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anitease · 29 days ago

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Favours Between Friends - Ch.4.

viktorxfem!reader explicit: Modern AU, omegaverse, alpha Viktor x omega Reader, rom-com, fake dating, author has a very vague understanding of omegaverse but there's a lot of terminology. Finally arrived at cringe but free.

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3.

word count: 12,2K (they boink a lot, sorry)

warnings: slight angst, talk of cancer and infertility, otherwise: scenting, dry humping, blowjobs (I have to stay true to myself ok), alpha/omega dynamics in full bloom with Viktor on the dominant side of course, rough (-er than usual) sex, a tiny smidge of degradation if you squint, nesting, as Krys said: breeding kink but Nat wrote it, knotting.

author’s note: As I mentioned I have stuff happening this weekend, so instead of Freakday we are celebrating Thirstday. @doggrowth thank you for beta reading and steering me back into the classic omegaverse tropes trenches. Ah, and of course, he purrs :3

AO3

—

Fuck, Viktor thinks as a wave of nausea rattles his bones. He wakes drenched in sweat. Shit.

He knows at once. There—on the rumpled sheet—the little white square, peeled and curled like a dead moth. His damp clothes lie scattered on the floor, still reeking of last night’s panic. And in memory, vivid as a bruise: your neck, bared, breathing slow against his mouth.

Instinct moves faster than thought. He’s dressed, packed, and out the door before his brain can form a sentence. Each step down the corridor feels like walking on broken glass. The note he leaves on the pillow is courteous, but the panic coiled beneath the ink is anything but.

At reception he forces signatures, keeps his spine straight while every muscle screams run. Minutes later he’s on the move, the resort smearing past.

In the cab, a blaze of anger overtakes him—at the sheer naïveté, the stupidity, the indescribable idiocy of the whole endeavour. A plus-one, he scowls inwardly. But when the last shards of clarity slice through the fever, Viktor realises it’s he who stacked every mistake. The thought is so harrowing he lets a soft whimper slip, earning the driver’s glance in the mirror.

“Sir, want me to pull over?” the man asks, clearly afraid Viktor’s going to puke all over his backseat.

“It’s fine. The sooner you get me home, the better.”

He shuts his eyes while the weekend unreels behind the lids. You were perfect—or at least trying. He was the one who thought he could out-logic biology.

How fast his brain clocked you as something to guard, he cannot fathom. Claire was a speed-bump; he’d have rattled past her. Instead, he’d ended up snorting your wrist like it was cut with diamonds. Instead of knocking himself out with an extra melatonin dose, he’d lain awake dissecting your scent into elements. Instead of waking on time, he’d been late—blockers forgotten—and you’d liked the way he smelled. That had felt good, watching you unravel for him.

Then, rather than a colleague’s pat on the back, he’d decided it was appropriate to take your fucking hand: that gentle palm, finger-pads leathered with test-tube burns, tendons showing under skin.

One flute of champagne to drown it—too shallow. Instead of skipping the dance, he’d followed the siren pull of your bittersweet skin and buried his nose where neck meets shoulder; nearly ended himself right there.

Afterwards, instead of a penitential ice shower—or, better, explaining and going home—he’d accepted your arms. And it had worked, briefly. You were a cold compress on a burn, a stitch in a cut, a meal to the starved. Until his wandering hands, desperate for more of that addictive perfume, tore away the last defence. Patch off, hormones on. Simple math.

Uncanny, yes, that losing the suppressants and a few hours’ proximity flipped your cycle—yet not impossible. Two days together: awkwardness, stress, and, artificial or not, attraction. Biology only needed a crack; he’d handed it a canyon.

He could plot it on a chart: his own half-life inability to suppress. The constant ghost of your scent—thin, but enough to stir sediment. Lack of sleep. Stress. Alcohol. You, being brilliant and kind on a loop. Your neck. His near-rut collapse. The god-forsaken, well-meant scenting. Patch lost, your scent turning syrup-sweet, everything he’d dammed crashing back through the breach.

It’s all very simple, yet still, Viktor can’t believe it has come to this.

As the world smears past the cab window, he prays it was a false alarm. Just a temporary wobble in whatever balance your body keeps, not an unprecedented heat. He prays he’ll be the only one to pay—alone, aching—for wanting a warm body that isn’t his to claim, and that the disruption he’s triggered in you will vanish the moment he’s out of sight. Here’s to hoping.

Because what hits you first, is the temperature—a cloying layer of warmth that swaddles your whole body, pours down your throat, settles in your marrow like liquid iron. Then pain—familiar, yet your brain is still too far behind to clock it. It feels like waking inside the worst flu of your life: muscles packed with wet sand, bones leaden, skin stretched too tight, begging to be clawed off.

Your teeth ache, as if each one were trying to work itself loose from the jaw. Fingers throb—blunt, swollen and useless. Your belly knots hard, a fist inside a fist. Even your hair hurts, scalp buzzing with tiny, angry needles. At first you blame the buffet, a glass too many, yesterday’s adrenaline curdling into vile hangover poison.

Then the ache strikes—low and insistent. A hollow opening between hips, greedy and raw. Your eyelids flicker open, bleary; the sheets smell like last night, like Viktor, and your heart slides down a lift shaft.

There, on the mattress: the patch, peeled and rolled into a sad little tube, dusted with stray fibres. Beside it—where Viktor should be—a folded note, stark against the crumpled linen.

Forgive me, but despite all effort, our attempts failed. I am heading home—I should be on my own. Please let me know when you return safely. —V.

You stare at the handwriting until the letters wobble. Then you scan the room, half-expecting him to materialise from a shadow. Nothing. No clothes draped over a chair, no cane leaning against the nightstand. His door is locked; your knock dies unanswered. The bathroom is scrubbed of him, as if water washed every trace down the drain. Only the note remains.

Another cramp claws up your spine, hot and mean. You think of options: brace through it, flood your body with blockers, slap on a new patch. Too late; the engine’s already revving. Heat roars in you—worse than ever—stoked by an alpha who smells like a deity and spent the night mapping you with his mouth.

You fall into the sheets and inhale what scraps of Viktor linger there. The earth is dry, honey burnt to a shell. It isn’t enough. A raw, keening sob drags free of your chest.

So you let it. Mourn your past self who thought this moronic idea wouldn’t backfire. Let the tears come—undignified, just hot and wet and wrung from the pit of your belly. You cry until the worst of the pain ebbs, just enough to think again. To see clearly what’s been in front of you this whole time.

About one thing, Viktor was right—you need to be alone too. But before that can happen, you need help getting there. So you fish your phone out from under the sheet, wipe it clean on the duvet, and tap Vi’s name. She answers on the first ring.

“Hey genius, what’s up?” she says.

“Hi,” you whisper. “Could you… come and get me?”

“I’m on my way. Send a pin.” That’s it. No questions. No noise. Just the small click of her ending the call.

Two hours later, the knock on the door is brisk. Vi slips inside and closes it quietly. She takes one look at you, puffy-eyed and still wrapped in the sheets, and her mouth presses into a thin line.

“I’ll pack,” she says.

“I’m sorry,” you croak.

“Don’t be stupid.” She grabs your overnight bag from the floor. “You got anything in the bathroom?” You shake your head. She nods. Efficient. Gentle. Checkout is a blur: signatures, key cards, hotel staff with polite smiles you can’t return.

When you step outside, Caitlyn is leaning against the driver’s side of Vi’s car. She doesn’t say a word, just opens her arms. You fall into them. She holds you tight, hand flat against the back of your head like she’s trying to shield you from the whole damn sky.

She loads your bag into the boot, then slides behind the wheel. Vi herds you to the backseat of your own car, tucks a blanket over your knees. You curl into a bean, forehead pressed to the cool window.

The road unfurls ahead, double yellow lines swimming in heat shimmer. You tell yourself it’s fine. You’ve done this before. First heat alone? Hardly. Not the last, either. You’ll manage.

Neither of you speaks, and yourself, you are too busy breathing through it—each mile a small act of endurance, each bump in the road pulling a thread through your spine. Vi drives with quiet focus, while the outside slides by in soft colours and smeared light.

When the cars finally pull up outside your building, Caitlyn steps out first and opens the boot. She passes you your bag with a soft “Here,” and presses your shoulder once before retreating.

Vi lingers. She watches you hoist the strap, watches the way your body dips under the weight, and you can see it in her face—the way she’s deciding whether or not to say anything. With teeth sunken into lower lip, she sucks in a breath, and—

“Do you want me to—?”

“No.” It comes too sharp, frayed. You sigh. “Sorry. Thank you. I’ll call if I need anything. Does that work?”

Vi nods. “Works.” She exhales through her nose and rubs her hands along your shoulders, brisk but gentle. “Yeh, that works, genius.”

With the most effortful smile of your lifetime, you mutter, “Thanks.”

You get to your flat nearly blind. Vision blurred, muscles trembling, bones creaking. First thought: off. Off, off, off. The clothes—sweaty, clinging—feel like insult more than fabric. You wrestle it all down with a snarl, peel yourself out of the pants, the shirt, the bra. Every seam a battle. Every thread a needle.

The bathroom tiles burn cold under your feet. You drag yourself into the shower and turn the tap left. Heat slams your back like a red-hot palm, but you hold still, eyes squeezed shut. You need the scald, the slackening. Muscles loosen by degrees. The fog helps. For a moment you could almost trick yourself into thinking you’re not falling apart.

You towel off, stumble into the bedroom, and fall face-first into the mattress. Unnested sheets are unforgiving. You make a low sound that isn’t quite a sob and roll onto your back, legs splayed, skin steaming.

Then, your hand reaches for the phone. Even though everything in you boils over, you can’t help your fingers. They type the text before you can kick your mind into working properly and you find yourself staring at a message sent to Viktor: Home safe. Hope you are too.

Not even a minute passes before your cell rings—it’s him. The phone nearly drops on your face. You wait for your throat to unclench before picking up, praying to every god you know your voice doesn’t sound like you’re clawing at the walls.

“Hi. What’s up?” It comes out choked.

“Why are you home so early?” Viktor’s voice scratches at your ear, hoarse and wrecked, not all that different from your own.

You draw all the force you can to keep yourself from cracking, speak on an exhale: “I didn’t feel like staying for the wrap-up.”

“Do not lie to me.” His tone cuts through, soft but sharp.

“So you... ah—“ you pant, trying to breathe around the spike in your belly, “can lie to me, but I—fuck—can’t lie to you?”

He groans low. “Will you forgive me?” The words tumble out, rushed. “I thought—” He swallows, and you hear it clearly in the speaker. “I thought there’s a chance it would spare you if I left.”

Your head falls back against the mattress, eyes squeezing shut. “Well, you know what kind of path is paved with good intentions, don’t you.”

Viktor sounds like he’s just winced. A beat. Then, careful: “And how... are you?”

“Ah, you know—the usual.” You shift, cramp shooting up your spine. “Contemplating a little impromptu self-sterilisation.”

He says your name. Pained. Pitied. “Is it the usual, or worse?”

You whimper, dragging a hand across your face. “Oh God, Viktor.” It spills out raw. “It’s so much worse.” You swallow against the dryness of throat. “I feel like I usually feel on day three. You?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Then: “Worse. It rebounded badly.” A long breath. “The patch—”

“I know.” Your voice softens to a thread.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be, please.” You groan. “It’s me. Your deadline, I—it was my stupid idea and my stupid pride that led us here.”

He hesitates. You hear him breathing like he’s running. “Do you need—” He cuts himself off. Restarts. “—anything? Can I help?”

“How?” You press your knuckles to your lips. “Don’t you have enough problems of your own right now?”

“It would solve one of them,” he says, cracked and low. “I know it’s not real, but I—” He exhales hard. “I need you safe. I can’t stop thinking. Or I can’t think, I do not know which one it is.” A pause. “Just tell me you have people to take care of you.”

“I don’t want people.” You press the phone into your cheek. Of course you could call Vi, ask her to sit out the fever with iced towels and soft jokes, and she would say yes without blinking. You could swipe for a stranger, barter heat for an hour of borrowed kindness.

But the thought tastes like chalk. Too sanitary. Too lonely. The ache wants teeth, wants hands that already know the map of your spine, wants deathly sweetness you breathed all night—the scent that screams life. Every rational thread tears loose, floats off like ash. All that’s left is the want, bright and brutal and singular. “I want you.”

A splash of water. Viktor curses softly, then stutters: “Text me your address, I will—”

“No.” You push up to sit—it hurts. “Viktor, you shouldn’t,” you say and hear him sucking in a breath. “It’s easier for me to come see you. I wouldn’t forgive myself if—”

“It’s not how it’s supposed to be,” he says, resigned.

“Well. nothing has been so far. It’s safer. Just promise you won’t move.”

There’s a sigh of surrender. “Take spare clothes,” he says, voice rising, urgent. “Take—goddamnit, just hurry up.”

You stumble over your own legs. Pick up whatever random ‘spare clothes’ Viktor mentioned, claw at the key bowl to fish out the car keys and run downstairs, tears stinging your eyes. No idea what he means. No idea what’s going to happen, or rather—a million ideas, none of them you are brave enough to dwell on.

When you get there, it takes exactly one ring for Viktor to buzz you in. And then, once upstairs, instead of knocking, you rest your forehead against the wood, and breathe. Try to. The lock clicks.

Viktor’s scent hits you like a thick, heated blanket thrown over your shoulders. It blooms into the room, pushes back the ache, the fog, the gnawing loneliness jabbing like a second set of ribs.

He stands framed by the doorway, backlit by the dim hall light. Shirt half-buttoned, sleeves shoved to the elbows, collar limp and clawed open for breath. Sweat beads at his hairline and eyelids, catches the lamp-glow, slicking dark lashes together. The angles of his face look carved sharper than yesterday—cheekbones ruthless, mouth bruised from his own teeth.

You mean to say Hi or I’m here, anything civilized, anything other than—

“Hold me.”

It breaks from your chest, soft and raw, already climbing toward pleading. No filter. No dignity. Just need.

He pulls you inside by the wrist. It’s swift—door slams shut, cane tossed onto the coat-hanger, your bag sliding to the floor with a thud. Then arms—whole miles of them—wrap round you, hauling you into the cloying safety of his chest, his neck. And oh—there it is, your favourite sound. As if relieved to have you, he hums long and croaky, the side of his throat sending a sweet purr into your temple, seeping straight into your brain. Hands span your spine as if he could press the ache straight out through your skin. The thrum inside you finds its twin in him; your body seizes—and then lets go. Silence, deafening. You could swear your back is steaming.

You breathe him in as a palm rests against your forehead and smooths down your scalp. “You’re burning up,” he murmurs.

Already beguiled, drunk on sheer proximity, you let him pull you, steer you wherever he wants. Until you realise—instead of being led straight to bed, you find yourself in his kitchen. And instead of fucking you on the table, Viktor pours you a glass of water and puts on the kettle. “Mint tea,” he explains. “We need to cool you off a bit.”

Seeing you standing there, dumbfounded, he nearly laughs. It’s maybe not a first, but the first in a while—having someone eat him alive with their eyes, holding back a plea to get obliterated. To say it’s entertaining is to say nothing, but Viktor is fighting his own little battle.

Accepting that dignity is no longer for him, he adjusts the crotch of his pants and sits. Cane set on the table like a barricade, he licks his lips, then says, “I’d like you to be comfortable. Do you understand?”

You nod. You keep nodding, as you set the glass down, half-full. Then, you keep nodding while crossing the short distance and straddling his lap. And Viktor lets you—he will be good to you like this, he decides.

When your weight settles against his cock, a breath puffs out of him. He’s about to tell you this can also be just a favour. That it can mean nothing. That you can laugh it off in a day or two when the storm passes and part ways like the colleagues you are.

Before he can produce any of those reasonable phrases, your face pushes itself against his. It’s a needy, cat-like rub, rough and slow, your mouth hanging open as you inhale him. His eyes fall shut.

He can feel arms around his neck, tight, your body already melting into the shape of him. His tautness—your pliancy. Your thighs press and shift against his, and the pressure only makes things worse.

You’re falling—boneless, animated by something that has no neural pathways. He smells like everything you missed, everything you denied. And he smells like you, too—your scent, woven through his skin, still clinging to the threads of his hair.

His nose grazes your throat, then lower, to the divot of collarbone. A thumb hooks under the shirt collar and tugs it wide, the seam groaning. His mouth finds your shoulder—just lips, no teeth—and he grunts, cut and ragged. Open-mouthed. Starving. “God, you smell so good,” he whispers.

Before he realises what he’s doing, his hands are sliding lower. He gropes your ass like it’s something he’s owed—full-palmed, urgent, pulling you hard against where he’s tumescent. “Yes,” you gasp, fingers curling in his hair as you guide his mouth to yours.

And Viktor opens—filthy and willing. He lays his tongue out flat, and you meet it halfway with yours. Now you’re tasting one another in the deep grooves of his palate. For him it’s summer distilled: oranges split open, apricots soft to bursting, rain-soaked peaches still wearing their skins, right down to the faint arsenic bite of their stones and the dark soil they grew from. Sun, but the cancerous kind, storm that brings floods, earth scathed, feeding on carrion—all the danger and thrill and madness of living.

The flavour hits him like a narcotic. His nails bite through fabric into the meat of your ass when he rocks you against him. Every nerve inside him howls fuck me. Gorgeous creature, fuck me, eat me alive and I’ll fuck you and eat you alive until there’s no seam between us.

He catches your lower lip between his teeth. You answer by twisting your fist in his hair and dragging a guttural sound out of him. Your hips grind harder, more, damp cotton sliding, sticking, gathering heat where your bodies meet. Each rub marks a darker patch on his trousers. The shape of your cunt presses through cloth, obscene and perfect, and his.

He releases your lip—it reddens. Fists the hair at your nape, tipping your head back, baring your throat. The place that begs to be torn by canines throbs, inviting. A wrecked sound claws out of his chest; he drags his mouth over his teeth, blunting the bite, swallowing the instinct. But he keeps the grip, hard enough that you twitch and shove yourself down on him.

“That’s it,” he rasps, voice gravelled with rut. “Fuck yourself on me.”

“Yes—yes, yes,” you mumble, the words dissolving into breath as you yank his hair until the sting jolts his hips up. His hand leaves your nape; two fingers press past your lips, curl over your cheek, then slide free, slick with spit. He drags that hand down the ridge of your spine, beneath the waistband, between your cheeks, and sinks one finger into the tight heat of your ass—so snug he exhales a shattered praise against your mouth.

“Oh, so deprived, poor thing,” he coos, thrilled. “You’ll take anything, won’t you?”

The sound coming from your throat is nothing human; Viktor swallows it whole, tongue chasing the echo until fire licks the back of his throat—whatever noise leaves you now belongs to him.

It’s freaky and raw and impossibly good. He kisses you hard with forceful tongue and eyes open—and it’s so vulnerable and intimate it scorches. Heat coils low, unspooling like ice flash-melting under a torch, racing down your thighs, up your chest, until white steals the edges of vision.

“Look at you,” he husks against your cheek, voice a rasp of wonder and tease. “Grinding like you can’t stand the hollow. Does it hurt, clever girl, to be empty?”

You whimper, hips pushing harder, chasing. “So desperate—using your alpha before you’ve even earned it. Go on then, show me how pretty you are when you come,” he murmurs, inhaling at your throat.

You gasp, clamp around emptiness, thighs locking, and somewhere in the crush his lower spine pops; it drags a gasp from him that feeds straight into your climax. Shaking apart on his lap, your pulse is a bright flare against the dark, and Viktor holds you through each ragged wave, whispering rough endearments into the seam of your mouth—good, just like that, aren’t you just lovely.

With your muscles loosening, shame seeps in. Hunger falls back just far enough for reason to edge into your hormone-fogged brain: God, you all but devoured him while he was only trying to keep you hydrated. Your gaze wanders, casting for an exit.

Viktor chuckles. “Are you—” he begins, and your eyes squeeze shut, bracing for the word you’re sure is coming—done?

“—alright?” he finishes, voice gentle, eyes all kindness again.

A teary laugh slips out of you. “Yes.”

He gathers you close. “It’s all right. Come here.” A slower, deeper kiss follows—steadying, unhurried. He tastes good. Safe. His thumb coasts over your lower lip. “You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?” he teases, half-smile breaking the tension.

“God, you must think I’m an animal. Maybe Dan was right about me—”

“Stop.” His tone slices the thought clean. “I will not have that.” He cups your cheeks, thumbs stroking the damp beneath your eyes. “No animal—just a beautiful creature.” He draws a breath through his nose, steady. “And remember—I understand this. I know how it feels.”

Only then do you notice the kettle screaming on the hob. Sheepishly, you scramble yourself up from him, trying not to stare at the wet stain you’ve produced in his crotch. Colleagues, favours, it all blurs. “Alright then,” you mutter, and let him make you the goddamn tea.

Thoughts rattle; you almost laugh at yourself. He’s good at this, and you’ve barely begun. Momentarily sated but nowhere near calm, your gaze keeps drifting to the slope of his groin—admiring the shape of him and, more bewildering, his composure. Anyone else would have bent you over by now; Viktor makes sure you cool off. If someone had told you it would go like this, you’d have laughed in their face. But the reality—being held without being broken—defies every word you have.

He slips an arm around your shoulders, the other braced on his cane. “Come with me,” he says, as if you require convincing. You fist the damp front of his shirt and follow, trying not to lean on him. His neck looks delicious. Desire swells again, blooms, as you realise he’s steering you down the corridor toward the bedroom—an air saturated with him, undiluted. This is where he spends his weekends, where he sleeps, reads, sweats, drools into his pillow. The very walls hum with him, and each step feels like wading deeper into the pulse of his scent.

Once you reach the foot of the bed, it all curdles into gluttonous urge—to bite, to lick him all over, to snort the powdered glass of epidermis off his sheets. Amber-thick, sap-slow, copper-sharp—you gulp this air, and it granulates on your tongue, swells into something you can almost chew on. Every breath is a dose; every exhale, surrender.

Viktor’s cane clicks away. His palms settle, bracketing your shoulders—steady, unhumanly gentle. Fingers find the hollow beneath your skull, coax your chin up. One-day stubble grazes first, a dry spark over soft skin; you shiver, the sting flowering sweet behind your knees.

Then his mouth closes on yours, and it’s just endless depth. Tongue sliding in like warm liquor, searing a path you taste in colour: gold turning to iron, iron smelting to night. It spirals, pulls until you’re hollowed, until you are only pulse and flavour.

He drinks you in long strokes, and the need that usually sleeps behind his eyes breaches the surface—black, ravenous, incandescent. Your hips tilt of their own accord, hunting friction; his answering groan wraps itself around each joint, lights every fuse you didn’t know was waiting.

When he finally lifts his head, breath ragged, his scent has saturated the room—resin and storm and something darkly, deliriously patient. Gold of his irises eaten to the brim, his hands return to collar your neck. “Undress me,” he croons, then licks a broad stroke from your cheek up to the line of your hair.

Branded, first with the heat of his mouth, then with breeze blasting pheromones all over the wet patch, you strip the shirt from his shoulders. Underneath it is the brace—an exo-skeleton of matte carbon frame hugging sternum and ribs, sleek, almost elegant. Even though you know this might be a breach, you want him naked. You want all of his skin draped over yours. “Can we take this off?” you ask, voice pitched low with hope.

Viktor nods. “Here.” He guides your fingers to the magnetic latches at his sides. Two clicks and a soft pneumatic sigh, and the contraption loosens, folding away from delicate tissue. The marks beneath are tender: redness where pressure rested, pale surgical scars arcing beneath his ribs. You pause, hands hovering over nacre marks.

Viktor catches your wrists before you can trace them. He presses your knuckles to his cheek, eyes half-lidded. “Later,” he murmurs, soft but certain.

Instead, you run your fingers down his chest, nails raking. He shudders, his stomach sucks in and glues itself to his spine when you reach the waistband.

You ease it down, rolling fabric over the jut of hipbones, descending with it. No underwear—just soft cotton guarding him. Inch by inch, crown to root, he comes free: flushed dark, veined, the silky skin damp where you’d ground against him. The densest heart of him blooms there so thick you taste it before you breathe it.

Your pulse gives a hard, grateful kick. He’s beautiful—brutal and elegant at once, the heavy line of him begging the hollow of your throat. Drool bleeds in your mouth for the chance to seal around him. You want to lick the salt from the slit, map every vein with your tongue, tuck him so deep the world can’t see either of you.

The trousers pool at his knees. You rest your palms on the flat of his abdomen, nails scratching lightly through the fine hair trailing downward. A hiss leaks between his teeth; his belly flexes, trying to retreat, but you follow, sliding to your knees on the floorboards.

