𝖧𝗈𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝗋𝖽!𝖩.𝖸𝖧 𝗑 𝖡𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖦𝗂𝗋𝗅!𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋
“𝑩𝒂𝒃𝒚, 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏'𝒕 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰'𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒋𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒕𝒚𝒑𝒆”
Thinking of Hot Nerd!Yunho being obsessed with a girl in their friend group who likes pissed and possessive men.
You hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
But Yeosang had pointed the empty soju bottle at you like it was a weapon of truth, Wooyoung was already grinning like he knew every secret you’d ever had, and San was chanting “TRUTH, TRUTH, TRUTH” while draped across your lap like a cat with abandonment issues.
Which exactly what he was.
So of course you ended up blurting it out.
“I think—” you paused, grabbed a handful of chips, shoved them in your mouth for courage, “—guys who get pissed and… possessive are kinda hot.”
Silence. The kind that makes you instantly want to walk into the ocean.
Hongjoong blinked. Seonghwa choked on his beer. Mingi froze mid-sip. Jongho looked scandalized. Wooyoung fist-pumped the air like he’d just won a bet.
And Yunho…He didn’t move.
He just stared at you through his round glasses, jaw ticking, the controller still in his hands even though the game on the screen had gone idle.
He looked calm. He always looked calm.
But you knew that little vein in his neck only popped when he was two seconds away from snapping at someone. Usually you.
You expected a snarky comment. Something like, “Wow, shocking. The girl who reads morally questionable romance likes toxic behavior. Who could’ve guessed?”
He just pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and said, low, almost annoyed.
“…Why would you find that hot?”
It wasn’t the usual Yunho annoyance.
This one was deeper. Rougher. Like you’d said something you shouldn’t have said. Like you just handed him a secret you didn’t know he’d been dying for.
Before you could answer, Wooyoung ruined the tension. of course, classic woo.
“Bro she means you,” he cackled.
You whipped your head around, scandalized.
“Oh yeah?” Wooyoung grinned. “Then why do you blush every time Yunho tells you to get off his desk?”
“That’s because he says it like he’s scolding a naughty toddler!”
“Or a naughty girl,” San sang with absolutely no shame.
You were going to strangle all of them one of these days. Probably today. Yeah, today was a good day for murder, you could pencil it in.
But when you risked a glance at Yunho, ready for him to look disgusted or irritated…
His eyes were on your mouth, your lips specifically. His grip on the controller had gone white-knuckled. And he looked like he was one inhale away from doing something reckless.
“I’m going to the kitchen,” he said, way too sharp, way too controlled. “(Y/N). Come here.”
Wooyoung let out a strangled gasp that was way too excited.
That tone. That command. That audacity.
Yeah… you were in trouble and Yunho looked like he planned on enjoying every second of it.
You didn’t mean to. You also didn’t understand why your legs were moving like they belonged to someone else.
Maybe it was habit. Yunho tells you to do something and your dumb little brain just said go do. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe you had a death wish. And he was hot.
Halfway across the living room, you stopped dead and hissed under your breath, “Wait—why the heck did I listen to you?”
From the couch, Wooyoung snorted so hard he wheezed. San started clapping like you just delivered a punchline. Jongho muttered, “Honestly? I wondered the same thing.”
Yunho didn’t even turn around.
“(Y/N). Don’t make me ask twice.”, He just said, voice low but slicing clean through the noise.
Oh that tone again. That audacity again!
You grumbled, “This is peer pressure.”
“It’s literally not,” Mingi said helpfully. “This is just you being weak.”
By the time you slipped into the kitchen after him, the door swung shut behind them with a quiet click that sounded way too ominous.
Yunho was leaning against the counter, hands gripping the edge like he needed something to hold onto. He was facing the wall, shoulders tense, his glasses reflecting the fridge light.
He didn’t have to. The air was already too thick.
You cleared your throat, trying to look brave. You were not.
“Okay. What? Why am I here? Why are we—” you waved vaguely, “—kitchen-ing?”
He exhaled, slow, annoyed.
