An exo smut shack 💌

It wasn’t very long ago when Chanyeol told me his tragic backstory of how Luhan had mistreated his family for the past few years. Especially in his sister’s case. Before I came into the picture, Park Yoora was the drug lord’s fuck toy, a cock sleeve that was always at his disposal for him to use.

And now that both Park siblings are directly involved in this mess of a situation, it doesn’t take much for an idiot like me to put the pieces together.

Luhan must have slept with Yoora in exchange for information about my whereabouts.

The mere morbid thought causes the knot of nausea in my stomach to tighten, and I feel sick rising in the back of my throat.

Chanyeol must have noticed my aghast facial expression and internal turmoil, judging by the smirk that ghosts the corners of his lips. His touch burns through me like a red-hot poker as the palm of his large hand meets my waist, dragging me into his embrace.

“Looks like you’re not the only one who has been fucking around, princess,” Chanyeol remarks airily. “Luhan and you really are two sides of the same coin.”

I force myself to swallow the lump rising in my throat, even as bitter tears prick at the back of my eyes. As much as I want to hold my tongue, to infuriate Chanyeol with ignorant silence, I know deep down that I’ve never been one to keep my mouth shut.

The words leave my lips before I even realize it. They roll off my tongue like venom, aimed directly at the monster holding me hostage.

“Shut the fuck up, you sick bastard.”

They are an instant trigger. Before I can even comprehend what is happening, Chanyeol’s hand resting on my waist flies up to grab a fistful of my hair, dragging my entire head backwards effortlessly.

The impact of the action almost causes my neck to snap. Not that he gives a fuck.

His iron grip on my hair doesn’t waver as his free hand comes up to wrap itself around my neck. Oxygen is instantly knocked out of me, causing me to gasp desperately as his thumb starts to press against my larynx threateningly.

“Repeat what you just said, whore.” The sneer pulling at the corners of his lips matches his jeering tone, making a mockery out of my predicament. Even in this state of me choking and gasping and knocking on death’s door, my sexual profession is still something that is thrown back in my face.

Even now, as spots swim before my eyes and I frantically claw at Chanyeol’s grip, I’m still spat on and mocked for being a whore. For being a slut. For sleeping with people to make a living, to put food on the table for myself.

It makes me want to die. In that moment, I want nothing more than for Chanyeol to crush my windpipe with his mere fingers and end my miserable life.

So I accept his challenge, lifting my chin defiantly and staring him right in the eye even as spots dot my vision. “I said,” I choke out, “shut the fuck up, you sick bastard.”

For the briefest of seconds, Chanyeol’s eyes widen in surprise. His thumb continues to dig into my throat, and the promise of my death hangs in the air like an unfulfilled wish. And just like that, he shoves my entire form away from him in pure disgust.

Like a piece of lint he flicked off his clothes, I go crashing to the ground as air rushes through my lungs like a tidal wave. Gasping and coughing feverishly, I lie there on the cold concrete, quivering like a leaf.

The promise of an early death slips through my fingers, and I’m torn between breathing a sigh of relief and shedding mournful tears. Dying at the hands of a monster could have been my sweet escape.

The outburst of boisterous laughter tears me out of my frazzled thoughts, and I peer up to see Chanyeol looming over me, his lips peeled back in a twisted smile. But his eyes are dead. Bottomless chasms of maliciousness.

This boy is a complete psychopath.

“Were you really that naïve to think that I would get rid of you so easily?” He asks incredulously. Mockery laces his words as always, and I loathe him for it.

I clench my teeth together so tightly that I’m surprised they don’t shatter. Instinctively, my eyes scan my surroundings for a quick escape, a door which I can scamper through and away from the monster who’s holding me captive.

The only door is the same one in which we entered from, and I know without a doubt that it is securely locked. Besides that, there are no windows. No back exits. I’m stuck, and it causes a sense of claustrophobia to wash over me.

My fingers curl themselves into white-knuckled fists as I slowly push myself off the floor and into a sitting position. I don’t look up at Chanyeol as I speak, allowing my tangled hair to fall over my face and act as a wall between both of us.

“You should have just killed me,” I whisper, my voice bouncing off the concrete walls and echoing through the depths of our souls. It’s almost like a forlorn cry. “You have no use for me, Chanyeol. I am just a whore, after all. A whore who happens to drive you up the wall and who is standing in the way of your plans to take Luhan down.”