Mouth open, eyes glossed, you press your cheek to the base of him and inhale. Slow. Thoughts abandoned. Your breath shudders back into your lungs like you’re siphoning oxygen straight from his skin.

Viktor’s hand finds the back of your head, fingers threading—trembling. The sound he makes is raw, unguarded, as if you’ve dismantled him with nothing but breath. Your knees creep forward; palms cup the curve of his ass, guiding him closer, deeper into the cradle of your face. His cock drags across your cheek, your nose, your brow—heavy velvet, pulsing under the thin sheath of skin—and you breathe again, longer this time, mouth and nose both, until your vision blackens.

The moan he spills is more than grateful; it’s ruin dressed as praise, and it’s yours.

“God, you smell like sex,” you murmur, lips brushing the silk-hot flesh. It vibrates against him, and Viktor releases a startled, half-delirious giggle. You glance up: cheeks dewed with juvenile blush, lip shining. He cradles your jaw, as if bewildered by himself.

“Do that again,” he purrs, hips nudging forward.

Another slow inhalation, a pull of air drawn right at the root. Then you nose along the seam of his balls, heavy, over the damp crease of thigh that smells of sweat and sweet rot of the body on edge—up, up, until you kiss the notch under his crown as if it were mouth, pressing him back against the flat of his stomach.

Palms framing his hips, thumbs stroke the bones like fret marks on a beloved instrument. You lick once at the underside, vein-slick, feel him jump, feel your own pulse answer.

“Are you trying to make me beg for you?” He aims for a tease but comes out weak. “Because that’s not going to happen.”

You smile—it could. You tuck it for later. And then, at last you take him: lips stretching, heat sealing, your tongue cupping the length through a swallow. Your mouth becomes bottomless as you let this sacrilege of a man into the soft dark corridor of your throat. His breath shreds when you feel the weight glide deeper, feel the blunt head nudge against the brink of comfort and invite itself farther.

He tastes like rain on copper roofing, like peach skin split under thumb, like resin melted over firebrick—sweet, acrid, elemental. Each drag of your tongue ripples through his thighs, earning a stuttered curse, a praise wrapped in a groan. “F-fuck—your mouth,” he gasps, half-laughing, breath heavy. “Enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

You hum, eyes closing, keeping this image of him for yourself. Heat soaks your skin, slick pooling between your legs as the rhythm settles: close, draw back, hollow your cheeks, sink again. Every pass slicker, greedier, addiction sedimenting on your palate.

Viktor’s hand claws at your hair for anchor; the other strokes your cheekbone in silent awe. His voice fractures around your name—"I’m close,” he whispers, a warning that canonizes—while you press on, throat opening, until your nose meets the soft thatch at his base and you breathe him there, utterly claimed by scent and salt and trembling skin.

He shudders, from head to toe. Reality contracts to the slide and the thunder of blood in your ears. There is nothing else—only him, only you, only hunger perfected in the yawning darkness between your lips.

In Viktor, something splits. A tearing-open—instinct clawing up the spine, demanding to mark, to seed. Heat detonates at the base of his skull; every scent gland flares, flooding the room with his euphoria. Muscles seize, vision flashing white. Slick heaven of your mouth, the convulsive suck drags every pulse of him forward.

He groans—no language left, only sound—and drives in, shallow and helpless. Orgasm rips through him in hot, feral bursts. He feels it leave, thick and bright, feels you swallow greedily around the first spurt, and begin to ease back, lips stretching wide. His body misreads your throat as the place it was born for, and the base of his cock swells—hard, sudden, threatening to lock him inside that velvet vice. A startled growl breaks from his chest; he fists your hair, pulling you off him.

“Knot—hnh, can’t stop it,” he rasps, hips jerking once more. You open for him, tongue red, catching the final ribbons as they land—offering sight as proof of possession. The image brands his hindbrain: white streak against scarlet, your eyes blown wide, pupils eclipsing everything.

“Perfect,” he whispers, unbearably soft, fingers trembling against your cheek. “Perfect, merciless omega.”

He sighs. The world tilts. He’s half-hanging from your grip on his hips, breath shredding, pulse in his ears like drums in fog—animal and unmade. The storm in his head though—it’s quiet.

You watch him, curious. The thick root of him swells, pulsing right in front of your face—wanting somewhere to lock, somewhere to sit and drain. An old, deep part of you unfurls at the sight, almost prays for it: plug me, keep the seed, make it stay. Heat squeezes low, instinctive, greedy.

“Does it hurt,” you murmur, brushing the pad of your thumb along that engorged ridge, “when it’s like this?”

He laughs, breathless, the sound skittering up his ribs. “No. Feels strange, though—wrong without a home.” His palms open toward you, invitation and command braided into one. “Come here.”

Clumsily, you rise. Drape yourself over him, kiss him with his cum still on your tongue, so he can taste both of you at once. Shameless, you breathe into his mouth: “More.” And how could he say no—he’s high on you. It lives on him now. Gets into the hair on his arms, the base of his throat, the roots of his neck.

“Show me,” he says, fully aware everything is backwards. He should be pinned in your space, trapped in your nest, fucking you fast and mean to blunt the first wave. Instead you’re here, reaching between your legs and—oh—

Your hand comes back slick. Heat-scented fingers smear sweetness over his lips, across the sharp of his cheek.

It scalds and soothes in the same breath—purifies him of every sin and stains him with new ones, steadies his pulse while spiking his need, empties him out and overfills him at once.

But above everything, it feels right. A lovely purr spills from his throat—he lets you anoint him, lets the slick paint his lips and jaw, and then seizes your wrist, drawing your fingers to his mouth. Licks the remnants—slow, devout—until you are clean.

“As I thought—trouble,” he murmurs, releasing you with a wet pop. His teeth find your lower lip, sharp and possessive, then he breathes against it: “Strip.”

You step back, obedient. Viktor lowers himself on the mattress, propped on one elbow, cock already stirring back to life against his thigh. The fragments of you he’d catalogued—slope of shoulder, curve of breast under the dress, the ribbon of spine he traced last night—begin to assemble into a full map.

Undressing while being watched and watching someone undress is awkward, but he hopes you’re both miles past embarrassment. You tug your shirt over your head; in the instant your vision is blinded by fabric, he inventories skin for future claims—the dip of your waist, the notch beneath your ear, the wrinkle at your belly when you bend to shimmy out of your trousers. A dark wet patch blooms on your underwear; he swallows hard.

The bra falls away last, lace peels off skin. Your breasts settle—heavier, lower, perfect—tempting him to lie back and let them drape over his mouth, suffocate him. His cock twitches at the image. You’re beautiful, he thinks.

“You are gorgeous,” he tells you.

And you—shameless creature who just sucked him dry—try to tuck the rush of blood to cheeks under bashful smile, but he sees anyway. Viktor’s gaze stays fixed, hungry and gently awed, as though he’s seeing art and appetite at once.

He extends one hand; you set yours in it, and he turns you slowly—show me—one quarter, then another—he catches a glimpse of a scar on your lower belly, tucks it for later. At halfway he stops, palms settling on your hips. He leans forward and sinks his teeth into the curve of your ass, a bruise that borders ugly. You squeal, arch back into the bite. His laugh is a hum against flesh; one hand dips between your thighs and comes away drenched. Slick strings in the lamplight, painting his knuckles.

“Look at this,” he teases, spreading the wet across your inner thighs until they shine. “Insatiable thing.” There is nothing but pleasure in his voice, and pride.

He pivots you to face him, chin resting on the rise of your pubic bone. Eyes upturned, fervent. “You looked so pretty riding me in the kitchen,” he says, breath warm. “I want to see that again, clothes off.”

You gulp your anticipation down, drop to your knees, ease the rest of his trousers down. Another brace there—dark Velcro latching to his calf and thigh. You hesitate. He catches your wrist, gently. “This can stay,” he murmurs. “It helps me with balance.”

Your nod is immediate. Palms settling on his shoulders, you straddle him on the bed; his cock slides through your heat, slicking its length. You kiss him, mouths open, and his arms lock around you, tight, tighter with each pass of tongues. My omega. He almost tells you.

You follow the movement of his hand as it reaches into the bedside drawer and comes back with a foil strip—condoms, ridiculous amount, accordion-folded like cards in a winning hand. The sight punches through you, sudden and molten: jealousy, raw as fever. Some cool, rational corner tries to explain that any unattached alpha might keep a surplus on hand, that it is not betrayal, but the thought dissolves before it can settle. You watch him tear one packet open with his teeth, balance the latex on the flushed crown of his cock, and something inside you gives.

Home, your body insists, the word roaring through bone and blood. Everything about him fits: the scent—just lovely. His hands that touch the way you always imagined someone might, someday. The voice that turns honeyed when it shapes your name. His hair, so soft. His mouth. Kissable. Him—kind.

You want his bite. You want his name on your body forever. The thought makes you lubricate down to your thighs.

Without thinking, you catch his wrist, stopping the roll of clear latex.

“No,” you breathe—raw, pleading. “Breed me. Keep me.”

The words don’t sound like any version of you you’ve met before, but they are the only truth left standing in the wreckage of need.

Viktor blinks through a gasp. His cock jerks once, but when he speaks your name it’s with a tenderness that destroys you. “Darling,” he murmurs.

The condom stays half-rolled; he cups your face, studying you as if there is mythical best in your skull he has to banish. “You don’t know me. At least—not well,” he says. “You don’t want a baby with me—and there’s a very good chance we’d conceive today.”

“I—” The syllable fractures. Mortification spikes: of the two of you, he ought to be the one lost to instinct, yet you’re the one begging, and for what. Panic swims up your throat. “Yes. I mean—no.” Crushed with shame, the heat of it licking at your skin like punishment, the words tangle. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, hiding behind your hands.

“It’s all right.” His tone is a balm. Gently, he pries your palms away and kisses each knuckle. It’s absurd—you sit spread across his thighs, drooling onto his lap in abundance. Utterly obscene, and yet he’s soothing you as if nothing could be more natural.

“I just—” He pauses; you stop breathing—all braced for him to tell you this is just... a favour. “I want to take you out first. Let you decide, when it all clears, if you still want me.”

A breath shudders free, carrying a tear with it. “You would?”

“Yes,” he says—soft laugh, sure nod. “Of course.” His thumb brushes the tear away; then he cranes his neck and kisses you—slow, reassuring, a promise held between lips rather than teeth.

You dissolve—relief spilling through muscle and marrow. The fear that you’d tipped the balance vanishes under that kiss. Shoulders unlock, lungs open, warmth pours back into your limbs like blood allowed to flow after a tourniquet.

Your palm glides down his cock, unrolling the latex to the base; it snaps home, glistening where you’ve webbed him with slick. Viktor’s hand dips between your thighs, gathers more—two fingertips slipping through seam, coating themselves, then stroking the sheathed head until it gleams.

He settles both palms on your hips, thumbs splayed over the flex of bone, and guides you forward. The crown nudges your entrance—heat meeting rut—and then silence. Your eyes flutter and for a moment it’s all black. In darkness, greed roars loudest as the famine between your legs needs to feed. You sink, take him all at once, and his groan you feel echoing in your chest, rather than hear.

“Fuck,” he breathes, unbidden.

The plethora of blood forcing its way through your head is deafening—it aches so sweetly to be stretched, it’s almost sickening. Sunken, shocked by the feeling of being filled so quickly, you pulse—only exist around him, nails digging into bony shoulders.

His fingers cinch your waist—iron rings disguised as hands—then guide you up. The parting burn is a scream under the skin, but the emptiness lasts only a blink before gravity drags you down again. You bounce, rhythm jagged, and he meets each descent with a grind that feels less like friction and more like welding—tissues fusing, atoms locking. Bruises bloom under his touch, delicious. Any marking you get, you take.

“Perfect,” he says, voice threshed raw. “A true bitch in heat, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, not hearing what you’re agreeing with. “Yes.”

Thighs flex, knees bite the mattress—every rise destroys you and re-makes you, every drop a punch of fullness that rifles your organs into new orbits. Wet gathers and splatters where bodies clap; the sound is vulgar percussion beating inside your skull. His cock drags over a spot so deep it feels like spine, like marrow, like origin. Each impact lights a fuse behind your ribs.

And Viktor watches, rapt—this dark vessel he means to pilot, the lethal body he aches to tame and claim. He reads the mutter of your mouth, smells the want you haven’t voiced. Fingers dig deeper into your waist. “Ask me,” he rasps. “Tell me again what you need.”

Your pupils shrink, flare. Instinct snakes through every muscle—yes. Hands dive into his hair; gratitude, surrender, demand. Fogged reason knows it isn’t real, knows he isn’t yours, but the hunger is louder: “You. I need you.”

Viktor hums, pleased. “And what do you need me to do?” he purrs—almost mean, mocking on the surface, but the tenderness in his eyes betrays him.

“Fill me up,” you murmur against his mouth. Then, clearer, raw, as your eyes fall shut: “Breed me.”

“Yes,” he hisses, voice gone to gravel. “Moje krásné děvče, chceš být moje?” Yes, my beautiful girl—do you want to be mine? Thumbs hook deep in the crease of your thighs; he drags you down until you seat flush, the stretch singing in both bodies. He steers your hips, slow grind into hard thrust, setting a rhythm that has your womb blazing.

“Beg me,” he snarls, rapture bright in his eyes.

Laughter—giddy, wild—spills from you. Arms loop behind his head, biceps bracketing his ears; you bite his lower lip and breathe, “Please. Breed me. I want you—only you.”

Something flares in Viktor’s belly—a fucking full-blown Leviathan of lust. His moan is wreckage. He clamps you tight, mouth buried at your throat, breath branding skin. “Chci tě,” he growls—I want you. “Nechám si tě.” I will keep you. Knowing damn well you will understand nothing.

Sweat beads, runs, collects in the hollow of his spine; your skin skids against his, slide so easy it feels natural. Heartbeats hammer out of sync—two frantic animals locked in a single cage.

Your insides flutter around the barrier, fucked-out brain convinced it’s bare flesh, whispering yes, this one, keep him. Sanity dies somewhere at the bottom of all this—abandoned until it’s putrid, as you give in to the fantasy of his cum dripping down your thighs.

Release tears through you first: a spiral low in your belly, tightening, then snapping—pulse after pulse gripping him. You ride the tremors, hips stuttering, but he doesn’t let you slow. A sharp slap to your ass sparks fresh ignition; you gasp and keep moving, every glide a raw stroke over sensitive flesh.

His speech slides out in broken, filthy shards, consonants guttural against your ear: “Kurva, jezdi na mně. Tak mokrá. Vezmu si tě celou. Už…”—Fuck, ride me. So wet. I’m taking all of you. I’m—until it dissolves into a rough cry. He thrusts, bottoms out hard enough to rattle bone, and spills—body seizing, pulse throbbing deep as his teeth close on your chin.

Once more, his cock thickens at the base, a sudden swell that locks him in place, wedging so full you gasp. Your body clenches, forced to hold every inch while he tremors beneath you. The urge to rise meets immovable heat; you’re pinned, sealed together, heartbeat to heartbeat.

Interlaced, slackening under you, he finds your lips—grateful, kissing your bruised mouth like you’ve hauled him back from oblivion. “You really are something, aren’t you?” he murmurs, voice spun with awe and exhaustion.

“I was right,” you pant, lids low, fingers brushing through his hair. “You are good at this.”

He chuckles, abashed and falls on his back with a long, blissful sigh, heels of his palms pushing into eye sockets. “God, it’s been ages since I’ve done this with someone,” he says.

Mere mention of someone has you twitching. He feels it, but there’s no escaping now. “Come here. Come lie down with me.”

You drape yourself over his chest, cheek to the damp plane of muscle, and feel his heart hammer wild under bone. He’s tired—pulse galloping, lungs dragging air in ragged drafts—yet he still rolls, bringing you onto your sides, conjoined.

“How are you?” he asks, voice low, fingers combing idly through your hair.

And how are you? Shredded. Blissed-open. Full of cock still swelling. Half outside your own skin, wanting to shake your own shoulders and prove this is happening.

You flex, subtle, and feel him thick inside—plugging you, as though the imagined seed could take root this very instant and bloom into a tiny replica of the man breathing sin into your hair. None of that will happen; everything is backward. The thought knots your throat, heat pricking behind your eyes. Crying would be absurd—unattractive—and yet the tremor is there.

“I’m good,” you manage, forcing a smile against his chest. “You?”

“I am,” he breathes, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then another, until a gentle splay of lips dots your skin. “Incredibly well.” A hand settles at your crown—soothing, kind. “What are your feelings about the condoms now?” he blurts moronically, the words tripping over themselves. He hears the idiocy instantly; his mouth shuts a beat too late.

A breath, uneasy. “Ambivalent,” you whisper.

Viktor says your name. Tilts your chin with two fingers, just enough to bring your eyes to his. “You do know we can’t,” he says—softly, but with a gravity that makes your chest cave.

“Yes.” Your voice barely holds. Brows knit as you try to force the tears back into the lacrimal lake. You want to be rational. To show him that you understand. But your brain is all turned over with hormone cocktail boiling your veins soft. “I don’t know where this is coming from,” you say, and Viktor gives you a look.

He lets out a quiet, baffled laugh. “You wouldn’t want to have a baby with me, surely?”

No. Of course you don’t. You don’t want a baby with a man you’ve just dragged through the gutter of your fear and insecurity. A man you barely know, beyond the way he works with his hands and the way he talks to you like you matter. A man who made you tea instead of fucking you on the table.

But when your mouth opens again, it isn’t reason that comes out.

“You’re kind to me,” you say, shuddering. And the second it slips, your eyes cloud with water. Viktor’s widen, stunned. He blinks like you’ve hit him in the chest.

“Darling,” he murmurs, and cups your face. The pads of his thumbs rest gently under your eyes, waiting, not wiping anything away.

But that’s only one of the bottoms. Under the first one, there is another, and the knocking on it becomes more insistent every second. Your mouth opens before you can stop yourself. “I don’t even know if I can have one. A baby, that is.”

His gaze drops to where you are lacking, and you know instantly the 360 you gave him had you catalogued down to the hairs on your toes.

“What happened?” he asks. His palm comes flat over the pale crescent on your belly—warm skin, vulnerable, shockingly soft. Under his thumb he feels a tiny quiver, like a pulse lost then found.

You hesitate, eyes flicking away, and in that instant he sees how hard you’re holding yourself together—muscles drawn tight, pride laced through your spine tight like a bowstring.

“I had ovarian cancer,” you say at last. The words are too calm; the edge frays only at the end. “From suppressants. One ovary’s gone. The other is…” A shallow breath. “…not in great shape.”

A bloom of heat—toxic mix of anger and grief—flares beneath his sternum. Instinct drags him forward. He folds you to him, almost clumsy, arms locking wide across your back, trying to shield what’s already survived the worst. Your face tucks beneath his jaw, fragile and damp, his hips slot deeper between your thighs, as if proximity might knit a decade’s worth of wounds.

He hadn’t been there. Not for sterile corridors, scalpels, slow poison drips. He pictures you curled on a narrow bed with no one to press a cool cloth to your brow, and fury scalds him darker than rut ever could.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter into his neck, a hitch of laughter that breaks on salt. “We should probably make a list of banned bedroom topics.”

“No.” He eases back just enough to see your eyes—brow knotted, mouth smeared with trembling bravado. “No, darling—don’t hide it.”

“It’s old news,” you insist, brushing at tears like they’re ash. “I know this is all backwards. If you don’t want—I know nobody wants a faulty omega, and you probably—”

His laugh bursts out, sharp. “Faulty?” He sounds almost aghast. Warm hand presses flat to your abdomen, fingers splayed in quiet claim. “This? You think this makes you less?”

You blink—stunned, unsure.

“Why wouldn’t I want you?” he asks—low, as if the answer matters more to him than to you. “You survived. You’re here. You are extraordinary.”

The words pour out certain, as if he's naming a simple fact of physics. He bends, touches his forehead to yours, exhales. “Wonderful,” he repeats. His thumb traces the curve of scar once more, careful, almost grateful. The weight of his gaze keeps you still.

Then, softer—half-breathed, half-prayed—he adds, “You smell like home. Like summer—I love summer. I can’t not want you.”

“Viktor, Jesus,” you breathe, overwhelmed. “I know we both smell nice and are possibly not entirely sane right now, but you can’t say that to me and then withdraw—do you understand?”

“I do.” He nods. “I do. Here—” His hands capture yours and lay them flat against either side of his shaky rib-cage, where pearly scars ladder the skin. “I had SCLC. Five years ago. You were still studying. And this is why I can’t suppress.”

“My God, Viktor,” you whisper, tracing bone. “How?”

“Genetic mockery,” he says, mouth quirking. “It’s fine; it doesn’t look like it’s coming back. They caught it early, and I managed surgery with minimal radiotherapy and chemo.” Your brows knit, mouth tilts into a grimace of pity; he cups your face, suddenly solemn. “I’m telling you because—well—I carry obvious scars,” he murmurs, “and you could call me faulty all the same.”

You don’t argue; only nod. Hands still braced over his lungs as if you’ve been handed a bag of gold, you say, “Another morbid thing we have in common.” Your fingers stroke once—so reverent it makes him shiver—then you look up. “An odd foundation for anything.”

“Maybe backwards is the way,” he answers, touched. Kinship incarnate, he thinks—astonishing, the turns the universe takes. “Forward never brought anything to fruition in my case.”

“I’m sorry about your deadline,” you whisper, eyes fixed on his chest.

“Well,” Viktor sighs, “it is what it is. Jayce says we can afford the delay. And I’d complain a lot more if I had to spend the time alone. Hardly terrible when it comes with two days of fucking a lovely creature.”

A smile ghosts across your face. “Hardly terrible,” you echo. “Lovely creature. Careful—I might start getting ideas.”

You rub your nose alongside his jaw—scent him, not because it’s needed, but just because you can. Twenty long minutes tick by while the swelling softens, easing him from your body. The slip-out is strange: half-relief, half-loss, a cooled absence.

He stretches long, then stands. “I’ll be right back.” Footsteps retreat toward the kitchen.

You roll onto your belly, glance around the war-zone of sheets and discarded clothes. His trousers lie crumpled near the foot of the bed, shirt draped on top. Not enough. You slide off the mattress, pad to the wardrobe, crack the door.

Inside: shirts hanging, jumpers folded, a small drift of not-quite-dirty laundry in between-washes limbo. You sniff out the pieces that hum loudest of him—wool jumper, two soft cotton shirts, faint salt threaded into each fibre. Back to the bed, you stack them into a loose heap; pillows bolster the walls. A shallow den, improvised but perfect.

You crawl in, tug one sleeve over your shoulder like a blanket, bury your nose in the hollow of a collar. Layers of scent braid together: two-day musk in the jumper, today’s salt-and-skin in the pants, the new mix of both of you ghosting the warmed sheets. You inhale and the muscles in your back unspool; the room might be a forest, a kiln, a quiet heartbeat. All you know is it smells like him—safe.

In the kitchen, Viktor hunches over the sink and gulps straight from the tap, water bursting cold against desert-dry throat. It sluices over his chin, into the hollow of his clavicle, and he wipes it away with the back of his wrist—smelling of you.

A short, disbelieving laugh bursts out. Hours ago he’d have defended his solitary ruts like a point of pride—proof he could keep the world at arm’s length and still survive. Now the idea of riding another one out without your mouth feels not heroic but senseless, almost bleak. Independence suddenly looks like an empty room. He pours a glass of water, palms the faucet off, breathes deep, then turns back toward the glow of the bedroom.

When he steps in, he finds you curled, surrounded by pieces stolen from the floor and his closet, and burrowed into the mound at the center of his bed. An improvised nest: his scent steeped in cotton, your heat welded to it. Something in his chest does a strange flip. He sits on the edge, rumpling a pillow, and you huff—an offended little gust.

“Did you just huff at me?” A brow arches, amused.

“I did not,” you shoot back, though the glare you give him says otherwise.

It sparks a bright, restless flicker he hasn’t felt in years. This is the other secret pleasure of having an omega close: the cockiness, the little shows of teeth. You shoot challenge, he fires back; energy ricochets between bodies, comes back changed, sharper, better. Something in him—lazy too long—snaps awake, eager to chase, eager to be chased. The loop has only just started humming, and already it feels like power pooling in his veins.

He catches your chin, bites your lower lip just hard enough to make heat bloom. “Drink,” he orders, nudging the glass to your mouth. You drain it in three gulps, throat working. “Good. Now—all fours, please.”

You obey, and again—Viktor’s heart flutters at the speed of it. The second your knees spread and your palms plant, his cock jerks—hard, immediate—at the sight of you: back dipped, hips high, cunt drooling for him already. Breedable. An obscene heat coils in his belly; he has to remind himself of the condom this time.