“Why would you say something like that in front of them?”
“I was answering a game!”
“You dared Mingi to lick the ceiling fan last round. We’re not exactly in a ‘lie-friendly environment.’”
Silence. The thick tension kind.
Then Yunho finally turned toward you.
His eyes were dark behind his glasses, his jaw clenched, that calm mask cracked right down the middle.
“You really think that’s attractive?” he asked. “Pissed men. Possessive men.”
You threw your hands up. “Not like—serial killer level! Just—hot in fiction, okay? Like… spicy! Attractive! Not—actual life problems!”
He took one step toward you. You took one back.
He took another. You ran into the counter.
Fantastic. Super fucking tastic!
He put a hand on the counter beside your hip, caging you in without touching you.
His voice dropped a full octave.
“Then why do you listen to me?”
Your breath caught. “W-What?”
“You heard me.” His eyes flicked down to your lips and back. “Why do you listen to me every time I tell you to do something?”
Your pulse thudded in your ears. Your voice dropped without your permission.
“Maybe I just… don’t want to fight with you.”
He leaned in, close enough you could feel his breath on your cheek.
“Or maybe,” he murmured, “you like when I sound like that.”
You swallowed. Hard. “I—no—maybe—SHUT UP—”
He smirked. Actually smirked. Like a cocky bastard that finally got what he wanted. The glasses. The sharp jaw. That smug little curl of his lip.
“You shouldn’t say things like that, Princess,” he said softly. “Not if you don’t want someone…”
His gaze dropped, lingering on her mouth again,
“…to give you exactly what you’re asking for.”
Your knees nearly gave out.
Okay, fine. Late was generous.
You were dodging the whole friend group. Like an Olympic-level avoider. Like “I can’t deal with the fact I almost melted into Yunho’s glasses-wearing chest last night” avoider.
But the boys? They did not allow peace. What is peace? Who is she?
Their group chat had been a violent battlefield all morning.
answer before these idiots do something stupid
they told me to call the police
for my sanity please answer
WHY ARE YOU IGNORING US DO YOU HATE US NOW
It was that last one that made you fling yourself out of your apartment door.
So now here you were: standing in front of their living room doorway with three bags of Japanese takeout hoisted like you were carrying sacred offerings to a nest of hungry dragons.
You walked in, cleared your throat dramatically, and announced, “I come bearing peace offerings. Please don’t kill me.”
Seven sets of eyes snapped towards you. Every single one reacted differently.
Wooyoung gasped. “SUSHI?? You brought sushi???”
Mingi was already reaching for a bag like a starving toddler.
San actually pouted. “I thought you hated us.”
Hongjoong, looking exhausted, “Thank god. They’ve been loud for an hour.”
Seonghwa gave you a soft, knowing smile. “We’re glad you’re here.”
Yeosang nodded in approval like you were finally making rational life choices. Feeding them.
Jongho simply held out a hand for the food like the polite little menace he was.
And then there was Yunho.
He was on the couch, controller in hand, glasses on, hood up, looking very much like he wasn’t paying attention.
Except his eyes tracked you from the second you entered.
His expression unreadable. Body still.
Jaw tight. Stefan Salvatore level brooding.
You swallowed and put the takeout on the coffee table.
“I didn’t ignore you,” you said quickly. “I was… busy.”
“Liar,” San said cheerfully.
“Avoiding us,” Wooyoung sang.
“Avoiding someone in particular,” Hongjoong muttered without looking up from his phone.
You froze. Your cheeks warmed.
You didn’t look at Yunho.
You refused. Absolutely refused. No way in hell. Never.
But he didn’t make it easy.
Because he finally spoke, voice low and mild, “You could’ve just said you needed space.”
But then he continued—soft, almost dangerous, “Running away never works on us.”
Wooyoung, of course, ruined your life again. At this point? It’s his hobby.
He leaned across the couch toward you, grinning like the devil. “Hey, pretty. Did you run away because of the kitchen?”