“Nice try, sweetheart. But your self-pity has no effect on me.”

I don’t miss the way his gleaming white incisors glint in the fluorescent lights, a wolf ready to tear his prey apart.

***

Tearing down the traffic-filled streets of Seoul in his Lamborghini is not exactly the picture-perfect evening Luhan crafted in the rose-tinted glasses of his mind. All he wanted to do after spending hours in Yoora’s king-sized bed was to go back to his own home, put on some dull jazz music, and soak his aching body and soul in a warm bubble bath.

But his housekeeper obviously has other plans in store for him, none of which include some quiet time to unwind from the adrenalin and anxiety coursing through the drug lord’s veins for the entire day.

Chanyeol obviously possesses some lethal firearms at this very moment, and Luhan is definitely not going to let his psychotic housekeeper run wild while holding a young call-girl captive in his wake.

A young call-girl whom the drug lord is wholly and utterly obsessed with.

The blare of horns rip through the evening air, snapping Luhan out of his reverie. Curses leave his lips as he swerves sharply to the right, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with an oncoming taxi.

“Fucking hell,” the drug lord mutters under his breath. His heart thumps ferociously in time to his harried breathing, spurred on by the sickening anxiety gnawing away at him.

Keeping his attention glued on the road, he reaches into his pocket for his handphone – only to realize that his fingers brush against nothing but the silky fabric of his trousers. Great. It’s one thing to charge blindly into battle with his demented housekeeper; it’s an entirely different problem when the drug lord himself is uncontactable and nobody has a clue about his whereabouts.

He exhales wearily, taking a sharp right as he turns into a corner street. The bustling chaos of the city gradually fades into nothingness, allowing the drug lord to grow accustomed to the street’s unsettling tranquility. The low hum of his Lamborghini serves as the only sign of life in the vicinity, and it does nothing but add to his rising anxiety.

The knot in his stomach tightens as he stares out his car window, drinking in the nauseatingly familiar surroundings. A neon sign hangs over the entrance of the building at the far-end corner of the street, snagging the attention of anyone who happens to wander past.

THE RED X, it screams in bold, blinding letters.

Luhan’s fingers tighten on the steering wheel. It feels like just yesterday when he bought over this particular club and turned its backroom into a central hub for his own drug cartels and business-related “activities”.

To him, it was like child’s play; all he needed was the cooperation of The Red X’s boss in order to utilize the private spaces for his shady dealings. And he attained that easily with nothing more than half a million dollars. Money may not solve all of Mr Lu’s problems, but it keeps people’s mouths shut, and he’s not complaining about that.

His only mistake was carrying out deals with Park Chanyeol in The Red X’s backroom all those years ago. Now that his dear housekeeper knows about the safe space, he’s free to utilize it as a hostage area for (Y/N).

Not to mention that (Y/N) is probably held at a gunpoint at this very moment; the demented housekeeper is definitely giving the drug lord a run for his money.

Luhan leans forward to turn the ignition key, killing the engine instantly. Deafening silence fills the Lamborghini’s interior, and he presses the back of his wrists against his eyes with a heavy sigh.

Tainted images flash in his mind’s eye, and he shakes his head in a vain attempt to chase the intrusive thoughts away. Everything – his sins, his wrongdoings, his irreversible mistakes - comes flooding back to him all at once.

Tearing Chanyeol’s family apart. Robbing Yoora of her innocence. Bribing hundreds of companies in Asia for their silence to ensure Lu Corporations never falls. Killing off anyone who stands in his way. Selling his body to another woman to garner information about (Y/N)’s whereabouts.

Chanyeol may have a warped moral compass. But Luhan is the one who is truly corrupted. He’s inhumane. A murderer.

Out of pure habit, the drug lord utters a handful of Mandarin profanities. Not wanting to procrastinate or wallow in his pity party any further, he yanks open the car’s glove compartment and reaches for the gun inside. In the dim lighting of the car’s interior, the firearm’s steel coat glitters dangerously. It sits like a stone in his grip, prompting him to tighten his fingers around it.

Focus, Han. Get it over and done with.

