and undone it vibrated against your chest. You cupped his face, pulling him down into a kiss that was wet, messy, desperate, tears slipping from the intensity, “I love you… please….. come…” Your body clenched. Hard. So suddenly you screamed, arching into him, your release hitting like a tidal wave ripping through every nerve in your body. Your legs locked around his waist. Your nails dragged down his back. Your voice broke into a sobbed, “I… love….. you…”
Yunho shattered. A strangled moan tore from his throat as he thrust once, twice, a final, desperate, deep surge, and he spilled into you with a cry of your name, his whole body shaking, his arms wrapping around you like he was afraid you’d disappear. His forehead stayed pressed to yours, breaths uneven, his voice wrecked. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, kissing you shakily, “I love you…. god, I love you so fucking much…”
You pulled him into you completely, bodies tangled, hearts pounding, both of you still trembling from the aftershocks. And he stayed there. Inside you. Against you. Wrapped around you. Like he’d finally found home.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
Monday morning sunlight stretched across the quiet street as Yunho’s bike rumbled into the school parking lot, a low, steady purr that made heads turn before anyone even saw you. Lisa was outside with her coffee.
Three teachers were talking by the door. A handful of students lingered on the sidewalk waiting for the bell.
Totally normal morning.
Except… not at all.
Because everyone knew the routine by now, Yunho giving you rides to work wasn’t new. They’d watched you hop off his bike for a couple weeks now, helmet hair and shy smiles, insisting you were “just friends.”
Except today wasn’t that.
Today, when Yunho parked and cut the engine, you didn’t hop off right away. Your fingers lingered on his stomach, your chest pressed to his back just a little longer than necessary. You finally swung your leg over and slid to the ground, tugging the helmet off with a soft breath. Your hair fell, messy from the wind and the weekend, but glowing in the morning sun.
A couple of students nudged each other. Lisa blinked into her coffee like she needed a caffeine reset as you handed Yunho the helmet. He took it. Then paused. Slowly, he removed his own helmet, shaking out his hair, that stupidly attractive half wet, half tousled look falling perfectly into place. And then he grabbed you. Not roughly. Not for show. Just with a certainty that said, mine, in a way that rewired the entire parking lot.
He tugged you forward by the waist, your bodies colliding, and kissed you, deep, warm, claiming, the kind of kiss that didn’t ask permission because you’d already given it a thousand times between Saturday night and that morning. You let out a soft sound against his mouth and reached up, gripping his chin in your fingers, tilting his face just the way you liked.
That tiny motion? It ended the parking lot. A chorus of shocked whispers rippled through the air. Lisa choked so hard on her coffee she had to turn around. One of the teachers dropped her tote bag. A senior literally said, “BRO?” loud enough to echo. And one girl muttered, “I KNEW IT,” with her whole chest.
Yunho only kissed you deeper before he finally pulled back, forehead resting against yours, thumbs brushing your hips as he whispered, low enough for only you, “Have a good day, sweetheart.”
You smirked, brushing your thumb across his bottom lip. “Pick me up after work?”
content: orgasm torture, power imbalance, dumbification, objectification
wc: 1.8k
thinking about yunho...
“nobody’s coming to save you, baby.”
you’re wailing at this point. shaking, sobbing. completely at his mercy, or rather lack thereof.
the nda was signed, your nerves were alight with excitement, with nervousness. with an overwhelming sense of pride over the fact that out of all the beautiful faces in the crowd, he chose you.
the journey to the hotel, the blurring letters of the non-disclosure you hardly even read. the look of pity the managers gave you when the elevator shut in their faces as they sent you upstairs to your inevitable destruction.
you, of course, did not know yunho. fans had their speculations about who he was behind closed doors and when the cameras shut off. the onstage persona he thrived in was a second skin he wore that had you swooning in the crowd. you had felt crazy every time his eyes swept over the crowd and always seemed to snag on you. you were sure it was just your typical case of fangirl delusion, but even when you weren’t looking at him, you felt him.
you knew you weren’t crazy. or maybe you did. when the concert was over, you were pulled aside by managers and men in suits. when you were led to a black van near the back of the venue, you sat in silence with strangers as they drove. you had to be dreaming; you felt clocked out of your brain during the entire exchange.
when they wished you luck and offered you a chance to leave. to forget this ever happened and to go home. you did not take it, and you wished you had.
yunho was cruel.
when you first stepped into his hotel room, expensive and cold, he was sitting on the plush chair in the corner, fiddling with the cross necklace that hung off his strong neck.
your breath caught in your throat when you saw him, beautiful and domineering. when he turned to look at you, you almost fled the room. but he stood and strode over to you carefully, like he could sense the fear that rushed through your blood.
and it excited him so much.
he reached out his hand and watched as you flinched away, your lips parted in surprise as his finger traced the slope of your nose, like you couldn’t believe he was real, that he was touching you. he smiled, and with a jerk of his hand, he gripped your jaw tightly, roughly, controlling. your eyes shook, and you swallowed as he squeezed your cheeks, biting his bottom lip and grinning when your pretty little lips puckered.
he’d make you believe, and he’d make you regret agreeing to come up here.
“keep squirming, and i'm gonna fuck you until your cunt goes numb.” it didn’t matter if you listened to him; he was going to do it anyway.
legs spread, pussy stuffed full, hands bound above your head with the very belt that he wore onstage that night. inflamed skin littered with bites, bruises, spit, and maybe a little blood.
his right hand held a small vibrating wand to your clit, while his left shoved its fingers down your throat. the smooth head of his cock dragged against your g-spot in a way that had you spiraling, rough, deep, rude thrusts into your abused cunt, the wand on your clit on the highest setting, the fingers in your mouth curling down against your tongue, the indents of your teeth clearly showing on the skin of his knuckles.
“so fuckin’ easy,” he groans, his throat bobbing when he lets his head fall back, mouth falling open in a deep growl. his hips moved at a punishing pace, determined to mold his shape into you with how hard he was fucking you.
tears stained with eyeliner and mascara ran down your cheeks, the makeup you put so much thought into smeared all over your face like it was all it was good for. your entire body would not stop shaking, your moans broken and staccato, each stroke of yunho’s insanely long cock making your ribcage shake under your skin.
“y-yun- ah! oh god, hurts,” you cried out, words slurring around his fingers. you hear him laugh above you, leaning down and glaring into your eyes.
“she speaks!” he teases, punishing you with a rough thrust up into you, and you choke. “hurts so good, doesn’t it, tiny?” he pouts and mocks you, chastely kissing the side of your throat as he abandons the wand at your side for a moment.
the loss of stimulation on your clit feels relieving, giving you a moment to breathe. he doesn’t stop fucking you, though, and he slows his hips and gives it to you slow and deep. yunho watches your eyes roll, feels your slick drip down his lower stomach, your cunt pulsing around him as if your body is begging for more. he doesn’t know if you’d be able to handle more without passing out, but he’s willing to take that risk.
“so cute…” he murmurs against your heated skin, dragging his fingers down your tongue and out of your mouth, wiping your drool all over your face and landing a burning slap across your cheek that sends your head whipping to the side.
you whine loudly when he takes his free hand and presses down against your lower stomach. your entire body jerks, your hands squirming in the belt around your wrists, throwing your head back into the pillow. the slow drag of his dick inside of you is almost too much without the vibrator. forced to feel the slow push and pull, his fat tip catching on that ridge inside of you. yunho could feel himself move under his palm through the flesh of your tummy, and he was addicted.
he looked crazed, and you couldn’t lock eyes with him for too long, or it would send your body into a burning heat.
“cum.” he commands, his low voice rough and growling, and your brain shuts off while your body obeys his command. like he flipped a switch, your cunt clenches, and you’re cumming.
you couldn’t believe it, how much control he had over you in that hotel room. it was borderline immoral, the way he seemed to get high off your compliance. it's like it wasn’t voluntary; your body just listened to him. your brain was useless, your body was all he needed, and he loved the way it responded to him.
he pokes his tongue against his inner cheek and laughs lowly, pressing against your stomach even harder as he pulls you through your orgasm, rolling his hips into you with monstrous precision.
“yeah, lemme fuck you through it, fuck you through it, fuck you through it…” it was like he was in a trance, and with every word that spilled from his mouth, his hips began to move faster.
your moans were going quiet, losing your voice from how much you had been moaning that night. you weren’t sure how many times you had cum by then, but you were sure it was at least 7.
he could see it, the light leaving your eyes, the clouds that formed over your irises, the more you succumbed to the overwhelming pleasure. he always loved this part. he coaxed fans up to his hotel room, a dark promise of a secret well kept.
a promise for a night they will never forget, and maybe a night they will wish to forget. yunho would ruin them, play with them until they were useless. you were surprisingly resilient, and he was having a lot of fun with you.
“such a pretty, flexible little thing, hm? look at you, so fucking stupid.” you hear it before you feel it, the click of the wand as the buzzing fills the room.
you gain some sort of coherence in your eyes, and panic signals inside your brain as your hands jerk in their restraints, and attempt to reach down and stop him.
“w-wait-!” he doesn’t, and he presses the wand up against your clit once again. you groan loud and low, the combination of his thick cock slipping in and out of your oozing pussy, the merciless vibrations of the wand, his hand slides up and hooks at your throat, where he squeezes so hard you can’t move your head.
your breaths go quiet as he fucks you, as he hates you for existing. rough, claiming, and spiteful. vile spits and condescending praises in your face that make you feel like you were nothing more than a toy for him.
“slippery cunt keeps sucking me in, tiny. desperate slut can’t get enough, huh?”
“you keep cumming until you knock yourself out, i wanna see those pretty little eyes go empty.”
“need you to feel this in the morning, can't tell anyone about it, but you’re gonna fucking feel it for weeks.”
you could feel bruises forming on the backs of your thighs from where his hips slammed against you. the sharp crescents that sank into your neck where he held your throat down against the mattress. your clit was puffy and overstimulated to the point where every movement burned, but it burned so fucking good.
“can’t wait to find your face in the crowd at the next concert. ill be on stage thinking about how i reduced you to a set of holes for me to fuck. how pretty you look crying for me, how wet you get hearing me talking to you like my own personal fuckdoll.”
every word stole air from your lungs, every stroke sent the nerves in your pussy into overdrive, every brush of his lips made your eyes roll, every squeeze of his hand on your throat made your legs twitch around his hips.
“that’s it, baby, shh shhh.” he coos at you like it was your first time using your brain. he drags the vibrator up your clit in slow increments, and he drinks in the way your entire body twitches with every stroke.
“i'm gonna break you, sweetheart, mmhm. if you pass out, don’t worry. the guards will get you home safely.”
yunho rewards your limp body with a kiss to your temple, and he feels you clench around his cock harder than you do all night.
he opens his mouth and lets out a giggling moan against your skull, and he kisses your temple again.
“fuck, you got so tight, you like me being sweet to you?” yunho whispers against your skin, slowing his hips, giving you a glimpse of hope at the chance of pity for your broken body.
you can’t answer; only moan with a broken voice. he grins, then he drags his hips back with a shaky purr and shoves his cock deep into your cunt, pounding you stupid into the hotel mattress like you were an expendable rubber doll that could be replaced if she snapped in half.
“too bad~” he teases against your skin in a mocking sing-song tone, sinking his teeth into your lobe as he adjusts his hips to fuck you bottomless and forceful. "nobody's coming to save you, baby. you're at my mercy tonight."
a mercy he did not have. and if only you knew the way all the other members were in their respective hotel rooms, unable to get the pathetic sounds of your sobs out of their head, fighting the urge to fist their cock to the sound of yunho fucking up another fan.
you should never have let your curiosity get the best of you, because you weren’t sure if you’d make it out of that hotel alive.
not with the way yunho was fucking you like he had no goddamn off button.
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「genre」: fake dating, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, smut
「summary」: after a cruel breakup with your boyfriend seonghwa, your friend wooyoung comes up with a perfect plan for you to get over him. fake dating. you need a date to prove to your ex you’ve moved on; wooyoung needs to convince people he’s capable of a real relationship. months of pretending turn into a feeling that you are no longer wanting to fake
「warnings」: implied drinking, ex bf seonghwa (he cheated), emotional manipulation, crying, mutual pining, jealousy, fboy tendencies, avoidant attachment, kissing, self-sabotage (woo), arguing, breakup, true love making :) , hickies, body worship, crying during foreplay (NOT dacryphilia), nipple play, licking, nipple sucking, clit stimulation, fingering, woo is literally so caring it needs its own warning, oral (f receiving), edging(?), bigdick!woo agenda, unprotected sex, possessiveness, missionary, cowgirl, pull-out method, aftercare, pet names including baby, darling, and others. ENJOY
「author's note」: guys this has been months in the making, and i hope it was worth the wait. it was all inspired by this request, so thank you.
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You attempt to let the music of Mingi’s apartment drown out your thoughts. You shouldn't have come, you knew that, but San insisted, and Hongjoong promised your ex wouldn't be here. You foolishly believed both of them.
Except he was there.
Seonghwa stood in the kitchen with a red solo cup in his hand, laughing at something the girl next to him said. She was undeniably beautiful, and you hated that. She has a confident smile that you were never quite able to pull off, and her hand rested on his arm so casually. The sight of it made your stomach twist into knots.
It had been a few months since you found his messages with another girl. Messages consisting of ‘I can't wait to see you again,’ and ‘I will break up with her soon.’ When you found out, he'd stammered out excuses that all boiled down to the same thing: you weren't good enough. You hated him, yet you still felt like you couldn't breathe when you saw him.
"You okay?" San appeared at your elbow, concern creasing his features as he followed your gaze across the room.
You tore your eyes away, forcing a smile that felt like shattered glass in your mouth. "Fine. I'm fine."
"You don't look fine." San's voice was gentle, the kind of gentle that made you want to cry. "We can leave. Hongjoong will understand-"
"No." The word came out sharper than you intended, and you softened it with another brittle smile. "No, I'm not letting him chase me out of my friend's birthday party. I'm fine, really."
Before you can even realize, the emotions hit you all at once. "I need some air," you mumbled, not waiting for San or Hongjoong to respond before you were pushing through the crowd toward the apartment door.
-
The hallway outside was quiet, the bass now just a muffled thump through the walls. You leaned back against the cold concrete, closing your eyes and trying to remember how to breathe normally. This was pathetic.
"Rough night?"
Your eyes snapped open to find Wooyoung leaning against the wall a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest and an unreadable expression on his face. You hadn't even heard him come out.
He was in your Sociology class last year. Charming, funny, and always had a new girl on his arm. Somehow, despite being in completely different social circles, you'd ended up as friends.
You'd never really figured out how it happened. Wooyoung collected people often. But he'd stuck around even after the semester ended, and even now, you sometimes felt like you were waiting for him to realize you weren't interesting enough to keep around.
"I'm fine," you said automatically, then winced at how many times you'd said that tonight. "Just needed a break from the noise."
Wooyoung pushed off the wall, moving closer with that easy grace he always seemed to have. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?"
"I'm not lying-"
"You've been staring at Seonghwa like a kicked puppy." His voice was not cruel, but it still made you flinch. "San and Hongjoong look ready to fight someone for you. And now you're out here looking like you're about to cry."
"I'm not going to cry." Your voice was defensive. "And I wasn't staring."
"Right." Wooyoung stepped closer, close enough that you could smell his cologne, the same warm scent from your study sessions. "Look, I get it. Breakups suck. But that guy?" He motioned his thumb toward the apartment door. "Not worth it."
You wanted to argue, to defend Seonghwa or yourself or the relationship you had. Instead, you felt your eyes burning with the tears you'd been holding back all night. "He cheated on me."
Wooyoung's expression switched. "Yeah, I know. Which is why I'm saying he's not worth the time you're giving him."
"I know that." Deep down you knew Seonghwa wasn't worth crying over. "I know he's not worth it, but I can't just... stop feeling things. I can't just turn it off."
"I'm not saying you should." Wooyoung's voice was surprisingly gentle. "I'm just saying you deserve better than spending Mingi's birthday hiding in a hallway."
"I'm not hiding-"
"You're definitely hiding."
"Okay, maybe I'm hiding a little."
Wooyoung was quiet for a moment, studying you with an expression you couldn't quite read. Then he tilted his head toward the elevator. "Come on. Let me take you home."
"You don't have to."
"I get it." His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. "You shouldn't be alone right now. And before you say you're fine-" He held up a hand to stop you. "-I’m sure you are. But you don't have to be fine by yourself."
The words hit something tender in your chest, and you found yourself nodding. "Okay."
The walk to his car was quiet, the night air cool on your cheeks. Wooyoung opened the passenger door for you, something he'd never done before, and you slid in, grateful for the privacy. As soon as he started the engine, the tears you'd been holding back finally spilled over.