“This is how you should’ve presented the moment you stepped through my door,” he says. He palms your lumbar spine, slides his hand to the nape of your neck—collects a fistful of hair, and twists it around his knuckles like ribbon, tugging until your spine arches sharper and you balance on fingertips and knees.

“Instead, here you are, disobeying already,” he muses, voice silken with menace. “First a huff. What’s next—annoyed sigh?”

You glance over your shoulder, lashes heavy. “That depends on what you do next, doesn’t it?”

He feels a devilish thing inside him uncurl—stretching like a predator roused at dusk, joints popping, head rolling on its neck. Heat riots in his gut, floods every vein with a single order: bend, mark, put back into place. He wants the sweet crack of your poise, wants your spine to bow because he said so, wants you to leak hotter at the first snap of his voice. Instinct roars for discipline—the ancient pulse to collar a misbehaving omega and leave her humming with obedience and need in the same heartbeat.

He laughs, low. Free hand slides between your thighs, another tightens at the base of your skull. Two fingers push inside you—wetness grips and drags as he sets a steady thrust. Warm liquid coats his knuckles, slides down to his wrist. He flexes, scissoring, stretching. “How about I violate you a bit first—hm? See if that earns a sigh.”

You look at him sideways, eyes already swimming. “More,” you rasp, and Viktor digs teeth into his lower lip.

“More?” he chuckles—dark, delighted. “You’ll beg properly before I let you graduate to cock.” His grip adjusts, drawing a soft gasp from your throat. A third finger joins, thrusting slow, tormenting.

“Yes, fuck me,” you moan, hips jolting into his palm, head hanging from his grip.

“God, what fun you are,” he breathes, watching your eyes roll half-shut, lashes fluttering. “Feel that.” His cock brushes against your thigh—a proof, throbbing and leaking joy of his own. “This is how happy you make me.”

“Oh, f-fuck,” you hiss. Fist in your hair tightens, jerking you back until your shoulder blades kiss. Slick drips from you in slow threads, warm as spilled honey over his skin, your gasps climbing higher—but Viktor is still devastatingly slow.

He bows close, breath grazing the shell of your ear. “Do you know what I want?” A small thrust punctuates each word. “I want you aching so hard you don’t dare huff at me again.” He spreads his fingers wider, splays them, forces another ripple from your throat.

He can taste your scent in the back of his throat, rich, tangy; the need to claim you buzzes under his skin, louder than blood. He forgot the power of a willing omega—forgot the way compliance can feel like conquest and gift all at once. Having you like this, wet and open and murmuring for more, is better than any memory. It tilts him sideways, invisible fist cramping up his lower belly.

Wrist snapping faster, he works a rhythm that borders brutal—flesh meeting flesh, a wet slap that syncs with every sharp exhale you fail to swallow. Your knees skid an inch; he drags you back by the hair, forces the curve deeper.

“Listen to that,” he murmurs, voice smoke-rough. “That’s how hungry you are.”

The slap-slick of his hand echoes, until sound and sting braid into one blurred pleasure. Your nerves spark, thighs trembling; each surge of wetness coats his palm, wrists, the insides of your thighs. It’s filthy music, and he conducts it without mercy.

“Please—” The word rasps out of you. “Please, Viktor. I need—”

“Need what?”

“I need you to fuck me,” you gasp, dignity dissolving like sugar. “Now.”

A satisfied rumble rolls from his chest. “Will you be good?”

“Yes, I will be so good,” you say, brows all knitted. Your swallow is so loud Viktor has to hold back a snort. He slips the fingers free; they leave with a lurid sound and a fresh spill of slick. Your body clenches on emptiness, furious. “Fuck, I hate this,” you whimper.

“Come now,” he shushes you, presses the coated fingertips to your lips—slips them inside. Your cheeks hollow, making electricity spark on his skin. Then, he tastes you on your own tongue—just licks it right up, sucking at the tip.

You part with a pop—his hand releases your hair, and your torso eases back onto the mattress, ass up—and when he raises to reach for the condom, there’s a pause. Possession slides its tendrils into the grooves of Viktor’s brain—he wants more. It howls against all the pains and aches his body usually carries, now dimmed. He looks at you spread, wet, sweaty. Your ribs expand with every awaiting breath. All his, aching for him.

His palm shakes as he tears the foil—reason’s last thin thread—and rolls latex down the thick, aching length. You’re still writhing, hips twitching like a live lure, every soft whimper making his insides coil.

He settles one hand in the crease of your thigh. The other glides down your spine, spreads wide at the small of your back—sheened with sweat that isn’t only yours. Heat slicks your bodies where they meet; the room tastes like salt.

Then, cock slides in like it was always meant to—splits you open, and the world turns slippery.

Yes.

His head tips back; lashes slam shut. Home. For a moment everything inside him goes bright, all sense rattling loose, the heavy pulse locked inside you a singular tether to reality.

“So… fucking… needy,” he grits. You clench—impatient, hungry. A soft sound snags in your throat.

“Would you rather huff now, my dear?” His voice is a frayed wire. “Or be bred?”

It burns through him; just the image—your body dripping white from him—sends a savage tug low in his gut. He never cared for this fantasy before—never held it so close. Now it’s a new drug. Makes his balls pull all the way up, aching to spend the laden weight.

“Please, Viktor, I—”

“Please, what?” A thrust—hips slamming, flesh smacking wet.

Your breath punches out, a stuttering moan. “Please, fuck me. Keep me, oh fuck—” you breathe, struggling. “Fill me. Breed me, I need you.”

He jerks inside you, smiles. Drags back until the ridge of his crown almost slips free, then drives in again, deeper, harder—moulding, so your cunt knows only the shape of his cock.

“Fuck—yes, like that,” he mutters, words thick in his mouth—astonished. Your knees skid on rumpled cotton; his thighs slam yours forward, back, forward again. The bed squeals. No neat rhythm—just staggered punches of flesh against flesh, breath collapsing into grunts.

Slick runs hot and sticky, dripping off his balls, threading down your belly. And it feels fucking incredible. In it, Viktor finds something he thought he’d misplaced forever. Each thrust drives him back inside his own skin—imperfect joints, latticed lungs, all of it—but suddenly sensible, necessary. Meat grinding, breath scraping: he’s both animal and architect, hammering at the gate and holding it all the same. Every expansion of ribs feels like he’s re-stitching himself to the world, sinew by sinew, using your body as needle and thread. Nothing ornamental, no fine work—just thudding, wet fact, and the relief of being absolutely, brutally alive.

His spine bows, hands move—one finds your hair, the other your clit—or rather, his. Wicked fingers worry you in rough little circles, no pattern, just frantic want. Every time your cunt clenches, he curses—half-laugh, half-whine—so raw it sounds broken. “How does that cock feel, hm?” he asks, voice an impish whisper.

“Good,” you moan, throttled by the clutched pillow. “Fuck—amazing. I want you. Iwantyou, fuck, please—”

He answers with a snap of hips, pace punishing, thighs slapping the backs of yours. Every clash feeds back to him in tremors; sweat slides down his temples, stinging his eyes. You tighten—again, again—milking him, and the edge rushes up his back like live current.

“That’s it—take me, my clever girl. Only me,” he says hoarse, near-laughing at how great it feels. “I want your belly round and your breasts heavy, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Yes.

Kindness shouldn’t bruise like this, but it does—delicious, chosen. Every rough stroke says you, specifically you; not any omega, not just any body. He uses you the way a potter works clay: fingers hard, intent clear, heat necessary. It isn’t impersonal; it’s possessive, reverential, and the contrast swells inside you—behind eyelids that flash white, between thighs that clamp and beg. Greed thickens, wet rises; your whole core pulses on the thought that the man who drips kindness from his touch is the same man dragging you open beyond what you thought possible.

“More,” you choke. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t—”

He yanks your hair, bends you like a reed. Mouth at your ear, hot stream of nonsense: “I won’t, wilful creature. Not until you break—” Words disintegrate into grunts. You’re past language too, just pulse and the thud of his heart against your back.

There’s keening as the spark explodes—everything inside knots, teeth, stars. You seize around him, slick flooding out in fresh gushes. “Viktor, fuck—”

“Yes,” he moans, ragged, loud—and drives so deep you swear you taste him on your tongue. “Full of me—ah—” It’s fragmented. Nearly spent. “I will take care of you. Fill you, breed you, love you into oblivion—fuck—"

It drags him under. Hair released, but you don’t fall— his arms cinch tight, palms crushing your breasts. He slams in, holds you with a raw groan—

“Fuck—yes—you,” he chokes, words spilling like sparks. “Perfect—for me—keep, keep me—“

Everything whites out. He empties in thick, pulse-deep surges—each contraction like marrow siphoned through bone—blinding, violent, perfect.

Then—he swells. So tight, so close, you can feel the twitch of his balls where your thighs cradle them. Tied to you by a possessive knot at the base, he breathes heavily, sweat dripping from his chin to your shoulder—slow and hot. He licks the salt from your skin, grateful. You wish it was teeth, rather than a tongue.

Weight hums through his arms that suddenly feel too weak to hold him upright. You ease both of you down onto the mattress: Viktor sprawled over your back, his ribs pressed between yours. His stomach billows in long purrs against the hollow of your spine, arms slipping beneath your belly to keep you welded together.

“Where’s my sigh?” Viktor mutters, his mouth tickling against your ear.

“I can barely breathe, let alone sigh,” you laugh into the sheets. Then, quieter: “You ruined my nest.”

“I am terribly sorry, my darling.” The darling part crawls through you like a ray of sunlight. He rolls to the side, spooning you, one leg hooking over yours. “It was a very nice nest.”

“Don’t mock me, you bastard.” You swat his thigh. “Look at you, knotting like we’re married.”

He’s glad you can’t see the blaze climbing his cheeks. “You should feel complimented,” he says, voice hitching, “and—it’s nice. I get to smell myself all over you.”

He gathers your hair, bares the slope of skin, licks a slow line, then sucks at the point where neck meets shoulder. You arch before you can stop yourself. His palm settles on your forehead, holding you in place.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, though the urge to bite sings in his teeth. “When it happens, I’ll make it special, I promise. Will that suffice?”

“It will,” you breathe, eyes closed. “God, I want to see you.”

“Give it fifteen minutes,” he says, voice warm. “For now—let me leave you a souvenir.” As if your skin isn’t already blooming with finger-bruises and stray bite marks, he sets his mouth above your clavicle, nurses a juvenile hickey into living colour. A poor man’s claim, hidden below tomorrow’s shirt.

It feels right—soft, intimate, a compromise between barely knowing and soul-shredding sex. Very him, you think, and you’ll wear the promise like a proud little secret under your clothes.

“I can’t believe you let me just straddle you the first time,” you whisper and there it is—a sigh. Long and content. Viktor adores it.

“Oh, that was only because you took such sweet care of my cock first,” he teases, fingertips scratching along your scalp. “And—” A pause, then a swallow—“it’s rare for cycles to sync like this outside a bonded pair. I’d forgotten how fragile a person feels, torn up by hormones.”

“So you were being… nice?”

“Is that odd?”

“God, I want to kiss you,” you say, craning your neck. He captures your jaw and props up on one elbow—clumsy, your bodies locked, the knot pulling at your entrance, annoying—yet the need for him eclipses the ache.

His lips are dry, but soft. He licks under your cupid’s bow, then eases his tongue inside. Eyes closed, he purrs—a lovely sound, comfort incarnate, dissolves in your mouth. The angle keeps it shallow and sweet—an awkward click of teeth, graceless, but honest. Sweat cools on his skin, settling into salty film. The swollen base inside you shifts when he adjusts, jolting a shared moan.

You are being held by an alpha who feels like he’s yours. And for the first time, you understand what omegas can have—what they should have. It fixes nothing of what you’ve been through—but makes it ache less. Makes it settle in your chest, accepted.

Forty-eight hours blur into a feral, sun-streaked reel:

Viktor bites without warning—shoulder, hip, the pad beneath your thumb—then fusses over hydration like a mother hen, pressing glasses to your lips between rounds and watering his houseplants with the same diligence. He answers the door for takeaway in nothing but a half-fastened brace and a shameless grin. He falls asleep purring on your chest; wakes you by palming your ass, licking the shell of your ear, or simply blowing a rude puff of air against your cheek.

Between fucks his grip stays iron—spanks land when you test him, threats of next time I’ll take your ass hanging in the room like storm heat. Dinner first, you keep reminding him; promise, he keeps answering. His spine pops when he stretches, hair curling tighter the wetter he gets. He studies every bruise and blossom on your skin like field notes, then spends long minutes mouthing your scar, whispering praise before sliding down to eat you out until your vision whites. He spits your own slick into your mouth, kisses it sweet, and laces your fingers with his while you come shaking on his lap.

You trade stories in the breathless valleys: childhood scraps, lab mishaps, the songs that make you pace a room. He laughs more than you thought he could—sharp, bright, unguarded. You nap tangled in half-dried sweat, wake, fuck again, shower—he produces a shower stool with triumphant glee—then fucks you into oblivion on it.

By the end, confidence blooms ferocious. While he’s dozing, you clamp your teeth at the juncture of neck and shoulder, suck hard and slow until a deep violet brand rises where no collar will hide it. He startles, touches the mark, then smiles—wide, sincere, a man astonished by how much living can fit inside two overturned days.

When the frenzy recedes—need cooling to a deep, bearable ache of bodies having been used and abused lovingly—you stand in the doorway in your spare clothes. Both of you showered, dressed, wrung out but peaceful. Parting feels ridiculous; your chest pinches.

You clear your throat, extend a hand like it’s a board-meeting exit. “Thank you. For helping me.”

Viktor’s mouth twitches—he looks like he’s about to burst out laughing. He clasps your hand, squeezes once, then yanks you in and seals his grin against your lips. “Will you do me a favour?” he murmurs, warmth ghosting your mouth. “I am going to dinner on Friday. I need a plus-one.”

A laugh punches out of you, bright and spent. “I suppose I owe you one, don’t I?”

“Yes, a big one” he says, grazing your cheek with his thumb as if you’ve already said yes. “Good. I’d hate to attend alone. I’m scared of waiters.”

“Consider it done,” you tease, and Viktor, once more—bites your lip. “Always happy to return a favour.”

#CRYING SCEAMING THROWING UP OHHHHH THE BLORBOS ARE BACKKKKK #the ending. i was legit cheesing so hard #viktor i love u #WHEN TEHY !!!! COMPARED SCARS !!!!#neither of them are faulty... ohhhh i love them #arcane #viktor #fic: favours between friends

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anitease · 1 month ago

Text

STOCKHOLM ₊˚⊹♡ J.YH | 1 (m)

jeong yunho x afab reader (mingi makes 'off-camera' guest appearance)

a/n: there is a special place in hell just for me for writing this fic... holy shit. also big huge disclaimer this does NOT in any way, shape, or form depict who / how yunho is irl. i love our puppy man, please do not take this fic as fact on his personality, please and thank you.

summary: in which Yunho kidnaps you and enforces rigid, abusive rules under the guise of twisted affection and the reign of unpredictability. your life is now in his hands, and he gets to play with it however he likes. and today? he deems you as ready to take the next step with him.

word count: 13.9k

warnings: (brace yourselves) - MINORS DNI I'M SO SERIOUS, meandom!yunho, mental abuse, physical abuse, swearing, psychological torture, kidnapping, captive reader, reader forced to say "i love you", conditioning, sadistic methods, oral (m receiving), face fucking, fingering, clit stimulation, spitting, use of names (daddy, doll, baby, good girl), unprotected p->v sex (don't do that pls), creampie, overstimulation, orgasm denial / edging, brief aftercare, subspace, slight non-con, dubcon, reader has hands tied for most if not all of the fic, size difference. I'm sure there's more but holy shit this is depraved.

18+ THIS IS THE FINAL WARNING. Smut begins after third divider.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Rule Number 1: Always Be On Your Best Behaviour

Rule Number 2: Never Answer The Door For Anybody But Daddy

Rule Number 3: Always Be Ready For Daddy When He Gets Home (18:00)

Rule Number 4: Never Disobey Daddy

Rule Number 5: Never Try To Leave.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You couldn’t breathe.

The same air you had been breathing in for the past four months choked you every day from the time you woke up to the time you went to sleep. But he had taught you well – even when he left you here by yourself, you knew to keep quiet. Being alone all day (sometimes for a week) with nothing to do drove you absolutely crazy.

By the end of the first month, you had debated jumping out the window.

But you couldn't even do that because it was locked up tight. Yunho ‘didn’t want his princess to accidentally fall’. ‘Accidentally’ being a clever substitute word. ‘Fall’ being another.

Now on month four, you lay on your back on the bed after finishing all of your daily chores, the ceiling slowly morphing and turning your vision white, staring at it for so long you began to go a little cross-eyed. You could watch TV. About three weeks ago, when he deemed you ‘trained enough’, he let you watch TV for the first time since being here, although you were only allowed two child-locked streaming sites. Nevertheless, it was like being given a luxury gift. The first step to leniency.

He had been extra sweet to you recently, getting a VPN so you could watch things in English. He would switch off the child lock on the TV once he got home, and you’d often watch something together while you both ate the dinner you had prepared. You had begun to look forward to those sweeter moments. The moments you did not fear. However today, you just couldn’t make yourself get up and find the remote. You weren’t motivated to do anything but wait.

So you would spend your days in agonising boredom, waiting to see if he would come at 6:00 like he used to every day. Recently, whenever he left you for weeks on end like this, to pass the time, you would walk right up to the hidden cameras around the apartment, imagining he was watching on the other side, and look into them with your best puppy eyes, begging him to come back. Anything to try and convince him.

He conditioned you so well.

Early on, everyday he used to go to work, come back at six on the dot, and walk into the apartment where you would be ready for him:

on your knees

wrists still tied

hair brushed and pushed back behind your shoulders

makeup done

head up, looking at him

dinner made

Doing your makeup, your hair, and making dinner with tied up wrists proved to be frustrating the first few weeks. Eventually, you got used to it, working out how to make each task a bit easier. But after the first month, he began to only come every other day, and then only a couple days a week, then once a week, then nothing.

He always came back now with groceries, enough to feed two families in case he left you alone for an extended time again. You’d quickly learned to ration food. The first couple weeks, he had threatened to weigh you every week, as he could tell you weren’t eating enough or at all. It had been one of many, pathetic last acts of rebellion in your new reality.

The last time he had been here was about a week ago, though you couldn’t be so sure as you had no idea what day it was. He didn’t think you needed to know. It simply wasn’t important for you to know.

It was all so psychologically tormenting that it quickly broke you down. You found yourself crying most days; not due to your situation, funnily enough, but because you wanted him here with you. You actually missed him when he wasn’t here – something you never believed you would ever feel in any capacity towards him. You could understand why you had started to, though. At least him being here gave your mind something to focus on other than how you badly wished for your freedom. Your eyes flicker to the door in the bedroom that leads out to the balcony. Maybe one day, you told yourself, just follow along. Be good.

You wonder if you had done something wrong to make him drift away from you this time, yet recalled nothing. But if you had done something wrong, you would’ve been punished for it, and you would damn well remember a punishment from Yunho.

“Corrections” he liked to call them. And your last correction really woke you up. Weeks later, the already trauma-tailored, kaleidoscopic memories of it would quickly flash across your mind like a hit-and-run. Psychologically, you may have already begun to black out what had happened, but the body remembers. And will always remember.

You were retreating into a small existence, to just serve and obey and behave. To survive. Live by his rules and standards, and all will be well. Life was a small, black room with a single spotlight that kept getting smaller and smaller the more he chipped away at your mind.

You glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 4:48PM already.

Your heart jumps and you swing your legs off the bed, tearing your gaze from the ceiling for today, to start getting ready just in case. you started with your makeup, since that not being done would get you a harsher correction than dinner not being quite ready once he walks through the door.

You had gotten so quick with it that it only took you about 10 minutes, leaving you an hour to prepare dinner. Should be doable. You decided on an easy meal, just in case he didn’t show up, but enough effort put into it to show him that you weren't being lazy (he hated laziness). You focus on preparing it and turn the television on in the living room to have background noise while you cook – some kids show you had no interest in but had become familiar with. At least the cartoon character’s voices in this one weren’t as annoying.

Making dinner was therapeutic for you now, giving you something to look forward to, and something to do, though it sometimes proved difficult with tied hands. You hoped if you continued to be good and earn his trust, he’d be a bit more lenient about leaving you tied up all the time.

You had just poured the tomato sauce in with the ground beef, and was starting to pour the pasta into the strainer when the faint sound of keys in the lock sent a chill down your spine, barely giving you any time to react as the door pushed open.

Shit.

You jump, startled to see Yunho so early and burn your hand with boiling hot water, causing you to yelp in pain. Biting your lip to not make any unnecessary noise, you quickly set the pot down on the kitchen counter and drop to your knees, forcing yourself to look up at him as he stalks forward towards you, taking his time to get close.

Tears brim in your eyes from the pain in your hand and knees, blurring his face. You could only guess how he was feeling based on his voice.

“Not quite ready for me today, are we, pet?” he smirks, but there’s not an ounce of amusement anywhere to be found in any syllable. Your body shakes from pain and fear, your lower lip trembling.

“W-welcome home, Daddy.” you recite. He hums, letting the following silence crush you. You blink hard, attempting to clear your vision.

It always leaves you speechless, how devastatingly beautiful Yunho is. His fluffy, thick black hair that always fell perfectly across his forehead, his large, toned body, rich brown eyes, a commandingly deep yet soft voice, and his beautifully sinful hands. In other circumstances, other situations where you were blissfully unaware of what he was capable of, it would’ve been easy for you to fall in love with him. But you knew better now. That was your mistake, for falling into the trap. A walking Venus Fly Trap, beautiful but deadly, who had made it clear more than a few times that he could and would kill you if you didn’t obey him. What was that quote? ‘They warned me the devil would be attractive’?

Exactly.

You snap out of your thoughts to watch him move towards you, always on alert for what he might do next. He was as unpredictable as a roulette wheel, and one day, that bullet was going to be fired.

Once he is mere inches away from you, he stops. Forcing yourself to keep eye contact with him was always the most challenging rule for you, especially when he seemed or was definitely annoyed. You couldn’t handle the look of disappointment on his face. You knew all too well what happened when he was disappointed.

One of his large hands suddenly pets your hair and you almost flinch, not expecting his touch to be so gentle. Cautiously, you lean into his touch, something you had been missing for days on end. Human contact. At this point, even if it was from him, you’d take it gladly.

He sighs, tearing his gaze from you to the kitchen.

"Don't worry, baby,” he says, “Daddy came home early. It's not your fault you weren’t ready for me.”

You don’t fully believe his words, but for now just do what has always been best for you: play along. Obey.

You raise yourself up on your knees a little more to nuzzle your cheek against his hand, kissing the heel of it, and this earns you a quiet “good girl” from him.

Yunho suddenly crouches down and you somehow manage to hold back a shocked gasp.

He never gets down to your level.

“Let me see.” He murmurs, gingerly taking your burned and stinging hand from your lap and inspecting it. The skin on the back of your hand had turned a bright, candy pink and had begun to shine a little. He could tell it was hurting you. Sighing, he bites his lip before pausing a moment. “Stay here.”

Yunho gets up, heading for the kitchen cupboard that holds the first aid kit. He grabs what he needs and then opens the freezer door, retrieving a small ice pack.

He returns to your side, wrapping a layer of gauze around your hand and then sandwiching the ice pack and another layer of gauze over it, securing the pack to your hand. It was messily done, but you couldn’t have done much better yourself.

“There, that’ll do for now,” he says, once secured, “all better?”

“Yes, Daddy, thank you.” you smile, happy that he was treating you nicely so far.

He smiles back before helping you to your feet, kissing the top of your head as you stand. You can’t hide your puzzled look, wondering what you had possibly done to make him act this nice to you today. That look intensifies when he then moves towards the food and begins to plate dinner for himself.

“Oh—! Daddy, wait, let me do that!” You exclaim, nearly launching yourself towards the food you had prepared, frantic.

But he just shakes his head, continuing calmly and not looking at you at all. “Sit down at the table and wait for me.”

What? You stop in your tracks, eyes flicking between him and the food like one of them was about to bite you. But Yunho still doesn’t say anything else or make any sudden movements.

“O-okay, Daddy…” you reply, cautiously making your way to sit at the kitchen table.

This had to be one of his tests. A test from him could happen at any time, and from experience, if it walks, talks, and quacks like a test, it was one. A nagging suspicion clawed at your throat, your adrenaline ready to spring into action at any second. All it needed was the next fight or flight situation Yunho was going to put you through. Any second now.