He directs his gaze at The Red X, pinching his lips together in a grim line. It’ll only take a few minutes for him to march into the club and put a bullet in Chanyeol’s brain. Just like what he’d done to countless of people who dared to fuck him up in the past.

***

The pencil in Sehun’s grasp has been chewed beyond recognition, propelling the trembling receptionist to chuck it in the small bin beneath his desk.

That’s the third pencil of the night.

In the past few hours, he has been keeping himself occupied with gnawing away at his fingernails and the pencils littering his desk, overthinking, and waiting for Luhan to call him back with updates on (Y/N).

The drug lord had left in the late afternoon, providing Sehun with a cryptic explanation on where he was heading to.

“I know someone who may have clues on (Y/N)’s whereabouts,” Luhan had mumbled vaguely. “Just remain contactable for the time being. I’ll get back to you in a few hours.”

“Pompous asshole,” Sehun grumbles to himself now, kicking his feet up on the desk with an exaggerated huff.

After Luhan’s departure, the receptionist had no other choice but to drag himself back to the brothel, thanks to the darling drug lord who drove off in his hideous Lamborghini without a backward glance.

Rich people problems. If being rich means I’ll have to endure my lover being kidnapped by a crazy housekeeper and running round the whole damn country to find them, I’d rather be stone broke, Sehun muses to himself.

“Hey.”

Sehun glances up, finding himself meeting the eye of Kim Jongin, (Y/N)’s personal butler. Or as (Y/N) prefers to fondly refer to as Jeeves.

“Any news?” Jongin lingers a few feet away from the receptionist’s desk, wringing his hands together. There is a worried glint in the young butler’s eyes, and Sehun can understand why – as much as Jeeves doesn’t talk much, it’s obvious that he has grown fond of the bubbly call-girl in the past few years of working for her. It’s impossible not to; there’s something wholesome and pure about (Y/N) that makes her unforgettable.

“No,” the receptionist replies flatly. “And it seems like boss Lu has gone MIA on me too.”

“Luhan? He wouldn’t do so without a good reason, right? Based on what I witnessed previously, he seemed pretty smitten with (Y/N).”

“He’s an asshole,” Sehun fires back a bit too loudly.

A faint smirk plays on Jongin’s lips. “Didn’t you say something different last time?”

Sehun sniffs dismissively. “Well, I used to think he was a good match for (Y/N). I mean, come on; he’s rich, he smells good, he knows when to keep his dick in his pants. Hell, Lu likes him. That ferocious feline adores that fucker.”

“So, what’s with the change in perception now?”

“My god, Jongin. His housekeeper kidnapped my cinnamon roll, for fuck’s sake. What kind of housekeeper is that? What kind of people is Han mixing with? Either all of them must be a bunch of crackheads, or he has a tendency to piss people off. That drug lord is a walking red flag.”

Jongin absorbs the receptionist’s full-blown rant quietly, nodding along. “Makes sense.”

“And now he has gone all ghost on me,” Sehun curses. “What is this asshole playing at? I swear, when I get my hands on him-”

“Why not just drop him a call?” Jongin interjects politely.

“Don’t interrupt me, Jeeves. I’m thinking hard here.”

A beat of silence passes. The butler dips his head, hands clasped in front of him as he patiently awaits a response. That’s when Sehun unleashes a gasp, springing out of his chair as he does so.

“I got it!” The receptionist yelps. “I’ll drop Luhan a call.”

Jongin coughs, sending a pained smile in the receptionist’s direction. “What a great idea.”

Sehun pounces on his handphone lying on the desk, his fingers darting across the screen in swift motions as he punches in the drug lord’s number. A ringing tone fills the air as the receptionist puts the phone on speaker. It takes about six rings before a woman’s apprehensive voice blares out.

“Hello? Who is this?”

Sehun and Jongin exchange bewildered glances. Who is this woman? And why is she answering Luhan’s phone?

“Um…” Sehun clears his throat. “I should be asking you that. Where is Luhan, and what have you done with him?”

The woman unleashes a flurry of giggles, causing the hairs at the back of Sehun’s neck to rise. “Oh, you wouldn’t want to know what I’ve been doing to him,” the stranger quips back. “It’s a pretty nasty story.”

“I don’t know what kind of fucked up people Han is hanging out with, really.” Sehun mumbles to himself.