"Sorry," you choked out, wiping at your face. "I'm sorry, I don't know why-"
"Hey." Wooyoung's hand found yours, squeezing gently. "Don't apologize. You're allowed to cry."
"I just feel so stupid." The words tumbled out. "It's been months. I should be over this by now. I should be over him. But every time I see him with someone else, I just... I feel like there was something wrong with me that made him-"
"Stop." Wooyoung's voice was sharp enough to cut through your spiral. "There's nothing wrong with you. He cheated because he's a selfish asshole, not because you weren't enough."
"But maybe if I had been more-"
"More what? More fun? More exciting? More whatever the hell he was looking for?" Wooyoung's grip on your hand tightened. "You could have been perfect and he still would have cheated, because that's who he is. It was never about you not being enough. It was about him being too much of a coward to end things properly."
You looked down at your joined hands, at the way his thumb was tracing small circles on your skin. "I just wish I could stop caring. I wish I could see him happy and not feel like I'm drowning."
"I understand." Wooyoung's voice was softer now. "But you will. Eventually. It just takes time."
"How much time?" The question came out small.
"I don't know. But in the meantime..." He paused, and you could feel him watching you. "You could at least pretend. Make him think you're over it, even if you're not."
You let out a hollow laugh. "I'm a terrible liar. You said so yourself."
"Not if you had help." There was something careful in his tone now, like he was testing the waters. "Not if you had someone to back up your story."
You turned to look at him, confused. "What do you mean?"
Wooyoung was staring straight ahead at the road, jaw tightening as he chose his words carefully. "I mean... what if you weren't alone at these parties? What if you showed up with someone who made it very clear you'd moved on?"
Your heart skipped. "Wooyoung."
"Just think about it." He glanced at you briefly before returning his eyes to the road. "You want to prove you're over him. I want to prove I'm capable of committing to someone. We could help each other."
"What are you suggesting?"
"I'm not suggesting anything tonight. You're upset, and this isn't the right time." He squeezed your hand once more before releasing it to shift gears. "But maybe we could talk about it. When you're feeling better. When you're ready."
Your mind was already racing, imagining walking into a party on Wooyoung's arm, Seonghwa seeing you happy, and the freedom of not having to feel pathetic anymore.
"Why would you want to help me?" you asked quietly.
Wooyoung was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, vulnerable. "Because you're my friend. And because..." He hesitated. "Because everyone already assumes the worst about me. That I'm incapable of anything real, that I'm just some player who doesn't care about anyone. And I'm tired of it - of my family asking when I'm going to settle down, of my friends making jokes about my commitment issues. I'm tired of people treating me like I don't have feelings."
You'd never heard him talk like this before. You'd always assumed Wooyoung didn't care what people thought, and that his confidence was unshakeable.
"I didn't know you felt that way," you said softly.
"Yeah, well." He let out a laugh. "I'm good at hiding it and pretending it doesn't bother me. But it does."
"We'd both be getting what we need." He pulled up in front of your building but didn't unlock the doors yet. Instead, he turned to face you fully. "Look, I'm not trying to pressure you. And tonight's not the night to decide anything. I just..." He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I just want you to know that you don't have to keep feeling like this. There are options. Ways to take back some control."
"Can I think about it?" you asked.
"Of course." He reached over and unlocked your door. "Take all the time you need. And if you decide it's a terrible idea, we'll never talk about it again."
You nodded, opening the door but hesitating before getting out. "Wooyoung?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For tonight. For listening and not making me feel stupid."
His expression softened. "You're not stupid. You're just human. And humans take time to heal."
You climbed out of the car, but before closing the door, you leaned back in. "I'll text you. About... about everything."
"I'll be waiting." He offered a small smile. "Now go get some sleep. You look exhausted."
"Such a charmer," you said, but you were smiling as you closed the door.
You watched him drive away, his tail lights disappearing around the corner, and something felt strange. The idea he'd planted was taking root, the possibility stuck in your mind.
What if you didn't have to feel this way anymore?
As you got ready for bed, your phone buzzed.
Wooyoung: Made it home safe. Get some rest.
You stared at the message, warmth blooming in your chest. Then you typed back:
You: Thanks, Woo. For everything. Let's talk tomorrow?
Wooyoung: Tomorrow. I'll buy you food.
You: It's a date.
You sent it before you could overthink it, then immediately panicked. But his response came quickly:
Wooyoung: 😏
Ugh, that emoji. You fell asleep that night thinking about possibilities, about pretending, about Wooyoung's hand in yours and the way he'd looked at you like you mattered.
Maybe it would blow up in your face. But maybe it was what you both needed.
The restaurant Wooyoung chose was small and kinda secluded from campus. It was the kind of place that you would always see, but never go inside. When you stepped in, you could already see him sitting at a table in the corner, so you made your way over.
He glanced up as you approached, "Hey. You found it okay?"
"Yeah." You slid into the seat across from him, suddenly aware of all the people who could be watching.
"So I've been thinking," Wooyoung said once you'd both ordered. "We should probably establish some ground rules before we start this whole thing."
You pulled out your phone, opening your notes app. "Okay. What did you have in mind?"
"Well, first - and most important - no real feelings." He said firmly. "This only works if we both remember it's fake. The second someone catches actual feelings, we end it. Agreed?"
The words stung more than it should have. "Agreed."
"Good." He seemed to relax slightly. "Second, we need to figure out how we're going to act in public. Like, what's acceptable and what's off limits."
You considered. "Hand holding is probably necessary. Maybe arms around each other?"
"Kissing?" The word stuck between you, suddenly making you feel kind of flustered.
Your cheeks heated. "I mean... couples kiss. People would think it was weird if we never did."
"So kissing is allowed." Wooyoung's voice was neutral. "But only when necessary. When people are watching."
"Right. Only when necessary."
"What about when we're alone?" He was watching you closely now. "Do we drop the act completely, or...?"
"I think we should stay in character sometimes," you said slowly, thinking it through. "To practice. So it looks natural in public."
"Makes sense." He nodded. "Okay, what about social media? That's gonna be the most important part of this."
"Soft launch?" you suggested. "Like, subtle photos where we're together but not obviously dating. Then after a week or two, we can make it ‘official’?"
"Smart." Wooyoung was typing notes into his own phone. "We should probably go through each other's social media, make sure we know what we each usually post. And we need to get our story straight, like how we got together, when we started dating, all that."
The food arrived, and you both paused to eat. It was really good, and you found yourself relaxing into the comfort of Wooyoung's presence. This was still weird, but it was also kind of exciting.
"So," Wooyoung said around a bite of pasta. "Our story. How did we fall for each other?"
You thought about it. "We've been friends for a year. We could say... it just kind of happened naturally? We were spending time together, and we realized there was something more there?"
"That is way too vague. We need specifics in case anyone asks." He leaned back, considering. "What about this: you know how I took you home after Mingi's party last night?" he pauses to take a bite. “What if that was our turning point? You were upset, I comforted you, and we both realized we had feelings for each other."
It was close enough to the truth to be believable. "Okay. So we will be secretly dating for a little bit, and then we ‘go public’?"
"Exactly." Wooyoung looked pleased. "That gives us a backstory and explains why no one's seen it coming."
You added it to your notes. "What about the end date? How long are we doing this?"
"Two months minimum," he said. "Long enough to be convincing. We can reassess after that, see if we need to keep going or if we've both gotten what we need out of it."
"And either of us can end it at any time?"
"Either of us can end it at any time," he confirmed. "No questions asked."
You looked down at your notes, at the rules and boundaries you'd constructed. Could you really fake a relationship like this?
"You're overthinking it," Wooyoung said, reading your expression with the ease of someone who knew you well. "We'll be fine. We're already friends. This is just friendship with some hand-holding and the occasional kiss."
"Right." You forced a smile. "Just friendship with fake benefits."
"Exactly." He grinned. "Now, let's talk logistics. We should probably start spending more time together in public. Study dates, coffee runs, that kind of thing. Ease people into seeing us together."
"We already do that stuff."
"Yeah, but now we'll be doing it with intent. Sitting closer, more casual touches, looking at each other like we're..." He paused. "Like we're in love."
That word felt… weird. "How do you look at someone like you're in love with them?"
"You've never been in love?" He seemed surprised.
"I thought I was. With Seonghwa. But obviously, I was wrong about that." The bitterness crept into your voice before you could stop it.
Wooyoung's expression softened. "Hey. Just because he was an idiot doesn't mean what you felt wasn't real."
"Yeah, well. Real or not, it didn't matter in the end." You pushed your pasta around your plate. "So how do we do it? The ‘looking like we're in love’ thing?"
"I don't know." He looked genuinely thoughtful. "I guess... you just look at the person like they're the only one in the room?
"Have you ever looked at someone like that?"
"No." The admission came quickly, followed by a self-deprecating laugh. "Told you I'm bad at this stuff."
"But you've dated lots of people."
"Dating and being in love are different things." He met your eyes. "I've never let anyone get close enough for love."
He was clearly being vulnerable, and you found yourself asking, "Why not?"
He looked up at you. "I think you can be friends with someone of the gender you're attracted to, but if you spend enough time together, if you get close enough, eventually attraction develops. And once that happens, the friendship is basically over because someone always wants more."
You frowned. “But what if they both end up wanting more?”
"Maybe. But I've seen it happen over and over. Someone catches feelings, confesses, and then everything gets weird. The friendship ends, or it becomes this awkward thing where one person is always wanting more than the other can give." He shrugged. "So I keep things casual. I date people, but I don't let them get too close. That way no one gets hurt."
"Except all the people you've dated who wanted something more," you pointed out.
"I'm honest with them from the start." But he looked uncomfortable. "I tell them I'm not looking for anything serious."
"And they think they can change your mind."
"That's not my fault."
"I didn't say it was." You studied him across the table. "But maybe... your theory is wrong? Maybe men and women can be close friends without attraction ruining everything?"
"Can they?" His gaze was intense suddenly. "Really think about it. Your close guy friends. Have you ever been attracted to any of them? Even a little?"
You opened your mouth to argue, then closed it. You thought about your friendships, about the guys you'd gotten close to over the years. And if you were honest... "Okay, maybe there's been some attraction. But that doesn't mean the friendship ends."
"Doesn't it?" Wooyoung leaned forward. "Be honest. Those friendships where there was attraction - are you still as close with those people?"
You wanted to argue, but you couldn't. He had a point. "So what, you're saying you and I can't be friends because we might eventually be attracted to each other?"
"We're already friends," he said. "And I plan to keep it that way. Which is why this fake dating thing is perfect. We get to be close, we get what we need out of it, and then we go back to being regular friends before anything complicated happens."
There was a flaw in his logic somewhere, you were sure of it. But you couldn't quite put your finger on it. "What if we're the exception? What if we prove your theory wrong?"
"Then we'll both be pleasantly surprised." But he didn't sound like he believed it.
The conversation changed to lighter topics after that - like planning your first official appearance as a couple, deciding on pet names (he voted for "babe," you threatened to call him "woowoo" in front of everyone if he did), figuring out how to handle questions from friends.
By the time you left the restaurant, you had pages of notes and a decent plan. Wooyoung walked you home. "Might as well start practicing," he'd said with a grin, wrapping his arm over your shoulder.
"So we're really doing this," you said as you reached your building.
"We're really doing this." He held out his hand, pinky extended. "Pinky promise? Two months, or until we both get what we need. No real feelings, no drama, and we stay friends when it's over."
You hesitated for just a moment, looking at his offered pinky. This was insane. This was going to end terribly somehow. But Wooyoung was looking at you with that mix of hope and mischief that you'd never been able to resist, and you found yourself hooking your pinky with his.
"Pinky promise."
His fingers squeezed yours gently, and for a moment, you were both just standing there, pinkies linked, looking at each other in the glow of the streetlight.
Then Wooyoung grinned again and pulled his hand away. "Okay, girlfriend. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Goodbye, boyfriend," you said, testing out the word. It felt weird in your mouth.
You watched him walk away, hands in his pockets, and tried to ignore the flutter of nerves in your stomach. This was fine. This was going to be fine.
You were just helping each other out. What could possibly go wrong?
The past few weeks were surprisingly easier than you anticipated. Meeting up to do some homework in the library, the occasional surprise breakfast before class. Hell, you even babysitted his cat for a few days when he went to visit his parents.
Today was a group dinner that was planned by Hongjoong for everyone to have the chance to catch up in the midst of the busy semester. When you found out Seonghwa would be there, Hongjoong offered to uninvite him, but you assured him it was fine,
The restaurant was louder than expected. It should have made you nervous, all these people, all these eyes potentially watching, but Wooyoung's presence beside you was surprisingly grounding.
"So," Mingi said, leaning forward with a grin that was entirely too knowing. "When were you two going to tell us?"
"Tell you what?" Wooyoung asked innocently, but his thumb was tracing circles on the back of your hand under the table.
"Oh, please." Mingi gestured between you. "You two show up together, you're practically glued to each other, and you think we haven't noticed?"
"How long?" Hongjoong asked, though something in his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
"About three weeks," Wooyoung said smoothly. "We wanted to make sure it was real before we told everyone."
"Three weeks?" Jongho looked skeptical. "You kept it secret for three weeks?"
"We're good at secrets." Wooyoung's implication made several people laugh. You just rolled your eyes.
Pretending felt awkward, but Wooyoung made it easy. His hand never left yours, his attention consistently returning to you even as he joked with the group. It felt natural in a way that surprised you.
"I have to say," San said, catching your eye with a smile, "you look happy. Happier than I've seen you in a while."
The observation caught you off guard, mostly because it was true. You were happy. Maybe it was the relief of finally having a plan, of taking some control back. Or maybe it was just Wooyoung, the smooth comfort of his presence.
"I am happy," you said, and meant it.
Seonghwa shifted in his seat, and you could feel his eyes on you, but you didn't look at him. You'd spent months drowning in the weight of his gaze, of his pity or his judgment or whatever it had been. You were done with that.
-
The conversation turned more casual, talking about class and free time.
"You're teaching her to dance?" Hongjoong looked delighted. "I need to see this."
"Absolutely not," you said quickly. "I do not have any rhythm."
"She's better than she thinks," Wooyoung said, and there was genuine affection in his voice that made your heart skip. "She just needs confidence."
Seonghwa finally spoke up, his voice annoyed. "Since when do you dance, Wooyoung? I thought you said it was 'too much commitment' to take on dancing."
The table went silent. The tension could be cut with a pair of scissors, but Woo’s response was quick. "I said organized dance was too much commitment. Dancing with my girlfriend is different." He looked at Seonghwa directly, his smile pleasant but his eyes hard. "It's not a commitment when you actually want to do it."
The implication was there: unlike you, who made everything feel like an obligation. You saw Seonghwa's jaw clench, saw the flash of anger in his eyes.
"Okay!" San said brightly, clearly trying to settle the tension. "Who wants to split dessert?"
The conversation moved on, but all you could pay attention to was Wooyoung beside you, the protective way he angled his body toward yours, of the thumb still tracing patterns on your thigh. When you glanced at him, he leaned in close again.
"You okay?" he murmured, quiet enough that only you could hear.
You nodded, throat tight with an emotion you couldn't name.
"Good." His hand squeezed your thigh gently. "Because you're doing great. He can't stop looking at you, and you haven't looked at him once."
Right. This was the plan. Make Seonghwa see that you'd moved on. Prove you were happy. It was working exactly as intended.
So why did your chest ache when Wooyoung pulled away?
-
Partway through dessert, you'd ended up sharing a chocolate lava cake with Wooyoung, feeding each other bites while your friends made exaggerated gagging noises. You excused yourself to the bathroom.
For some reason, Seonghwa left the table shortly after.
He appeared behind you in the hallway. He ran a hand through his hair, that nervous gesture you used to find endearing. Now it just makes you tired. "I needed to talk to you. Alone."
"We don't have anything to talk about.” As hard as you tried to shut him out of your brain, you couldn't help but hope that he would somehow say the right thing.
"We don’t?" He stepped closer, and you turned to face him. "You and Wooyoung? Really?"
Well that is not what you wanted to hear at all.
"What about it?"
"Come on." Seonghwa's voice dropped with a pleading undertone. "You know his reputation. He's going to hurt you."
The audacity of it stole your breath. "Like you hurt me?"
He flinched. "That's not… I made a mistake, okay? I know I did. But Wooyoung?. He's just going to use you and move on like he does with everyone else."
"You don't know anything about him." The words came out sharper than intended, defensive in a way that surprised you. "And even if you did, it's none of your business who I date."
"I still care about you."
"You lost the right to care about me when you cheated." Your voice was steady and cold. "And you definitely lost the right to have opinions about my relationship."
"I just don't want to see you get hurt again."
"Then you should have thought about that before you hurt me yourself. I loved you. And you told me you loved me too."