But Yunho just carries on, preparing two plates for you two and setting the table. Feeling a bit useless and unfamiliar with this change in routine, you shift your weight on the chair, nervously swinging your feet, waiting for the other shoe to drop. The notorious temper. The reveal of what you had done wrong to disappoint him, and the correction to follow, but it never comes.

Finally, he places a bowl of pasta in front of you, and sits down across from you.

Your eyes flicker up to meet his. He knows you know better than to eat before he does, so you wait.

He watches you for a while, his slender fingers lazily tracing the rim of his wine glass, deep in thought.

Something is different. You couldn't put your finger on what it was, or what it could be, but you were growing more and more nervous by the minute.

Yunho gestures to your food.

“Eat.”

You balk, eyes wide in initial confusion. The only sound in the apartment is the air conditioning kicking on.

‘Test.’ A little voice in the back of your head whispers. ‘It’s a test. Don’t move.’

He grins at the surprised look on your face and repeats himself, quieter this time.

You still don’t move. You know better.

“N-not before Daddy eats.” You say quietly, not trusting your words or your voice.

Yunho pauses a moment before rolling his shoulders back, raising his wine glass to his plush lips before asking, “And why is that, baby?”

“So I—“ you clear your throat, “so I remember my place.”

He’s quiet for a moment longer as he takes a sip of wine, and then… he smiles.

“Smart girl.” He grins, proud that you were learning so quickly.

A rush of air leaves you as you watch him stab at the pasta with his fork, bringing it up to his mouth. He chews, he swallows, and he nods to you, signalling that you're allowed to eat now.

Another test passed. Another reward. Like some fucked up game of Simon Says.

He hadn’t tested you like that in a few weeks, and perhaps was being sickly sweet to you to throw you off guard. It nearly worked. But your nerves settle somewhat now that you know you didn't disobey him, yet you are still somewhat unsure as you begin to eat as well. Your eyes never leave his as you warily pick up your own fork, with some difficulty from the rope and the ice pack both restricting how well you could use your hands.

You eat in silence, and he only breaks it to compliment the food you made, which you, of course, thank him for. He leans back in his chair once finished, scrolling through his phone, and running a hand through his fluffy hair. you quickly place the last of your pasta in your mouth and get up to clear the table. Before you can pass him to the kitchen, Yunho stops you, grabbing your wrist, and you pray that he doesn’t notice the goosebumps that immediately rise up on your arm at his touch.

“Show me.” he instructs, looking intently at your bowl. Obediently, you tilt the bowl down, revealing that it’s empty, and he nods approvingly, letting you go and looking back down at his phone again. The water rushing from the sink hides the sound of your shaky breaths as you force down a panic attack. Do not. Do not do not do not do not…

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

After washing the dishes, you quietly move to the fridge, opening it with shaking hands to retrieve a water bottle, hoping to calm your nerves a bit more. Somehow you don’t sense the looming presence right behind you until you turn back around, dropping the bottle entirely once you register he’s right there.

A pair of scissors in hand.

Your heart jumps to your throat and your back hits the fridge as you prepare to beg him to not hurt you again, but he ignores you as he calmly and wordlessly grabs your hands, and with a couple snips of the scissors, frees them from the thin white rope. You look up at him, utterly perplexed. Your hands twitch with increased bloodflow. His voice is quiet when he speaks, his lips right next to your ear.

“I want you to go to the bedroom and wait for me there. Okay, baby?”

Your heart rate spikes.

Oh.

That explains a lot.

You lick your dry lips before nodding, shyly.

“Am I…” you struggle to make yourself say it out loud, “Do you think I'm ready?”

Yunho ghosts his lips against your cheekbone, his breath making you shiver.

“Yes, baby, I do. Wanna reward my good girl…” he punctuates his words with a kiss beneath your jaw. You whimper, frozen and nervous. He pulls back from your neck to look at you when he realizes you're not moving yet.

“Go.” He directs, impatience creeping into his tone. Startled back into action, you quickly beeline to the bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed, awaiting your next instructions.

You were in uncharted territory with him now.

He hadn’t given you bedroom rules or directions yet, but you knew by morning they’d be seared into your brain like a cattle brand.

Doubt and anxiety began to overwhelm you.

Did he want me here or in the middle of the bed?

Standing? Kneeling?

Kneeling, definitely kneeling, right? Like always?

What about my clothes? The ice pack?

You weren't left alone with your anxiousness and questions for long as you hear him pour himself some more wine, and then his footsteps coming closer to the room.

At the last second before he comes into view in the doorway, you get off the bed and drop to your knees on the plush carpet, hoping that your gut instinct would be right.

Please be right.

Yunho enters the room, his white button up shirt unbuttoned halfway, revealing a sliver of his broad, perfectly toned chest, and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Looking sickeningly heavenly.

His jaw twitches, an unreadable expression on his face. Your heart takes a nosedive.

He takes a quick sip of wine before setting it down on the bedside table, along with his phone, languidly like he has all the time in the world. Like he knows you’re hanging on every move he makes. He loves this: the tension, your uncertainty of what he’ll do next. Chaos theory personified.

Yunho wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand and slowly walks towards you.

“Almost,” he chuckles to himself. He then grabs your jaw, tilting your head up higher to make you look at him. Your breath hitches but you force yourself to remain quiet. Remain calm.

“Ready for your new rules, baby?” You can only nod in response, the pressure of the heel of his hand against your jaw effectively keeping your mouth shut. “From now on, when I tell you to wait in the bedroom for me, I want you on your knees and undressed. Clear?”

His hand relieves most of the pressure under your jaw so you can answer him properly. “Yes, Daddy.” you choke out, your breath leaving you once he had grabbed you.

He resumes, “You will always look at me, no matter what. You will take whatever I give you and say ‘thank y–’ you will get my fucking belt if you don’t start undressing right now,” he growls the last part, interrupting himself, his eyes flashing with anger.

Suddenly snapping into action, you quickly remove your shirt, followed by your pants and underwear and discard them next to you on the floor.

Yunho huffs, trying to keep his temper under control. He hated having to repeat himself, especially when it was an order for you. Though irritated, he motions for you to give him your hand and gently unwraps the gauze and the ice pack, placing them both neatly on the floor next to you. Almost reluctantly, he goes to his dresser, pulls out a thin black rope, and comes back to you to tie you back up with it. Your heart sinks again, but you offer your wrists up to him so he wouldn’t have to bend down too much.

You look up at him as he silently ties your wrists together, wanting to reach for his pant leg, in search of comfort of some kind, but you weren't allowed to touch him first. The rope bites your skin, but you know not to say anything. Nothing good would ever come out of you telling him that the rope was uncomfortable.

Yunho runs a hand through your hair, tightly gripping a handful at the roots, keeping your head tilted back.

“You will not run from me or what I give you.” he continues, struggling to keep his tone even, “You will not say ‘no’. Having Daddy use you like this is a privilege… isn’t that right, baby?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Your answer comes quickly, the pain in your scalp acting as a good motivator.

“You've been waiting so patiently for this moment haven’t you?” He hums, tilting his head like a puppy.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“And does my baby understand that if she breaks any of my rules, she’ll be corrected?”

You shiver. Nothing scared you more than a Yunho correction, though you knew he wasn’t talking about those kinds. The ones he actually referred to as ‘punishments’. Corrections were mere child’s play compared to punishments.

You swallow around your fear and reply in a small voice, “Yes, Daddy. I understand. I’ll be your good girl.”

Yunho smiles softly, letting go of your hair in favour of caressing your cheek. Always maintaining a balance, hot and cold. “You have been my good girl, haven't you?” he sighs contentedly, “that’s why you deserve this now.”

You nod, big glassy eyes staring up at him in pure, rehearsed obedience.

“Who knows, baby… if you do well for me tonight, I might reward you.”

Unlikely. The promise of a reward was never as set in stone as a correction threat. you could count on one hand how many rewards you had received during your time with him so far, and you had lost count on how many corrections you had been given, especially during your first few weeks. But… maybe. Just maybe he was being sincere about it. Your eyes flickered over to the door that led out to the balcony.

Fresh air. If he would be kind enough to let you pick a reward, that’s what you'd choose in a heartbeat. Quicker than a heartbeat. Your lungs sang at the very idea of breathing in the wind and city again.

“Getting to… be with you is reward enough, Daddy.” you say, struggling to get the words out when you know you don’t mean them wholeheartedly.

But he smiles warmly and he smooths your hair. “My sweet girl…”

Yunho lets himself admire you for a few moments, his hands carefully tracing your body. You take a deep breath in, willing your body to stop shaking as he touches you. The goosebumps had returned, and the hair on the back of your neck stood up when one of his hands got dangerously close to your throat. Thankfully, if he notices, he doesn’t say anything. You were being good. Staying still, keeping quiet, your eyes never leaving his face even though he didn’t meet your gaze.

“Can you say it for me, baby girl?” Yunho whispers, eyes downcast almost like he’s shy. Reminiscent of the same kicked puppy act that had drawn you to him in the first place.

Say it.

It.

A slight sour taste coats the inside of your mouth at the very idea. That same small voice in the back of your mind however, cheers you on to say it. To survive. Mentally and physically pulled in different directions.

Say it. He’s waiting. Don’t keep him waiting. It’s so easy, just say it–

“I... love you, Daddy.” You manage, your throat tight and your words somewhat flat like you were reading them off of a page. But he melted all the same. Almost like a relief had been lifted off of his shoulders, Yunho’s whole body relaxes like he needed to hear you say those words more than anything. He nods once, more to himself than to you, fighting back a smile. His eyes flicker to his hands on your waist, and he bites his lip.

Quickly, his arousal overpowers his self-control. He’s been patient enough.

“Get on the bed, princess.” His voice drops low. Your heart swells. He only calls you ‘princess’ when you're being really good, or if he’s feeling extra nice to you. Either one was a good sign. Encouraged by a simple word, you quickly get up and place yourself in the middle of the bed.

The last of your independent thoughts scream at you in shame when you feel yourself getting wet just by seeing him stand at the foot of the bed, slowly unbuttoning the last few buttons of his shirt. There was something about him being fully dressed while you were completely naked that was just… a power dynamic that turned you on so easily even before you had met him.

Once the last button was undone, he places his knee on the bed, grabs your ankles and pulls you towards him. You gasp but quietly wait for his next move. He smirks, tracing your skin with his fingertips.

“Nervous, baby?”

Yes and no. Yes, because you were scared of fucking up somehow in this uncharted territory and or forgetting the new rules already.

No, because even though Yunho ignored the truth, you weren't a virgin.

You had told him so before you had been brought here, back when you thought he was innocently trying to get to know you. A normal question to ask during a third date, with the not quite so normal end of a chloroform rag against your face while you walked back to his car.

While here, he had treated you like you had never been with another man other than him before in your entire life. Even going as far to cover your eyes if a sex scene came on while watching TV. Hence, the childlocks on the streaming sites when he’s not here.

But you've gotten so used to manoeuvring life here day by day that your response comes naturally, “A little, Daddy…” and it’s not a lie.

“Tell me.” he instructs, carefully parting your legs by pushing your knees apart. His gaze is zeroed in on your core, and you want nothing more than to hide and or die of humiliation.

You wet your dry bottom lip with your tongue before answering, trying to push the embarrassment down. “I… I… I’m nervous because it’s my… first time,” with him but you don’t / can’t say that detail, “but… I know Daddy will take care of me... if I’m good for him.”

Yunho hums affirmatively, beginning to press kisses along your inner thighs. He gently pushes your legs close to your chest, essentially folding you in half. Without any further delay, or warning, he licks a stripe up your folds, making your back arch off of the bed instantly. You can feel him smile against you for a moment, no doubt smug that you were already wet for him before his mouth was on you. His lips close around your clit, sucking harshly before looking back up at you to see your reaction.

You somehow already feel close. Sharp pangs of pleasure shudder through you in waves, and you force yourself to stifle the volume of your sounds by keeping your mouth closed, lips pressed together in a tight, thin line.

He hums, the vibrations against your clit making you see stars.

“Good?”

“Y-yes, Daddy. Thank you.”

“Hold your legs back for me,” he says, helping you hook your bound wrists around your knees, effectively blocking your view of him. You try to not let that scare you. At least previously you could always see him and what he was about to do to you. Now that one comfort was taken away for now.

You shiver from another intense wave of pleasure as he drags his tongue through your folds again. He makes a low noise, spitting on something and then quickly thereafter, something cold and wet drags along your pussy. You whine at the feeling, but he shushes you.

“Relax for me, baby. Need you to relax so I can prep you properly…” His voice sounds a bit strained, like he’s trying to slow down and not just take you however he wants right now. Perhaps he knows deep down you could handle it… but in this fantasy he’s created and deluded himself into believing wholeheartedly, he refuses to acknowledge that. He can’t. He won’t.

Once he deems you relaxed and wet enough, he slowly pushes one of his long fingers into you. A breathy moan escapes you, and you dig your nails into your legs. He hums again, watching his finger slowly disappear and reappear in and out of your pussy.

“Oh baby, you’re so tight… I don't know how I'll ever fit inside of you…”

You whimper as he adds another finger, beginning to curl both of them upwards to find your g-spot with ease, carefully scissoring you open. You catch yourself wishing you could see him. Wanting to watch his hands. His fingers dig in deep, pressing against that spot and you shudder.

“Fuck–!” you squeak before you can stop yourself. What you’re rewarded with for that is a harsh slap coming down on the back of your thigh. You flinch and whimper but dare not move much more.

“Watch your mouth.” Yunho growls, halting everything. That same brief anger from earlier flashing in his eyes.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to swear, I'm sorry.” you try to quickly cover, launching into damage control.

“Who the fuck are you addressing right now?” He punctuates his question with five brutal spanks to your ass.

Realising your second mistake much too late, you all but scream your correction.

“Daddy!! I'm sorry, Daddy, please I'll watch my mouth, Daddy, I'm so sorry.”

Yunho only sighs, frustrated. He smooths over the spot he struck you with a more gentle hand.

“Thought I trained you better than that,” he says dejectedly, like he was genuinely disappointed, “my doll should only say pretty words, not vulgar ones. If this is how you’re gonna act when we do this, then… maybe you’re not ready after all.”

To prove his point, he slowly begins to drag his fingers out of you.

Frantically, you clench around them, trying to keep him in. If you displayed that you wanted him just as badly, maybe he’d spare you a harsher correction for your mistake.

But Yunho ignores your attempt, even unhooking your hands from your legs and lowering them back down. Tears immediately spring to your eyes, and you sniffle as you watch him wipe his fingers on the bedding like they were dirty. He gives your thigh a light smack, eyes sharp.

“Don't give me that look. I should just leave you like this for another week, shouldn't I?”

Tears flow down your face, but you keep quiet. Yunho sighs, running a hand through his hair. He’d be reluctant to admit it at the moment, but he didn’t like to make you cry, or be the reason that you’re upset. That’s not what this is all about. You just have to learn, he knows that. He knew the first few months were going to be the most difficult, the weeks filled with the most tears. He looks away from you, wondering what to do about this as he listens to you sniffle and try to force yourself to take deeper breaths. There could always be another way to train you properly, he just had to find it.

He weighs his options. He could be nice, actually nice, and let you have it; or he could be mean and take it all away. Leave you here with only your thoughts and scraps of food for another week. Another week with the children’s television shows and the air conditioning turning on and off on its set schedule. As impatient as Yunho is sometimes, he’d do it again in a heartbeat if he felt like you needed a reminder that you rely on him. For everything. Whether you liked it or not, whether you accepted it yet or not. Your world was his now, and the sooner you acknowledged and accepted that fact, the easier it would be for you. That was what killed him on those nights away from you: this could all be so much easier for you if you just stopped fighting it. If you just followed your rules to perfection… if you stopped saying such awful words. He had half a mind to drag you into the bathroom and wash your mouth out.

However… he got a better idea.

“Or,” he says quietly after a moment, “maybe I should train that mouth first…?”

You stop breathing.

He grins at his idea, suddenly grabbing you and manoeuvring you off the bed and onto the carpet with ease. That was another thing about Yunho: he was deceptively strong.

“Wanna prove yourself to me, baby? Get on your knees.”

You quickly scramble onto your knees, facing the edge of the bed, where he now sits.

He lets you kneel between his long legs, and it takes all of your willpower to keep your eyes on his, and not the sight of the intimidatingly large bulge in his jeans.

You keep your hands in your lap, waiting for his next directive for you.

He doesn’t make you wait long.

“Go ahead and take me out, baby girl.”

On autopilot, you start to take his belt off, dropping it to the side quickly as you pop open the button on his jeans. The same belt that had been the reason you couldn’t sit down properly for a week straight two months ago. The same belt he threatened you with earlier this evening. You and that damn belt were mortal enemies now, and you drop it like it bit you.

You have half the mind to shove the damn thing under the bed just in case.

It’s a little difficult to coax the zipper down and over his bulge, and you shiver as you struggle, but eventually, it comes down and he raises his hips slightly to help you pull his jeans off of him. With bound hands you can’t exactly fold them as properly as you would’ve wanted, so you opt for gently laying them down as flat on the floor as possible.

You almost turn shy. Knowing you’re about to see him for the first time makes you visibly nervous. To him though, it only plays into his fantasy of you. To him, you look nervous because you’ve never seen a man like this before. He shivers at the thought, but composes himself rather quickly.

He can tell you’re hesitating so he guides your hands to rest on top of the somehow still growing bulge underneath his boxers.

You immediately can feel that he is as hard as a rock already and you gasp quietly, letting your hands slowly explore. You gently squeeze the thick outline of his cock through the thin layer of fabric and he hisses through his teeth.

What he said earlier about how he’s not sure how he’s gonna fit inside of you parades around your head.

God help me…

Impatience nearly radiates off of him before you finally hook your fingers under the waistband and finally pull downwards.

Oh.

Your heart drops to your stomach. Your eyes widen in slight fear.

Yeah he wasn’t kidding around at all….

Somehow, he was even bigger than you expected, still growing hard against his stomach. He laughs under his breath at your not so subtle reaction, petting your hair.

“Don't be scared, doll. I'll help you.”

You whimper in response, almost in disbelief, and he smiles at your pathetic little sound. He guides your hands to wrap around his length, sighing softly as you cautiously squeeze him, your hand just barely being able to wrap around him.

“Look who’s such a fast learner,” condescending pride and perversion dripping from every syllable, “why don’t you try putting your mouth on it, baby?”

You swallow thickly, nodding. You experiment with gentle kitten licks, suckling on the head of it.

He sighs, leaning back a little to watch you.

“Squeeze it a bit tighter, baby— ah, that’s it. That's it, good girl…keep going.”

One of his hands finds a home in your hair, and begins to push you down towards the tip. Your lips part, jaw already hurting from just that much. He lay heavy on your tongue and you close your lips around his cock, licking the underside of it and sucking it like an oversized lollipop. You release one of your hands and attempt to fit more of him in your mouth, lightly squeezing the base of his cock with your other hand.

Yunho’s head falls back and he groans.

“My little natural, huh?” he purrs.

You hum around him, tightening your lips around him to make sure he could feel the vibrations.

“Mmph— my good girl…” he chuckles under his breath, “can you take more?”

He holds the back of your head and slowly pushes more of himself into your mouth. You make a slightly panicked noise when he touches the back of your throat, barely halfway down, and still pushes more in. Your eyes water and you struggle against his hands holding you in place.

He shushes you when he sees you starting to get restless and panicked.

“Just this much is good enough for now…” he hums, admiring the already-wrecked sight of your face, “it’ll get easier with practice.”

He draws back slightly before pushing in again, essentially beginning to fuck your throat.

You can’t breathe.

Your vision blurs with tears as you cough and splutter around him, but his iron grip on the back of your head keeps you firmly in place.

“Lucky i’m being nice,” he groans, “I should fucking destroy your throat for what you said…”

Hypocrite, you think bitterly as he swears too.

You gag around him multiple times, hands desperately clawing at the hem of his open shirt as you panic.

Your lungs scream for air and tears stream down your face as a slight nausea builds from gagging so much.

This is him being NICE? Oh god…

“Shhh, calm down baby. Maybe this’ll make you think twice about saying such filthy, unladylike words.”

You try to take a deep breath with what little air you can manage through your nose and relax your throat as much as you can.

“That’s it, doll. Just be patient…gonna wash your mouth out real soon.”

He pushes in deep, feeling your throat constrict around him, and you sob, cries muffled by his cock. He lets his head fall back again, eyes flicking up towards the ceiling before closing them completely.

Through your panic, you manage to think of what could help him cum quicker.

You move your hands down so they can reach his cock, squeezing it hard and stroking it in time with his thrusts into your mouth. And then, manoeuvring your right hand down to play with his balls.

Yunho groans loudly, tightening his grip on your hair even more, pulling you back so only half of his cock is in your mouth.

“Impatient doll… greedy thing wants my cum now?”

You splutter something incoherent around his length, but it’s evident that you replied with the default, “yes, Daddy”

He hums, beginning to fuck your mouth for real now. Again, you suck as hard as you can, jaw hurting so bad you almost couldn’t bear it anymore, and you use your drool as lubricant to stroke the rest of him that you couldn’t fit in your mouth.

His thighs tense a little and a deep groan escapes him.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunts, fucking into your mouth a bit harder, “m’gonna cum… keep your eyes on me… yes, good girl.”

You whine as he pushes you down again, struggling to keep your eyes up.

Finally, a strangled moan falls from his lips and you feel and taste his cum pooling in your mouth, some dripping down your chin or running down the back of your throat. He shivers, his hand in your hair flexing slightly as he lets go.

“Don’t swallow yet. Let Daddy see.”

With a complete 180 switch, he gently pulls out of your mouth and wipes your chin with his thumb. Your hands fall back into your lap and you’re panting, still looking up at him with your mouth open, showing him that you still haven’t swallowed yet.

Not without permission. Never doing anything without permission.

Yunho tilts your head up a bit more and you cough a little as some of his cum falls back into your throat.

His thumb presses against your bottom lip. And he starts massaging his cum into your tongue.

You fight back a grimace, the unfamiliar, slightly sour taste of it overwhelming your taste buds and your slowing brain. He replaces his thumb with the same two fingers that he had had inside you earlier and continues, absolutely and completely coating your mouth. Literally. washing it out.

You whimper, the added layer of humiliation causing a few more tears escaping.

He never looks away from your mouth, completely fixated on what he was doing though your jaw aches to be closed again, the pain all you can focus on.

Eventually, he drags his fingers out, softly tracing your lips.

“Swallow for me.”

Immediately you close your mouth, jaw popping painfully, and swallow.

You cough a little and clear your throat.

“Show me.” he says, tapping your cheek expectantly.

He hums once he sees your now empty mouth and helps pull you back up to the bed so your head is propped up by the pillows, laying down next to you on his side.

As soon as you’re laying down, his hand finds its way between your legs again. He finds your clit immediately and you tense up at the sudden pleasure.

“My doll's such a fast little learner, hm?”

You whimper in response, still trying to keep your eyes on him, blinking heavily.

He draws lazy circles and applies a good amount of pressure on your clit, making you melt easily for him.

In desperate need of comfort, you can’t help but wish he’d kiss you. The most he’d give you is a quick kiss on your forehead before bed, only to wake up to him being gone without a trace in the morning. But after the panicked state you were in, plus the abuse to your throat, you needed some sort of reassurance that he still wanted you. As if your tied up wrists weren’t already your answer to that. Maybe if you’re good…

The most you can do is just be good and play along and hope you get rewarded for it. As usual.

You can pretend you’re losing your virginity to him. You can make him happy. You can be good.

A good little hostage.

You swallow your feelings down until tomorrow. Tomorrow, when you wake up to an empty bed again, then you can let it all go. Cry, pout, reflect. Stare at the balcony door until your eyes burn. All of that… but it had to wait until tomorrow.

“Daddy…” you mumble, unsure if he would be upset if you spoke right now.

But he meets your gaze again, a glazed over fondness in his eyes.

“Yes, baby?”

You bite your lip, acting shy. Submissive.

“I-I’m… scared…”

He pouts, but you can tell he’s just revelling in this underneath the concerned exterior.

“Oh baby, why?” he asks, his fingers on your clit subtly speeding up.

“I just…” you struggle to guesstimate what he’d like to hear for a second but end up settling with, “I just haven’t done anything like this before… and Daddy’s so… big…” you trail off.

And to be honest, you weren’t lying. You were very nervous to see how he’d fit into you. If he even could at all.

Yunho shudders, dipping his fingers deep into your pussy.

“That’s why you gotta let Daddy prep you, sweet girl,” he can’t hold back his smile, and you feel like you can breathe a bit easier knowing you said all the right things. “Just stay quiet and let Daddy take care of you, okay?”