You almost face-planted into the sushi. Nooo, your California rolls…
“I—WHAT—NO—THE KITCHEN WAS—NOTHING HAPPENED—”
“Ohhh,” Mingi said, eyes sparkling. “So something DID happen!”
“There was proximity involved,” Seonghwa observed calmly, sipping tea like this was a documentary.
“Yunho looks proud,” Jongho pointed out.
You choked on said California roll. You whipped toward Yunho, ready to deny, deflect, or combust. And he wasn’t looking proud.
He was looking at you like you were prey who wandered willingly back into the lion’s den.
Slowly, he tilted his head and said, “Eat first.” Then he paused before adding more quietly, “We’ll talk later.”
You should’ve brought more peace offerings. Wine next time. Or money.
The boys were already halfway through the food when you plopped onto the armchair, trying to be small, invisible, forgettable and failing spectacularly because Wooyoung immediately leaned over the back of the couch like a nosy crow.
“So, princess, what book did you sink your paws into this week?”
You perked up instantly, your traitorous little bookworm heart in full bloom.
“Oh! It’s a spicy dark romance,” you beamed, practically glowing. “All that masked men shit. You know, the mysterious, pissed, morally questionable ones—”
Every single man in the room turned towards you like you just confessed to a crime.
San dropped his chopsticks. Yeosang blinked at you slowly, judgment softly radiating.
Jongho made the sign of the cross. Mingi nudging him, “Aren’t you an atheist?”
“After that? I think i believe in God.”
Hongjoong muttered, “Why do you read this stuff?”
Wooyoung looked DELIGHTED.
“Ohhh no wonder you looked like you were gonna pass out when Yunho cornered you in the kitchen.”
You kicked him. He yelped. Worth it.
Yunho didn’t react at first.
He just took a slow sip of his drink, eyes on the TV, expression calm.
Then he glanced at you over the rim of his can. It was a tiny look. Barely a second. But it held EXACTLY the kind of energy you were describing.
Mask. Mystery. Heat simmering under a quiet surface.
Your cheeks exploded into flames.
San pointed at you dramatically. “YOU’RE BLUSHING! SHE’S BLUSHING AGAIN!”
“Fraud,” Yeosang declared. “She claims she doesn’t like him like that and yet—”
“—she melts like cheese on a grill every time he breathes in her direction,” Wooyoung finished.
You grabbed a pillow and launched it.
“Anyway!” Hongjoong cut in before murder occurred. “Let her read what she wants. At least she’s not into those weird billionaire books—”
“Oh no, I love those too,” you said cheerfully, “I love rich possessive men.”
Seven men groaned in unison.
But Yunho… he just set down his drink.
“Of course you do,” he murmured.
And there it was again—that tone. Quiet, deep, mocking but not… mean. More like he was deciphering you. Peeling you open.
The teasing continued for another hour:
Wooyoung reenacting your kitchen panic. San showing “dramatic reenactments of your blushing condition”. Mingi suggesting they all wear masks to see who you’d fall in love with. Jongho preventing that with the authority of an exasperated dad
Not constantly. Deliberately.
Just enough for you to feel it slide under your skin each time.
Eventually, the food ran out, the teasing fizzled into a movie, and one by one the boys drifted off to other rooms.
You stayed in the armchair, curled up, pretending to scroll your phone. Hoping he forgot about the “talk later.”
Yunho finally stood and nodded toward the hallway.
Your phone screen dimmed.
Your heart said: bad idea
Your legs said: okay daddy
You followed him down the hall to his room, which he closed with a soft click.
Great. Enclosed space. Forced proximity. Zero witnesses. This was a way for you to go. And Yunho looking like every quiet man in every dark romance you ever read.
Fuck. What in the Killian Carson? You only knew Jeong Yunho.
He leaned against his desk, arms crossed, gaze steady.
“That is a wild accusation—”
You winced. “Okay. Maybe a little.”
Because I almost kissed you.
Because you looked at me like you wanted to bite me.
Because I might want that.
Because my knees turned into jelly when you called me out.