Seonghwa looked like you'd slapped him. "That's not fair."
"No," you agreed. "It's not. But neither was what you did to me."
You looked down at his hand on your arm, then up at his face. A few months ago, this moment would have meant everything. The concern in his eyes, the attention, the clear jealousy in the way he spoke. You would have read into it, hoped it meant something, maybe even considered giving him another chance.
Now? You didnt really feel anything.
"Let go of me," you said quietly.
He did, immediately, and you saw slight fear on his face.
You left him standing there, your heart pounding but your head clear. When you walked past him, Wooyoung was waiting at the end of the hallway, leaning against the wall with casualness that didn't really hide the tension in his shoulders.
"You okay?" he asked immediately. "I saw him follow you-"
"I'm fine." And you were. You were more than fine. "He just wanted to share his opinions about our relationship."
"And?"
"And I told him where he could shove those opinions." You smiled genuine. "Can we go?"
Wooyoung's look shifted into something proud, almost awed. "Yeah. Yeah, we can go." He held out his hand, and you took it without hesitation.
The group was disappointed but understanding when you announced you were leaving. San hugged you tight, whispering "I'm proud of you" in your ear in a way that made your throat tight. Hongjoong just had a knowing look on his face the whole time, but he didn't say anything. Those two could definitely see right through you.
Seonghwa returned to the table just as you were leaving, and you didn't miss the way his eyes tracked to your hand in Wooyoung's, to the way Wooyoung helped you into your jacket, to the casual kiss he pressed to your temple as you walked out.
The air was cool, clearing the remaining tension from your shoulders. Wooyoung kept his arm around you all the way to the car, and when he opened your door, he paused.
"That was..." He seemed to be searching for words. "That went really well. Better than I expected."
"Yeah." You slid into the passenger seat. "It did."
The drive back to your place was quiet. Wooyoung's hand found yours across the center console, and you let yourself enjoy the warmth, the casual intimacy, the illusion of being wanted.
When he pulled up outside your building, neither of you moved to get out immediately.
"So," Wooyoung said finally. "First official appearance: success?"
"Definite success." You turned to look at him. "Thank you. For everything. For defending me, for being perfect, for-"
"Hey." He squeezed your hand. "That's what boyfriends do, right?"
Right. Boyfriends. Fake boyfriends.
"Right," you echoed.
There was a moment of hesitation where you both just looked at each other. Wooyoung's eyes dropped to your lips, then back up, and your breath caught. Was he going to…
He leaned in, and your heart stopped. But instead of your lips, his mouth pressed against your forehead, soft and lingering.
"Goodnight," he murmured against your skin.
"Night," you managed, voice barely a whisper.
You practically floated up to your apartment, touching your forehead where his lips had been. This was fake. This was all fake.
But why were you starting to wish it were real?
Week One
The library was your usual haunt, the area by the window where the sun created the perfect reading light. You were hunched over your laptop, supposedly working on an essay, but mostly you were thinking about Wooyoung beside you.
It had been three days since San's birthday dinner, and you'd seen him every single one of those days. Study sessions, he'd said. Got to keep up appearances.
But right now, with his leg pressed against yours under the table and his hand occasionally reaching over to steal your highlighter, it felt less like an appearance and more like... something else.
"You're not even reading that," Wooyoung said, not looking up from his own textbook.
"Yes, I am."
"You've been on the same page for ten minutes. I can see your screen."
You scowled and scrolled down, but he wasn't wrong. You'd been distracted by the way he bit his lip when he concentrated, by the furrow between his brows, by the way he'd draped his jacket over the back of your chair like he was marking territory.
Your phone buzzed, and you glanced down to see a notification from Instagram. Someone had tagged you in a post. It was a photo from dinner, you and Wooyoung caught mid-laugh, his hand on your face, both of you looking stupidly happy.
The comments were already rolling in. Cutest couple ever. I KNEW IT! Finally! And, from San: Called it 😏
"We're official on social media," you said, showing Wooyoung the screen.
He leaned closer to look, his shoulder pressing against yours. "Damn, we look good together."
"It's a nice photo."
"It's not just the photo." His voice was quieter, more serious. "We look happy."
You did. That was the strange part. In the photo, there was no acting, no visible performance. You just looked like two people who genuinely enjoyed each other.
"Wooyoung!" A girl's voice cut through your thoughts. You looked up to see one of his classmates, Minjeong, you thought her name was - approaching the table with a bright smile. "I heard about you and..." Her eyes landed on you. "Oh. Hi."
"Hi," you said, aware of the way Wooyoung's hand had automatically moved to rest on your thigh under the table.
"I just wanted to say congratulations," She continued, though something in her smile had dimmed. "I never thought I'd see the day Wooyoung settled down."
"Yeah, well." Wooyoung's thumb traced an absent pattern on your leg. "Sometimes you meet the right person."
Minjeong's eyes flickered between you, and you could see her trying to figure out what made you special, what you had that dozens of other girls hadn't. The attention made you squirm.
After she left, you turned to Wooyoung. "Does that bother you? Everyone being surprised?"
"That I'm in a relationship?" He shrugged, but there was stiffness in his posture. "I'm used to people assuming the worst about me. At least now they have to reconsider."
"It's not the worst, thinking you prefer to keep things casual."
He met your eyes. "When it means everyone thinks you're incapable of real feelings? They think I am heartless and only care about myself."
The hurt in his voice made your chest ache. Without thinking, you reached out and laced your fingers through his. "You're not heartless."
"You're the only one who seems to think so."
"Then everyone else is an idiot."
He laughed, surprised, and the tension broke. His hand tightened around yours. "Thanks, girlfriend."
"Anytime, boyfriend."
You stayed like that, hands linked on top of the table, and went back to your work. When a notification lit up your phone twenty minutes later, you glanced down to see Wooyoung had texted you.
Wooyoung: this is nice
You looked up. He was still focused on his textbook, but there was a small smile on his face. You typed back with one hand, not letting go of him with the other.
You: what is?
Wooyoung: this. studying together. holding hands. being close.
You: we've always studied together
Wooyoung: yeah but now I get to hold your hand while we do it 😏
You bit back a smile.
You: smooth
Wooyoung: you like it
You did. God help you, you really did.
-
That night, after you'd parted ways, your phone buzzed again.
Wooyoung: get home safe?
You: just walked in. you?
Wooyoung: been home for like 10 minutes
Wooyoung: was waiting to make sure you texted
Something warm bloomed inside you..
You: you don't have to do that
Wooyoung: I know
Wooyoung: I wanted to
Wooyoung: goodnight. dream about me 😉
You fell asleep smiling at your phone like a fool.
Week Two
"You're terrible at this," Wooyoung said, laughing as you stepped on his foot for the third time.
"I told you I can't dance!" You tried to pull away, but he held firm, hands on your waist in the middle of his living room.
"You're not trying. Here, feel the rhythm." He pulled you closer, so close you could feel his heartbeat. "It's like a game. You wouldn't button-mash your way through a boss fight, would you?"
"That's completely different-"
"It's not. You're overthinking it. Just..." He started swaying, gentle, and you had no choice but to follow. "There. See? You're doing it."
You were barely moving, just a soft rocking back and forth, but he was right. You were doing it. And more importantly, you were pressed against him, his hands warm on your waist, his breath stirring your hair.
"This isn't really dancing," you said, voice softer than intended.
"It's close enough." He hummed something under his breath, a melody you didn't recognize, and guided you in a slow circle. "Besides, couples dance like this all the time."
"At wedding receptions."
"Exactly. We're just practicing for future wedding receptions."
You paused for a second, trying to not over think what he just said.
"Your turn," he said suddenly, pulling back. "Teach me one of your games."
"Really?"
"Really. Fair is fair."
You ended up showing him a co-op game that you usually play with randoms online, but this time you actually got to play with someone you knew. Wooyoung was terrible at it - his character kept running off cliffs - but he was laughing, genuine and bright, and you couldn't remember the last time you'd had this much fun.
"How are you so bad at this?" you teased as he died for the fifth time.
"I'm used to dance games! These are different."
"Dance games are so much harder-"
"Are not."
You started playfully bickering, and somewhere in the moment, Wooyoung's arm ended up around your shoulders, your head found its way to his chest, and when you finally beat the level, you both cheered and he kissed the top of your head without seeming to think about it.
The kiss froze you both.
"Sorry," Wooyoung said quickly. "I wasn't thinking.."
"It's fine." You forced yourself to relax back against him, even though your heart was racing. "We're practicing, right? For when people are around?"
"Right. Practicing."
But his arm stayed around you for the rest of the night, and when you left, he hugged you at the door longer than necessary.
Week Three
The restaurant was busy, Friday night crowds filling every table, and you'd somehow ended up in a small booth clearly meant for couples, with candlelight flickering between you.
"This feels like a real date," you said, then immediately wanted to take it back.
But Wooyoung just smiled. "That's kind of the point, isn't it?"
"Yeah. The point."
Conversation flowed easily, like it always did with him. You talked about classes and complained about professors and debated topics that randomly came up. At some point, your feet tangled under the table, and neither of you moved to separate them.
"Can I ask you something?" Wooyoung said during dessert.
"Sure."
"Do you still think about him? Seonghwa?"
The question surprised you. You'd barely thought about your ex all week. "Not really. Sometimes, but not like before."
"What's different?"
You considered, taking a bite of the cake you were sharing. "Before, I'd see him and it would hurt. Like a physical pain. But now..." You shrugged. "Now I just feel kind of indifferent. Like he's someone I used to know."
"That's good, right? That's what you wanted?"
"Yeah." You met his eyes. "It's exactly what I wanted. This whole thing-" You gestured between you. "-it's working."
Something flashed across Wooyoung's face, there then gone, too quickly to identify. "Good. I'm glad."
When he walked you home that night - he always walked you home now, even though it was out of his way - you lingered at your door.
"Thanks for dinner," you said.
"Anytime." He was standing close, hands in his pockets, looking at you with an expression you couldn't quite read. "I had fun."
"Me too."
Neither of you moved. The space between you felt thick, Wooyoung's eyes dropped to your lips, and you stopped breathing.
He leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away. But you didn't. You couldn't.
His lips brushed your forehead and you felt the loss of what could have been a real kiss.
"Goodnight," he murmured.
"Night," you whispered back.
That night, you couldn't sleep. You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment of the past three weeks. Every touch, every smile, every time he'd made your heart race.
This was supposed to be fake. You'd agreed on rules. No real feelings.
But somewhere between the practice dates and the touches and the way he looked at you like you mattered, you'd broken the most important rule.
You'd fallen for him.
Your phone buzzed, pulling you from your spiral.
Wooyoung: you awake?
You: yeah. can't sleep
Wooyoung: me neither
Wooyoung: been thinking about tonight
Your heart stuttered.
You: yeah?
Wooyoung: yeah
Wooyoung: I think we're getting really good at this
Wooyoung: the whole fake dating thing
Wooyoung: it barely feels fake anymore
You stared at the message, reading it over and over. Did he mean...?
You: yeah. barely fake.
Wooyoung: goodnight. for real this time
You: night, woo
You fell asleep with your phone clutched in your hand, his words replaying in your mind.
It barely feels fake anymore.
No, you thought. It doesn't feel fake at all.
The text came on a random Tuesday afternoon, three simple words that made you feel… indifferent: Can we talk?
You stared at Seonghwa’s name on your screen, trying to figure out what he could possibly have to say to you now. It had been a while since you’ve broken up, more than a month since you’d started “dating” Wooyoung. What could he possibly want?
You: About what?
The reply came quickly.
Seonghwa: Us. What happened. I just want to talk, please. Coffee tomorrow?
You should have deleted the message and moved on. But some part of you - the part that still remembered loving him, even if you didn’t anymore - couldn’t quite let it go without closure.
You: Fine. 3pm at the cafe on Main.
You told Wooyoung about it that night during your regular phone call - when had nightly phone calls become regular? - and his response was immediate.
“I’m coming with you.”
“Woo, you don’t have to…”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to.” His voice was firm. “He doesn’t get to ask you to meet alone. I’ll wait outside or something, but I’m coming.”
The protectiveness in his voice made your chest happy. “Okay. Thank you.”
“Always.”
-
The next day, Wooyoung picked you up early, and you could see the tightness in his jaw as he drove.
“You okay?” you asked.
“I should be asking you that.” He glanced over. “Are you nervous?”
“A little. I don’t know what he wants to say.”
“Whatever it is, you don’t owe him anything. You know that, right?”
“I know.”
His hand found yours across the console. “And if he says anything that upsets you, I’m coming in there.”
You squeezed his hand, grateful. “My knight in shining armor.”
“Damn right.”
The place was quiet when you arrived, and Seonghwa was already there, sitting at a table with two coffees in front of him. He stood when he saw you, and you noticed he looked tired, shadows under his eyes.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Thanks for coming.”
“What did you want to talk about?” You didn’t sit yet, keeping your guard up.
“Please, just… sit? Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”
You glanced out the window where Wooyoung was leaning against his car, arms crossed, watching. He gave you a small nod, and you felt braver.
You sat.
“I got you your usual,” Seonghwa said, sliding one of the cups toward you. “Mocha latte, extra whip.”
You didn’t touch it. “What do you want, Seonghwa?”
He took a breath, and you could see him gathering courage. “I made a mistake. Making you break up with me. Cheating. All of it. I was an idiot, and I’ve been miserable ever since.”
Your stomach dropped.
“Seeing you with Wooyoung these past few weeks…” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s been killing me. Seeing you happy, seeing you with someone else. It made me realize what I lost.”
“So you want me back.” Your voice was flat.
“I want a chance to fix this. Or at least try to prove that I can be better.” He reached across the table, trying to take your hand, but you pulled back. “Please. We were good together. We can be good again.”
You looked at him, the boy you’d spent years with, the one you’d planned a future with, the one who’d broken your heart so thoroughly you’d thought you’d never recover.
And you felt… nothing.
No anger, no longing, no pain. Just a distant sort of pity.
“We weren’t good together, Seonghwa.” Your voice was firm. “We were comfortable. There’s a difference.”
“That’s not true…”
“It is.” You met his eyes steadily. “You cheated on me because you weren’t happy. And honestly? I wasn’t either. I was just too afraid to admit it.”
“But we could try again.”
“No.” The word came out stronger than you intended. “We can’t. Because I’ve moved on. I’m happy now. Actually happy.”
“With Wooyoung.” His voice turned bitter. “You really think he’s going to stick around? Everyone knows his reputation.”
“Everyone knew your reputation too,” you said quietly. “The good guy. The loyal boyfriend. And look how that turned out.”
He flinched.
“Wooyoung treats me better in one day than you did in two years,” you continued, and realized with a start that it was true. “He listens to me. He remembers things I say. He makes me laugh. He makes me feel like I matter.”
“I made you feel like you mattered-”
“You made me feel like an obligation.” The truth spilled out. “Like something you kept around because it was easier than being alone. And I let you, because I thought that was the best I could get.”
Seonghwa was staring at you like he didn’t recognize you.
You stood, leaving the coffee untouched.
“I forgive you,” you said. “For the cheating, for the lying, for all of it. But I don’t want you back. I hope you find someone who makes you happy. But it’s not going to be me.”
You walked out without looking back, and the moment you stepped outside, Wooyoung was there.
“You okay?” His hands came up to cup your face, searching your expression.
“I’m perfect.” And you were. You felt lighter than you had in months, like you’d finally closed a door that had been left open for too long. “Can we go?”
“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” His arm came around your shoulders, solid and sure, and you leaned into him as you walked to the car.
You didn’t realize you were crying until you were in the passenger seat and Wooyoung was wiping your tears with his thumb.
“Hey, what’s wrong? What did he say?”
“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” You laughed wetly. “He said he wanted me back.”
His expression darkened. “And?”
“And I told him no.” You looked up at him, at the concern in his eyes, at the gentle way he was touching you. “I told him I’d moved on. That I was happy.”
“Are you?” His voice was quiet. “Happy?”
“Yeah.” You reached up, covering his hand with yours. “I am.”
His expression changed. It was something vulnerable and hopeful and scared all at once. He leaned forward, and for a heart-stopping moment you thought he was going to kiss you. Really kiss you.
But then he pulled back, clearing his throat. “Good. That’s… that’s good. I’m glad.”
He started the car, and you tried to ignore the disappointment curling in your stomach.
As he drove, one hand on the wheel and one hand finding yours, you stared out the window and tried not to think about how much you’d meant every word you’d said to Seonghwa.
About how Wooyoung made you feel wanted.
And about how you’d fallen completely in love with your fake boyfriend.
You couldn’t sleep.
It was 2 AM, and you’d been lying in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling and replaying every moment of the past month. Every touch, every smile, every time Wooyoung had looked at you like you were the only person in the room.