You nod, for once being happy to be told to just shut up.

Nerves still wrack through your body, shivering when he curls his fingers upwards, hitting that sweet spot dead on. Without much warning, suddenly three of his fingers are inside you, stretching you out even more. You wince, legs threatening to close around his hand, knees bending slightly. Suppressing your habit of swearing proved to be monumentally difficult, but you managed to replace what you wanted to say with a choked moan and a sharp inhale.

Eventually, you both can hear how wet you are with every pump of his fingers in and out of you, and you blush profusely. But Yunho nearly purrs, nipping at your neck and shoulder as he speeds up, feeling you clench and pulse around him as he covers your skin in possessive marks.

Your noises increase in quantity instead of volume, difficult as it is, wanting to tell him that you’re close but knowing you have to stay quiet. You fight with yourself over what to do, hoping he can tell already.

“A-ah–” your hands grip his shirt. His thumb joins in now, massaging your clit.

Your nerves basically explode, making your back arch up.

“Shhh… gotta make my pretty doll cum so she can take Daddy’s cock later. Still so tight for me…” He straightens up a bit so he can pick up the pace even more, the wet squelching sounds making your cheeks burn red. You press your lips together in a tight line, muffling your sounds as best you can.

A wave of pleasure washes over you and seizes your lungs, and you have to breathe manually.

“Mmm, you’re close aren’t you, baby? I can tell… wanna cum for me? Hm?”

“Yes Daddy, yes, please–” you nod, frantically, unsure you’ll be able to stop yourself from doing so, with or without permission. He chuckles under his breath.

“So cute… go ahead. Show daddy how good his hands make you feel.”

You exhale a shaky sigh of relief and let the next wave of pleasure engulf you fully, pushing you over the edge. Your body tenses and shudders uncontrollably, coating his hand in your arousal as he continues to finger you through it.

God damn, his hands were pure magic…

“Remember your rules…” he sighs, not giving me much time afterwards.

“Tha- th- ah… thank you, D-Daddy”

“Mhm.” He lazily slips his fingers out to rub your sensitive clit, only to then shove them back into you.

Still horribly sensitive from your first orgasm, the thought of another one so quickly makes your brain go haywire. You can only whimper pathetically, burying your face into his shoulder, breath uneven as the aftershocks hit you. A muffled moan escapes you as well before you’re suddenly yanked up by the hair.

“Thought I told you to always look at me, baby.” he growls, hooking his fingers right against your g-spot in frustration, “you’ve been so good the past few weeks, why are you misbehaving now?”

You let out a soft cry, eyes glued to his even though you feel so pathetic and self conscious about how you must look.

His jaw sets and you know you are a hairs breadth away from setting him off. You swallow hard, already close again and barely capable of focusing on much else.

“So lucky…” you hear him mumble under his breath, trailing off and shaking his head. Your heart twists in your chest as he lets your hair go.

You keep fucking up.

Mercifully, he keeps going, driving you closer to your second orgasm, and quite quickly.

“Cum.” he says simply, his voice as flat as a board. Your eyes threaten to roll back as you cum again, but you fight against it. Yunho, however, breaks eye contact with you to look down at his hand, still working you through the high, dripping wet.

A sob stumbles out of you when he drags his fingers out, just to rub your clit again. Luckily, he stops after a few moments, watching your body twitch and shudder from the aftershocks. He also lets you breathe for a moment, which you appreciate.

“Thank you, Daddy.” you mumble, a strange guilt eating away at you.

You continue looking at him as your breathing slows, watching himself trace his wet fingers along the tops of your thighs and your stomach.

After a few silent moments, his touch disappears from your skin.

“You get a warning this time, baby…I’m trying to be patient since this is so new for you,” he says lowly, still not meeting your gaze, “but you will not disobey me again, or I won’t be so fucking nice anymore. Do I make myself clear?”

Finally, he looks back at you and you nod, 100% understanding that you need to be super careful from now on. A part of you wants to cry, knowing he probably won’t kiss you now. There would be no comfort after this. Nothing to help you cope. An empty bed and a locked door.

“Yes, Daddy. I'm sorry…”

He sighs again before softly patting my leg. “Don't be sorry, just be good.”

You silently watch him shift, placing his large body over yours, gathering your wrists in one of his hands and holding them above your head. Your body can’t stop shaking, now moreso because of nerves. Yunho hums, taking his time to drink in the sight of you beneath him.

Finally.

His free hand trails down your body, leaving goosebumps in its path and he settles his hand on your waist, keeping you still.

“Keep them here.” he instructs, pushing your wrists into the bed-frame so you understand what he’s talking about before releasing them completely.

You almost miss the pressure once it’s gone, finding it to be oddly grounding.

Yunho kisses you on the forehead and the small gesture makes you nearly sing. Then you feel it.

The heavy weight of his cock resting on your lower stomach, right up to your navel. Somehow, you manage to keep somewhat calm. Even when he begins to drag his length up and down against your wet folds. He guides the head to gather your arousal that still leaks out of you and you can’t help but shudder at the thickness and length of it.

How?

Yunho seems to have noticed the worried look on your face and grins.

“I'm gonna take my time with you, baby, don’t worry. I'll make it fit.”

And with that, he lines himself up to your entrance

Though a little bit of your authentic self was still buried within you somewhere, screaming at you to try to escape, and that you don’t want this, in your dumbed down, two orgasm state, you couldn’t be bothered to give her any time of day. Especially when he first pushes in

You don’t even realise how tense you are until your feet start to cramp painfully.

Everything burns. Not necessarily from pain, rather all of your nerves and senses were on full red alert. A low growl rumbles in his chest once the tip is fully in, and he slowly attempts to push more of himself into your pussy.

“So fucking wet… such a good little virgin cunt for me, baby.” His voice is strained, his fantasy coming alive right in front of him, “always so tight at first….just relax and let me in…”

One of his hands moves off of your hip to your clit, rubbing slow and gentle circles on your bundle of nerves. You whine, eyes tearing up quickly from the intense stretch. His cock is pressed against every single part of your walls. His other hand presses against the bed, next to your head, his gaze completely focused on watching his large cock stretch you out. He pauses for a moment, your pussy clenching around him so tight he can barely move. To you, you just think he’s finally all the way in. You exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your body relaxing enough for him to push more in, much to your surprise.

He bites his lip to hide a smirk.

“Didn’t think that was all of me, did you?”

Shocked, you just let a strangled whine fall from your parted lips, your nails digging into your palms, desperate to hold onto him instead.

Maybe if you’re good maybe if you’re good—

Yunho shushes you, his grip on your hip tightening, slightly pulling you towards him, cooing praises in your ear. You register him talking to you but don’t catch all of it

“M’starting to think you were made to take cock, doll.”

“Good girl, almost there.”

You also feel something dripping from your core and for a split second you wonder if he somehow broke your hymen all over again and you were bleeding.

With another few moments of him pushing in, taking small breaks to help you get used to it, you finally feel his lower body press against yours. He exhales shakily, kissing your shoulder.

“There you go, doll. you took all of it… just like you’re supposed to.”

If your brain was less foggy you would’ve had a bigger reaction to his words, but all you could focus on was the burning stretch. It was bordering on pain and discomfort, married somewhere in the middle. You blink away tears, but still find your vision a bit blurry.

Quickly remembering one of your new rules, you stutter a whiny, “thank you, Daddy”.

“Mhmm~” Yunho hums, smiling down at you, “knew you’d have a tight little pussy for me…”

He experiments rolling his hips into yours, knocking the breath out of you from how deep he was. After a couple medium thrusts, he sinks completely into you again, your hips pressed against each other’s. You can’t hold back your choked moan.

Every nerve in your body is on fire, and to make matters worse, he presses a hand down on your lower stomach. And you scream, tears instantly flooding down your cheeks.

He smirks, tongue in cheek, and he slowly massages that area as he just barely moves inside of you. The combination nearly blinds you, your vision becoming even more spotty.

“Feel that, doll?” he laughs to himself, “that’s every fucking inch of me inside your pussy… deeper than anyone could ever hope to be.”

His hand lightly squeezes your waist before ever so slowly pulling out, about halfway.

You immediately panic.

Your heart drops to your feet, and you prepare to scramble to apologise for whatever you did to make him withdraw from you. But he quickly thrusts back in, all the way, clearing up your confusion and panic.

He smirks at you, smug and aroused as all hell as he sees just how much power and control he has over you. It’s intoxicating to him.

“Stupid little doll,” Yunho purrs like he’s complimenting you, slowly rocking in and out of you as he speaks, “you think i’d stop now? no no no…” Then he leans down until he’s right next to your ear, and you struggle to breathe, every little thing overwhelming you.

“This is your new routine. Daddy’s gonna fuck his little doll’s wet cunt every night, and you’re gonna let me. We’re not gonna stop until I’m finished using you… and I warn you, doll: I can go for hours.”

At the last word, he nips your ear, trailing his plush lips down your jaw, then your neck. Your head swims as you zone out, looking up at the ceiling.

His words didn’t even hit you yet through your fog. You just nod, dumbly. Accepting.

You clench around him again subconsciously and he shudders, taking it as a sign to go harder. And so he does.

He snaps his hips into yours and you cry out, now just gripping onto the headboard for dear life.

He litters hickeys and bite marks all over your neck and shoulder, gradually thrusting into you faster and harder. You can barely keep your eyes open or your mouth closed, only focusing on trying to catch your breath somehow as you literally feel him in your stomach. Suddenly you know what the phrase “rearranging your guts” feels like.

Your body starts to curl in on itself, your legs wrapping around his waist, your nose digging into his shoulder as he attacks yours. He licks over the marks he made on your skin before straightening up quickly and pushing you back down to lay flat.

“Feel good, baby? Hmm?”

He tilts his head like a curious, innocent puppy, as if he’s not making you see God right now. You can only nod, your voice unavailable with no air support. Then he manoeuvres your legs onto his shoulders and leans forward again, somehow getting even deeper than before, and you scream from the pleasure.

“Yeah?” he smirks wickedly, loving this. Every moment being filed away in his memory. On the hidden cameras.

You whine loudly, trying to stop yourself from thrashing around as the pleasure never stops building and building.

“Please, Daddy, please… wanna cum so bad, please~”

Yunho sighs contentedly, watching your face as he rams into you over and over again.

“I know, doll…”

He sneaks a hand down to pinch and pull at one of your nipples.

“Too bad you can’t cum without Daddy’s permission”

You cry out again, looking up at him pathetically.

He mimics the face you give him, but a smile creeps into his impression.

“Don't forget I own you, baby. You don’t do anything without asking me first,” he makes his point by speeding up, holding you down beneath him. “You don’t speak… you don’t act… you don’t think… and you don’t cum without my permission. you’re mine. forever.”

At this, you cry the loudest. All deep, concealed hope of ever escaping that you had left, vanishes at once. But at the same time, your dumbed down, pleasure-hazed brain can’t seem to care. A low growl rumbles through him, driving himself harder and deeper into you. He kisses your tears off your cheeks, licking them off your neck.

“Such a good little doll.” he murmurs against your skin, his soft voice a stark contrast to the brutality of his thrusts.

The ceiling and you stare back at each other as he uses you, moulding your pussy to fit the shape of his cock perfectly. All too attuned to your body already, he can feel you tighten up around him, your walls contracting more and more. You’re so close, but you can’t, you know you can’t.

And suddenly, it’s all gone. Again.

In your bleary state, you just let him manhandle you into the position he wants you in. When you next open your eyes you realise what he wanted: you on all fours, facing the large bedroom mirror.

He eases his cock back into you, and though the stretch is once again borderline painful, it’s easier to coax inside this time. It somehow feels even deeper and you shiver violently, already close again.

Yunho kisses the back of your shoulder, watching you through the mirror.

“Look at yourself, baby. This is exactly how you’re meant to be: just a cute, dumb doll for Daddy to fuck whenever and however he wants.”

His words strike you like a slap in the face. You blush from embarrassment and whine as your mind reconstructs itself past the point of no return. He’s right, that pesky voice in your head chimes. It’s getting louder.

You're so sensitive from two orgasms and one ripped away, but you know he knows that. He just doesn’t care. So you keep your mouth shut and your eyes on his through the mirror. He knocks the breath out of you and he’s barely doing anything, only moving your hips back towards his. Fucking you on his cock. You’re just praying as he edges you over and over that he doesn’t rub your clit — you can’t stop yourself from coming if he does that.

“Such a pretty doll…” Yunho whispers, more to himself than you. You whimper quietly at his praise. He sighs, occasionally grinding up to meet your hips when you pulsed back.

You can’t look away from the sight of the two of you in the mirror, or get the wet sounds of him fucking into you out of your head. Your muscles burn but you ignore the pain and keep yourself moving, even arching your back a little for him. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

He grabs your hair again, pulling your head back, making you arch even more.

“Putting on a little show for me?” he snickers, kissing your tear-stained cheek. You nod, now swivelling your hips onto his. A dull heat begins to burn again in your lower stomach, which you desperately try to ignore. He lets go of your hair, suddenly shoving you forward.

You clumsily catch yourself with your bound hands, but struggle to get back up again, especially when he holds you down with a hand pressed between your shoulder blades. Your hips are lifted up and you swallow dryly, your lips cracked from breathing through your mouth for a while. Without much warning, he snaps his hips into yours again, nearly launching you further forward. You scream half into the bed, still trying to lift your head up to look at him through the mirror, your hands white-knuckling the crumpled duvet. He moans as you scream, obviously loving this. Drawing back and slamming into you again, in total control of your body and mind, he moves your body back to meet his thrusts by your shoulders now.

No escape.

“Taking me so well…” Yunho praises, reeling back and smacking your ass at full force, “my doll loves being fucked like this, doesn’t she?”

You nearly bite at the sheets, anything to keep yourself somewhat sane and quiet, his pace and force relentless.

Yunho continues his assault, smacking the same spot over and over again until it turns red. You clench around him again, even tighter as he strikes you one last time.

“Feels so fucking good, right? How much stronger I am than you? Pinning you down, forcing you to take my cock…” His body shudders suddenly and he moans.

He’s close.

Adrenaline is the only thing keeping you conscious at the moment.

His pace is now erratic, less of a rhythm to it as he uses you like a toy — a doll. You sob into the sheets, making incoherent muffled sounds against the linen until a large hand wraps around your throat. This time, his hands pull you back so you're on your knees, back against his chest.

Yunho groans in your ear at the angle change.

“You watching, doll?” he pants, nodding at the mirror in front of you, “gonna watch Daddy fill you up for the first time? Hm?”

He shudders, somewhat regaining a set pace again, looking down between you to watch his cock disappear into your pussy. Hand tightening around your throat again, you know how to take it this time. You know what to do now, how to get through it.

Yunho grunts quietly, eyes flickering back up to you, tilting your head back a little more so his lips are right by your ear.

“Gonna fill this tight little pussy every day. Make sure you’re dripping with my cum every fucking day.”

You whimper, resigning yourself to your fate completely.

“God…fuck, doll. I’m gonna cum. You want it?”

You nod, choking out the default response again, and he squeezes your throat even tighter.

“Yeah?” his jaw tenses, a growl emanating from his chest, “ahhh fuck… take all of it… be a good doll for me— mmf— that’s it..”

A couple more brutal thrusts into you and he pulls you all the way down, effectively locking the two of you together as he comes inside of you. You can feel it all, coating your walls white, and some of it dripping out due to the tight lack of room. He bites your shoulder hard, and you weakly try to move your shoulder away, but he keeps you locked in an iron grip as he slowly comes down from his high. Your body shakes as he slowly rolls his hips in and out again.

“Did my doll cum?” he asks huskily.

You quickly shake your head ‘no’, “N-no Daddy, n-not without permission.”

Yunho hums, kissing your cheek. Slowly, he pulls out of you, letting you collapse onto the bed again, burying your face in the sheets, your hips still raised up by your knees. He taps and runs the head of his cock along your sore pussy, and you jolt.

How in the hell is he still hard? You wonder, bewildered.

Unexpectedly, another smack lands on your ass, and then a lighter one directly on your pussy, making you cry out again.

“Still so wet for me,” he admires, “means you still want me to play with you, right?”

You groan. With one more hard smack to your pussy, he stuffs two fingers into you, and your whole body tenses.

“Relax.”

Then a third.

The embarrassing sound of your juices and his cum being pushed further into you make you blush, almost humiliated, but the intense pleasure overrides any embarrassment.

You whine, shaking your head, you were still way too close to the edge and his long, almost dainty fingers were gonna be the death of you.

Eventually, his fingers slow down, and he removes them one by one. You shudder, feeling empty then stuffed over and over again making you just about lose your mind – and speaking of, with a little sigh, Yunho presses the velvet head of his cock against your entrance again, pushing in halfway in one go.

You yelp, still not used to the stretch of him whatsoever, your hands clawing at the bedding as an intense, pleasurable pain ripples through your body.

He shushes you, playing with your clit again as he waits for you to calm down, slowly and shallowly thrusting in and out to help you get used to him again. You can barely hold yourself up, soon just laying flat on your stomach, Yunho follows you down, lifting your hips up again. You trap his hand against your clit, much to your dismay, but you cannot find the energy to move. Yunho grunts as he pushes more of his length into you, eventually bottoming out. He wraps a strong, toned arm around your neck and holds you like that, in a fucking headlock, limiting your air intake. Instinctually, your hands fly to your neck to pull his arm away, but instead just grip onto it for dear life as he gradually speeds up his pace again.

This angle is almost worse. Completely trapped beneath him, the only thing you can physically do is breathe (barely), and take it. The sound of his hips colliding with your ass fills your ears, overwhelming your senses, drowning out your incoherent whines and sounds.

“Can you take a bit more, doll?” Yunho asks, and you can almost hear the smirk in his voice.

More?!

You don’t respond besides a nervous whimper, but he doesn’t really care.

His hand on your clit migrates down and he slows his thrusts, sitting inside only about halfway again. Yunho kisses your cheek, letting his lips linger there as he moves again. His fingers slowly start pushing in next to his cock, stretching you out that much more. Your breath all but leaves you in one fell swoop. Thankfully, his hand doesn’t really move after that, just keeping his fingers hooked inside of you to keep you stretched. Eventually, it does start feeling less uncomfortable and you quiet down a little. Yunho’s a lot gentler and controlled this round, knowing how sore you must be already. You learned your lesson. The first time with him could’ve been like this from the start if you had just… been good.

“Feel okay?” he whispers.

“Yes, Daddy…” you manage to croak out, “Daddy.. makes me feel.. so good… w-wanna make Daddy cum again.”

Yunho hums, grinding into you deeply. “Maybe I'll let you cum too…” he thinks aloud, “if you keep being good for me.”

“I will~ I’ll be good, wanna be good for you!”

He shushes you again to stop your childish rambling, kissing your cheek and continuing his pace. It only serves to stoke the dull fire in your lower stomach, the same one you’ve been desperately ignoring.

‘Good’ wouldn’t cut it for you if you wanted to survive, you knew that. In fact it dawned on you like an awakening. You had to be perfect. That’s it. No more room for error, you had to lock in now. You clear your throat, internally hyping yourself up to speak.

“W-wanna be perfect for Daddy…” you whimper. Yunho chuckles, raising his head up to look at you again through the mirror.

“Perfect, huh?” he snaps his hips forward, his cock pressing right up against your cervix.

You cry out, willing yourself to not cum yet, but you're nearly there.

“Can you handle what being my perfect doll entails? Following my rules perfectly? Taking whatever I give you perfectly? Right now, you’re a long way from perfect, baby.”

He laughs to himself, shaking his head. Shame burned rampant through your chest. One of Yunho’s hands comes up to grab you by the throat, squeezing the sides of your neck hard, making your peripheral vision go black and keeping your head up so he could watch clearly.

“Wanna be perfect? Show me you trust me.” His voice is stern.

You watch him with wide, frightened eyes, body initially struggling against his. His gaze is almost dead in the mirror.

It scares you half to death yourself — he wouldn’t… kill you, would he? Only if you tried to leave, he had said.

It’s a slow, monumental effort to force yourself to stay calm and trust him. But you soften your gaze, relax your body, and refocus on the feeling of the soft bed beneath you, and his cock still nestled inside of you. Instinct kicks in quickly, your lungs begging for oxygen, clawing painfully at your throat, but you trust him.

Just wait.

Your vision is vignetted like old film, black spots dotting what was left visible.

Wait.

He watches you closely, eyes lingering on how his hand looks around your neck (no doubt saving that image for later).

And then… he removes it.

You frantically gasp for air and push your hips back into his as you flop back down, the head rush making you feel light and dizzy. His gaze had returned to the more warm but sharp one you were used to as you coughed and spluttered.

“Maybe there’s hope for you, yet,” he smirks, and resumes rolling his hips into yours, “think you deserve to cum now?”

You weren't expecting that question, but luckily even in your fogged up brain, you answered well within his rules. “I-it doesn’t m-matter w-what I think… dolls need Daddy t-to think f-for them.”

Yunho twitches inside of you, and quickly resumes his pace, and he knows.

He knows now he finally got you.

“Good girl.” he whispers, kissing your neck like it was a reward.

Once again, the pace begins to build up. Every thrust punches air out of your lungs and an involuntary whimper from your mouth. His fingers slip out of you to rub your clit, and you grab at the sheets in panic. He holds you steady as he fucks into you faster, driving his hips down with a pointed snap on every downward thrust. A strangled moan escapes your lips as you writhe beneath him, pressing your hips farther into the bed to try to stop his hand to no avail. And when you push back, that only serves to push his cock deeper, hitting your cervix again and again.

So much for being gentler and more controlled.

Your pussy contracts and flutters around his cock, silently telling him that you're close, but he doesn’t relent.

“Don’t fucking cum.” he growls, “prove to me that you can be a good doll.”

And you're right on the edge, just that close to being pushed over when— his phone rings.

You both look at it for a moment, resting on the nightstand. Yunho slows down again, pausing his assault on your clit, effectively saving you from a correction. You can feel the terrifying anger and frustration emanating from him before he checks the caller ID. Any fury immediately dissipates once he sees who it is.

“Be quiet, baby” he hisses to you, pressing the green ‘answer’ button on his phone. “Hey Min,” he says, his tone bright and casual even though he’s not even trying to hide that he’s out of breath.

You can kinda hear a deeper voice coming from the phone’s speakers, no doubt asking why he sounds so out of breath. “Just working out,” Yunho smirks, pulling your hips up and continuing his assault on your clit, “what’s up?”

You bite down on your hand. He then slams into you, covering the sound by clearing his throat and slowly resuming a slow pace. He leans down closer to you again, watching you struggle to stay quiet, take him, and not cum all at the same time. He hums into the phone, whether he’s actually listening or not you have no idea.

“Min,” Yunho clears his throat, hiding a groan, “are you doing anything for your birthday?”

A small squeak escapes you, but luckily it’s quiet enough for Yunho not to hear while he’s on the phone.

“Well,” he chuckles at the thought, "I have an idea of what we could do.”

His hand moves away from your clit, up to your face, tilting it back so you’re looking up at him.

“No, I’m not sick, I feel great” he smirks, moving the phone away from his ear and holding it to his shoulder. “Open your mouth.”

You obey quickly. And as soon as your mouth opens, he spits into it, manually shutting your mouth again with his hand.

“Yeah, sounds perfect. Listen, Min, I gotta go, but I'll text you later, okay?” Yunho’s cover is slowly cracking the closer he gets to coming again. “Okay. See you later, bye.” he hangs up and unceremoniously throws his phone back over towards the pillows.

He all but slams his cock into you over and over, hissing praises in your ear.

“Ah fuck, I’m gonna fill you up again.” He angles upwards, hitting your g-spot. You sob loudly, unable to hold yourself back from coming for much longer. “Beg for my cum.”

A never ending babble of pleas and cries tumble from your drooling mouth, desperate to hold off from coming just a bit longer. He grabs your hair, yanking your head back painfully.

“Louder.”

“PLEASE,” you screech, “Daddy please give me your cum, please f-fill me up, please, please—“

A choked gasp cuts your voice off as he growls, once again ramming his whole length into you.

Your vision swims like you just dove underwater, dizzying you. All you can feel is a warmth spreading from deep within your lower stomach and you just pray that you didn’t cum too. You stay pressed against each other for a while, his cock twitching inside you every so often as it empties out completely.

Your head doesn’t clear until he pulls out again. You're breathing audibly and almost manually, your throat so dry all you can think of is how much you need a glass of water. Yunho once again moves you around, on your back now.

Your old friend, the ceiling, comes back into view.