“I just didn’t want things to be awkward.”
“Awkward,” he repeated slowly. “You think that’s awkward?”
You tugged your sleeve anxiously. “It wasn’t—NOT awkward—just… a lot.”
“What? No! I’m not scared—”
“…because you get all—” you gestured helplessly. “—bossy and intense.”
Absolutely not in a real-world-danger way but definitely in a my-brain-goes-dumb way—
You whispered, “I don’t know.”
Yunho reached up slowly, giving you every chance to move and tugged lightly on your sleeve.
Just a brush. Barely a touch.
His voice dropped to that dangerous whisper again.
“You said you like possessive men, princess.” A tiny pause.
“You ever wonder why that got to me?”
Your breath hitched. Your heart thudded against your ribs.
And he, mr. calm, controlled Yunho finally let something slip.
“Because I’ve been trying really damn hard not to be that way with you.”
Silence. Thick, electric, inevitable.
“Jagiya,” he murmured, eyes darkening, “I’m not going to pretend I don’t want you.”
He caught you by the wrist. Gentle yet firm enough to make you feel every word he wasn’t saying.
“You ran once,” he said softly. “Don’t run now.”
You had made the grave mistake of running ahead of the boys to grab a table at their favorite diner.
In practice? Catastrophic.
Because when you slowed down near the entrance to check the menu posted outside, a tall guy—maybe college-age, cute in a golden retriever way—smiled at her and said something.
And you—sweet, polite, non-confrontational you smiled back.
That was the spark. The match. The atom bomb.
By the time the boys caught up, they froze as one organism, staring at the sight in front of them like they were witnessing the beginning of the end.
“Oh look,” Wooyoung whispered loudly enough for people inside the diner to hear, “our kitty is talking to a guy.”
San glared daggers. “Pretty doesn’t talk to guys. She talks to us.”
Hongjoong sighed like a stressed father. “She is allowed to talk to people.”
Yeosang hummed. “He’s smiling too much. I don’t trust that.”
“She said she was going to the bathroom—this is not the bathroom!”, Mingi whined.
Poor Seonghwa, tried to be the rational one among the eight, “She’s just being polite.”
“She’s too polite. That’s the problem.”, Jongho deadpanned, crossing his arms.
And then… we have Yunho. He stepped forward. Slow. Dead quiet. His hands in hoodie pockets. His jaw clenched so tight you could hear it creak.
The others instantly straightened like their unofficial wolf had arrived.
Wooyoung whispered, “Uh oh.”
San nodded. “He’s in murder mode.”
Mingi hid behind Seonghwa. Jongho actually crossed himself again.
“Dude, you are not a catholic!”
“Times like this, you need God!”
Yunho didn’t all of that background noise. Because Yunho didn’t say anything at first. He just stared at the guy.
Stared. Hard. If looks could kill? That guy would’ve been escorted to the morgue.
Then… finally he said something.
“My princess,” he said calmly. It was soft. Almost conversational. Like it was fact. Which to him? It was.
But the boys all choked on their oxygen like this was the most intimate declaration ever heard.
And you. Poor, unsuspecting you, who was mid-laugh at something the guy said, blinked and turned around.
He stepped beside you, just close enough to bump your shoulder with his arm like it was an accident, then looked the stranger up and down.
“Not right now,” he said to the guy, voice still terrifyingly polite.
The man blinked. “Uh—sorry, I didn’t mean—”
Yunho cut him off with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
You sputtered. “EXCUSE ME—???”
Wooyoung whooped. San fist-pumped. Mingi looked ready to cry with excitement. Hongjoong dragged a hand down his face. Yeosang whispered, “Bold move, but I respect it.”
The guy backed up slowly, hands raised. “My bad, man—I was just asking for directions—”
“No,” Yunho replied, still smiling, “you weren’t.”
He turned his head slightly, eyes flicking down to you.
“Inside,” he told you softly. “Now.”
Wooyoung screamed externally.
You stomped toward the door, face blazing, but you followed. Of course you followed.