Jongin swoops in gracefully, swiping the phone from the receptionist’s grasp and placing his mouth near the speaker. “May we know who we are speaking to? We were hoping to get a hold of Luhan, as we’re unsure of his whereabouts. Do you happen to have any idea of where he might be at this very moment?”

On the other end of the line, the woman clicks her tongue as she digests Jongin’s questions. “Han left a while ago. But he was in a rush, and forgot to bring his phone along with him.”

“Well, that’s pretty obvious,” Sehun snaps. “Cut to the chase, ma’am; my best friend’s life is on the line, and over my dead body will I let anything happen to her.”

“I have no idea who you’re referring to.”

“Her name is (Y/N),” Jongin chimes in kindly. “She went missing a few days ago, and all we know is that Luhan was the last person who was with her.”

Silence fills the other end. The seconds crawl by, and it only adds on to Sehun’s increasing growing frustration. “Look, woman,” he growls, “whoever you are, you surely must possess a certain amount of awareness to know that that damned Lu bastard is the most infamous businessman in the country. And you must be someone of utmost importance if you can even get anywhere near Han’s phone. So, quit playing coy and spill the details of whatever you know. Now.”

The woman sighs deeply, as though Sehun is nothing more than a kid throwing a hissy fit. “Some things are better left unknown.”

Sehun inhales sharply. “Listen here-”

“But if you must know, I’m Luhan’s lover. I have been, way before (Y/N) even came into the picture.”

Jongin lets out a strangled gasp, staring down at the phone in disbelief. Sehun, on the other hand, drops his head into his hands in defeat. “Fuck you, Han,” the receptionist mumbles, his curses muffled by his palms. “Fuck you and your entire lowlife existence.”

The woman on the line continues speaking, her words hammering into the two bewildered men. “(Y/N) was taken hostage by Park Chanyeol, who happens to be Luhan’s housekeeper. He has his own reasons for going against Han, but I won’t bother going into the details of that sob story; a story you’re going to have to thrash out of the drug lord himself, if you ever get the chance to.”

Sehun lifts his head, gritting his teeth as he allows the woman’s explanation to sink in. Fucked up is an understatement to describe this situation. “And how the hell do you fit in this picture?”

“My name is Park Yoora, and Chanyeol is my younger brother. I sold myself to Luhan a long time ago to save my family. But in recent times, things have changed. And that’s all thanks to your dear friend (Y/N) who tipped the scales in Han’s cat-and-mouse game.”

Now composed from his previous shock, Jongin leans in towards the phone. “Yoora, we need your help. You mentioned that Luhan left a while ago – where is he going? And do you have any clue on where your brother and (Y/N) may be?”

“Telling you is pointless. You won’t be able to run to the police for help – they’ve been on the hunt for Luhan and his illegal drug cartels for years, and they’re hell-bent on taking him down. Unless you want him thrown behind bars, I suggest leaving the authorities out of this. And even if I do disclose info on their whereabouts, you won’t be able to barge in and magically sweep (Y/N) off her feet and run off into the sunset.”

Jongin and Sehun meet each other’s eye, communicating without words. The receptionist makes wild hand gestures, using his fingers to mimic a faux telephone and putting it up to his ear while mouthing ‘call the police now!’

In response, Jongin holds up a hand to calm the frantic receptionist down. The butler clears his throat before directly addressing Yoora once more. “Regardless of whatever you say, we want to know where (Y/N) and Chanyeol are. We won’t get the cops involved. Because we’re going down to save (Y/N) ourselves.”

Yoora’s laugh is bland. Devoid of emotion and dripping with disdainful sarcasm. “What’s in it for me if I disclose their location? I have nothing to gain from this.”

“Your brother’s guaranteed safety,” Jongin says earnestly. “Like I said, we won’t breathe a word to the authorities. Nobody will know about Luhan’s illegal business activities, or the fact that Chanyeol carried out a kidnapping. Plus, we’ll convince (Y/N) to not press any charges against your brother. That way, everyone is unscathed and free to continue their lives as per normal. And I’m sure that’s what you want, Yoora; I’m sure you don’t want (Y/N) to get hurt in any way. She is the innocent party, after all.”