You know you must look like a mess, and you suddenly get very self-conscious when you see Yunho looking at you. You press the back of one of your hands against your mouth, crying uncontrollably. You’ve been dangling off the edge for so long, and have resigned yourself to the fact that you probably won’t be coming tonight at all.

Yunho watches you cry for a moment, gently rubbing your sides with his hands, occasionally wiping away your tears. The silence just makes you more upset, overthinking and working yourself up into an emotional mess. But Yunho keeps trying to soothe you, now trailing soft kisses up your stomach, chest, and eventually your battered neck.

“My poor doll…” he murmurs, kissing away another tear. “My good little girl.”

You sob, a million thoughts hitting you at once.

Maybe he’ll get rid of you, find someone better

He’s so pretty

You want to go home

You want to stay with him

Who is Min?

He’s so beautiful

He treats you so well

He protects you. He keeps you safe. He wants you…

He loves you.

Deep down in subspace, you relinquish everything to him. The very last shred of independence you had evaporates seamlessly, and suddenly, all you know is him. And this apartment. All the good he does to and for you.

With glassy eyes, you meet his dark, sharp gaze.

“Yours, Daddy. forever.”

Yunho slightly falters, but quickly regains his composure. He sighs happily, noticing how glassy your eyes had become, pathetically looking up at him through your tears. So instead of trying to calm you down with words, he takes matters into his own hands.

Literally.

Through your panic, your sadness, your heart pounding in your ears, and the lack of oxygen, you feel a familiar pressure on your clit again. You try to sit up immediately, only to be pushed back down onto the pillows. You protest as coherently as you can, brokenly rambling about how you want to be good for him and not cum, but he has to stop or you will.

“You can cum now, baby.” he says, simply, lacing love and saccharine into every word.

“I c-can’t… not w-without Daddy’s p-permission.” Test, that voice screams at you. Test, don’t do it.

“I am giving you permission, sweet girl,”

You cry uncontrollably, unable to believe him. This was another test, you just knew it. Conditioning at its finest.

But Yunho is adamant. “You’re my good doll, right?” he pauses, waiting to hear you whimper in the affirmative, “made Daddy feel so good…let Daddy fill you up…” a quiet groan escapes him at the memory of only a few minutes ago.

He sinks two fingers into your heat, pressing his thumb against your clit. You gasp and shiver, still trying to push the feeling of overwhelming pleasure down, and losing miserably. Borderline panicking, you cry out, “Don’t w-wanna be p-punished.”

Yunho softens, lacing his words with kindness and sympathy in every syllable, “You won’t be, baby. Daddy wants to reward you now.”

He lightly slaps your clit a couple times, and you scream as the pleasure uncontrollably builds and builds. You’re way past the point of no return.

“Cum,” he instructs, tone dead serious, leaving no room to argue. “now.”

And it’s like he flicked a switch. A powerful, almost painful surge of pleasure courses through you, completely wrecking you on its way around your body. Your back arches, and he leans down to press his chest against yours, grounding you against him. The noises coming out of you are ones you’ve never made before in your life, desperate, pathetic, shocked. Your eyes roll back (which, thankfully, he allows) and your body twitches underneath his large frame, which keeps you stable.

Yunho presses soft, soothing kisses along your shoulder, and whispers sickly sweet praises into your ear as you drift, completely spent and in bliss like you’ve never experienced before.

You're not sure how long you stay floating, twitching occasionally, but you're sure it’s a while.

Little by little, your muscles relax and your breathing slows. The idea of a correction occurring seemed less and less, your anxiety returning to somewhat normal levels. He kept his word. There was no test.

Yunho kisses your forehead.

“My good girl.” His voice is almost sickly sweet, seeping into your brain like melting chocolate. He gets up off the bed after a few more silent moments and… walks out of the bedroom.

Left alone with only your thoughts again, you find you barely have any. Or any that are clear or make sense. Your mind was almost completely wiped from exhaustion, but you do wonder where he went. You hear the fridge open and close, followed by some shuffling from the kitchen before the familiar sound of his footsteps start back towards you again. With barely enough energy to lift your head, you look up at him to find that he had brought you a glass of water.

You immediately soften, and let him help you drink it all. When it’s empty, he sets the glass on the nightstand, and pets your hair, laying his large frame down next to you, holding you close to his chest.

“Did so well for me, baby girl. You're such a keeper.”

You glow at his praise, managing a weak smile, which makes him laugh lightly. Hoping he won’t be mad that you reach out and touch him without permission, you cautiously hold his hand, interlacing your fingers with his. You hear his breath catch in his chest, and he doesn’t move an inch, like he’s afraid you’ll let go if he did. After a few moments, when he was sure you wouldn’t let go, he gently squeezes your non-injured hand. You squeeze back.

“Can you say it again…?” Rare vulnerability saturates his every word. You have to clear your throat and move your face slightly away from his chest to speak the words he’s so desperate to hear.

“I love you, Daddy.” your voice burns and cracks in your throat. He kisses your cheek again like an apology – and maybe it was. And maybe you did. This time, it didn’t feel like such a chore or a lie to say it. He scared the hell out of you, but only if you disobeyed or broke a rule. There were rewards for good behaviour and corrections for bad behaviour, just like the seasons tend the earth; coaxing it back to life with spring, purging it with winter. It was purely balance and order. Rules that prevented society from descending into chaos. A newly recovered fractured bone, stronger than before. That’s all. You bring his hand up to your lips, pressing it to them and breathing in his natural scent as deep as you could.

Yunho presses his body closer against yours, holding you tight to him, protecting you. From what exactly if not him, you weren’t sure, but in your hazy, newly reprogrammed brain, you trusted that he knew best. He always had good reasons for everything he did, and it wasn’t up to you to figure out whatever was behind his intentions. It was almost freeing.

His hand splays out against your stomach as he watches you sleep peacefully, his mind reeling with perverse, obsessive, and possessive thoughts.

Now that you were officially his, officially broken down…

Oh he was going to have so much fun with you.

[end of part 1]

#explodes. holy fucking shit this was perfection #ITS SO FUCKED UP BUT ITS SO GOOD #the moments of pure mental breaking and the thoughts of the protag #《maybe if im good enough》《test dont do it》 THOSE WERE SO GOOOOOOD #ateez #jeong yunho

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anitease · 1 month ago

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YVES White cat (2025)

#i love u yves #loona #loona yyxy #ha sooyoung

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anitease · 1 month ago

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office gossip

★ | member — assistant!joshua x boss!fem reader ★ | genre — smut, office au, coworkers, (fake) affair au ★ | word count — 1.7k

★ | synopsis — your assistant joshua is beloved by everyone in the office. but little do they know, you've already got him wrapped around your finger.

★ | warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, semi-public sex (in a storage closet), cheating roleplay, established relationship, workplace power imbalance, name-calling (slut/whore), switch!reader, kinda bratty!reader ★ | notes — i'm very hesitant to say that i'm back but .. for now, here i am! i can't promise i won't disappear again but i do have some things planned - still in the works but i'm trying my best :P thanks always to the wonderful @onlymingyus not just for proofreading but for encouraging me every day not to give up. the only reason that i'm still here and that you're reading this fic right now is because of her <3 if you enjoy this fic, please reblog and tell me your thoughts in the tags!! reblogs are super important to tumblr and it lets me know you want more like this :)

“you want that promotion or not? i said, fuck me harder.”

joshua groans, his fingers digging into your waist as he holds you in place, but you can feel the difference as he begins to snap his hips into you with more force. “that better? is that hard enough for you, ma'am?”

he's teasing you and you know it, but you're not about to let him have the edge over you, not yet at least. “do you want the whole office to hear you, hong? want everybody to know that you're sleeping your way to the top? i should let somebody else have the position instead, if you're gonna be so damn cocky about it.”

the look on his face makes your walls squeeze tighter around him, and you grin triumphantly when he lets out a stifled whimper in return. it takes him a second to recover but he just grunts at you without a reply, and that's how you know you've got him exactly where you want him.

you like this. you love the push and pull that exists between you two, the taunting and teasing that makes this kind of sex feel so good, so dangerous. you're addicted to the way he never lets you have anything too easily, and he can't get enough of the way you never let him have it either. it's the perfect arrangement for the both of you; you get your needs satisfied (and you really do mean satisfied), and he gets to climb the corporate ladder or whatever it is that men want.

it started, of course, how any affair starts: stolen glances, you brushing against his shoulder whenever you walk past his desk, him lingering in your office long after your business together should have finished. you never thought you'd ever risk your career and your reputation in such a blatantly foolish way, but at this point in your life you know exactly what you want, and it's a risk you're willing to take. over and over, taking it again and again and again—

that's how you've found yourself here now, sitting on top of a table, knees bent with your high heels up in the air as he fucks into you, your usually-neat grey pencil skirt bunched hastily around your hips. it feels like the setup of a bad porn movie, but the way he buries his cock so deep into you is anything but bad.

your ankles rest on joshua's broad shoulders in a way you're definitely not flexible enough to hold for very long, but somehow he makes it work. the empty storage closet is plenty big for the both of you, but where's the fun in that? the way he's got you crammed up against a wall, rutting into you desperately, makes your heart race with excitement. he knows you get off on the danger, the thrill of being caught in such a vulnerable position with one of your employees, because so does he.

“your husband know you get fucked like this?” joshua says suddenly through gritted teeth. the fire in his eyes while he speaks is what makes everything about this feel so much better. it's wrong and you both know it, but how can it be wrong if it makes you feel like this? “do you think he'll be able to tell, once you get home tonight and you let him make love to you, that you've been nothing but a whore for your secretary all day long? does he even know that his beautiful little slut doesn't wear panties to work anymore?”

“does your wife know?” you bite back at him, your voice just a little bit breathier than before. he knows he's starting to get to you, saying all the right things to have you a trembling mess in front of him, laid out for him like a fine meal on a silver platter.

he just scoffs, dragging you by your hips farther down the table to get a better angle. you don't have time to try to hide the yelp that escapes you when he starts hitting even deeper than before, bracing both hands flat behind you for support.

“she knows that she'll keep her pretty mouth shut if she knows what's good for her…” he murmurs as he leans closer to you, pushing your knees to your chest and practically folding you in half, “… and keep taking this cock like a good girl. isn't that right?”

you whine and let your head fall backwards, finally conceding. you can feel the way his dick curves up into you, brushing against that spot that makes your toes curl. “josh, please—”

“oh, so it's ‘josh’ now, is it?” he smirks. his hips never let up, and you can already tell you're gonna be feeling this later. “all it takes to break you is getting some good dick for once, huh?”

you don't reply, too busy fighting to keep yourself focused on breathing and thinking clearly. his pace nearly makes you dizzy, trying to keep up with the relentless way he snaps into you.

“hm, but i think i prefer ‘mr. hong’. or ‘sir’.” he pulls out almost all the way, letting his length drag against your walls before driving back in even deeper than before.

“like hell i'm calling you that. you better hurry up, before someone catches us in here and then i have to have you fired. nepotism, or whatever.”

“i don't think that word means what you think it means, babe.”

“i don't fuckin’ care, just—”

but before you can finish he cuts you off with an especially rough thrust that leaves you whimpering. you can feel yourself climbing higher and higher, and your hand flies up to grip his shoulder in a weak attempt to stabilize yourself.

“you look so cute when you've gone all stupid on my cock, though. maybe i'll let you sit under my desk and suck me off, once i get that promotion and i've got a corner office all to myself. doesn't that sound like a much better use of your time, ma'am?”

you would've loved to have a snarky comeback prepared for that, but with another powerful thrust he's already pushing you over the edge, and all you can do is moan his name and struggle to stay as quiet as you can. the force of your orgasm sends your legs sliding off his shoulders, but he guides them to wrap around his waist instead, the plastic of your heels clacking together as they lock in place behind his back.

“that's it, keep cumming on my cock,” he groans, squeezing your hips tighter. he leans down to kiss the top of your breasts spilling out of your bra, moaning against your soft skin as he coaxes you through your high. “gonna make you feel so good, just let it all out for me.”

before you've even finished coming down he slips one hand between your legs to rub at your clit and it nearly makes you shout, your back arching towards him. you're getting overstimulated fast and he knows it, but you can tell he's getting close, too. little beads of sweat have begun to form along his hairline, normally perfectly styled but now flat and sticky with perspiration. his voice comes out broken, a low murmur stuck in his throat. “say my name, baby. say my name and tell me how much you love this.”

“l-love your cock, shua,” you gasp breathlessly, your walls fluttering around him. “don't stop— don't stop, please.”

he pulls out suddenly, barely managing to aim away from you before he cums and just narrowly misses your clothes. he curses under his breath, his hand wrapped tightly around his shaft. his eyes are squinted shut and his brows are furrowed in concentration as he squeezes out the last few drops, his lips parted and glossy with spit.

the look on your face almost seems disappointed, glancing down at the ropes of white now splattered on the surface of the table before you look back up at him. “could've finished in my mouth or something,” you mutter as you fold your arms over your chest, only half pretending to pout.

“didn't have time. it came on too fast,” he says, panting as he tucks himself back into his slacks and does up the zipper with a heavy exhale. without hesitating he leans in to kiss you, a simple peck that makes your stomach flip the same way it has for years. “besides, you don't wanna ruin your appetite. i took out chicken for dinner later, gonna make those tacos you like.”

“ew, gross. but fine.” you scoff and roll your eyes at him, but you can't hide the happy little way your lip quirks up into a smile.

he offers his hand to help you to your feet but you swat it away, smoothing your skirt before you automatically reach up to straighten his tie.

"i'll leave first," you hum, running your fingers through his hair in an attempt to make it not look like he just got done railing you in a closet. "so when everybody sees you leaving alone, they'll think you were just jerking off in here like a weirdo. nobody will ever suspect."

joshua just laughs and gently wraps his large hand around your wrist, pulling you back towards him to fix the buttons on your blouse. “i hate to be the one to break it to you, baby, but most of them were at our wedding. might be a little too late for that, i think.”

his lips brush against your ear as he speaks, his voice low and teasing, and it sends a shiver down your spine. you pull away from him with a huff just as he finishes the last button, feeling your cheeks heating up. he grins as he watches you try to smooth your skirt down one last time, pointedly looking away from him in an attempt to hide how flushed you are. god, it's cute. not a day goes by that he ever regrets making you his wife, despite the fact that pretending you're not is one of your favorite things to do.

"whatever. now, clean this up and get back to work, before i divorce you.”

he just laughs again, leaning against the edge of the table as he affectionately watches you wobble towards the door. “mhm, sure. see you at home, baby.”

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, please reblog or leave a comment or an ask! it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! i put a lot of time, love, and effort into my writing, so feedback is really appreciated and motivates me to keep posting :) thanks for reading!!

taglist — located in the replies

#waittttttt i love this #how can something be sp secy yet cute at the same timeeee #seventeen #hong joshua

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anitease · 1 month ago

Text

SAME DAMN TIME ── k.ys & c.sn

synopsis ; you were just hoping for a relaxing rainy day, but yeosang and san had other plans when they decided to not go to the gym. one plan was to distract you from the questionable book in your hands. and the other? getting their workout in of course, but in a more.... invigorating way.

pairing(s) ; bsf!yeosang x f!reader x bsf!san

☆ ── wc. ; 6.2k ☆ ── genre ; pure smut (w/ a sprinkle of plot), friends to smth ☆ ── tw. ; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, kissing, threesome, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, they're both huge teases, big dick!sansang, messing makeout, spanking, hair pulling, clit play, breast play, petnames (darling, angel, princess, love, babygirl...), teasing, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, biting/marking, strength kink, slight size kink, manhandling, rough sex, dom!yeosang x sub!reader x dom!san, san is a bit of a meanie, choking, slight breath play, dumbification, some degration (reader gets called slut once) and praise, oral (m. receiving), cum eating, slight face fucking, both are sweethearts at the end, lmk if I miss anything!

There were always pros and cons of growing up with two guy best friends. The pros are that no other guys really bothered you because they always thought you were dating one of them; hell, some even thought you were dating both. You can recall so many times when both Yeosang and San got flustered when asked if they were dating you, denying it till they ran out of breath. Not that it really convinced people, anyway.

But then there were the cons…

You had to watch them hit puberty, which at first didn’t really affect their physique at all. They were, as you like to call them, string beans. However, once they got serious about going to the gym during your college days, you started to wish they hadn’t. As the months passed, it became insanely harder to turn a blind eye to their growing muscles, especially since they thought it’d be better to be roommates. Ya know, save money and all, but now you were in fear of your mental health.

Today just seemed to be one of those days when your eyes would betray you at any given moment. It was raining out, and the guys didn’t feel like going out to the gym, so what was their solution? Working out in the living room, where you just so happen to be trying to enjoy the new book you bought. However, as soon as San walked in wearing a black tank top and gym shorts, that book was placed on the back burner.

You tried to focus on the pages in front of you, but the words kept blending together, and not a single thing stuck in your brain. It pleaded with you to look up, and at some point, you listened to the urges, eyes racking over the man’s back and arms as he continued with his pushups, a thin layer of sweat covering his honey skin.

The sound of footsteps broke your burning gaze, and you swallowed thickly before looking over, finding Yeosang standing in the doorway. Heat flushed up your neck, thinking that you had just been caught staring at San. Yeosang, however, didn’t say a word as he walked over to the weight rack, the very one you had told them multiple times to put in one of their rooms because it looked tacky, but of course they didn’t listen.

Inhaling deeply, you will yourself to look back at your book and try to read, because the story was indeed interesting. But just like before, the words made no sense to you, and the words started to blur as you reread the same sentence multiple times.

“New book?” Yeosang’s voice caused you to jump, the book falling into your lap, and you looked up at him with an expression as if you had just been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to, which, in retrospect, you were.

Swallowing thickly, you bend over to grab the book that had fallen to the ground, “Yeah, I got it the other day.” You told him, your eyes everywhere but on him.

“Oh? What’s it about?” This time, it was San asking the questions, his hand snatching the book from your hand after you grabbed it, causing you to let out a small squeak of surprise.

“Hey!” You jumped up, ready to snatch the book back, having completely forgotten what the book was about until just now. Heat rushed up your neck, painting your cheeks a bright red as you tried to grab the book, but San held it out of your reach, his other hand pressed against your stomach, keeping you back.

“Oh, dark fairies, huh?” San asked in a teasing tone, flipping it over to read the description on the back.

“Yes, now.” You pushed against his arm to try and grab the book once more, hoping he wouldn’t be able to open it one-handed, “Give. It. Back.”

Just as you finally break free from San’s grasp and are about to grab the book, Yeosang reaches down and grabs it from San. A yelp fell from your lips as you collapsed in San’s lap, head snapping up to look at Yeosang as he started to open the book. Dread filled your body as his eyes began to scan the first few pages that held content warnings.

Accepting defeat, you slumped down on San’s legs, head hanging over his knee, not ready to face the embarrassment that was about to happen.

“Jeez, I didn’t know you were into this type of stuff y/n.” Yeosang chuckles, and you groan, covering your face. He looked down at you, a smirk tugging on his lips as he saw the tips of your ears turn a brilliant shade of red.

“Wait, wait, lemme see.” San held a hand back out to Yeosang, wanting to see just what you had been reading about.

“Stop, please.” You pleaded with them, tears of embarrassment brimming in your eyes as you tried to sit up.

However, San pressed a hand flat against your back, pushing you right back in his lap. Heat started to bloom in your lower gut as he held you in place. You wanted to hate yourself for getting turned on by this situation, but you had been fawning over them for the last few months, and being practically bent over San’s lap was not helping your case.

Yeosang handed San the open book, and the dark-haired male took it, eyes skimming over the same words that Yeosang had read just moments ago. A sinister smirk pulled on the male's lips the more he read, and you continued struggling to get out of his hold, but to no avail.

“Hair pulling, size kink, bondage, choking, strength kink…” The more San read aloud, the more embarrassed you felt, hands coming up to cover your face as a few tears dripped from your eyelashes. You whined for him to stop, but he didn’t listen; instead, he continued to list the warnings until he finished. ”Damn y/n, I didn’t think you were that kinky.” He chuckled, hand still firm against your back, and you shook your head in protest.

You couldn't bring yourself to look at either of them, wanting nothing more than for the ground to swallow you whole. Your whole body felt like it was set on fire, and you couldn't tell if it was from the embarrassment or the way that San's hand trailed further down your back until his fingers brushed against the skin that was peeking out from where your shirt rode up.

“Why are you acting all shy now? You were just reading it with a straight face.” Yeosang teased as he moved closer to you, crouching down in front of you. A gasp fell from your lips when his fingers caught your chin, pulling your head up to look at him. “Or were you hoping we'd notice, hmm? Want us to do those things to you?” He continued to tease you, and you swore that your face was the shade of a cherry.

“N-No.” You choked on your words as you looked up at him with glossy eyes.

“Really?” San asked, tossing the book onto the coffee table before his hand moved to wrap around your waist, “So you weren't just eye fucking us earlier?”

Your heart stopped as your head snapped over to look at him, eyes as wide as saucers. You were sure that they hadn't noticed, but how could you be so stupid? You had been staring at them like a dog eyeing a piece of meat.

“Caught ya’,” San smirked at you, and you squirmed around, finally breaking free of his hold and rolling over to sit on your knees in front of them.

“I wasn’t!” You exclaimed, a dull ringing forming in your ears from the sudden movement, “plus it’s your fault for turning the living room into your gym.”

“Oh, so you were staring?” San asked, leaning forward, which caused you to scoot back, but you didn’t get too far when you ran into something. Well, more like someone.

“Don’t run away yet.” Yeosang’s voice rang in your ears as you tilted your head back, finding him standing right behind you. He then crouched down once more, grabbing your arm and pulling you back into him as you tried to escape again.

“Let me go! I need to feed my fish.” You came up with an excuse and mentally facepalmed as the words left your lips, but both males looked at you in amusement.

“You don’t have a fish, darlin’.” Yeosang’s voice was right next to your ear, causing your body to freeze, his breath fanning over your cheek.

San rose up to his knees before moving closer to you, leaning down until he was eye level with you. Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes met his, heart hammering against your ribcage. The sound was almost loud enough that you were sure that they could hear it over the rain that was hitting the windows.

“Look at you, so flustered it’s cute.” San teased, grabbing your chin between his fingers, stopping you from looking away. “What if I told you we were doing it on purpose?”

Your eyes grew wide at his words. There was no way that they were actually doing this just to mess with you. Yet based on the looks that they were both giving you, you knew that he wasn’t lying. You opened your mouth to speak, but San was quick to press a finger against your lips, shushing you.

“Don’t think we haven’t noticed how you stare at us when you think we’re not looking.” Yeosang spoke, his chest pressed against your back, “How you always bite your lip,”

“Or how you squeeze your thighs together,” San added on, fingers trailing down your neck, a smirk tugging on his lips when he felt you swallow under his fingertips.

“Not to mention when you run off to take a shower.” Yeosang’s lips brushed against your ear, and your head started to spin.

“I wasn’t–” You tried to think of an excuse, any excuse really, but the words fell from your tongue the moment you felt Yeosang’s lips against your neck.

A small whine escaped your lips when he found that tender spot right under your ear, surprising both men. You wanted to jump from the window due to your embarrassment, but your body betrayed you.

“Do that again.” San groaned as his hands found your bare thighs, squeezing the soft flesh and your brain short-circuits.

Yeosang left hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck and exposed shoulder that was peeking out from your oversized shirt. Another whine fell from your lips when he bit down, your head falling back against his shoulder.

“Fuck, you sound so hot.” San’s hands slid up your thighs until they met the hem of your shorts, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

It felt like your body was on fire from the sudden overwhelming pleasure, your brain starting to shut down already. Then you were suddenly pulled from your daze when Yeosang spun you around and placed you in his lap. You looked at him with wide eyes, hands finding his shoulders, having not expected him to do that. However, the shock wore off as he leaned in, just a hair away from your lips.

“Can I kiss you?” His voice was deep and raspy, causing you to shudder slightly, but you were quick to answer his question by leaning forward, connecting your lips to his.

He groaned against you, hands grabbing your hips to pull you closer. A soft moan escaped your lips when you felt his bulge underneath you. Yeosang’s lips muffled all of the noises you made as he rolled your hips down onto his.

“Havin’ all the fun without me?” San asks, his voice an octave lower than it was earlier. He moved closer to the two of you, and as soon as you felt his hands on your waist heat flushed your whole body.

Yeosang broke the kiss before grabbing the bottom of your shirt and pulling it over your head, leaving you in just your shorts, seeing as you weren’t wearing a bra. San and Yeosang both inhaled sharply at the sight of your bare skin.

“Damn princess, no bra?” San leaned into you, whispering in your ear, causing a chill to run down your spine as his warm breath fanned over your skin. His hands found your hips while Yeosang reached up, cupping your breast in his hand.