Your legs: as you wish, sir
Yunho walked in right behind you, hand hovering at your lower back like he so badly wanted to touch you and was using seventy percent of his self-control not to.
The seven idiots poured in after them, vibrating with gossip energy.
The waitress hadn’t even brought menus before Wooyoung leaned across the table.
“Sooooo,” he started, wicked grin spreading, “Yunho. ‘My princess’? ‘She’s taken’? You wanna explain that? For science?”
You buried your face into your hands. “I want to leave this planet.”
Yunho didn’t blink. “He was flirting.”
“He asked for directions,” you groaned.
“Same thing,” Mingi whispered.
San nodded sagely. “If a man breathes in Ari’s direction, it’s flirting.”
Yeosang added, “He shouldn’t have smiled that wide.”
Hongjoong muttered, “You’re all insane.”
Jongho bought a milkshake like this was a front-row seat to drama.
You turned to Yunho, ready to scold him, but he was already looking at you.
Not smug. No, although you expected Not apologetic. Yeah, since when he felt apologetic?Just… intense. Quiet, simmering, razor-focused.
“You were ignoring us,” he said simply. “Then you smiled at him.”
“And I didn’t like that.”
Your pulse skipped. At this point, your heart was doing a workout.
His voice dropped. Soft. Firm. Unmistakably possessive.
“I’ll be honest with you if you want me to.”
The table went dead silent.
Hongjoong mouthed stop. both of you.
You swallowed, heart kicking up. “…Okay,” you whispered. “Be honest.”
Yunho leaned in slightly, gaze locked on yours.
“That wasn’t jealousy,” he murmured. “That was restraint.”
Then he added, quieter, “And trust me… you haven’t seen me jealous yet.”
The entire table combusted. Jongho signed a cross again.
“DUDE YOU ARE AN ATHEIST!”
“TIMES LIKE THIS NEED GOD!”
The boys planned a full-day hangout at their place, the usual movies, snacks, gaming, the usual chaos.
You arrived perfectly normal. Smiled at everyone.
Hugged Mingi. High-fived Jongho. Let San put you in a headlock-hug. Even sat next to Wooyoung so he could drape himself across your shoulders like a human scarf.
Except for one very intentional thing: you didn’t look at Yunho.
Not when you greeted everyone.
Not when you plopped onto the couch between Wooyoung and San.
Not even when he walked into the room, hoodie sleeves pushed up, glasses sliding down his nose, the picture of effortless “dangerously handsome nerd.”
You just… pretended he didn’t exist.
It was a bold strategy. A brave strategy. A strategy that had Wooyoung’s eyes widening with scandal immediately.
San leaned close, whispering, “What are you doing? He’s going to explode.”
“That’s the point,” you whispered back, sipping your drink with innocent eyes.
Across the room, Yunho paused mid-step.
Saw you sitting comfortably between two of the most clingy men in their friend group.
Saw Wooyoung leaning his head on your shoulder.
Saw San playfully nudging your knee with his.
And he waited. Just a second. Expecting you to wave at him, smile at him, acknowledge him—
You looked right past him.
Yeosang’s eyebrows shot up. Mingi bit his knuckle. Jongho put his drink down like, oh this is gonna be good. Hongjoong muttered, “Well. He’s going to take this personally.”
And Yunho…? He didn’t say a word. This was personal.
He walked past the couch, calmly, too calmly, and sat in the armchair across from you.
Not the one next to you. Not the one at an angle. Directly across. Where he had the perfect view of you.
You felt it instantly—his stare digging into you like a thousand quiet questions:
Who told you to sit there?
Why are they touching you?
Why aren’t you looking at me?
Do you think I’m going to let this slide?
You lifted your drink and took another sip. Still didn’t look at him. You were being brave. This was definitely not a death wish.
Wooyoung leaned in, whispering, “This is the hottest shit you’ve ever done.”
San whispered, “He’s psychically screaming.”
You laughed at San’s dumb commentary.
You threw popcorn at Wooyoung.
You leaned your head back on the couch and relaxed like you were finally having a Yunho-free moment.