Another beat of silence ensues. Jongin and Sehun await Yoora’s response with bated breath. It’s expected that the answer will be a flat-out no. What advantages does Park Yoora have, after all? A brother and a multi-billionaire lover behind bars? Doesn’t sound favourable to anybody.

So it catches Sehun and Jongin off-guard when she finally provides them with her answer.

“They’re at The Red X downtown. Good luck. You’re gonna need it.”

***

Being held at a gunpoint by a volatile housekeeper is not my ideal evening. But it’s not like I have a choice when it comes to situations like these.

Backed up against a wall in a club’s dingy backroom, I raise my hands in meek surrender, frozen in place with a gun pointed straight at me.

I’m torn between passing out on the spot, and throwing up at Chanyeol’s feet. My body is completely lost, unsure of how to react. Do I laugh through my tears? Or do I cry through my fear?

Without warning, I bark out a manic laugh. Looks like it’s the former.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” I choke out. The words are thickened with tears, my voice trembling uncontrollably. But my grin never wavers. Something in me has snapped, unravelling rapidly like as though someone has just tugged on the loose thread of my sanity. “If you’re going to put a bullet in my brain, don’t hold back.”

If I’d blinked, I would have missed the subtle surprise flitting across the features of the man holding me hostage. But it’s there, clear as day – the twitches of his eyes, the slight quivering of the gun in his hands.

At the end of it all, his threats are empty. Park Chanyeol is not a murderer; he’s not used to a cutthroat, dysfunctional lifestyle. Because if he were, he wouldn’t be where he is today – suppressed by a filthy-rich drug lord, subjected to his tyrant rule and left with no other choice but to turn against him.

At the end of it all, Chanyeol is not Luhan. And he is not me.

“Holding me hostage isn’t going to change a thing for Luhan,” I spit out. I direct my glare at Chanyeol, staring him right in the eye as my next words drip off my tongue like venom. “After all, I’m not the only whore he’s been shacking up with.”

Chanyeol’s reaction is instantaneous. Before I can catch my breath, he lunges forward and grabs me by the throat, slamming me back against the wall. My skull collides with cold concrete, sending waves of nausea coursing through my system as he shoves the barrel of his gun against my jaw.

“Call my sister a whore again, and I’ll make sure your brains cover every inch of that fucking wall behind you,” Chanyeol snarls. His breath is like acid, hitting the side of my face and causing me to flinch away.

A bang resounds out, deafening enough to shake the walls. The door swings open, violent enough to ricochet back and slam itself in the face of the intruder. But that does not deter him.

“Motherfucker!”

Fury is blatant in Luhan’s eyes as he wastes no time in firing his first shot. It misses us by a hair’s breadth, the bullet piercing a clean hole through the wall behind us.

On Chanyeol’s end, he maintains his iron grip on me, his hand tightening around my throat as he whips around and fires at the encroaching drug lord with vengeance.

The next few seconds seem to slow as Luhan breaks into a run, throwing himself behind the protection of a nearby armchair. Bullets tear through the air, ripping through the chair and leaving dozens of unsightly bullet holes in the faded fabric.

“Give it up, Han!” Chanyeol yells. The pad of his thumb digs into my larynx, causing me to gasp and scrabble at him uselessly. As usual, he pays no regards to my suffering. “Grow some balls and face me like the big fucktard you’ve always claimed to be!”

The breath hitches in me as I stare at the ruined armchair with wide eyes – watching, waiting for a sign of life.

“A big fucktard whom you’ll never be,” is Luhan’s calm, disembodied reply. The drug lord does not need to be seen for his presence to be felt; despite being fully hidden by the armchair, he still stands tall. Taller than the scumbag holding me hostage.

“You’re a fucking cunt, Han,” Chanyeol sneers.

“Tell me something I haven’t heard before, for the love of God. You’re getting boring, Park. Are you losing your spunk?” I can almost see Luhan rolling his eyes, and for the briefest of moments, a faint smile tugs at my lips. That’s the drug lord I know and love.

“Enough of your fucking childish games,” Luhan continues, his words falling like the sharp crack of a whip. “Kidnapping a young call-girl and holding her hostage just to get back at me? Real classy, asshole.”