“Yeo…” You breathed out as his lips left wet kisses all over your chest before latching his lips around your perked nipple. One of your hands combed through his hair as your head fell back against San’s shoulder.

“Feels good, doesn't it?” San asked, lips brushing the skin right under your ear as you hummed.

A breathy moan fell from your lips when San started peppering kisses along the expanse of your neck and shoulder. The feeling of both of their lips on your body had you melting right in Yeosang’s lap, heat overtaking your entire nervous system.

Yeosang moaned into your chest as your hips grinded down against his, the vibrations causing you to let out a moan of your own. San chuckled against your neck as he placed a firm grasp on your hips before making you grind down harder.

“Fuck!” You whined. The feeling of Yeosang’s cock rubbing against your clothed clit was driving you insane. The need to have him inside you grew tenfold, and you tugged on his hair softly, causing him to glance up at you but not quite take his mouth off of you.

Seeing the look in your eye, Yeosang smirked, pulling away from your chest with a wet pop, “What’s wrong, darling?”

“Need you,” Your words came out airy as San continued to attack your neck, your hands trailing down Yeosang’s chest before stopping at the waistband of his sweats.

“I haven’t even prepped you yet. Are you sure you can take it?” He asked, his tone cocky but held undertones of worry.

You, however, were so lost in your need and desire, plus you were sure that you were wet enough that you’d be able to take him without any problem. He couldn’t be that big anyway, right?

“Please, Yeo. I need you in me so bad.” You whined, tugging at the strings of his sweats, causing him to chuckle before grabbing your wrist.

“So impatient, aren’t you?” He cooed, hands finding the band of your shorts and moving forward to place a chiste kiss on your lips before maneuvering you in order to pull your bottoms off as well as your panties, leaving you completely bare before him.

“God, you’re beautiful.” San breathed out, eyes racking over your bare form, and you felt small under his intense gaze. However, Yeosang grabbed your jaw, making you face him before leaning down, lips ghosting over yours.

You leaned into him, eyes fluttering as you waited for him to kiss you, but he never did. Yeosang watched in amusement as your eyes looked at him in shock, a small pout on your lips. He glanced over at San, a silent conversation happening, leaving you confused.

A high-pitched squeak fell from your lips when San grabbed your hips, pulling you into his lap. You started to protest, but were quickly silenced when his hand hooked around the underneath of your knees, pulling your legs up and apart. Heat flushed your face once more, body squirming in San’s hold, but it was pointless seeing as he was way too strong.

Your breath hitched and body stilled when you felt a hand on your inner thigh, just shy of your weeping core. Blinking back the tears of embarrassment, you looked at Yeosang as he shifted closer to you, his shirt no longer on his body.

“Yeo–” Your voice cracked when you felt him prodding at your entrance, your mouth suddenly going dry as you realized just how big he was.

Seeing your wide eyes, Yeosang chuckled before leaning over you, pressing his lips against your jaw. He kissed up to your ear, a shiver running down your spine as his warm breath fanned over your ear.

“Relax for me, angel.” His voice was smooth, and a small whine fell from your lips as you felt him push into your tight heat. His hands found your hips, squeezing your soft flesh.

“Fuck you’re so big!” You cried out, head falling back onto San’s chest, fingers digging into his bicep. The tears that were once sitting idly on your waterline broke free, gliding down your flustered cheeks.

Yeosang chuckled softly but was cut off by a groan when you clenched around him, his grip tightening. The stretch that his cock was giving you had stars dancing across your vision, your jaw falling slack the further he pushed in. Until he was fully buried to the hilt, hips pressed flush against yours.

“You’re doing so well, princess,” San cooed in your ear, his lips ghosting over your skin, and you let out a whimper. Your mind started to drift as Yeosang began to slowly roll his hips, testing the waters.

“Y-Yeo… move, please.” You whined, trying to roll your hips against his, the need almost overbearing, and if he didn’t move soon, it felt like you would explode. He smirked down at you, loving the teary eyes that you were looking up at him with. The way you spread out for him was like a wet dream he never thought would come true.

A choked moan tore from your throat when he pulled out only to push back in quickly, hitting every sensitive spot imaginable. Yeosang started off slow, watching the way your eyes rolled back every time he thrusts in, your nails digging into San’s bicep. Then, when his pace picked up, a symphony of noises left your swollen lips.

“Look at you, angel, already so fucked out.” Yeosang teased, hips snapping into yours with a punishing thrust, eliciting a loud moan from your lips.

“She was so eager to be used, weren’t you, princess?” San chuckled, the vibrations sending your mind whirling.

“‘S so good.” You gasped out, head falling back onto San’s chest, and Yeosang’s lips twitched watching you completely lose yourself in the lust. Your eyes flew open as soon as you felt Yeosang’s fingers on your clit, your legs trying to snap shut, but San’s grip was too tight. “Yeo!” You cried out, reaching down to shove his hand away as you felt the pressure in your gut build quickly, way too quickly.

“C’mon, love, I know you can handle it.” His voice was smooth, a smirk tailored to his face, and his pace never slowing. He thrusts into you relentlessly as his finger toyed with your twitching clit, a series of moans and cries fell from your lips.

Then you felt it. Your high crept up on you way too quickly, and you didn’t even get a chance to warn Yeosang before it burst. A silent scream tore through your lungs as your release gushed out in waves all over Yeosang’s cock.

“Fuck.” San groaned, watching as your body trembled in his hold, legs fighting to close, but his grip was far too strong.

“God, you just squirted,” Yeosang growled, bending over you to capture your lip in a messy, spit-filled kiss. The change in positions had white spots clouding your vision as you moaned into Yeosang’s mouth.

“Y-Yeo–” You choked out as he bullied his cock further into your walls, brushing over your sweet spot in the process. Your hands are now on his shoulders, digging into his skin, surely leaving behind crescent shapes from your nails.

Your vision started to blur as his lips latched onto your collarbone, nipping at the skin. Your body twitched in San’s hold, and it felt like your mind was being sent into orbit due to how hard he was going.

“Just a little bit longer, angel.” He cooed in your ear, nipping at your earlobe, and your back arched against him. He had a vice-like grip on your hips, using them as leverage to fuck into your weeping pussy. The way your walls were squeezing around him was about to drive him mad.

“C’mon, princess, open those pretty eyes. Watch as Yeo creams your sweet little cunt.” San coaxed your eyes open, the sight of your teary eyes nearly tipping Yeosang over the edge. San peppered kissed all over your jaw, soaking in the high-pitched moans that left your lips.

“Fuck, cumming.” Yeosang groaned, burying himself to the hilt in your soaping cunt, painting your gummy walls white with his seed. The warm feeling of his cum spilling inside of you tipped you over the edge once more, a weak whine breaking past your lips as your fingers dug into his forearm.

“Did you fill her nice and full, Yeo?” San asked, a smirk adorning his features as he looked at the man in front of him, who met his gaze with a smirk of his own.

“Oh yeah,” He nodded, slowly slipping out of your walls, making you feel every curve and vein of his dick, and you croaked out a whimper. San’s eyes fell to your pussy, watching in amusement as Yeosang’s cum started to spill out. “She’s still got room for another load, don’t you pretty girl?”

Your head was utterly consumed by pleasure at this point, your pupils dilated to the point that they could barely make out your irises. A never-ending heat consumed your body, need growing once more at the thought of them fucking another load of their cum into your sensitive pussy.

“Please.” You pleaded, eyes flickering up to San with a small pout, and the dark-haired male felt his dick twitch in his sweats.

“Fuck.” He cursed, lowering your legs and your body melted against his, and he brought his face down to yours. His fingers brushed over your heated cheeks, lips ghosting over your skin, causing your eyes to flutter. “You want another load babygirl, is that it?”

“Yes, Sannie, please.” You whined, moving forward to connect his lips with yours, but his grip on your jaw tightened, keeping you in place.

A dark chuckle flowed from his lips, the sound went straight to your pussy, causing you to clench around nothing. Then, before you could even process it, you were pulled out of San’s lap, right into Yeosang’s arms. San’s hands found your hips, pulling them up until they hung in the air.

“Such a pretty pussy.” San cooed, his hands smoothing over your ass before landing a harsh smack against your skin. Your body lurched forward with a choked whine, the skin tingling under his palm. He repeated the action a few more times, watching as your body started to shake, hands gripping Yeosang’s thighs.

“I didn’t know you were such a pain slut angel.” Yeosang teases, fingers gripping your chin to tilt your head up until you are looking at him. Tears stuck to your lashes while others spilled down your cheeks, a sight that Yeosang wanted to burn into his brain.

Your body shivered as San’s hand trailed up your spine, before tangling in your hair and yanking your body up. A whimper of his name fell from your lips as your back met his chest, hands going to his thighs to keep your balance.

San’s warm breath fanned over your ear, causing your body to shudder, your arousal building further, “Look, princess, Yeo’s all hard again. Why don’t you be a good girl and help him out while I fuck this pretty little cunt of yours, hmm?”

His free hands snaked down your waist, cupping your heat, causing your hips to buck against him. His name fell from your lips in a breathy moan, eyes fluttering at the contact. You bit your lip to try and keep your moans at bay, suddenly aware that you were still in your apartment and your neighbors could probably hear you. However, all of those sounds broke free once San’s fingers split your folds and pressed against your aching clit.

“F-Fuck!”

“Answer me, princess.” His voice was rough against your ear as he leaned further into your body, finger working lazy circles on your clit. Panting, you tried to nod your head to the best of your ability, seeing as he still had a hold of your hair. A sharp cry fell from your lips when he tugged your head back, the burn causing more tears to brim in your eyes. “Use your words.”

“Y-Yes.” You whimpered, and San released his hold, allowing your body to crumble right back into Yeosang’s lap. Your hands gripped onto his thighs as you tilted your head, coming face-to-face with Yeosang’s erection, pre-cum glistening on the tip.

Raising up on shaky arms, you took his cock in one of your hands, pumping slowly. A small whine fell from Yeosang’s lips, his hand falling back at the feeling of your soft hand on his skin. You could feel yourself clench around nothing at the sound, a sound that you wanted to hear fall from his lips over and over again.

You lean forward, bringing your face closer to his length and giving his tip a few kitten licks. Yeosang bit his lip as he looked down at you, moving some of your hair out of your face before gathering your strands into a makeshift ponytail so he could see you.

You were reminded of San’s presence when he started teasing your folds with the tip of his dick, his other hand gripping your hip. A whine reverberated from your throat when he brushed against your still sensitive clit.

“Sannie…” You breathed out, head falling forward when his tip dipped into your walls. However, you cried out pathetically when he smacked your ass, his hand rubbing over the now red skin.

“Focus, princess, or we can leave you here high and dry.” He cooed, but there was an edge to his tone that sent a shiver down your spine because you knew he wasn’t joking.

Lifting your head once more, you moved closer to Yeosang’s cock, wrapping your lips around his tip. Yeosang inhaled sharply through his nose as his hips bucked up, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat, causing you to gag slightly.

“Fuck, you’re mouth feels so good, angel.” He groaned, fingers tightening in your hair as you took him further in your mouth. The sheer size of his cock made it hard to take him all, but you relaxed your throat, trying your best as tears spilled from the corner of your eyes.

Slowly, you started to bob your head, tongue swirling around his tip, pulling a mixture of groans and whines from his lips that went straight to your cunt. San’s fingers tightened around your hips after he aligned his dick with your leaking entrance. Then he thrusts deep into your cunt, burying himself entirely in your heat, causing a choked moan to rip from your lungs only to be muffled by Yeosang’s dick.

Your nails dug into Yeosang’s thighs as San rutted his hips against yours. A loud moan vibrated around Yeosang’s dick, causing him to tug on your hair, his hips bucking up. The feeling of your mouth on his, with a mixture of your moans, had Yeosang’s cock twitching in your mouth. Your body slumped forward into Yeosang’s lap as San’s pace quickly turned hard and fast, his tip hitting your sweet spot instantly, and stars danced across your vision. Tears stung in your eyes as you tried your best to keep your focus on Yeosang, but with every drag of San’s dick against your walls, it had the tip of Yeosang’s dick hitting the back of your throat.

“Oh fuck, you’re doing so good for me, angel.” Yeosang’s voice came out in a moan, causing your pussy to clench around San’s cock, whose fingers dug into the fat of your hips, nails leaving behind indents.

“Shit, I can’t believe you’re letting us fuck your sweet little cunt princess,” San growled, hips pistoning into yours, tearing another loud cry from your lips.

Yeosang chuckled as he tugged on your hair, earning a whine from your muffled lips. The vibrations turned his chuckle into a choked groan, his hips bucking up into your mouth. “Fuck, angel, I’m close.”

You could feel his heavy cock twitch on your tongue, telling you just how close he really was. You tried your best to keep your concentration on his cock, but with how hard and frantic San’s hips were slamming against yours, his dick hitting all the right spots made it challenging. However, you took him as far into your mouth that you could without gagging, your tongue pressing against the vein that ran along the underside of his dick. That was his breaking point. A sharp moan fell from his lips as his hand pressed down on the back of your head, making you take him even further as he came. The vibrations of your moans around his sensitive cock pulled a breathy whine from his parted lips.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Yeosang chanted as you continued to suck on his still twitching cock, milking every last drop of his cum before he finally pulled you off of him with a lewd ‘pop’. He then let go of your hair before grabbing your face and squeezing your cheeks, saying, “Swallow it.”

His hoarse voice sent tingles all throughout your body, your walls tightening around San’s cock, earning a deep groan from the dark-haired male. You swallowed Yeosang’s seed as you held his eyes before opening your mouth and letting your tongue fall free, showing him. A smirk tugged on the corner of his lips as he leaned down, his lips ghosting over yours before pulling away, causing you to whine.

He released his hold, allowing your body to fall right back into his lap, your arms too weak to hold yourself up anymore. No longer worried about having Yeosang’s dick in your throat, San's grip tightened before his hips sped up.

“S-San!” You screamed his name, back arching as he somehow hit even deeper in your cunt, making your body shake. Planting one of his feet up, he used your hips as leverage to fuck into you, his tip brushing over your sweet spot continuously. All sound caught in your throat as you tried to cry out, but all that came out was a pitiful squeak, tears cascading down your cheeks.

“Such a dirty girl aren’t you, princess, so fucked out but yet so eager for more.” San chastised you as he watched you push your hips back against his. He then smacked your ass again, a wicked smile spreading across his lips as he watched your skin turn a deeper shade of red.

Your hands balled into fists as your head hung low, your high steadily getting closer. Then you felt a hand wrap around your throat, pulling a weak moan from your lips. Yeosang lifted your upper body up until you were level with his face, the change in angle sending your body over the edge.

“F-Fuck!” You cried out, eyes rolling back as your hands wrapped around Yeosang’s wrist while San continued to pummel into you.

“God, you’re squeezing me so damn tight.” San groaned, head falling right between your shoulder blades. One of his hands moved around your hips, easily finding your aching clit. A strangled moan left your swollen lips as he circled the nub harshly, white spots starting to cloud your vision.

“You look so good like this angel.” Yeosang’s breath fanned over your soaked face, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. You tried to speak, but his grip on your throat tightened, and all that came out was a meek cry.

His lips crashed into yours with an almost bruising force, nearly taking all of the air from your lungs. The kiss was a mess of spit as you tried to keep up with his pace, but your brain was starting to float away from you. With another harsh snap of San’s hips, white spots littered your vision, and a mixture of incoherent words fell from your lips only to be swallowed by Yeosang’s.

A familiar pressure built in your gut once more, and your legs trembled, threatening to give out on you if it wasn’t for San and Yeosang’s hold on you. You opened your mouth to warn them, but you were cut off by a loud whine when San’s lips latched onto the back of your shoulder, leaving bite marks in his wake.

“F-Fuck! ‘M close–fuck, Sannie, I feel weird.” You cried out, hands moving to grab Yeosang’s shoulders to ground yourself as he pulled back to look at your face.

The sound of San’s dark chuckle made your brain swirl, your walls clenching around him like crazy. However, your words only spurred him on. His pace grew to an almost feral pace, causing your eyes to roll, nails digging into Yeosang’s shoulders.

With one last harsh thrust of his hips, your body shattered, your release gushing out of you and drenching the floor. The sight had both men groaning, and San’s fingers sped up on your clit to coax more out of your body. A silent scream falling from your lips, mind gone entirely, and body convulsing between them.

“S-Sannie!” You cried out, hand grabbing his wrist to try to pry his hand away from your clit. He sank his teeth into your shoulder, and your body jerked with a broken moan. “‘S too much.”

“Aww, is it really too much for you, princess?” San mocked you, and you tried to respond, but the only sounds that left your lips were broken moans and cries of their names.

After a few more harsh, quick snaps of his hips, a string of long, low groans fell from his lips. His cum gushing out deep in your womb. The sensation pulls another, weaker orgasm from your spent body, and you whine loudly. San continued to rock his hips against yours, riding out his high before leaning against your back, his face buried in your shoulder.

Yeosang released your throat, letting your body fall against his chest, and all three of you stayed like that for a few long moments. Once he caught his breath, San pulled away slowly, pressing soft kisses along the back of your shoulder as he pulled out of your cunt. Another whine falling from your lips as you could feel every groove and vein of his cock.

“S-Sannie.” You whimpered, causing him to chuckle, his hands massaging your sore hips. Your muscles finally started to relax, and you melted right into Yeosang’s arms.

“Keep her awake, I’ll go run the bath,” San told Yeosang as he stood, grabbing his boxers off the ground in the process.

Yeosang didn’t say a word, just nodded as his arms wrapped around your body, pulling you closer. San disappeared out of the room, and you could feel yourself start to drift off.

“Keep your eyes open, angel.” He whispered in your ear softly, causing you to whine, eyes fluttering open to look up at him. He leaned down, lips ghosting over yours, letting you decide what to do next. You wrapped a shaky hand around his neck, pulling him down to connect your lips in a soft, gentle kiss.

Yeosang shifted both of your bodies until you were perched in his lap once more, his hands gently caressing your thighs. Your lips melded together, and you felt as if you could never get tired of the taste of his lips.

Reluctantly, Yeosang pulled away, “You keep doing that, and this might lead to another round.” He teased, and your face flushed, causing him to laugh softly. He then reached forward, brushing your hair out of your face before cupping your cheek.

“Bath’s ready.” San came back into the room, dressed in a pair of pajama pants now, and his eyes fell onto where you were sitting. “Not thinking about going another round without me, are you?”

“Maybe.” Yeosang teased, his hand falling back to your hips to help you stand, but you almost toppled over the moment you stood. Both men chuckled, and you glared at them, telling them that it was their fault.

Once he was on his feet and pulled his boxer back on, Yeosang bent down and picked you up, causing a shocked gasp to leave your lips. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you looked at him, and he just smiled sweetly at you.

“Let’s get you in the bath, then we can order something to eat before going to bed.” He told you, eyes flickering over to San, who nodded in agreement.

As you were carried to the bathroom, the realization of what just happened hit you like a tidal wave. The two guys that you grew up with, thinking that you would never do anything like this with, had just fucked you into the next universe.

You buried your face in Yeosang’s neck as more thoughts of what this meant filled your head, but as soon as you hit the warm water, you decided to let those go for another time. For now, you’d enjoy San and Yeosang’s company as they bickered over what to order.

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫 : 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙤 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙖 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧𝙨. 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙡𝙮

#okay. so im insane about this #genuinely saved my night lol i needed this #oh to be in a sansang sandwich....#ateez #kang yeosang #choi san

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anitease · 1 month ago

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Cowboy!Mingi x Bullrider!Reader

Aka WHORES BEING WHORES MDNI 18+ and please ignore any errors or misspellings or grammar mistakes….this was not proofread AT ALL

Sometimes it felt like that bar called your full government name.

Like it gave you no choice but to find your tiniest pair of shorts and your skimpiest top and saunter through its doors like you owned the place.

Now Friday nights were always busy but it seemed like the place was nothing short of packed tonight. Having to brush past dozens of people just to weave your way to the bar and get a lemon drop was not the norm.

“Hey! You getting on that thing? Showing them how it’s done?” The places bartender, Wooyoung set your drink down and unashamedly peered down your top as you took a sip.

You took a look at the golden mechanical bull off to the side. Bucking with purpose and throwing another sweet girl clean off and bouncing her giggly drunk form into the cushions surrounding.

“I might. Wouldn’t you love to see me ride.” You flash him a seductive smile, trailing your finger under his chin

“You know I would.” His smile grew wide, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

You finish off your drink and go to find Hongjoong, whose job description consists of two things, announcing whose riding the bull and controlling it

Your hands are on the man’s shoulders before he can wonder if you’re even coming in for the night.

His eyes roll back a little when you kiss his cheek, glittery lipgloss staining his skin. “Oh! Finally! You know how many little girls I’ve had to fling off this thing?”

“You gotta give them a chance, Hongjoong!” You laugh as he opens the gate for you.

“Hell no! They were boring! Hey, where’s your hat?”

You feel the top of your head, your bedazzled cowgirl hat missing on top of your head of hair. “Dammit..” you suck your teeth and scan the crowd.

Your eyes zero in on a black hat sitting pretty on a tall man and you flash your winning smile. “Hey cowboy!”

He looks up after swallowing down his shot and licks the excess off his lips, eyes staring you down.

Your sure your heart skips a beat as words freeze on you lips. “What’s wrong sweet thing?”

In what seems like two strides he’s in front of you, plump pink lips, sweat glistening down his neck, chains littering his chest, his body invading your space and making you feel hot all over.

“Hey. You there?”

You can’t stop your hand when it reaches out and tugs at the silver cross sitting at the center of his chest. “I need your hat…please.” It comes out more desperate than you mean it too but the shift in his eyes tells you it worked anyways

“You need my hat?” The man’s interest peaks as he takes in your tiny outfit.

“Mhmm..”

His voice dips an octave and his words send a shiver down your spine. “You know what they say when you wear a cowboys hat..”

“I’m counting on it..”

He smiles, the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen and you’re so happy that this is the man you’ll go home with. He takes his hat off, presses a kiss to the top of it and sits it on your head.

“Thanks..”

“Mhmm.” He fixes his hair into a ponytail and points to the bull. “I want to see you ride it like you mean it, you hear me?”

“Yes sir.” To say you put in a show would be an understatement.

Soon after mounting the bull, every eye in the bar was on you, most notably the man who’s hat you had taken, his tongue poking at the side of his cheek as he leaned forward on the gate.

Warmth creeped up your cheeks at his stare as Hongjoong started the bull, just slow enough for you to get used to the feeling before showing people what you could really do.

He waited for your signal before he upped the ante, the bull jerking you forward and back as your hips rolled accordingly, keeping you firmly planted on the device.

Your hand went to your hat, lifting it off your head and shaking your hair out, earning a roar of cheers and whistles.

“That right there ladies and gentlemen is what I’m talking about!” You heard Joong shout into the microphone as you did nothing short of put of a performance.

Your hands gripped the handle and hat tightly as smiled sweetly, riding the bull for all it was worth no matter what Hongjoong did to throw you off.

Finally, just after beating your previous record time you gave him the signal to let you off.

Your boots carried you straight to your cowboy, his hat slightly askew as your chest heaved from adrenaline.

When you found him, the tent in his jeans was hard to miss (no pun intended) and his eyes were glassed over.

“What’s your name?” You grabbed his hand, fully ready to drag him out of here and fuck him in public if need be.

“Mingi…” He responded breathlessly, taking you all in.