The forehead kisses. The hand-holding. The protective way he’d shown up for you today.
When had it stopped being an act?
Your phone buzzed on your nightstand, and your heart leaped when you saw his name.
Wooyoung: you awake?
You: unfortunately. you?
Wooyoung: can’t stop thinking about today
Wooyoung: are you really okay?
You stared at the messages, fingers hovering over the keyboard. You could lie. Keep up the act that this was all still fake and manageable.
You: I’m okay. Better than okay, actually.
You: I meant what I said to him. I’ve moved on.
Wooyoung: good. he doesn’t deserve you anyway
You: woo…
Wooyoung: yeah?
You typed and deleted three different messages before settling on:
You: thank you for being there today
Wooyoung: always. that’s what boyfriends do, right? 😏
There was a long pause. Then:
Wooyoung: doesn’t feel very fake anymore, does it?
Your breath caught. You stared at the message, reading it over and over.
You: no. it doesn’t.
Wooyoung: is that a bad thing?
Was it? You didn’t know anymore. All you knew was that you were in too deep, and there was no way out that didn’t end in heartbreak.
You: i don’t know. is it?
Wooyoung: I don’t know either
Wooyoung: goodnight. we should talk soon. actually talk.
You: goodnight woo
You fell asleep with your phone in your hand, his words echoing in your mind.
Doesn’t feel very fake anymore.
-
The next morning across campus, Wooyoung was having a crisis.
He’d been staring at his phone for twenty minutes, reading and rereading your text conversation from last night. Doesn’t feel very fake anymore. What had he been thinking, sending that? He might as well have just confessed outright.
“You look like you’re having an existential crisis,” San said, dropping his stuff into the seat next to him.
“I am having an existential crisis.”
Hongjoong appeared on his other side. “Does this crisis have anything to do with your girlfriend?”
“Fake girlfriend,” Wooyoung corrected automatically, but the words felt wrong in his mouth.
“Is she still fake?” Hongjoong asked. “Because to me, you two look pretty real.”
Wooyoung groaned, letting his head fall onto the table. “I fucked up.”
“What did you do?” San asked.
“I caught feelings. For someone I’m supposed to be fake dating.” He lifted his head, looking between his friends. “How did this happen? We had rules. It was supposed to be simple.”
“Feelings are never simple,” Hongjoong said.
“Especially not when you’re spending all your time with someone you’re pretending to date,” San added. “Kind of unavoidable."
“That’s exactly the problem!” Wooyoung ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. “This is exactly what I said would happen. And now I’ve proven myself right, and I hate it.”
“Why do you hate being right?” San asked.
“It means I can’t be close to someone without fucking it up with feelings. It means-” He broke off, his fear finally surfacing. “It means I’m going to lose her.”
“Why would you lose her?” Hongjoong looked genuinely confused.
“Because that’s what happens. Someone catches feelings, things get weird, and the friendship ends.”
“Or,” San said slowly, “someone catches feelings, the other person feels the same way, and they end up together. Did you ever consider that?”
Wooyoung stared at him. “What if she doesn’t feel the same way?”
“Are you serious right now?” Hongjoong laughed. “Woo, she looks at you like you hung the moon. I’ve never seen two people more obviously in love while claiming to be ‘fake-dating’.”
“You think she feels the same way?”
“I think you’re both idiots who need to talk to each other,” San said bluntly. “But yes, I think she’s just as gone for you as you are for her.”
“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted quietly.
“You talk to her,” San said firmly. “You tell her the truth. And you figure it out together.”
Wooyoung pulled out his phone, looking at your last text exchange. Doesn’t feel very fake anymore. No. It doesn’t.
Maybe it was time to stop pretending.
-
That evening, you were at home trying to study when your phone rang. Wooyoung’s name flashed on the screen, and your heart jumped.
“Hey,” you answered.
“Hey.” His voice sounded strange. “Are you busy?”
“Just studying. Why?”
“Can I come over? I think we need to talk.”
Your stomach dropped. This was it. He was going to end the arrangement. Tell you he couldn’t do this anymore. You’d broken the rules by catching feelings, and now…
“Yeah,” you heard yourself say. “Yeah, come over.”
“I’ll be there in ten.”
He hung up, and you stared at your phone, panic rising in your chest. You had ten minutes to prepare yourself for heartbreak.
You spent those ten minutes pacing your apartment, trying to figure out what you’d say. How you’d react. Whether you should tell him the truth or keep lying.
When the knock came, you nearly jumped out of your skin.
Wooyoung stood in your doorway, hair slightly messy like he’d been running his hands through it, eyes dark with something, you couldn’t tell what it was.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”
You stood there for a second, just looking at each other. Then Wooyoung stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
“We need to talk about this,” he said, motioning between you two. “About us.”
Your heart was pounding so hard you thought it might break through your ribs. “Okay.”
“I’ve been thinking about what I said last night. About how this doesn’t feel fake anymore.” He took a step closer. “And it doesn’t. At least not for me.”
You couldn’t breathe. “Woo…”
“Let me finish. Please.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I know we had rules. I know we said no real feelings. But somewhere along the way, I broke that rule. And I’ve been terrified to tell you because I thought it would ruin everything.”
“What are you saying?” Your voice was barely a whisper.
“I’m saying I have feelings for you.” He was looking at you with such intensity you felt pinned in place. “I can’t tell the difference between pretending and reality anymore because when I’m with you, it all feels real. The hand-holding, the dates, the way I want to kiss you for real instead of just your forehead - all of it.”
Your breath caught. “You want to kiss me?”
“I’ve wanted to kiss you for weeks,” he admitted. “But I was scared.” He pauses. “But then I realized,” he continued, stepping closer, “maybe my theory was wrong. Not about the attraction part - I think I was right about that. But about what it means.” He reached out, taking your hand. “Maybe the point isn’t that attraction ruins friendships. Maybe the point is that the best relationships start as friendships. And maybe sometimes, falling for your friend isn’t the end of the friendship - it’s the beginning of something better.”
Tears were streaming down your face, and you didn’t even care. “Wooyoung-”
“I think I am in love with you,” he said, the words froze in the air between you. “I’m completely, hopelessly in love with you. And I know that wasn’t part of the plan, and I know we said this would be temporary, but I don’t want temporary. I want real. I want you. Even when we met in class, I felt something for you. It has always been there.”
You were crying in earnest now, your free hand coming up to cover your mouth.
“Please say something,” Wooyoung said, and you could hear the fear in his voice. “Tell me I didn’t just ruin everything. Tell me-”
“I think I love you too,” you said, the words tumbling out. “I’ve been in love with you for weeks, and I was so scared to tell you because I thought you’d think I broke the rules, and I didn’t want to lose you…”
You didn’t get to finish because Wooyoung was kissing you.
And for once, it wasn’t a forehead kiss. It was a real kiss.
His hands cupped your face, and his lips were soft and desperate against yours, and it felt like coming home. You kissed him back with everything you had, months of pent-up longing pouring into this one moment.
When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together.
“We’re idiots,” you said, laughing through your tears.
“Complete idiots,” he agreed. “We could have been doing this for weeks.”
“We had rules-”
“Fuck the rules.” He kissed you again, shorter this time but no less sweet. “I don’t want to pretend anymore. I want this to be real.”
“It already is real,” you said. “It’s been real for a long time.”
“Yeah.” He smiled. “Yeah, it has.”
You kissed him again, and again, making up for lost time. And when you finally pulled back, breathless and giddy, Wooyoung took your hand.
“So,” he said. “Will you be my girlfriend? For real this time?”
“Yes.” You didn’t even have to think about it. “Yes, I want that.”
“Good.” He pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you. “Because I’m not letting you go.”
You buried your face in his chest, breathing him in, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your cheek.
This was real. And for the first time in months, you felt perfectly happy.
Everything should have been perfect.
You were actually together. No more pretending, no more rules. Just you and Wooyoung.
Except something was wrong.
It started small. A cancelled study date here, a shorter text conversation there. Wooyoung said he was busy with dance practice, with family stuff, with a big project for class. All reasonable excuses.
But it had been almost a week since your confession, and you’d barely seen him.
You: miss you. when can I see you?
Wooyoung: sorry, got a lot going on. maybe this weekend?
Maybe. Not definitely. Maybe.
You tried not to read into it, tried to tell yourself he was just actually busy. But the familiar doubt crept in anyway.
Had you been wrong? Had he changed his mind? Had the reality of actually being together scared him off?
When you finally did see him - at a group hangout at Mingi’s place on Friday - he was different. Still affectionate, still attentive, but there was a distance in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Like part of him was somewhere else.
“You okay?” you asked quietly when you had a moment alone.
“Yeah, fine. Just tired.” He kissed your forehead, but it felt forced.
And then you saw it later.
Wooyoung, across the room, laughing with a girl you didn’t recognize. His hand on her arm, that devastating smile turned on her full force. The same charm he used to use on everyone before you.
Your stomach twisted.
“That’s Yuna,” San said, appearing at your elbow. “She’s in Wooyoung’s contemporary dance class.”
“Oh.” You tried to sound casual. “They seem friendly.”
San gave you a look. “Don’t read into it. He’s probably just being nice.”
But you couldn’t help but read into it. Couldn’t help noticing how easily he made her laugh, how she touched his arm back, how he didn’t pull away.
When Wooyoung finally came back over, you were ready to leave.
“Already?” He looked surprised. “It’s early.”
“I have an early morning tomorrow.” The lie came easily. “I should go.”
“Oh. Okay.” He walked you out, but he didn’t offer to drive you home like he usually did. “Text me when you get back safe?”
“Sure.”
You waited for him to kiss you goodbye. He kissed your forehead.
Always your forehead. Never your lips. Not since that first night when you’d confessed your feelings to each other.
“Goodnight,” he said.
You walked home alone, feeling the distance between you growing with every step.
-
By the second week, the distance had become unbearable.
Wooyoung barely texted. He cancelled more plans than he kept. When you did see him, he was distracted and distant. The easy affection had been replaced by something controlled.
You tried to talk to him about it, but he deflected every time.
“I’m just stressed about midterms.”
“I’m fine, really. Just need some space to focus.”
“You’re overthinking it.”
But you weren’t overthinking it. You could feel him pulling away, could see him reverting to his old patterns. The fuckboy who never let anyone get too close and kept everything surface-level.
The breaking point came at Yunho’s place.
You’d come with Wooyoung, but within an hour, he’d disappeared into the crowd. You found him in the kitchen, and your heart sank.
He was flirting with Yuna again. Not just friendly conversation. It was actual flirting. The smile, the eyes, the casual touches. All the things he used to do with you before it became real.
“Having fun?” The words came out colder than you intended.
Wooyoung turned, and something flickered across his face. Guilt? “Hey. Yeah, just talking to Yuna.”
“I can see that.”
Yuna looked between you, clearly sensing the tension. “I should go find Yeosang. Nice talking to you, Wooyoung.” She left quickly.
You and Wooyoung stood in uncomfortable silence.
“What’s going on with you?” you finally asked.
“Nothing. I was just talking to someone-”
“You’ve been avoiding me for two weeks.” Your voice cracked despite your best efforts. “Ever since we made it official, you’ve been pulling away. And now you’re flirting with other girls right in front of me?”
“I wasn’t flirting…”
“Don’t lie to me.” Tears were burning in your eyes. “I know you, and I know what flirting looks like. I watched you do it for months before we got together.”
Wooyoung’s jaw tightened. “You’re being paranoid.”
“Am I? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you got what you wanted. Prove you could commit, made your family happy, and now you’re ready to move on. Just like you do with everyone else.”
“That’s not fair.”
“How so?” You were starting to get upset, but you were past the point of caring. “You said you loved me. You said you wanted this to be real. But the second it actually became real, you started running.”
“I’m not running.”
“Then what do you call this?” You gestured between you. “You barely talk to me. You cancel our plans. You avoid me at parties. And when you do see me, you act like I’m someone you’re obligated to spend time with, not someone you claim to love.”
“I do love you.” His voice rose, frustration showing through. “That’s the whole fucking problem.”
You stopped, stunned. “What?”
Wooyoung ran his hands through his hair, and you could see him warring with himself. “I love you. And that terrifies me. Because we were friends, and now we’re not, because we caught feelings.”
“We’re not friends anymore because we’re together-”
“But that’s temporary too, isn’t it?” His voice was harsh, almost desperate. “Relationships end. People leave. And when this falls apart - because it will fall apart, they always do - I won’t just lose my girlfriend. I’ll lose my best friend.”
Your breath caught. “You think we’re going to fall apart?”
“I think I don’t know how to do this, and I don’t know how to treat you the way you deserve.”
“So you thought the best thing to do was to push me away and make me wonder what I did wrong?” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “You are sabotaging us before we even gave it a try.”
You wanted to comfort him, to tell him he was wrong and that you weren’t going anywhere. But you were too hurt.
“So instead of taking the risk, you choose to end us before it even started?” Your voice was broken. “You’re proving yourself right by making sure we fail?”
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted. “I just know I’m scared.”
“Well, I’m scared too.” You wiped your eyes. “I’m terrified. But I’m not running away. I’m not flirting with other people to make myself feel safe. I’m choosing to trust this. To trust you.”
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
The words landed like a blow. You stared at him, at the boy you’d fallen in love with, and realized he wasn’t ready for this. Maybe he never would be.
“Then what are we doing?” you asked quietly. “If you can’t trust this, can’t trust me, then what’s the point?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know.” You laughed, but it came out bitter. “You told me you wanted this to be real. But the first time it gets hard, you act like caring about someone is a weakness instead of a strength.”
He didn’t have an answer for that.
You waited, hoping he’d say something. Anything. But he just stood there, looking miserable and lost, and you realized you couldn’t do this anymore.
“I need space,” you said. “Real space. To figure out if this is worth fighting for when you’re not willing to fight for it too. I am not doing the whole ‘not being good enough’ thing again.”
“Don’t-” His voice broke. “Please don’t do this.”
“You’re the one doing this,” you said.
You left before he could respond, pushing through the party and out into the cold night air. You made it two blocks before you had to stop, leaning against a building as sobs took over your body.
You’d fallen in love with someone who was too afraid to love you back.
And you didn’t know how to fix it.
The next two weeks were hell.
Sitting next to him at group dinners, feeling the tension between. Holding his hand because people expected it, feeling his fingers tight and desperate around yours. Catching his eyes across the room and seeing the same misery you felt reflected back.
But the second you were alone, the distance returned. He’d drop your hand like it burned. Make excuses to leave. Avoid any real conversation.
Your friends weren’t blind.
“Okay, what’s going on?” Hongjoong asked one afternoon when Wooyoung had left yet another hangout early.
“Nothing. He’s just busy.”
“Bullshit.” San leaned forward. “You two have been weird for weeks. Did something happen?”
You wanted to lie, but you were so tired of pretending.
“We’re fighting,” you admitted. “Sort of. It’s complicated.”
“What happened?” Hongjoong’s voice was tender.
“He’s scared. Of commitment, of getting hurt, of losing me. So he’s pushing me away before I can leave him.” You laughed hollowly. “Classic self-sabotage.”
“Have you talked to him about it?”
“I tried. He won’t really talk to me.” You felt tears threatening again. “I don’t know what to do. I love him, but I can’t make him not be afraid. And I can’t keep putting myself through this.”
San and Hongjoong exchanged a look.
“We’ll talk to him,” San said.
“Don’t. Please.” You shook your head. “He needs to figure this out himself. Either he wants this or he doesn’t. But I can’t force him to choose me.”
“He does choose you,” Hongjoong said firmly. “He’s just a dumbass who doesn’t know how to handle anything.”
“Then he needs to learn. Quickly.” You stood up. “I need to go. I have studying to do.”
You left before they could see you cry again.
-
The next couple’s appearance was Mingi’s movie night. Everyone would be there, which meant you and Wooyoung had to show up together and act normal.
You met him outside the building, and the sight of him made your chest ache. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes, hair unstyled. Like he hadn’t been sleeping well either.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
“Hi.”
The walk to Mingi’s apartment was awkward. When Wooyoung reached for your hand, you let him take it, but it felt wrong. Like you were both just going through the motions.
Inside, your friends were already sprawled across Mingi’s living room, arguing about what movie to watch. You and Wooyoung ended up on the couch, sitting close because that’s what couples did, but the space between your bodies felt like a canyon.
Halfway through the movie - some action film you weren’t really watching - he shifted closer. His arm came around your shoulders, and you stiffened.
“Relax,” he murmured, quiet enough that only you could hear. “People are watching.”
Right. You were performing. Like you had been from the beginning.
Except now it hurt so much more, because you knew what it felt like when it was real.
