bunny’s universe 💗

“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.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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.

© KISSSAN do not copy, repost or modify my work.

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

“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?”

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.

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.” 

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.

happy early birthday yuyu !

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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.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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.

“I’m gonna kill them.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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.”

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.

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.