But every few minutes, you felt it. Yunho’s stare.
Unblinking. Unrelenting. Possessive in silent, simmering waves.
Halfway through the movie, Seonghwa paused it.
Everyone stood, except Yunho.
Because you were pretending you needed to text someone.
Wooyoung passed behind you, whispering, “He’s about to snap.”
San whispered, “I’ll pray for you.”
“Shut it Hojong and move.”
When they finally stumbled out of the room, leaving just the two of them, the door clicked shut.
You kept your eyes glued to your phone like you didn’t feel the heat from his stare cooking you alive.
Then Yunho spoke. His voice was soft. Too calm for simmering tension.
You didn’t look up. “Mm?”
Your heartbeat fluttered. “What?”
You smirked behind your phone.
Then the armchair creaked.
He stood. Slow footsteps towards you.
You finally looked up just in time for him to reach your side of the couch and lean down, one hand on the cushion beside your hip, the other braced on the back of the couch, trapping you between his arms.
His voice was a low whisper, brushing her ear, “You’re done testing me.”
Your breath caught. Gotcha.
His nose grazed your temple.
“You ignored me for three hours. You let them touch you.”, His breath warmed your cheek.
“And you know exactly what that does to me.”
“You’re overreacting,” you whispered.
He gave a soft, humorless laugh.
His fingers curled lightly into the cushion near your hip—just shy of touching you.
“You’re playing with fire.”
“And you like it,” you breathed.
Finally he turned your face toward him with the gentlest touch of his knuckles.
“I’d like it more,” he murmured, eyes dark, “if you did it alone with me. Not as a show for everyone else.”
“…Maybe I wanted you to react.”
He leaned closer to your lips, inches apart, “You want to keep playing these games? Fine. But I promise…”
His voice dropped to a whisper that curled straight down your spine.
The door burst open. San yelled, “ARE YOU TWO—OH MY GOD THEY’RE SO CLOSE—”
You shoved Yunho back so fast he actually stumbled.
Not smug. Not mocking. Just satisfied. Like a winner. Like the predator who finally learned his prey bites back.
After the “testing him” incident on the couch, Yunho didn’t confront you again.
He just… shifted. Subtly, quietly but deadly effective.
And you… brave, foolish, deliciously curious you — kept noticing every new possessive habit with a flutter of your pulse you would never admit out loud.
He started choosing where you sat.
A pair of fingers brushing her elbow. A quiet “Here.” A soft tap on the spot beside him. Or just near him.
Not a command. Not exactly.
But your body obeyed every time.
Then he started to intercept touches.
If Wooyoung threw his arm around your shoulders, Yunho would “adjust” the blanket so you had to sit straighter, subtly breaking the contact.
If San leaned into your side, Yunho would slide between them under the excuse of “I can’t see the screen.”
If anyone hugged you a little too long?
A hand would settle on the small of your back. Barely there.
But enough to say: That’s close enough.
Then it escalated just a bit. He always knew where you were.
Not clingy. Not loud. That’s not Jeong Yunho’s style.
You would get up to grab water and he’d appear behind you in the kitchen, opening the cabinet before you reached for it.
You would walk down the hall and he’d step out of a room at the exact same moment, brushing past your shoulder like gravitational pull.
The nicknames started. Soft. Dangerous. Very claiming.
It started with one slip.
Then it was, “Watch your step, sweetheart.”
Then one evening, low enough for only her, “Baby, pass me the remote.”
You froze. The room froze.
He just took the remote from your limp hand without a blink like he’d been calling you that for years.
To be fair, he did. In his head. In his room. His fist wrapped around his—
Okay too far too far, this is a PG 15 story!
So you, clever little menace, decided to poke the bear again.
Maybe it was stupid. Maybe you wanted to see if his control had limits. Maybe you liked watching him crack.
During game night, you sat on the floor between Mingi’s legs, leaning back against his chest because he was warm and comfy and absolutely harmless.
The rest of the boys didn’t think much of it. But Yunho?