You leaned into him because you had to, resting your head on his shoulder. His hand came up to play with your hair, an absent gesture that used to make you feel cherished. Now it just felt empty.
“I miss you,” he whispered against your hair.
The words made your eyes burn. “I’m right here.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
You knew what he meant. You missed him too. Missed the version of you two that had been happy, that had been hopeful. Missed the boy who had looked at you like you were his whole world.
After the movie ended, and after some of the others had left, you excused yourself to Mingi’s patio. You leaned against the railing, allowing yourself to take in the fresh air of the cold night. You hear the sliding glass door open behind you.
“Hey.”
You spun around. Wooyoung stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, looking uncertain.
“Hi,” you managed.
“Can I…” He gestured to the balcony. “Can I join you?”
You nodded, and he stepped outside, the door closing behind him. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You both just stared out, at the lights of the buildings in the distance.
“You look beautiful,” Wooyoung said finally.
“Thanks.” Your voice was cold. “You look nice too.”
More silence.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “About what you said. About how I’ve been sabotaging us.”
You didn’t respond, waiting for him to continue.
“You were right. About all of it.” He turned to face you. “I was so scared of losing you that I started pulling away. And I didn’t even realize I was doing it until you pointed it out.”
“And?” You kept your eyes on the horizon, not trusting yourself to look at him.
“And I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” His voice cracked. “I’ve been miserable without you. I can’t sleep, I can’t focus. All I do is think about you and how badly I fucked everything up.”
“Woo-”
“I love you,” he said desperately. “I love you so much it scares me. And I know I handled that fear in the worst possible way. I know I hurt you. But please… please give me another chance.”
You finally looked at him, and the raw emotion on his face made your chest tight. “I don’t know if I can do this again. I can’t keep putting myself through this cycle of you pulling away every time you get scared.”
“I know. I know I don’t deserve another chance. But I swear, I’m done running. I’m done sabotaging us. I want this, I want you, and I’m ready to fight for it.”
“Are you?” The question came out sharp.
“I can’t promise I won’t be scared,” he admitted. “But I can promise I won’t run. I’ll talk to you instead. I’ll let you in instead of shutting you out.”
You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to believe him so badly.
“When I saw you,” you said quietly. “Flirting with Yuna, a part of me wondered if you would ever change.”
He flinched. “I wasn’t flirting - okay, maybe I was. But it wasn’t about her. It was about trying to prove to myself that I could still be that person. The one who doesn’t get attached.”
“Why would you want to be that person?”
“Because that person doesn’t get hurt.” His voice had a hint of frustration. “That person doesn’t lie awake at night terrified of losing the most important thing in his life. That person is safe.”
“That person is lonely,” you said. “And I know you, Wooyoung. You don’t actually want to be him anymore.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “You’re right. I don’t. I’d rather be terrified and with you than safe and alone.”
“Then prove it.” You finally met his eyes fully. “Stop running. Stop trying to protect yourself from getting hurt by hurting me first. Just… be with me. Actually be with me.”
“I will.” He took a step closer. “I swear I will. Just please, give me one more chance. Let me show you I can do better.”
You studied his face, looking for any sign of doubt or fear. But all you saw was desperate sincerity.
“One chance,” you said finally. “But if you pull away again, if you start reverting to your old stuff, we’re done. For real this time.”
“I understand.” He reached out tentatively, and when you didn’t pull away, he took your hand. “Thank you. I won’t screw this up again.”
“You better not.”
He pulled you closer, and you let yourself lean into him, breathing in his familiar scent. His arms came around you, solid and warm, and you felt some of the tension you’d been carrying for weeks finally ease.
“I missed you,” he murmured into your hair. “I missed you so fucking much.”
“I missed you too.” You pulled back to look at him. “But we need to actually talk about this. About your fear, about your patterns. We can’t just sweep it under the rug.”
“I know. And we will. I’ll tell you everything.” He cupped your face gently. “But first… can I kiss you?”
Your heart skipped. “Please kiss me.”
He leaned in slowly, giving you time to change your mind. But you didn’t want to. You’d been wanting this too.
When his lips finally met yours, it was soft and sweet and perfect, his hands soothing on your face, your fingers curling into his jacket. You kissed him like you’d been waiting forever.
When you finally broke apart, you were both smiling.
His eyes gleamed with the shine of the light through the glass and he kissed you again, quick and happy. “Let me take you home.”
-
You both head back inside with your fingers intertwined, and the remaining members of your friend group were pleasantly surprised at how your demeanor towards each other suddenly changed.
“We’re heading out.” Wooyoung announced to them as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder.
“Okay, love birds.” San said playfully.
The walk to his car was quiet, though it didn’t feel like anything needed to be said in the moment.
He opened the car door for you and gestured towards it. “M’lady.”
“Oh my god you are so weird,” you couldn’t help but to laugh at him.
You slid into his passenger seat, a feeling all too familiar.
The drive to your apartment was quiet, but it was a different kind of quiet than the painful silences of the past two weeks. This was comfortable. Wooyoung’s hand found yours across the console almost immediately, his thumb tracing those familiar circles that made your heart race.
“I talked to my dad,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence. “After we fought. I called him and told him everything.”
You turned to look at him, surprised. “What did he say?”
“He told me I was being an idiot.” Wooyoung’s lips quirked into a self-deprecating smile.
“Your dad sounds wise.”
“He has his moments.” His hand tightened around yours. “He also said that love isn’t about protecting yourself from pain. It’s about finding someone worth being vulnerable for.”
Your throat felt tight.
“You’re worth it,” he said quietly, glancing at you before returning his eyes to the road. “You’re worth every moment of fear, every risk, everything. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that I was ruining the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you just squeezed his hand, blinking back tears.
When he pulled up outside your building, neither of you moved immediately. The car idled, the soft hum of the engine the only sound between you.
“Do you want to come up?” The words tumbled out before you could second-guess them. “We could… talk more. About everything.”
Wooyoung turned to look at you, and something in his expression made your breath catch. His eyes were dark, intense in a way that sent heat pooling in your stomach.
“Yeah,” he said, voice rougher than usual. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
He turned off the engine, and the sudden silence felt deafening. You both got out of the car, and Wooyoung’s hand found the small of your back as you walked to your building, a touch that felt both protective and possessive.
The elevator ride up to your floor was torture. You were hyperaware of him beside you - the warmth radiating from his body, the scent of his cologne, the way his eyes kept flicking to you and then away, like he was holding himself back from something.
When you finally reached your door, your hands were shaking so badly you almost dropped your keys. Wooyoung’s hand covered yours, steadying them, and the touch sent shivers through your entire body.
“Breathe,” he murmured, so close you could feel his breath against your ear.
You managed to unlock the door and step inside, Wooyoung following close behind. The moment the door closed, the air between you became heavier.
You turned to face him, and the look in his eyes made your knees weak.
“We should talk,” you said, but your voice came out breathy.
“We should,” he agreed. He was moving closer, backing you delicately against the door. “We have a lot to talk about.”
“So many things,” you whispered, your hands coming up to rest on his chest. You could feel his heart hammering under your palm, as fast as yours.
“Like how I’m going to spend every day proving I’m worth your trust,” he said, his hands coming up to frame your face. “How I’m going to show you that I’m all in. That I’m not going anywhere.”
“Wooyoung…”
“Like how I’ve been thinking about really kissing,” he continued, his voice dropping lower. “Not just forehead kisses. Not just quick pecks. Actually kissing you the way I’ve wanted to since the night we confessed.”
Your breath hitched. “We kissed that night.”
“Yeah.” His thumb traced your bottom lip, and you felt it everywhere. “And then I got scared and pulled away. I’ve regretted it every day since.”
“Then don’t pull away this time,” you said, your fingers curling into his shirt.
He snapped. His mouth crashed against yours, and this kiss was nothing like the sweet one on the balcony. This was desperate, hungry, the emotion of your time apart poured into the connection of your lips.
You gasped against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your entire body feel like it was on fire. Your hands moved from his chest to his hair, tangling in the soft strands and pulling him closer.
He groaned - actually groaned - and the sound sent heat straight through you. His hands moved from your face to your waist, pulling you flush against him.
“I’ve wanted this,” he breathed against your lips, trailing kisses along your jaw, “wanted you, for so long.”
“Me too,” you managed, tilting your head to give him better access as his lips found that sensitive spot just below your ear. “God, me too.”
His hands slid under your shirt, just slightly, his fingers splaying against the bare skin of your waist, and you melted into the contact.
“Is this okay?” he asked, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and pupils blown wide.
“Yes,” you said immediately. “Yes, this is okay. More than okay.”
He smiled that devastating smile that had always made your heart skip, and kissed you again, slower this time but no less intense. His hands stayed where they were, warm against your skin.
You tugged at his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders, and he helped you, shrugging out of it without breaking the kiss. It fell to the floor forgotten.
Your heart was racing so fast you thought it might burst. “Bedroom.”
He pulled back, taking your hand, and let you lead him through your apartment. The walk to your bedroom felt like it took forever. When you finally reached your room, you turned to face him, suddenly nervous despite everything.
Wooyoung seemed to sense your hesitation. He stepped closer, cupping your face gently, his thumb stroking your jaw line tenderly.
“We can stop,” he said softly. “We can just talk, or watch a movie, or…”
“I don’t want to stop,” you interrupted. “I just… I want this to mean something. I want it to be real.”
“It is real,” he said, his voice fierce. “This is the realest thing I’ve ever felt.”
He kissed you again, serene this time, pouring emotion into it rather than just heat. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“I love you,” he whispered. “So much. And I’m going to spend every day showing you that.”
“I love you too,” you said, your hands sliding up his chest to loop around his neck. “Show me.”
His eyes darkened again, and he walked you backwards toward the bed.. When the back of your knees hit the mattress, you sat, and he followed you down, hovering over you with his arms braced on either side of your head.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, looking down at you with such intensity it made you feel like you were the only person in the world. “How did I get this lucky?”
“Woo…”
He kissed you again, and you pulled him closer, your hands exploring the planes of his back through his shirt. He made that sound again - that groan that drove you crazy - and his hand slid up your side, his touch reverent.
“Can I…” His fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt.
“Yes,” you breathed.
He sat back slightly, helping you sit up so slowly it was almost torture, pulled your shirt over your head. His eyes roamed over you, and the heat in his gaze made you feel desired in a way you’d never felt before.
“You’re perfect,” he said, his voice rough.
Your hands went to his shirt, and he helped you remove it, tossing it aside. And then you were skin to skin, his chest pressed against yours, and it felt so natural.
His hands mapped your body like he was trying to memorize every curve, every dip, every place that made you gasp. You did the same, learning the feel of him, the way his muscles tensed under your touch, the way his breath caught when you ran your fingers down his spine.
“I want you,” you whispered against his lips. “Please, I want all of you.”
“You have me,” he said, pulling back to look at you with such raw emotion it made your heart ache. “You’ve always had me, baby”
His hands cup each side of your face as he notices the tears threatening to break from your eyes. “Don’t cry, darling. I’m right here. I got you.”
He leans down to kiss you again, trying to drown out your emotions with something happier. He reaches around you to release the tension of your bra, each clasp he undoes exposes more of your skin: the swell of your breasts, the delicate dip of your collarbone. He pauses after each hook to press kisses along the new flesh, his lips soft like a worship, sending electricity pulsing across your body.
"You're so beautiful," he breathes against your sternum, his voice thick, with a hint of disbelief. "Every inch of you.”
He runs his hands over each mound, massaging deliberately in the hopes to relax you a little more. The nipple hardens instantly under his touch, and he doesn't hesitate. He gently rolls them between his thumb and pointer finger, as the remaining space of his hands cup your breasts. He wets his tongue, sliding it from the top of your navel, up to your neck, where he begins to leave messy, open-mouthed kisses that were sure to leave a mark by morning. Only quiet, broken breaths can escape your mouth.
His mouth descends, capturing the peak between his lips. He sucks softly at first, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud. The sensation shoots arrows straight to your core, a slick heat blooming between your thighs as arousal soaks your panties. His tongue moves slowly, so slowly that it makes your thighs rub together in an attempt to relieve some tension.
Your fingers thread through his hair, holding him close as your desperation grows."Wooyoung," you gasp breathlessly. His eyes lift to meet yours, and your expression was enough for him to sense what you wanted him to do next.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pants, meeting your eyes once again, just to make sure it was okay. You nod, and he pulls them down as you lift up your hips.
Now with the first barrier discarded, he lowers his head between your legs. Gentle kisses peppered along the flesh of your inner thighs. Once he got closer to your core, he kissed over the cotton of your already soaked panties, and the skin between the fabric and your thighs. There was no rush in his pace. He’s making sure he savors the moment for as long as possible.
The fake dates that blurred into real ones, the nights you spent pretending not to notice how his hand lingered on yours a second too long, the heartbreak when you thought it might all unravel. But here, in this moment, it's all laid bare. You love him, and from the way his eyes lock onto yours, you know he feels it too.
His fingers brush over the damp fabric of your panties, teasing the outline of your folds. You arch into him, a whimper escaping your lips when he finally pushes the material aside. His touch is deliberate, two fingers gliding through your slickness, coating themselves before circling your clit with just the right pressure.
Wooyoung's thumb presses firmer against your clit, rolling in small circles while his fingers tease your entrance. “You're so wet for me,” he whispers, voice rough with emotion. “Tell me what you need. I want to hear it.” His free hand cups your face, thumb brushing your lower lip, pulling you into a deep kiss. Your tongues tangle, tasting the salt of your skin on him, and you moan into his mouth as he finally slides one finger inside you.
The stretch is perfect. He curls it upward, hitting that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. You break the kiss to gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders. “More,” you plead, hips rocking against his hand. “Wooyoungie, please... I need your fingers.” The words tumble out with the desperation that's built over weeks.
He slides in another finger, making sure to brush across your spongy spot. All you can do is grip your fingers tighter into his biceps in reaction to the increased pleasure. You can feel yourself clenching around him, the feeling overwhelming - how he knows your body like it's an extension of his own, how he's memorized every gasp you make.
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, not from pain or hurt this time. Wooyoung notices, of course, he always does. He slows his movements, fingers still buried deep but no longer pumping, instead stroking that sensitive inner wall with light pressure.
“It's just us now. Let me show you.” He withdraws his fingers, earning a whine of protest from you, but then he's shifting down your body, settling between your thighs. His hands grip your hips, pulling you to the edge of the bed as he kneels on the floor. You prop yourself on your elbows, watching with bated breath as he hooks his fingers into your panties and tugs them off, exposing you completely.
Wooyoung's eyes drink you in. “Beautiful,” he breathes, before leaning in. His tongue flattens against your core, licking a long, wet stripe from your entrance to your clit. The direct contact makes you cry out, your head falling back as pleasure sparks through every nerve. He doesn't rush - his licks are languid, savoring you like you're the sweetest thing he's ever tasted. He laps at your folds, gathering your wetness on his tongue, then circles your clit with the tip, flicking it lightly.
Your hands find his hair again, tugging gently as you guide him. He hums in approval, the vibration sending pleasure straight through you. One hand leaves your hip to join his mouth, fingers sliding back inside you, three this time, stretching you fuller as his tongue works your clit without mercy. The combination is devastating. You feel yourself tightening, your peak approaching fast. But Wooyoung senses it, pulling back just enough to keep you wanting more.
“Not yet,” he murmurs, lips glistening with you. “I want to feel you come around my cock. Want to be inside you when you fall apart.” He stands, quickly shedding the rest of his clothes. His cock springs free, hard and thick, and a lot bigger than you had expected.
You reach for him, wrapping your hand around his length, stroking from base to tip. Your hand could barely even fit around the girth of it. He groans, hips bucking into your touch. You use your thumb to spread the bead of pre-cum across the head, massaging the sensitive spot below the tip.
Without hesitation, Wooyoung climbs back onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs. He lines up, the head of his cock nudging your entrance, but he pauses, searching your eyes. “Are you sure?” he asks, even though you both know the answer. The vulnerability in his voice - the fear of rejection after everything - makes your heart ache.
“Yes,” you say, cupping his face. “God, I want it so bad, Wooyoung.” With that, he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, filling you completely. The stretch burns so good, your walls fluttering around him as he bottoms out. You both moan, bodies connecting in the most emotional way. He stills for a moment, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed to yours again.
“I love how you feel,” he confesses, voice strained. “Like you were made for me.” Then he starts moving, shallow thrusts at first, grinding his hips against yours to hit your clit with every roll. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, your heels digging into his back. The pace builds gradually, his cock dragging along your inner walls, hitting that sweet spot over and over.
Sweat beads on his skin, dripping onto your chest as he leans down to capture your lips. The kiss is messy, all teeth and tongue, mirroring the way he's fucking you now - harder, faster, but the emotions still obvious. You can feel the love in every thrust, the way he angles his hips to give you maximum pleasure, how his hand slips between you to rub your clit in tight circles.