“I guess that’s the only way to get your attention,” Chanyeol remarks bitterly. “Considering that you’re too busy making millions and ruining people’s lives and fucking around with whores, eh? How was it like shacking up with my sister after so many years? Was it a nice, heartfelt reunion? Or was it a mind-blowing fuck-fest? And to think that you did all that just to get this one” – he gives me a not-so-gentle throttle – “back. You’re really something, Han. I would be genuinely surprised if HIV doesn’t kill you before I do.”

Listening to Chanyeol’s tainted words and hearing him recount the despicable details of Luhan’s sexual escapades is more than enough to instill a sick feeling within me. It’s like a seed has been planted deep in my heart, slowly but surely sprouting into deep-rooted hatred and jealousy.

I’m a fucking hypocrite. Here I am, relishing in the countless of fucks with Chanyeol for the past few days. And on the other hand, I have the audacity to crucify Luhan for his revolting acts.

But the hypocrisy of it all doesn’t extinguish the growing flame of anger in me. And that flame is further fuelled by Luhan’s cold response.

“Two can play at your game, Park. You fucked my girl, and so I screwed your sister so good that she’s willing to turn her back on you.”

I drive my knee in between Chanyeol’s legs with all my strength, and instantly, a rush of oxygen surges through my lungs as my captor releases his grip on my throat with an anguished howl. He stumbles backwards, the gun slipping from his fingers and clattering on the concrete ground.

In the next few seconds, my actions are driven purely by instinct. The need for survival. I dive for the firearm on the ground, the familiarity of the gun’s icy steel surface sending a chill through my bare fingertips.

My elbow locks itself in place as I point the lethal weapon straight at Chanyeol. From the corner of my eye, I see Luhan emerge from his hiding position behind the armchair, his own gun brandished in the housekeeper’s direction. The drug lord shifts his gaze between us warily, his index finger dancing on the trigger.

“(Y/N).” Luhan’s voice is unsteady as he speaks my name for the first time in what seems like eternity, the tremors in his tone matching the way the firearm trembles in my hand. “(Y/N), put the gun down. I’ll settle this.”

“Shut up,” I choke out. Everything around me falls away, blurring at its edges as sudden tears well up in my eyes. Before I can comprehend what I’m doing, I whip around and point my gun directly at Luhan, inhaling sharply as I do so. The weapon trembles feverishly in my hand, but I pay it no mind.

Luhan’s eyes widen, his mouth agape as he holds up both hands in surrender. “(Y/N), what are you doing?”

“Who the fuck are you to question me?” I snarl at the flabbergasted drug lord. “Who the fuck do you think you are to talk about me as though I’m some trophy to be won? Is this what it’s all to you? Some sick game between you and Chanyeol to see who can have the best fuck? Just because I slept with your housekeeper, that gives you the go-head to sleep with his sister? Fuck you, Han.”

Every poisonous word that leaves my lips is a stab to both me and Luhan. Whatever pretentious paper house of love we’ve built together for the past three years is smashed and torn down by me. And it kills me inside to do so. But yet, I’m unable to find it within me to stop, to pull the handbrake on my hurricane of pent-up emotions.

“All this time, I’ve been trying to get it across to you that we can’t be together,” I bite out. “Do you think I don’t know about the people you’ve murdered to make sure that your fucking drug business stays afloat? Do you think I’m clueless about the inhumane way you treat your employees and how you crush them beneath your foot of wealth and power and authority? Tell me, Han; how the hell do you expect me to be with a murderer? And how the fuck do I expect you to be with me, a whore?”

“You finally admitted it out loud,” is Chanyeol’s mocking response. His smug gaze flicks between my tear-streaked face and Luhan’s wide-eyed expression. “Congratulations, (Y/N). You’ve accepted your place in society; you’re nothing but a piece of meat to be used and chucked aside.”

The bang that resounds in the air is deafening, almost splitting my eardrums in the process. My arm jerks backwards violently from the force of the shot. The blood roars in my ears like a thunderstorm in its own right.

Chanyeol goes crashing to the ground like a rock falling out of the sky, the back of his skull slamming against the ground. A bullet hole punctures itself cleanly through the left side of his chest, dangerously close to his heart.

There he lies flat on his back, his glassy eyes wide open. One might presume him to be dead, but I know better.

Choked laughter rouses from Chanyeol’s corpse-like form. He turns his head a fraction, his eyes devoid of any last sliver of humanity as he flicks one last glance between me and Luhan.