He went still. Not angry. Yet. Not outwardly jealous. Yet.
Still. And quiet. And calculating.
Wooyoung whispered, “Oh no. She’s dead.”
San whispered, “We’re witnessing a historic mistake.”
Yeosang whispered, “I’m not saving her.”
“You never save her. You just stare.”
You pretended you didn’t notice. Liar.
You laughed at something Mingi whispered. Tilted your head onto his knee. Even reached back to poke his cheek.
Yunho’s knuckles turned white on the controller.
Then, in the softest, most dangerous tone you ever heard from him.
Yunho set his controller down. Carefully. Too carefully. Then leaned forward from the couch, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on yours.
“That’s enough playing, sweetheart.”
Mingi backed up instantly, hands raised. He didn’t want to be murdered by his best friend today.
“I surrender—please don’t kill me.”
You lifted your chin like a brat. “I wasn’t playing anything.”
Just your name. A low warning that was hot enough to melt the air.
“What? You said we were just friends.”
He exhaled sharply through his nose. “And you believe that?”
And the room that was full of seven grown men, scattered like scared pigeons.
“I AM NOT DYING TODAY! SORRY TINY!”
He walked toward you slowly, steps controlled, expression unreadable.
“Jagi,” he murmured, standing over her now. “Come here.”
You throat tightened. “No.”
His jaw flexed. “Sweetheart.”
You whispered, “Make me.”
The smallest smirk flickered across his lips, a dangerous, relieved, hungry one.
“Oh, baby,” he murmured, reaching down.
He didn’t yank or grab you.
He simply slid a hand under yours, lifted you off the floor with ridiculous ease, and walked you backward until your back met the wall.
Your breath hitched. Oh now, you’re fucked.
His arms braced on either side of your head, caging you in without even needing to touch you.
“You want to test me?” he whispered.
His forehead pressed to yours. “You want to see how far I’ll go?”
Your voice trembled. “Yes.”
His nose brushed hers. “You want to know what I’m holding back?”
Your hands curled into his hoodie. “Yes.”
His lips hovered over yours, barely a breath away.
“I’m done holding it back.”
He kissed you. Hard. Deep. Months of restraint breaking in a single, devastating moment.
You gasped against him. He swallowed the sound.
Your fingers fisted in his hoodie.
His hand slid to your waist, pulling you flush against him like you were something he had waited forever to touch. Which you were. He wanted you so damn bad.
When he finally pulled back, barely an inch, “You keep testing me like that…”
His thumb brushed your lower lip, swollen from his kiss.
“…and I’ll never let you go.”
You whispered, dizzy, “Who said I wanted you to?”
His smile was slow. Dangerous. Relieved.
He pulled back only because he needed to see your face. Needed to confirm you weren’t going to run again.
“Princess…” he whispered, voice hoarse.
Instead, you grabbed the front of his hoodie, yanked him down, and kissed him like you meant to erase every doubt he’d ever had.
Soft was gone. Careful was gone.
This was hungry. Desperate.
Your fingers slid into his hair. Your lips pressed harder than his, stealing his next breath before he could take it.
He groaned, quiet, surprised, unable to stop it.
And that sound made you kiss him even deeper.
Yunho wasn’t prepared. Not for you to be the one who broke him.
His hand slid under your jaw, thumb pressing just enough to tilt your head exactly how he liked. His other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, lifting you slightly off the floor without breaking the kiss.
You only tightened your grip on him, kissing him like you couldn’t get close enough.
He whispered against your mouth, “Baby—slow down—”
“No,” you breathed, biting his lower lip.
And Yunho—calm, rational, quiet Yunho—let out a low, unfiltered sound that made your knees go weak.
He kissed you again, deeper, until you felt dizzy, dazed. Your mind going blank.
When they finally pulled apart, both breathless, he rested your forehead against hers.
“Don’t ever run from me again,” he said softly.
You whispered, “Then don’t make me want to.”
“Oh,” he murmured, “I’ll give you plenty of reasons to stay.”