His hand tightens on your thigh, holding you in place. “You're mine,” he growls softly, not possessive but affirming. He continues to roll his hips deliciously as you feel your climax start to build up again. Soft grunts escape him as he finds his motion within you.
He slides out, leaving you empty and wanting more.
You place your hand on his chest to guide him to lay against the mattress. You swing your leg over his hips, straddling him. You grabbed the base of his cock and glided his tip between your folds before sinking down onto his length. His hands guide your hips, encouraging you to ride him. You do, slowly at first, savoring the slide of every vein dragging inside of you.
This time, it's you setting the pace - grinding down to take him deep, circling your hips to feel every ridge. Wooyoung's hands roam your body, sliding up to cup your breasts, thumbs teasing your nipples until they're pebbled again.
You lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest, and he sits up to meet you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You’re face-to-face, intimate, his breath mingling with yours as you rock together. “I can never get enough of you,” he admits.
The words fuel your movements; you bounce faster, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room. His cock hits deeper from this position, brushing your cervix with each downward thrust. Your pleasure keeps building, coiling tighter, and you can feel him swelling inside you.
Wooyoung's mouth finds your neck, sucking marks into your skin - marks that say you're his. One hand slips between you again, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in time with your rhythm. It's too much, the dual sensations pushing you towards your orgasm.
“Come with me,” he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. It doesn't take much more for you to be pushed over the edge. You grip on to his chest muscles tighter, as you cry out in pleasure. You throw your head back while you grind down on him. His movements became more uncontrolled beneath you. “Fuuuuuck, I’m gonna cum,” he urges your thighs up. When his length slips free, you rest your weight on your knees, your hand quickly meeting with his cock to milk it out. Cum spurts out in ropes, painting both of your tummies white. “Fuckfuckfuck,” he groans as you start to slow down your strokes.
As the high fades, Wooyoung eases you off him gently. You collapse together, limbs entangled with each other. He reaches up, cupping your face in his palm, thumb brushing away a stray tear of overwhelming emotion that had slipped down your cheek. “Hey,” he murmurs, voice husky and tender, “you okay? That was... you were incredible.”
You nod, a small smile curving your lips as you lean into his touch, your body still humming with aftershocks. Slowly, you shift off his lap, your thighs quivering, and settling beside him on the rumpled sheets. His arm wraps around your waist immediately, pulling you close so your side presses against his, skin sticking slightly where his release has smeared between you. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You just lie there, hearts pounding in unison, listening to the rhythm of each other's breathing as it gradually evens out. Wooyoung's fingers trace idle patterns along your hip. You turn your head to look at him, taking in the flush on his cheeks, the way his dark hair clings to his forehead with sweat, and the vulnerability in his gaze that mirrors your own.
He eases out from the bed and grabs a warm cloth from the bathroom, cleaning you up with care, his touches lingering. He tosses the cloth aside and joins you under the covers. You cuddle your head onto his chest with your hand resting on his abdomen.
“I can't believe we're here,” you whisper finally, your voice thick with the weight of everything. “After all that pretending... it feels like a dream.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. “Not a dream. It’s as real as it gets.” His hand moves up to tangle in your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear. “I kept thinking, during those early 'dates,' how much I wanted to just grab you and kiss you for real. Not for show. But I was scared you'd pull away.”
You prop yourself up on one elbow, gazing down at him. “I was scared too. Scared of feeling this much after what happened before. But you... you make me feel safe. Like I can let go.”
He covers your hand with his, guiding it to rest over his heart. “You do the same for me. Every time you smile at one of my dumb jokes, or when you lean into me during those movie nights... it chipped away at my walls.” He pauses, his expression turning serious, eyes searching yours. “I love you. Not the version we pretended to be. The real you - the one who overthinks everything, who always puts others before herself, who makes my world brighter just by being in it.”
Tears well up again, but they're happy ones, spilling over as you lean down to press a soft kiss to his lips. It's not heated like before; it's gentle, tasting of salt and devotion. When you pull back, he wipes your cheeks with his thumbs, his touch like a feather. “No more tears unless they're from laughing at me,” he teases lightly.
You laugh, a soft, watery sound, and settle back down, your head finding its place on his shoulder. The sheets are cool against your overheated skin now. Wooyoung shifts slightly, reaching for the edge of the comforter and pulling it up over both of you, cocooning you in warmth. But he doesn't rush into full cuddling yet - instead, he rolls onto his side to face you fully, one leg draping over yours in a lazy tangle.
“Tell me something,” he says, his fingers now exploring the curve of your spine, dipping into the dimples at the base of your back. “What's your favorite memory from us? The real ones, I mean.”
You think for a moment, your hand mirroring his, stroking along his side, feeling the rise and fall of his ribs. “That night at San's, after the games. We were all pretending everything was fine, but when you pulled me aside in the kitchen... you didn't say much, just held my hand and squeezed it.”
His eyes soften, and he nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I remember. You looked so tired, but strong. I wanted to hold you right there, tell everyone to leave so I could take care of you.” His hand pauses its tracing, resting flat against your lower back, pulling you closer. “Mine's the drive home after we confronted Seonghwa. You were quiet, staring out the window, and I thought I'd lost you. But then you turned to me, smiled that small smile, and said, 'Thanks for being my fake boyfriend.' I almost crashed the car laughing.”
Minutes stretch as you talk, voices low, bodies gradually relaxing into each other. You watch him, heart swelling at the tenderness, the way he meets your eyes every few seconds as if to check if you're comfortable. “You're too good to me,” you say softly, reaching out to run your fingers through his hair.
He smiles. “Just getting started.” Crawling back under the covers, he draws you into his arms properly now, your head cuddling onto his chest, hand resting on his abdomen. The transition feels so natural.
“Stay with me tonight,” you say, nuzzling closer, inhaling the familiar scent of him.
“Every night,” he echoes, his arms tightening around you, fingers resuming their lazy traces over the skin on your back. The steady beat of his heart lulls you, as sleep begins to tug at the edges of your consciousness.
.✦ ex-husband!wooyo x ex-wife!reader
݁.✦ porn w a little plot, they have a kid together and it's kyungmin lol, smut minors dni 18+, p in v unprotected, hella dirty talk, wooyo is dominant but kinda just a little shit, oral f!receiving, degradation, hella teasing, big ole breeding kink, n creampie, they call each other daddy/mommy, omfg i used the word jagi pls lmk if u fw jagi im nervous, they argue a little, they're deffo still in love lowk i could have made this a story but i had brainworms. uhhh lmk if i missed anything i don't feel like rereading it
.✦ wc ~9k | straight up copying @chimivx's layouts lately shoutout plum
.✦ wooyoung brainworms 🧘♀️
“When will Daddy be here?”
Suitcase packed, carry-on zipped, as soon as the words left your eight year old son’s mouth, the doorbell rang. A grin breaking out across his face, he cheered, jumping up from his spot on your bed to race down the steps.
“I’m coming– I’m coming– Daddy!”
You hear the front door rip open and the laugh rolling off your ex-husband’s lips, you could bet money on the fact that he just picked Kyungmin up in his arms and spun him around. Throwing your carry-on over your shoulder, your purse on the other, you rolled your suitcase out of your bedroom and into the hallway, stopping at the platform at the top of your stairs.
You should have bet the money. Hoodie on his upper half, baggy jeans on his lower and tucked into the boots on his feet, Wooyoung has Kyungmin tucked into his chest, one arm around his back, the other cradling the back of his head. He stops twirling, smile staying as he catches your eye at the top of the steps, taking a second before softly placing Kyungmin back on the floor.
“You’re late,” your voice comes out clipped, one hand still wrapped around the handle of your suitcase.
He runs a hand through his long, black hair, “There was traffic.”
“I have a flight to catch,” you bite back.
His head tilts, smile deepening to a smirk, “And who’s driving you to the airport?”
“An asshole,” you mumble under your breath, hiking your bags higher over your shoulders, free hand reaching for the railing to keep you balanced before you start for the stairs.
“Here,” he springs into action, taking it two stairs at a time, taking your luggage from your hand before you can get a word out. “I got it.”
“I had it,” you argue, looking down at him, he just smiles.
“I know very well how capable you are, wifey.”
You smack your teeth, huffing down the rest of the stairs, “How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?”
“Come on,” he sings, “it’s funny. Wanna open the trunk for me, Kyungminnie?”
“Yes!” Your eight year old shouts, hauling ass out of your front door and sprinting down the lawn to your driveway. Looking at Wooyoung again, it dawns on you like it always does how much the two look alike, especially as your son gets older.
“You’re seriously not going?” You ask Wooyoung as you close your front door behind you, locking it with the silver key on your split ring.
He calls over his shoulder as he rolls your suitcase down your driveway, “Unless they call me in, no.”
A conference for your job, two states over. You and Wooyoung have always been employed in the same line of work, opposing companies, but essentially the same job. It’s how you met in the first place, fifteen years ago, when you were both fresh out of college and ready to enter the workforce. The conference was held annually, usually you and Wooyoung would travel together, before you divorced him.
You hum, storing the information. You whole-heartedly think he was asked to go already, especially since all of your coworkers have already told you the higher-ups in his company were attending, the higher-ups included his name on the list. He must not be going to spare you, and in a way, you’re grateful for it.
Opening the backseat of his SUV, you throw your carry-on inside, brow quirking at the sight of his bare backseat. “Where’s Kyungie’s booster seat?” You ask over the seats to Wooyoung who’s throwing your suitcase in the trunk.
“Let me press the button!” Kyungmin shouts, and Wooyoung gruffs a strangled noise as he picks your son up by his waist, lifting him high enough so he can press the button to close the trunk.
“He’s big as shit, he doesn’t need one anymore,” Wooyoung says casually after putting him back on the ground.
“Bullshit.” Kyungmin is tall as shit for his age. “He’s only eight!”
Wooyoung opens the door on the other side of the backseat, leaning over Kyungmin after he crawls inside to click his seatbelt into place. “Have you read up on it?”
Not recently.
“He can sit all the way back, bend his knees over the edge, the lap belt is across his hips, the shoulder belt is on his shoulder,” he eyes you from the other side of the car, hand on the car door. “He’s fine.”
“Why didn’t you tell me daddy lets you ride without a booster seat?” You ask Kyungmin, ignoring how Wooyoung clearly did his research.
Kyungmin smiles and it’s the exact fucking replica of Wooyoung’s sly grin, “You would be mad and then I can’t be big anymore.”
You sigh, tucking your carry-on in once more before closing the car door. Climbing into the passenger seat, your voice is laced with irritation, “There are some things you should discuss with me, y’know.”
“You research everything,” Wooyoung pushes the button beside the steering wheel and the engine roars to life, “my bad for assuming you’d research car safety, too.”
Cheeks hot, you cross your arms, settling into the comfortable seat of his SUV. He had you there.
It’s a thirty minute drive to the airport, spent listening to soft rock through the speakers, Kyungmin humming along in the backseat to songs you had no idea he knew. So much changes in a year, your son growing like a weed, building a different relationship with his father you weren’t there to supervise. You didn’t need to, you knew that, their time together was theirs, but it’s been a minute since the three of you were together for an extended period of time, outside of pick-ups and drop-offs.
Pulling up outside the airport, while Wooyoung unpacks your luggage and your carry-on, you’re halfway into the backseat saying your goodbyes to your son. Tears prickling your lashes, it’s always hard to leave him, even if the conference was only for the weekend.
You close the door and meet Wooyoung on the other side of the SUV, wiping the tears from your eyes, “Call me if anything happens.”
“Nothing’s gonna happen,” he takes the carry-on from his own shoulder and slips it onto yours with care. “Text me when you land, I’ll call you after he showers so you can say goodnight.”
“Thanks again for driving me,” you give him a tight-lipped smile, “I’m sorry, my dad was busy–”
Wooyoung cuts you off by shaking his head, his smile warm, “Go have a drink before your flight, sleep on the plane. Don’t apologize for something I was happy to do.”
“Okay,” you whisper, meeting his eye, “Thanks, Woo.”
“Have fun for me, wifey. Tell Mingi and Seonghwa I say hello.”
Rolling your eyes, you snort as you turn on your heel, “Tell them yourself!”
You always forget how big this conference is until you’re here again.
Mingi and Seonghwa on either side of you like pillars, you enter the foyer space, the hotel decked out in red and gold detailing, fancy. Men in suits, women in pantsuits, everyone looked about the same, in different fonts. All here for networking until the schedule begins, splitting off into the theater rooms for speakers, boardrooms for workshops, or sneaking off to the hotel bar to ease the chip of performance off their shoulders.
“Wooyoung’s really not coming?” Mingi asks, gray two-piece suit clinging to his body, buff and broad but slim.
Seonghwa, Mingi’s smaller, shorter half, adds, “I thought he was guest speaking this year.”
Your brows raise, news to you. Mingi shakes his head, blonde hair gelled back not moving an inch, “I heard he gave it to Choi San.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” you argue, approaching closer to the check-in table. “That would give San the upper hand, he wouldn’t let him have it even if it killed him.”
Greeting the red-haired woman at the table, you tell her the three of your names, and she hands you all lanyards with a tri-fold paper schedule. You thank her, and as you split off towards the theater room, Seonghwa continues, “What if he gave it to San because you’re here? Maybe he just wanted to have Kyungmin for the weekend.”
Black hair, short and cropped, faded along his temples, his deep onyx suit makes his skin appear even more golden than usual. He stands out, beautiful and chiseled, like he should be on a runway instead of in an office. You scoff, “He has Kyungie every other weekend, Hwa. This job is like his second baby, his first baby, he wouldn’t just let San have what’s rightfully his.”
Mingi chuckles, stealing your attention, shoulders shaking with each laugh. Rings on his fingers, tie dark and patterned with streaks of silver, Mingi adds his own style into strict, corporate fashion, you have to respect him for it. You can’t be bothered, half of your closet is from a department store.
“I seriously think he’s not here because you’re here,” Mingi shrugs, “just my opinion, though.”
“I’m here every year!” You argue, “We’re divorced, not archnemeses.”
Seonghwa shrugs, “I agree with Mingi.”
“He said hi to you guys, by the way,” you look between the two, taking three open seats at the edge of a row in the middle of the audience, “when he dropped me off at the airport.”
“Wow, he dropped you off,” Mingi feigns surprise, brows pushed up, “intimate.”
You smack your teeth, “Don’t be stupid.”
The crowd gets quiet, the projected screens on either side of the stage lighting up, you cross a leg over your knee and settle into your seat, waiting for the speaker to walk onstage. You should have called Wooyoung this morning, you think, you wonder what Kyungmin’s doing today, if he misses you.
Reaching into your purse with the intention of texting him, checking the pocket you always keep your phone in, you realize it isn't there. Furrowing your brows, panic in your blood, you pull your purse onto your lap, sorting through it, pushing past the old ziploc bags of snacks, lip balm, hand sanitizer, wipes, tissues, a small bottle of sunscreen. No phone. Eyes blowing wide, you whisper to Mingi, “I don’t have my phone. What if Wooyoung calls me?”
Seonghwa nudges your side, eyes on the stage, “I don’t think he’ll call.”
Looking at Seonghwa confused, you hear his voice blow through the room. Speaking into the mic, voice smooth and velvety yet strict and powerful, your jaw drops to the fucking floor. Wooyoung is onstage, long hair pinned back, in the dark gray business-casual outfit he used to keep in the back of your closet instead of a suit.
“Where the fuck is my kid if he’s here?” You’re rigid with terror, ass at the edge of your seat like you were ready to get up and walk onstage, fists squeezing the absolute shit out of the straps of your purse. “He’s supposed to be at home, with my kid.”
Mingi’s hand lands on your flexed bicep, “Kyung’s probably with Woo’s parents, right? He probably got called here last minute, breathe. He wouldn’t leave him stranded or home alone.”
The reminder etches a semblance of relief in your stone bones, but you don’t let yourself feel it. Why didn’t he tell you? You talked to him just last night before he put Kyungmin to bed, he spoke nothing of hopping on a flight and overnighting himself here.
You could kill him. You hear nothing of his speech, not a single word, too consumed by rage and confusion to even hear the topic. You sat with a rigid spine and bouncing knees for the entire hour, jaw clenched, fists tucked into your purse to hide how they didn’t uncurl once. The moment it was over you were up on your feet, barreling through the side of the theater room up to the side of the stage, face bent down in anger.
He sees you before you see him.
“Where the fuck is your phone?” He asks, pulling you by your arm behind one of the screens, standing facing one another, parallel to the back wall of the room.
“Why the fuck are you here?” You whisper-yell, “Where is my son?”
“Our son is with my parents,” he whisper-yells back, “which you would know if you picked up your goddamn phone, I’ve been calling you since last night.”
Your brows furrow, head shaking in utter confusion, “I-I I left it in the room, maybe it’s dead? I–”
“What, did you get laid as soon as I got off the phone last night?” He looks dead serious, “Too important to answer my call about getting put on a red-eye here in the middle of the night?”
You’re replaying the events of last night in your head, did you not plug in your phone after you ended the call? You ate your room service, watched a movie, you wish you would have gotten laid, but a hotel room means you’re free to be alone with your right hand, watching– Oh.
Your cheeks flush, “No, Wooyoung, it must have died, I didn’t even think this morning, I was rushing here after the alarm clock went off.”
“You didn’t think to call me?”
“No!” You shake your head, voice a little louder now, “I didn’t. I think you’re more than capable of taking care of our son without me breathing down your fucking neck, Wooyoung.”
He straightens, face calming, a brow popping in question. “Really?”
“Yes,” you heave a breath, running a hand through your hair, “Jesus Christ. Kyungie’s with your mom?”
Wooyoung nods, “I dropped him off around midnight, I told her we’ll pick him up when we get back, she wants us to stay for dinner. Parked my car at the airport, I got a seat on your flight back.”
Your top lip lifts, “She wants us to stay for dinner?”
“Definitely gonna convince you to take me back,” Wooyoung’s lips flatten in a line.
You fake a cough into your first, “I think I’m coming down with something.”
He rolls his eyes, “I already told her no, don’t worry. Do you want to call her from my phone?”
“No,” you shake your head, “he’s probably having the time of his life. I’ll leave them alone.”
“Are we all free from the shackles of your velcro- parenting?” He grins, eyebrows wiggling.
“Fuck off,” you grumble, “I’m going back to my seat. Nice presentation, by the way.”
“Thanks, wifey,” you can hear humor in his voice, the sly grin on his lips. You shoot him the middle finger behind your back before you’re in front of any eyes.
The rest of the conference is boring. Networking is the only fun part of it, but only when the person you’re talking to hates their job as much as you do. Other than that, it’s small talk of shareholding and statistics, each word off your lips makes you thirsty for liquor.
“Ah, Wooyoungie’s wifey.”
Eyes pointed, you turn your head to find the perpetrator who approaches your back, you were now seated at the bar to avoid this exact thing happening. Choi San, senior executive of his company, a ray of fucking sunshine if he isn’t talking about the direction of your company or trying to fully recruit you for your skills.
You force a smile on your cheeks, “Not Wooyoung’s wife anymore, you know this.”
“Is that why you’re drinking alone at the bar?” He raises his brows, coming up beside you, forgoing the bar stool to stand with his elbows planted on marble.
Your brows slant inward, more annoyed than anything, “Come on, San.”
He chuckles, head dipping low between his shoulders, his dimples visible even engulfed in shadow. He picks his head up, voice teasing, “Are we on a first-name basis now?”
“Mr. Choi,” you correct yourself, voice playful, a grin clawing onto your own cheeks. “Apologies, sir.”
“I like that better,” he eyes your drink, a margarita half watered-down, “now can I ask why you’re drinking alone at the bar?”
“Boredom,” you say through a breath, “nothing better to do than drink tequila. Maybe then I can convince myself I enjoy talking numbers when I’m not being paid to do it.”
His lips purse, smile evident even with the scrunch, “Usually you’re on top of this event.” Humming, he pulls the barstool under him, sitting facing you with his knees spread. “Not interested this year?”
“I miss my kid,” you sigh, cheek landing in your closed fist.
He frowns, “Most single mothers would be enjoying a weekend of freedom.”
“Then I guess I’m not most mothers,” you bring your drink to your lips, eyeing him with low lids over the rim. You can feel it radiating off him, the attraction, the want. You make a show of batting your lashes.
A rivalry he and Wooyoung have, ever since San started at the company, a constant petty, childish fight of who will come out on top. Who makes more money, who’s more successful, Wooyoung has used your marriage and your son for years in spiteful arguments, something Wooyoung has but San does not. You don’t know if he’ll ever marry or have kids, you don’t know if he has any interest in it at all.
“Are you flirting with me, Mrs. Jung?” San cracks a smirk, it makes a shiver run down your spine. You’re most certainly not, but maybe the tequila and utter boredom has pulled something frisky in your tone, especially sitting beside a man like him. You don’t answer, placing your glass back down on the bar carefully, and San’s smirk grows. “Dangerous, I can see why Wooyoungie tied you down.”
You pop a brow, “Yeah? Please, do tell.”
There’s no harm in not denying it. Or allowing him to continue, at the very least. You haven’t gotten laid in awhile, haven’t been flirted with, haven’t felt desired in too long. You don’t really care about attention from him, of all people, but it’s kind of nice, in a way– even if you know very well how off-limits Choi San is, and that you won’t let it go any farther.
San’s voice is hushed, eyes low, drinking up your figure like he’d been waiting for this day to come, “You’re intelligent, successful, you don’t let your kindness make you vulnerable.”
You can’t help the giddiness that begins to form, “So you’re the type that likes brains and not beauty?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know I’d fuck you brainless,” he chuckles a little, settling into the barstool, pulling his suit jacket tighter. “You’ve known that for a long, long time.”
And you’ve ignored it for even longer. It still makes your feet shift on the barstool, deepening the ache in your gut you didn’t have before he sat down, he’s never been so bold before. Over the years, in your marriage, you always blamed his flirty tone, wandering eyes on his and Wooyoung’s rivalry. Which is probably exactly what this is, something to hold over Woo’s head, or at least he’d plan to if you went through with it. Which you won’t, but it’s fun to hear what could be if the circumstances were different.
“I have,” you nod, picking up your glass again, “is that what you want, Mr. Choi?”
“I’d make you forget Wooyoung exists,” he leans in, voice low, eyes piercing, “I’d fuck you better than he ever did.”
You hum, swirling the watered-down drink in your glass, “Good to know.”
His lips pursed, eyes dancing with thought before he says, “We’re staying in the same hotel, meet me at the bar tonight if you want it, too.”
You give him nothing but a short, small nod before bringing your drink up to your lips again. You watch him as he walks away, his tailored suit painted onto his ass, his thighs, he exuded money. Poise. He’s never gone as far as this, never been so blunt, never fed you a real option. But you suppose he never could, you’ve been married every time he’s talked to you, up until now.
You laugh a little to yourself before throwing the rest of your drink back.
Exhausted was an understatement for how you felt after the first day of the conference. Tomorrow would be filled with more guest speakers, more workshops, your body dragged as you hitched a ride with Mingi back to the hotel. Your phone was right where you left it, plugged into the charger, but your charger wasn’t plugged into the fucking wall.
Undressing yourself, you called Wooyoung’s mom upon your screen lighting up again, having a quick chat with her before she put Kyungmin on the phone. After he ditched you for ice cream, Wooyoung’s mom was back on the phone, asking you how the conference is, then diving into how crazy it is that they put Wooyoung on a red-eye, how important and successful he is, how you’re so lucky to have him.
“I know mom, thanks, I know,” you mumble between every sentence, face twitching in annoyance, your back pressed to the perfectly made bed, body sprawled out with exhaustion. It’s like she doesn’t even care that you aren’t together anymore.
“You two are coming to dinner on Sunday, yes?” She asks, and you kick your feet out, face scrunching together in a silent whine. “I already bought food at the grocery store today.”
After a silent, agonizing sigh, you answer, “Yup, we’ll be there.”
How could you say no after Woo dropped your son off in the middle of the night?
Her voice raises ten octaves in excitement, “Oh, thank god, we miss you, sweetie. I’m so excited to see you!”
“Can’t wait to see you, too,” your lips fold into a tight, flat smile. “Tell Kyung I said goodnight.”
“I will, we’ll call you in the morning,” you can hear her nod, her voice shaky from sheer joy, “sleep well, sweetheart.”
“You too,” you hang up the phone, then groan, long and low, a sigh following it. Fuck. The most pure-hearted woman, you think you broke her heart worse than Wooyoung’s when you divorced him. Fuck. You can’t believe you agreed to dinner. It’s the least you could do.
You need a fucking drink. The hotel room only has airplane bottles of wine, all white, nothing red, even in the overpriced fridge selection. Sighing, you drag yourself into the bathroom, taking a quick shower before throwing on comfortable clothes and heading to the elevators at the end of the hall.
The bar was empty save for one, probably the only person on the entire earth who you didn’t care if they saw you with wet hair and baggy sweats on. “I just got off the phone with your mom,” you say, pulling out the barstool beside him.
He picks his head up, still dressed in business-casual, “Yeah? I called her when I left the conference, Kyungmin’s having fun.”
“I told her we’d stay for dinner on Sunday,” you reluctantly admit, flagging down the bartender.
“Put it on my tab,” Wooyoung adds after you gave him your drink order, making you scowl.
“I can pay for my own drinks,” you mutter.
Wooyoung smiles, “Consider it my pre-paid thanks for dinner on Sunday, wifey. It'll make her whole year.”
“I’m only coming because she’s watching Kyungie,” you shoot daggers at him, ignoring the nickname, “even exchange. No need for you to pay my tab.”
Wooyoung groans, leaning back in the chair, “Can you go one day without arguing with me?”
Shaking your head, you simply respond, “No, that’s why I divorced you.”
Wooyoung stares at you for a second before snorting, “Ouch.”
“Thanks,” you mumble, both to Wooyoung and the bartender as he places your drink on top of a cocktail napkin. “You didn’t even go up yet? You’re still dressed.”
“Needed to think,” he shrugs, fingers playing with the label on his beer bottle. “They want me to speak again tomorrow, someone didn’t show.”
“Oh, shit,” your face scrunches up as you take a sip, “you gotta make up a new presentation tonight?”
He nods, lips bent, staring at his beer bottle. You lean onto the bar, “Why don’t you let San present?”
He looks up at you, eyes pointed, “Fuck no.”
“Why not?” You make a face like that was the only clear, viable option. “He has one ready to go, does he not?”
“I was asked to present,” his voice grows harsher, “me. Not him.”
“I know, but–”
“You know what, let me ask you something.” He sits up straighter in his stool, eyebrows bent above a look so sharp it could kill. “Are you sleeping with him? Is that why you didn’t answer me last night?”
You blink at him, thrice, “What–?”
“I saw you at the bar today,” he continues, voice utterly venomous, “then he said something to me, insinuating that you fuck. Or fucked. Or are fucking.”
“Do you think that low of me?” Your laugh is out of sheer disbelief. “That I’d fuck him, of all people? He flirts with me, and I don’t exactly stop him, but–”
His laugh mirrors yours, “Exactly. That’s exactly why he said that shit to me.”
“Why should I stop him?” You argue back, “It’s nice to hear that someone fucking wants me, my life is nothing but work and Kyungmin. Even when we were still married my life was nothing but work and Kyungmin, you had no interest in–”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” his voice is steady but bruising, “I’m not starting this argument with you again.”
“What, did you forget why I divorced you or something?” Your hands fly, eyes wide and piercing, “That I was sick of being married to a fucking machine?”
Wooyoung turns to face the bar again, shaking his head, “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m unbelievable,” your laugh has no warmth in it, “you just started being a father and I’m unbelievable.”
“I just started being a father?” He turns his head again, eyes wider than yours now, baffled. “Did you hit your fucking head or something?”
“We split up over a year ago,” your voice is nothing short of theatrical, “drop the fake-surprise, Wooyoung. It’s nothing you haven’t heard before.”
“And it’s all the same bullshit you’ve been spewing for years,” he takes a long sip of his beer, “maybe you should fuck San, he might be a better fit for you, you’re both liars.”
Slowly nodding, you sink into your seat, voice taunting, “He did say he’d make me forget you ever existed. That he’d fuck me better than you ever did. Should I find out? He’s coming down here tonight to get me, to bring me back up to his room…”
Wooyoung’s grip tightens around his beer bottle, eyes laser-focused onto the bar like the swirls in marble was the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. You grin.
“…He seems big, real strong, too. Bet he’d throw me around the room, maybe even get me pregnant again. Kyungmin would like a sibling, don’t you think?”
“What are you doing?” He finally looks at you again, voice ragged, angry and blunt.
You shrug, “Since you think me and Sannie would be so great together, I’m exploring options.”
As if it were a movie, something straight out of fucking Netflix, Choi San walks through the deep oak double-doors, still in his tailored suit, a cocky smirk spreading when he sees you. It widens, dimples showing when he spots Wooyoung beside you.
Wooyoung lets out a nasty chuckle, “You’re not kidding.”
“Why would I joke about it?” You lift a brow, “I told you, it was nice to feel wanted.”
“You wanna give Kyungmin a sibling?” He’s looking at you again, and his mismatched eyes are asking more than one question. Heat curls low, it’s been a long, long time since he’s looked at you that way, since he’s said anything more than a passive joke.
You swallow, words caught in your throat.
“Answer me, jagi,” he leans in closer, voice still laced with anger, but it’s morphed into something deeper, rooted in jealousy, in possession. He hasn’t called you that since before you brought up separating, it makes your lips part, eyebrows folding in just enough to crease at the center. “If you’re gonna give him a sibling, it’ll be with his father.”
Licking your lips, seeing nothing but truth and determination in his eyes, you find yourself nodding, whispering a short, “Okay.”
“Charge it to my room, 1117,” he tells the bartender, slamming a bill on the marble before grabbing you by the wrist, dragging you right past San without as much as a glance. You don’t even look at him, you don’t need to, clearly you’ve lost your fucking mind following Wooyoung to the elevators.
The moment the doors open he’s pushing you inside roughly, caging you in against the wall, forehead pressed to yours. “You wanna get fucked?”
You arch into him, whispering, “Yeah.”
“You want me to fuck you full? Get you pregnant again?”
“Fuck,” you whimper, fingers finding his jacket, “yes.”
You tug him closer by his jacket, tilting your head up to find his lips with your own. Your head is fuzzy, body charged with electricity from your argument, being in a goddamn elevator with him pressed to you, your leg lifts to clamp over his back, tugging him impossibly closer.
Nostalgic isn’t the word, it’s like muscle memory, how your lips messily tangle, tongues slotting into each other’s mouths how you’ve always done, two people who know each other better than anyone else. He groans, hips rutting into yours, making you moan into his mouth, hands flying up to his hair, tugging at his roots.
“You don’t want San,” he mutters into your mouth, breath heavy, voice rough. “You want me.”
“Shut up,” you mumble back, chasing his lips, he doesn’t let you have them.
“Say it,” he urges, fingers digging into your sides, pushing you harder against the wall. “Say you want me.”
“I want to be fucked,” your voice is clipped, annoyed, “do it, before I go back to the bar.”
His chuckle isn’t amused nor entertained, it’s harsh and unforgiving and makes a chill down up your fucking spine. The elevator dings and he pulls away from you, turning around, leaving the elevator as if he’s completely unaffected. You follow after him, on his heel as he makes for his room, he doesn’t say anything as he places his card up against the sensor, pushing the door open when it rings green.
“Oh, you’re coming in?” He asks, face unreadable.
You pause with one foot through the doorway, “Does it look like I’m coming in?”
He lets go of the door as you walk inside his room, light walls, bare, it mirrors yours. He takes off his jacket, hanging it in the closet, “Thought you were gonna go get fucked by San, you want him to throw you around, don’t you?”
You whine, “Wooyoung.”
He pulls his shirt over his head, exposing his bronzy skin, his sculpted abdomen, his hipbones that poke out from above his waistband. You’re salivating taking in the sight of him, it’s been so long since you’ve seen him, touched him.
He starts unbuttoning his slacks, staring at you like he’s bored, “You want me or him?”
You don’t know why you’re putting up a fight. You agreed to this already, your lips still feel swollen, your fingertips are buzzing with need– but admission is letting him win, and you can’t let him win.
“I want,” you mumble as he pulls his zipper down, purposely flexing his body, staring at you through lowered brows. Your breath grows shallow, licking your lips as he pushes them down his thighs, “I want–”
“What?” He tilts his head, voice taunting as he kicks them off his feet, taking a step toward you. His length is prominent through his briefs, a wet spot clear on onyx nylon, “Tell me, jagi.”
“I want,” your fingertips tug at the hem of the zip-up on your upper half, eyes locked into how his veiny hand curls over his length, voice small from how deep into the daze you’ve sank already, “you.”
Approaching you, his height engulfing you, making you feel small, your head tilts upward to see him. His smirk grows, two fingers landing on your zipper, “You want who?”
He slides it down before you answer, jacket falling off your shoulders, revealing the black, lacy bralette you wore underneath. It’s comfortable, and you wore it for that sole reason, despite how it looks, but his jaw ticks when he sees it, chocolate eyes going deep, melted, burnt.
You watch as his fingers find the center, tugging on the elastic band, letting it snap back against your skin. You gasp, a small sound, looking back up at him with glassy eyes, “Stop toying with me and do something.”
“I’m not touching you until you do as I say.” Fingers sinking into the waistband of your sweats, he bends to tug them down your hips, leaving you nearly bare, slowly standing up straight again, his nose so close to your skin he nearly touches you. “Tell me who you want to fuck you.”
“You, you fucking prick,” your back arches as he reaches his full height again, “I want you to fuck me.”
An amused smirk spreads across his cheeks before he feigns a pout, “That was mean, mommy.” Taking his hands to your shoulders, his fingertips trail down your sides, dancing against your skin, his touch, that word, his tone making you shiver. “Be nice to me and I’ll be nice to you.”
“Why are you teasing me?” You huff, each touch feeling like zaps of electricity, it’s clear he wants to take his time, wants to get you worked up. You want him to fuck you, to ruin you, to put a baby in you, you don’t want him nice. “Fuck me already, Wooyoung.”
“We have time,” his hand hinds your hair, scratching into your scalp before running his fingers through it, cupping your cheek afterward. “No kid, no interruptions, just us. When’s the last time we had that?”
“Way before we split up,” you melt into his palm, soft against your skin, comforting. Home. Your voice comes out airy, almost a whisper, “Fuck, we shouldn’t be doing this.”
Guilt– already sneaking up your spine, he catches it before it has the chance to spread. “Why not?” His hand that was on your cheek slides down to your jaw, smiling down at you viciously before his grip tightens, “You want a baby, don’t you? Wanted to get fucked so badly you planned to fuck my coworker.”
You whimper as he moves you backward, eyes wide, skin sizzling. He pushes you down onto the bed with nothing but his palm on your face, “You wanted this, and you know there’s no one else who fucks you like I do. Say it.”
“No one else,” you whisper, back already arching as he crawls on top of you, “just you, Woo, no one else fucks me like you do.”
He sucks in a breath, almost a hiss, brows furrowing as his fingers hook into your panties, knees pressed to the mattress on either side of your legs. “You want my mouth? Or my cock? When’s the last time this pussy was stretched out, huh?”
“Mouth,” you lift your hips easy for him as he tugs your black panties down your thighs, “long time.”
“Long time?” He smirks, back to taunting, “Was the last person me?”
“Fuck you,” you grumble out, “do something.”
He sits up straighter and you can feel the cool air of the room on your already-wet core, knees pinning together. “Hiding from me now?” His voice makes you want to rip your fucking hair out. “When I’m the only person who can make this pussy cum? Be nice to me, mommy.”
“Stop calling me that,” your fingers tighten in the comforter below you, “it’s fucked up.”
“I used to call you that all the time,” his brows furrow, “you remember what you used to call me?”
You shake your head, whining, “Stop playing games, Wooyoung.”
“Just give in,” he smacks the side of your thigh, “I’m here, right in front of you, waiting for you to hump my nose like a bitch in heat like you always fuckin’ do. Just say the words, jagi.”
His words, the sting makes you moan, thighs tightening just to get some friction. Resistance is a band pulled taut, you finally feel something vital in you crack, the band snapping, your lips move before you can think about the defeated words leaving them. “Yes, the last person was you, daddy. Need your mouth, your cock, need you to do something– fuck me, please.”
His smile is feline, “There she is.”
Two hands on your knees spread you wide, he dives down to press his tongue flat to your core, eyes flying back into his head when he tastes you. You moan at the same time, your fingers flying down to tangle in his slick roots as he starts lapping at your folds, drinking up every drop you’ve accumulated.
“So sweet,” he moans into you, “missed this pussy.”
Your breath is leaving you in short, shallow puffs, but a cocky, hazy smirk forms on your lips despite the pleasure, “Who’s pussy?”
“Mommy’s,” he says with a smile, eyeing you from between your legs, so shameless it makes you giggle, cut off by a sharp, strangled moan when his nose runs over your clit. “Forget I know you? Like the back of my hand?”
“Been a long time,” you lift yourself up on one elbow, your other hand in his hair, feet hooked over his back as you grind your hips up against his mouth, his nose. “Fuck, feels good.”
His eyes flutter closed, letting your hips grind against him, tongue pushed out pointed, catching on your entrance with each grind of your hips. Your clit ghosts his nose and you gasp, you’re sensitive, you haven’t gotten head in years, you think. “Sh– it,” you stutter, “so good, Woo, ohmygod.”
He groans into you, arms wrapping around your thighs, fingers digging into your hips. Keeping you in rhythm, not letting you falter, he fucks your hips onto his face with perfect pace, each movement strategic, practiced like he did this regularly. It has you weak, toes curling, head dipping back, hips moving recklessly, quicker with each drag over his hot, wet mouth.
He’s loving it, face knitted up in bliss, his hips rutting into the mattress like he needed the relief. The noises you make are loud, lewd, a hymn of pleasure only he could give you, in harmony with the squelching sounds of his mouth against your core, so dirty and nasty it edges you further, brings the pit in your stomach forward like his mouth was a toy.
“Close,” you gasp and his fingers tighten on your hips, head nodding faster, in tune with your rocking hips. Your breath catches as his nose flicks over your clit, the same pace, same pressure, same rhythm, you stutter babbles as the pressure in your gut builds, sounds growing in pitch, muddling closer together, “Fuck, daddy, I’m g’na fucking cum.”
He moans into you like he knew the vibration of his voice would push you over the edge and it fucking does, the sound that leaves you is strained, loud, vulnerably shrill. Joints locking up, face scrunching, head tucked into your chest, you spasm beneath his hold and he rocks you through it, keeping you steady, his rhythm never once faltering as your pleasure hits his peak, rushing through you like a tidal wave, the strongest orgasm you’ve had in a long time.
He slows down with your shaking limbs that lose their speed, breath finally returning to you, heavy and desperate and relieving all at once. “Holy shit,” you breathe through the words, fingers loosening in his hair, tucking your arm beneath you, leaning on both elbows to look down at him. “Intense.”
His smirk returns tenfold, “Of course it was, I made you cum.”
You flatten out on the bed, a soft giggle escaping you as you roll your eyes, “Cocky.”
He presses one more soft kiss to your clit that makes you gasp, body jerking, “For good reason, did you hear yourself?”
You smack your lips, voice amused, “I have half a mind to leave now, asshole. Thanks for the big O, baby daddy, I’ll go back to my room now.”
He crawls on top of you, pulling your thighs down, flush to his own, leaning down so your foreheads are mere centimeters apart, “Baby daddy? Ex-husband is a better title than baby daddy.”
You tilt your chin up, smiling, “How about sperm donor?”
He presses his lips to yours, rough, soul-sucking, you arch into him, hips bucking up to gain friction again. He smiles into your lips, “So mean for someone who just came on her ex-husband’s face like a dirty fuckin’ slut.”
Something small, pitched and shaky leaves you from the tip of your throat, you throw your arms around his shoulders, pressing your lips to his again like you needed him. Tucking him into you, his hips dig against yours, his bare chest pressed flat, elbows landing on either side of your head. You kiss for a while, sloppy and messy and nostalgic, swapping spit like it was candy, tongues gliding into each other’s mouths like you were making up for lost time.
His hand slips between your bodies, two fingers adding pressure onto your clit, he groans at the wetness, the heat that bleeds into him. “So wet, she missed me, huh?”
“S-shit, inside,” you gasp, grinding your hips against his fingers, “please.”
He presses his lips to yours, kissing you once, twice before pulling away, keeping your chins touching, both of your lips parted and touching as he slips two fingers inside, moaning into each other’s mouths.
He curls them immediately, making you cry out, hands finding his hair again, fingertips clawing into his scalp. He hisses, “So tight, fuck, how am I gonna fit, huh?”
“You’ll– shi– ah, y-you’ll fit,” sensitivity looms, body twitching underneath him, clenching around his fingers that sink so deliciously deep. You kiss him again, grinding against his fingers that scissor you open, “You’ll make it fit.”
He smiles against you, fingers making quick work of your leaking core, “Missed this pussy, can’t believe you haven’t given it up to anyone else.”
“No time,” you whisper and he crooks his fingers angrily, making you squeal out a cry, “fuck!”
“Try again,” he slows, bottom lip ghosting yours, “get it right this time, or I’ll stop.”
“It’s yours,” you whimper, “I’m yours, fuck, I’m yours.”
He’s chuckling as he kisses you again, smiling into your mouth as his fingers massage the front of your walls, calculated and angled, like he was trained to make only your body sing. He stops only to tug his briefs down his legs and the chill that engulfs you is conscious, it reminds you who’s on top of you, who’s pulling these noises from the deepest part of your gut.
Tattoos on display, minus the one at the tip of his spine, skin littered with droplets of mocha, spots you’ve kissed enough times to be burned into your memory. Body lean, strong, angular and unforgiving, all you can do is stare at his beauty, let it calm you, excite you, resurrect you from the loneliness you’ve endured.
His cock springs up between his hipbones, leaking, red, it begged for you even if Wooyoung didn’t, you wonder if this is how he’s felt this whole time. “Missed you,” it slips out of your mouth, two involuntary words pulled straight from the back of your mind, an area gone untouched for over a year.
“Yeah?” He crawls back on top of you, “Missed me or fucking me?”
“Both,” your hands come up to cradle his cheeks, hooking your ankles over his back, “come over more.”
He laughs as he rests a hand on the back of your thigh, unhooking your legs as he pushes it backward, lining himself up with your entrance, “You haven’t invited me over since I moved out.”
“It’s not like you’ve asked to come over either.”
You gasp as he starts pushing inside, hands falling, back arching as he sinks into you inch by inch. His cock is heavy, the stretch is tight, it renders you silent, face scrunched up, a streak of searing heat with each new inch.
“Take it,” he sounds rough himself, voice edged with restraint. “Open up, jagi. This pussy’s mine, it wants me, it’s made f’me.”
Your fingers find his forearm, other hand clawing into the sheets as a broken cry leaves your lips, “Fuck.”
When he sheathes himself fully he leans down, planting a kiss to your slacked jaw, a soft press of his lips that makes you twitch, breath shaky. He plans another one on your lips, voice low, “I haven’t asked to come over because I know you don’t want me there.”
“I want you there.”
“You divorced me.”
“Then let’s get married again,” your whine is loud, core clenching, grinding your hips against his cock.
He laughs again before pulling out, a slow drag of his veiny cock against your walls, mushroom tip dragging against the spot against your inner walls, “You’re cockdrunk.”
He slams in all the way and your body locks up so hard you can’t breathe, his smile is condescending, pushing himself up until his back is straight, grip iron on your calf as he holds it over your chest. His abdomen flexes with each roll of his hips, fucking into you so deep you can feel it in your throat, you hold his gaze, eyes watering, brows furrowed, lips pried open.
“Look at you,” he cooes, “like the day I fuckin’ met you, so hungry for it. So desperate for my cock you wanna marry me again.”
“Shut up,” you whisper, bending your other knee just to feel him deeper, “just fuck me.”
“I am fucking you,” he argues, exuding something vile, “and you’re acting like you can’t get enough, it’s pathetic.”
You moan, back arching, holding your other leg back by tucking your hand under your knee, “I can’t.”
“I know, jagi,” he nods, eyes sliding down to where you meet, watching his own cock split you open, how your folds pulse around him, clit twitching. “No one fucks you like I do, right?”
You shake your head, body burning at the sound of him bullying into you, so wet and loud it’s obscene. Your voice comes out raw, shaky, “No one else, just you, daddy– shit, just you.”
He grunts, reaching for your other leg, bending down to throw them over his shoulders, hands planted down on the mattress on either side of your head. “You want me to fuck you full? Give you another baby?”
You reach for him, pulling him down to kiss you, all teeth and broken noises, “Y–es, daddy, please.”
The noise of wet skin slapping skin dances with your cries of pleasure in the air, Wooyoung’s muddled grunts mixing into the symphony, your hips raised to meet his thrusts and his cock dragging against that spot inside you that has you seeing stars, you wail. It’s too good, it’s overwhelming, you’ve never felt like this before, so consumed by pleasure and passion you don’t notice the tears spilling down your cheeks.
“Cryin’ for me?” He leans down to lick the tear that runs down your cheek, his tongue heavy, warm. He kisses you after, sloppy and slow, so unlike the brutal pace of his cock. “Gonna take care of you, mommy. Gonna give you another baby.”
You’re clenching around him nonstop, the pleasure sharp, his words making it so much worse. He frees one leg from his shoulder to tuck his hand between your legs again, pressing his fingers to your clit, “Cum around my cock, jagi. Let me feel it, wanna feel you cum.”
Your hips are bucking with no rhythm, an animalistic, pathetic need to obey him, you need him to reward you, to fill you up. His fingers work in precise circles, tight and harsh, it doesn’t take long for the pressure to build with his cock moving in the same flow. You go silent, breath caught, and he smiles.
“Gonna cum on daddy’s cock? Gonna give it to me?”
All you can do is nod, fingers curling into his hair, all you can do is lay there and fucking take it.
“Cum for me, mommy, c’mon.”
It pushes you over, pressure blowing just as intense as the first time, he fucks you through it, moaning, head turning to sink his teeth into your calf. You seize beneath him, nerve endings fried, mind-blowing pleasure the only thing you can feel, you don’t know what sounds are leaving you, what you’re saying, it’s all too much. He chokes on another moan, cock pulsing inside you, hips stuttering, you watch with glassy eyes as he tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, tilting his head to watch himself fuck into you.
“Please,” a small, broken word, it’s the only word you can manage, body still locked tight.
“Did so good,” he shakes his head, “fuck– gonna fill you up so full.”
“Look at me,” you whisper and he picks his head up, face contorted in pleasure, hips bucking. “Look at me while you fill me up, please.”
It makes his face twist, hips stuttering, a loud, extended moan pushing from the base of his gut before his hips move out of rhythm, fucking into you like you’re a toy, relentlessly chasing his own high.
“Gonna,” he stutters, you nod with each word, “gonna fill you up.”
“Uh-huh, please.”
His hips finally still, body falling forward, down to his elbows as he gives you the last few thrusts, deep enough for his release to hit its mark, to do as he promised. Warmth spreads through you, heavy, full, it racks a shiver through you, swallowing down a moan.
He tucks his face into your neck, breath heavy, he plants a soft kiss against your sweaty skin. With nothing to hold him back, he whispers, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” you answer, too earnest for what just transpired, arms wrapping around his back, nails trailing against his soft skin. “We haven’t said that in a long time.”
Face still buried, his words are muffled against your skin, “I think I’ll always love you.”
“So will I,” you say it like it’s obvious, voice heavy with exhaustion, “we have a kid together, Wooyoung.”
His cock twitches inside you, soft and spent, you can feel him smile. “Maybe two.”
“I’m not ovulating,” your hands come up to his hair, pulling his face away from your neck to look at you, “chances are low. You really want another one?”
“I thought you did, too,” his brows furrow, “what did we just say all that shit for?”
You shrug, “It was hot.”
He snorts, lowering his head to press his lips to yours, softer than the rest, slower. Filled with all the time you’ve gone untouched, spent separated, each one tearing down the tall, thick wall of resentment between you, brick by brick.
“Does this mean anything, then?” He finally pulls away to ask, and you’re becoming uncomfortably aware of him still inside you.
“Depends,” you whisper, shifting beneath him. Cocking your head, you ask, “Are you still a selfish, narcissistic asshole that only cares about his job?”
He shakes his head, mumbling, “No.”
“Okay,” you lift your chin, “prove it, then. Let San speak tomorrow.”
He snarls, “What the fuck does this have to do with San?”
You smack your teeth, brushing sweaty strands of hair out of his pretty face, “It’s a step forward. Do it and I’ll let you take me out on a date.”
He sits back on his calves, careful in his movements, he slips out of you slowly, intentionally. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your overly sensitive clit and it makes you gasp, hips twitching once. You smile through the stimulation, the feeling is nostalgic, something he used to do every time you had sex. You look up at him through heavy lids as he runs his hands up and down your thighs like he doesn’t want to stop touching you.
He finally huffs, “Okay, but I have to make a few calls and get it cleared first.” Leaning down to press a kiss to the side of your knee, he asks, “Do you wanna stay here tonight?”
“Can we shower and order room service and watch a movie?” The question comes quick, as if you knew he’d ask, you lift yourself up on your elbows as he starts crawling off the bed.
“Duh,” he grins, “c’mon, shower time and then we’ll call Kyungminnie.”
You gasp, a smile breaking out across your cheeks, “My baby.”
“Our baby,” he corrects, grabbing you by the ankles, pulling you to the edge of the bed, “Up.”