“Take me home, Mingi.”

~~~

He was everywhere, his erection against your back, one hand tearing away your shirt, the other dipped past your waistband and working your panties to the side.

“..Mingi..” You managed to croak, your hand reaching around tugging at his belt and palming his stiff cock.

“Oh my god..” he groans against your neck. “Come here.” A hand grips your cheeks, turning your head til his tongue is down your throat, swallowing every moans that escapes your lips.

Before you could comprehend what the fuck was happening, your back hit the bed and Mingi was making a slutty show of taking his clothes off.

He was talking… you think…you couldn’t really tell with every inch of skin he exposed. Smooth and toned and all for you.

When he got to his jeans, you all but whined like a bitch in heat doing nothing but stroking his huge ego.

"What is it? Hm?" He taunted as he palmed the bulging print through the rough fabric. "Want it?"

“Yes, please and skip the fucking foreplay. I could cum just from looking at you, I swear.”

A goofy grin plastered on his face as you stripped from your clothes leaving you bare as the day you were born.

“Fuck me…look at that pussy..all that for me?” You could see his eyes glass over, his tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“Mhmm.”

“Let me taste it?” He drops to his knees before you can even think to respond, his arms locking around your thighs and spreading you open.

He groans as he flicks his tongue against your cunt until his name falls from your lips, broken and pleading. His scalp burns from where your nails dig and pulls at his hair.

“Fuck! I’m gonna fucking cum!” Your toes curl as he locks onto your clit, giving the bud all the attention until your creaming down his chin.

“No foreplay my ass. Too fucking sexy not to get this pussy eaten.” He trails a few kisses up your body and rubs the head of his cock down your slit, dipping the smallest amount of his tip into your pussy, before withdrawing and circling your clit. You gasp at the sensation, his thick cock throbbing against you, your wetness making you slick.

“Oh my God, please. I need more, Please, don’t tease.”

“Open wider, pretty girl. Want to get you nice and ready, feel how slick you really are on my cock.” He sucks in a ragged breath when you oblige.

He taps the head of his cock against your clit before dipping down into your pussy, and dragging back up again.

When he finally slides in with his strong arms bracketing your head, you almost come on the spot. You let out a guttural moan, as he stretches you deliciously, his tip pushing deeper. That cocky smirk is back on his face as he feels you clench around him, your eyes squeezed shut as you adjust to his size.

“That’s it, darling. Take this dick. You can take it. I know you can.”

He drops to his elbows and crowds you enough to make you dizzy, his body weight finally falling on top of you and it is undoubtedly the sexiest thing you’ve ever felt in your life. His stomach brushes against yours, skin on skin, his heavy presence surrounding you. His forehead rests on yours and it feels so strangely intimate. Your nails scratch down his back, leaving angry red welts on his skin.

“Feel so good…feels so good…ohhh my god!”

“Stay with me, baby. Come on cause I still want to see you ride me.”

It was like the phrase ignited a fire in your belly and a new motivation in your bones. In seconds you were locking your legs around his hips and using your weight to flip him around so you sat on top of him.

Your hands planted on his chest as your hips rolled with a purpose. It was like getting a reward when his nails dug into your waist and his head went back, exposing his neck.

Your teeth are sinking in right under his ear and his moans ring out through the apartment, no doubt waking your neighbors.

His hands roam your back, pulling you closer as you rock against him with increasing urgency.

“How’s it feel, cowboy?” A strained groan is all you get in response as you move to balance on your toes, clenching every time you get to his tip and relaxing when you reach his base. “Ride it like I mean it. That’s what you said right?”

“Fuck yeahhhh ugh you gonna make me nut in this pussy darling.”

“Go ahead baby. I don’t care!” In a few more strokes he’s painting your insides so much it leaks out and you’re not far behind him, squeezing him like a vice as you shake with pleasure.

———————-

Actually footage of me writing this knowing it will never be me 🥲

Anyhow I hope yall enjoyed! And thank you Nashville for providing us with cowboy Ateez!!

#if u saw me post this on main NO U DIDNT NUH UH #anyway #ehm. blah blah blah MINGI I NEED U BAD #okay but actually. this is insane. i am losing my mind over this #TAKING HIS HAT TOO OUGHHHH THE SYMBOLISM >>>>>>#hashtag Need That #also shout out to topaz <3 love u my lil freaks (affectionate)#bites my fist. i can be normal about this (lying)#ateez #song mingi

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anitease · 1 month ago

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chapter two.

in full bloom.

dominant ateez x submissive reader

series warnings: heavy bdsm dynamics, subspace, rules and punishments, kink exploration, eventual romance, heavy/extreme kinks in later chapters. the characters engage in consensual controlling behaviour under the agreement of a 24/7 bdsm dynamic. this story does not represent ateez in any way; i merely use them as muses for my own characters. specific warnings will be in each chapter.

chapter warnings: discussion of rules and punishments, bdsm scene, use of ‘sir’, praise & degradation, pet play, impact play, light breath play, anal & vaginal fingering, overstimulation, denial etc.

words: 8.5k

disclaimer: this is an expanded rewrite of an old work of mine, ‘the new girl.’ if you feel like you’ve seen this fic before, you probably have. not all bdsm relationships involve sexual contact, however, this one does. please be safe.

The next few weeks seem to stretch impossibly. Like darkness in the dead of winter; long, never-ending, only anticipation to pull you through it. You didn’t get to see them again, after your first meeting; the guys left the country a few days afterwards, off on tour somewhere, leaving you here alone and waiting for them with a desperation you would never admit.

It’s a good test, though, Maya says; space and time away from them so you can sort through your thoughts and feelings without any undue influence. And you do—more than you should, perhaps.

In fact, you do nothing but think about them.

Any time you’re not replaying your meeting with them in your head, or thinking about them with a hand between your legs, or curled up in a ball stressing and worrying about every conceivable way this could all go horribly wrong—you’re watching them. You’re searching their names on social media, watching their music videos and staring at their pictures until your eyes hurt.

You can’t help it, really. Can’t even try to. They’re so hot—and you’re so eager.

That night at the bar, in fact, you’d barely managed to make it all the way home before sending the first text to Hongjoong, but if you came across as too keen, he didn’t mention it. Just a short I take it you’re home now, puppy?, and some small, infuriatingly procedural questions about how you felt the night had gone.

He’d even asked for permission to call you puppy. The care and caution in everything he does is equal parts maddening and delightful.

You text them a lot; every day, when there’s time. Surprisingly, to you at least, most of your conversations have nothing to do with your impending arrangement; just normal, casual things; irrelevant things that somehow, with them, feel invigorating.

It’s the way they speak to you, you think; controlled, commanding, nurturing. Oozing with authority and completely and entirely confident in it. It makes you want to kneel from five thousand miles away.

You don’t even think they do it on purpose; not all the time, anyway. It’s just who they are; how they are. They fall into it as naturally as you do into the inverse—into submission.

Your need for it has always been integral; as natural as breathing. It’s the achievement of it, or at least, the achievement of it in the vast and all-encompassing form you crave, that comes a little less easily. With them, though, you have some hope.

Your chat with Seonghwa sits at the top of your messages when you wake up; the little bunny emoji you’ve put next to his contact makes it just a little less intimidating to open, but your breath still hitches as it always does.

It’s a question you’re afraid to ask, let alone answer—why they already have such a hold over you. Why you’re already so affected by the mere idea of them.

good morning, puppy. call me when you’re up, if you can.

It takes you a little by surprise; you haven’t called any of them yet, whether because they’re too busy or for another reason you’re not sure. It makes you nervous, too, to be honest, the idea of phoning him.

But he asked you to do something and you’re eager to impress, so you bite the bullet and press call.

He picks up after a couple of rings. “Hi, baby.” You hear the smile in his voice; it makes you smile a little too, nerves cooling off some.

“Hi, Seonghwa.”

“Have you been thinking everything over like we asked?”

“Yeah,” you answer. He doesn’t reply, and you know what he’s waiting to hear. You swallow the lump that tries to form in your throat. “I really…I want to try this with you guys.”

“I’m happy to hear that. Is there anything you want to ask me about it?”

You hesitate, and though he says nothing you imagine he notices. He doesn’t rush you, though; just waits for you to find the words and make sense of them.

“The rules,” you say finally. “You said you guys are strict, so I wondered what some of the rules would be.”

“It depends on the submissive,” he replies after a moment. “Her needs, things she might want to improve on. But aside from obvious things like safety, we also have some core ones that stand for everyone we play with. Respect, permission, obedience.”

Respect, permission, obedience. You like those words; they make your head feel a little lighter and your stomach twist with want—want to fulfil them, and want to face the consequences when you don’t.

You’re good at those things, you know that. Good at submitting.

Usually. Sometimes, of course, you like to play.

“And if I break the rules?”

“Oh?” He laughs a little. “Are you planning on it?”

You hesitate, again, unsure how to answer; the truth, you know, is your only option, but suddenly it feels inadequate, your fear of annoying or disappointing them and being kicked to the curb now overarching.

This time, Seonghwa notices. “Hey,” he says. His voice has softened, but it’s still just as firm, just as resolute. “It’s important that you’re honest with us. You don’t need to hide anything from us, you know. Even the bratty side of you.”

You bite your lip, easing tension. “Really?”

“Oh yeah,” he says. “We love brats. They’re a lot of fun. But you’re not one, really, I think, not often. You just like to push back a little sometimes.”

“You think so?”

“I think sometimes you need a reminder of who’s in control. Sometimes you need to get rid of guilt, to feel like you’re being held accountable for your mistakes. Sometimes, maybe, you just want to be punished. You want to feel like a bad little girl and be put back in your place.”

God, you do want that. You want all of it. And you want to let go of your fear of disappointing them so you can enjoy it in its entirety.

Maybe with them, you’ll learn to.

“You’re right,” you mumble. “And…it wouldn’t bother you? If I acted out?”

He sounds genuinely surprised at the question. “Bother me?” He repeats. “Of course not. Misbehaving is a normal part of these relationships; testing the limits and so on. I’d be honoured if you felt safe and secure with us enough to do that with us. And I’d be just as honoured to put you back in your place, too.”

Your breath hitches a little; at the image in your head and the safety that surrounds it. “Really?”

“Really,” he echos. “We want you. We knew it just from talking to you that day in the bar; knew you’d be perfect for us too. We want to train you up and make you the perfect little pet for us, so long as that’s what you want too. And if you need a spanking every day to keep you that way, then that’s what you’ll get. It would be our privilege to give it to you. You don’t need to worry about disappointing or bothering us or any of that.”

“Oh.” The relief you feel is physical; like a load on your chest finally lifting. You breathe out a reply that sounds a little more emotional than you’d like to admit.

It’s a warm, cosy feeling, knowing you won’t have to hide from them. A safety you’ve been searching for for longer than you’d realised.

You find yourself blinking back tears before you can process it.

You missed this more than you were conscious of.

Seonghwa’s voice sounds almost impossibly gentle. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you sniff. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m like this.”

“Don’t apologise for getting emotional,” he says, and his voice is suddenly sharper than you’ve heard it. “It’s good, actually, that you do. That’s what we want.”

“It is?”

“Yes. We’ve found a lot of people just view this stuff as a way to get off, but it’s about a lot more than that for us.”

“Like what?” You ask.

“Trust,” he replies. “Connection. Surrender. Caring and being cared for. Release, too. But the more we get to know each other, the better answer I’ll have. Every submissive is different.”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “It’s the same to me. The importance. It’s reassuring, to know this is as important to you as it is to me.”

“It’s essential to my being,” Seonghwa responds. “Without it it feels like something’s missing.”

“Yeah.” It’s silent for a moment, like he’s silently gauging your response, as much as he can over the phone at least. “Would you like to try out a rule now?“

You inhale, sharp and sudden. You hear him laugh a little. “Please.”

“Good girl,” he hums. “Okay, here’s one. Every day, you’re going to send me a picture of you. It doesn't matter what you’re doing, or if you think you think you look good. You send one every day.”

“Oh.”

“What do you think?”

“I like that,” you breathe. “A lot.”

“Good. Do it now.”

You pause. “Right now?”

“Right now.”

“Okay,” you mutter. You pull the phone back, opening the camera to snap a pic and sending it before you can pick it apart like you usually do. The lighting is low, though, curtains still drawn and only the bedside lamp shining dimly from the other side of your bed, so there’s not much to pick apart anyway.

The message is read instantly. His voice comes low and affected through the phone.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “You look so tiny, baby. So fucking cute.”

“You think so?”

“You’re going to drive me fucking crazy,” he says. “All of us. I can’t wait for this tour to end. I need to get my hands on you.”

You can’t wait either.

“I have a question for you too, if that’s alright.”

You raise your eyebrows, curious. “What is it?”

“About our first scene together,” he says. “How do you imagine it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Anything you like, really. For example, do you want sexual contact? Do you want to get off? Or do you want it to be pure, high-protocol play?”

“I want to get off,” you say, maybe a little too quickly. “I just… it’s been so long since I did this, I’ve been waiting so long. So yeah, I want sexual contact, but I want the S/M stuff too. I want to see how it is you all are, when you’re doing a scene. What it’s like to submit to you.”

“Okay,” he breathes. He sounds affected. “We can do that. We can do all of that. Definitely.”

“Really?”

“Of course we can. We want our first scene together to be as you like. We didn’t want to be all whips and chains and bruises and psych you out straight away.”

“I mean,” you mumble. “I like whips and chains and bruises.”

“So do we,” he responds. “But it’s not appropriate for a first scene. It would be irresponsible of us to do that to you straight away, before you even know how we are as dominants and how you feel about it.”

“That makes sense,” you say. “Okay. So we’ll ease into everything, right?”

“Exactly. You’ll definitely get the whips and chains and bruises, I can promise you that. But you’ll get them when you’re ready. We’ll start you off with a shorter, more gentle scene; just a taster, okay?”

“Okay.”

You talk for a few more minutes, about random things; your work, their tour, and everything in between until he hangs up, suddenly called on by his manager, with a promise to text you later. You toss your phone to the side and curl back up inside your sheets. You’re alone in your room, barely any light, but the echo of his voice and the promise of their impending return makes you feel enveloped. Embraced.

By the time they’re back in the country you’re getting yourself off at least once a day just to quell the urges for them. You haven’t told them about it; not explicitly, at least, but there’s a small lilt in their voices when they talk to you sometimes that makes you think they already know. A little teasing, a little turned on.

“Been entertaining yourself?” Wooyoung asks you one day. “I’ll bet you have.”

Jongho manages to time a call just minutes after you finish; your face is still flushed and breathing still heavy when you pick up. “You look pretty,” he says. “I can make you even prettier soon.”

And Mingi—Mingi keeps it short. Your daily photos to Seonghwa have ended up extending to all of them. Feeling bold, you test the waters by sending one just after you finish; face red and sweaty, lips plush and glistening like you’ve been drooling. Mingi’s reply comes a few moments later.

You’d better have been thinking of us.

It’s a Thursday night a few days after their return, and you’re tucked up on the couch and just starting to doze off when your phone lights up with a call from a a familiar contact.

“Hi, honey,” Hongjoong greets. “Are you ready to start?”

The cafe you meet them in on Saturday is small and private; a little darker and more ambient than you’d expected, but it suits the purpose. They’re huddled into a booth in the far corner, waving you over when you spot you hovering nervously in the entrance.

Only four of them, you notice; not the eight you’d met the first time. They’re dressed down, clearly trying not to be recognised but they stand up and greet you with warm smiles that set your nerves a little more at ease.

Hongjoong is the first to speak; he often is, you’ve noticed. As much as they’re all equals, they seem to defer to him almost as a default, as much off camera as on. “Where would you like to sit?”

“Here is fine.” You gesture towards the empty space on the edge of the booth, next to Yeosang; you’re not scared of them or worried about today, far from it actually, but you know it’ll help you feel more at-ease, knowing there’s an easy out even if you never take it.

Jongho is next to him; opposite, Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Their gazes are fixed on you and just as heavy and intense as you remember them.

“Uh…” you start. “Where are the others?”

Hongjoong’s eyes flicker to the man next to him, then back. “We thought it’d be better if less of us came this time. To make it less overwhelming for you.”

“It’s something we should have considered last time,” Seonghwa adds. “We apologise that we didn’t.”

You smile, shaking your head. “No, it’s fine,” you say. You're glad to have met them all that first day; you won’t lie, though, and say you’re not a little relieved to not be facing down quite so many people today.

“It’s not,” Jongho says. “We should have asked about what you’d be comfortable with, at least. We won’t make that mistake again. Did you bring everything we asked you to?”

Oh, right. The list.

Hongjoong had asked you, on Thursday night on the phone, how you wanted to do this; if you wanted to take it slow, with more meetings and more time to think before doing anything, or if you wanted to “dive in,” as he put it. You’d chosen the latter with a lot more confidence than you’d anticipated.

You really have been needing this.

The list you pull from your pocket was texted to you by Hongjoong later; everything you’d need to bring today for the first few days of your new arrangement. “I think so,” you nod. Your eyes move down the list, checking off each item in your head. “Yes, I think I remembered it all.”

“We’ll see later,” Seonghwa smiles. “It’s not a problem if you didn’t, though. You tried your best and you’re new to this.”

The others hum in agreement and you smile, a little nervously. This was your first big ‘task’ from them, after all. You wanted to do it right. Show them you’re capable and worthy of their efforts. God, you hope you are—

Jongho’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts right on time; as if he somehow knew you were about to plunge in too deep. “You even wrote it all out, didn’t you?” He smiles, gesturing to the list in your hands. “Good girl.”

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Would you like me to explain the plan for this week?” Hongjoong asks gently.

You nod, suddenly anxious, and your gaze falls downwards to your lap where your hands are fiddling with the hem of your dress. A larger hand comes to rest atop them, holding them still and you look up to meet Yeosang’s firm gaze on you. His voice is gentle, calm, but the authority is unmistakable. “Look at him and answer him properly, sweetheart.”

Hongjoong is staring expectantly at you, when you finally meet his eyes. It’s the first time you’ve seen anything from him that felt like sternness. “Yes please,” you say.

He eases up, smiling again and you feel like a weight’s been lifted. God, you’re so receptive to them. So sensitive and eager to please.

“Good girl,” he says.

You bow your head again, embarrassed and Yeosang clicks his tongue, wordlessly chastising. You mutter an apology and force your eyes upwards again. “There we go,” Hongjoong praises. “Think of it as a trial run, yeah? We want you, we know that, but we need to see how it will work. What kind of arrangement will suit you best.”

“Okay,” you say. Yeosang releases your hands from his grip but you grab his arm as he starts to move away, needing someone to hold onto while you digest it all. He smiles, taking your hand back in his and squeezing it gently. “Good girl,” he murmurs.

“Are you with us so far?” Seonghwa asks.

“Yes.”

“Good,” he nods. “So for this week, we’ll all be getting to know each other better and getting used to our new dynamic. We’ll start figuring out the kind of submissive you are and the kind of training you’ll need. That make sense to you?”

You barely manage to get a response out this time, already feeling dazed. None of these words are new to you, exactly, not even in this context, but they’ve never felt so real before. So dark and forbidden and thrilling—to be spoken about like a pet, a submissive in need of training.

It’s a lot. It might even be everything.

Silence stretches, not uncomfortably, until you break it meekly, nervously. Yeosang squeezes your hand again, encouraging. “And the end of the week?” You ask. “What happens then?”

They share a look that you can’t quite decipher. They seem to have those a lot; the small, silent conversations that lie just out of your reach, but where you thought you’d feel excluded or out of the loop, you instead feel…secure. Cared for. Like everything, including yourself, is out of your hands and off of your shoulders.

Hongjoong looks like he knows exactly what’s going through your mind. “It’ll be up to you,” he tells you. “If you’re happy and you want to commit, you can stay with us. We’ll get you moved in and your room set up how you like. You’ll keep your own place, of course, but we’ll make our house your main residence.”

“But if you want to take it slower,” Jongho continues, “which is always an option, I might add, then we’ll take you home and continue getting to know you more casually, just like how you would in a normal relationship.”

“And of course, ending our arrangement entirely is an option too,” Yeosang adds. “At any time.”

The others voice their agreement and you smile gratefully. “Thank you,” you say. “I’ll remember that.”

“Any more questions?” Jongho asks.

Your answer comes blurted before you can really think on it. “I get my own room?”

“Of course,” Seonghwa chuckles. “You need your own space. We all do.”

“Right,” you nod.

He hums. “Well, if you’re ready, love,” he says, “there are four people at home who are waiting very patiently for your arrival.”

Their house is large, in a quieter area of the city but still central. Nothing to disturb you here, you think—and nothing to be disturbed by you.

Jongho takes your bag from the trunk without much effort; you try to help him, reaching to take it from his hands but he fixes you with a look so stern it almost sends a shiver down your spine. You back away, apologising, and he eases up again. “Good girl,” he says. “Go inside, I’ve got it.”

Seonghwa calls your name and holds his hand out for you to take. You’re halfway towards the door when it swings open suddenly; San is grinning at you, and it feels a little like a wolf baring its teeth.

“Hi, baby,” he beams.

“Were you watching from the window?” Seonghwa asks. San nods, unashamed, and the elder mumbles something under his breath that goes unacknowledged.

San is far too hungry to care—you see it on his face. Burning behind his eyes and practically emanating from his entire body. “I’ll take her in,” he tells Seonghwa. “Alright?”

“It’s her choice,” Seonghwa replies coolly. He smiles down at you. “She can make her own decisions for now.”

For now. The words, the implication, feel like fire on your skin. The way San’s eyes darken a little is impossible to ignore. The younger stretches his hand out, an offering, and you take it. “Are you coming too?” You ask Seonghwa.

“No,” he smiles. “You go on, we’re gonna get your room set up for you first. San’ll take care of you.”

You don’t doubt it; you nod, sure but still a little apprehensive and allow San to lead you inside and into the living room.

The set-up is…interesting, you think. A massive TV, large dark couches and armchairs set up in a crescent shape, and the coffee table shoved to the side. Like they were making room for something—something to be displayed.

You have little doubt as to what—who—that something will be. And you’ve never felt more like prey than you do at the mere sight of it.

The way Wooyoung’s smile widens when he spots you makes you even more certain as he stands up to greet you from where he’d been stretched out on the couch, intentions written on his face.

The dynamic of this house is clear just from the way he looks at you; the tension, thick, air getting hotter by the second, cementing what you already knew.

You’re theirs now. Theirs to do as they like with.

And that’s exactly how you want it.

Wooyoung’s voice comes deep, a little hoarse—affected. “There she is,” he grins. “Hi, doll.”

You wave shyly, throat suddenly too dry to do anything else, and his eyes flash. “Cute,” he mutters. “Bring her over here, Sannie.”

A strong arm snakes around your waist, pulling you over to the couch with just a little force; you go willingly, of course, but between the nerves and everything going on in your head right now, it’s taking a moment for your mind to catch up.

You’re in the middle of the two, now, pressed between them with nowhere to go. Close enough to see the tiny details of their skin. “Can I touch you?” Wooyoung asks.

“Yes,” you whisper.

He starts small, gentle; a hand pressed against your cheek. Explorative, tender; strength restrained. You keen into it, without realising, almost instinctual and he coos, rubbing his thumb across your cheek. “Good girl,” he purrs. “Sensitive puppy, aren’t you?”

Maybe, if you’d found the confidence to meet his gaze, you’d have seen the dark, predatory look in his eyes. Like he’s about to sink his teeth into you and is simply waiting for an opening. You whine his name, embarrassed, turning your face towards him to hide in his hand. They just laugh, shifting closer.

“She’s going under already,” San murmurs. “Such a natural, aren’t you baby?”

Another voice—cooler, distant—cuts in. “Already toying with her, are we?”

Yunho is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, faintly amused but otherwise expressionless. “I thought we agreed to wait.”

“I can’t help it,” Wooyoung replies. “She’s so pliant.”

Yunho’s eyebrow lifts, interested, and he takes a few steps towards you that feel a little like a predator closing in. “Is she?”

“Just so easy,” San affirms. “So small and sweet for it.”

“Control yourselves,” Yunho says, but the sternness in his voice is half-hearted. The sensations of the men beside you make you moan; the soft, hungry touches on your skin. God, San’s right. You go under so fast…

“Do you think she’s ready?”

You blink, Yunho’s words pulling you from the haze you’d started to slip away into. “Ready for what?”

They don’t answer; just smile gently at you then look back at each other. “I think so,” Wooyoung says. “Where’s Hongjoong?”

“Here.” Hongjoong emerges from another doorway, eyes finding you instantly. “Hi, bunny.”

You like that name; you feel your face heat up a little, enough to make the corners of his lips quirk in amusement. “Hi,” you squeak.

“What did you want me for?” He asks the others.

“We wondered if you think she’s ready yet,” Wooyoung replies.

Hongjoong is silent for a moment, a thoughtful expression before he speaks. “If Seonghwa thinks so,” he says, “then so do I.”

“I still don’t get it,” you mutter to no one in particular. Wooyoung pinches your cheek.

“Not very patient, are you?” He teases. “We’ll have to work on that.”

You flush in embarrassment, feeling a little chided and they look at you like they’ve never seen something so cute—or delectable.

When Yunho speaks again, his voice is rough and hoarse and almost shaking with desire. “Let’s get the others,” he says. “We’ve waited long enough.”

Wooyoung’s grip tightens around you like he’s holding you in place. You watch as Hongjoong disappears through the door again, off to find the others to do…whatever they’re planning, and this is the realest it’s ever felt. You’ve been waiting for weeks and now you’re finally on the cusp of it.

Your nerves are standing on their ends, silence stretching outwards. It’s tense and terrifying and everything you’ve been needing.

The sound of the others approaching sends you hurtling back down to the ground.

This is real. You have no idea what to expect—or what they expect.

What if you don’t measure up?

You must make a noise or some sign of distress; something to alert them of it, because suddenly there’s a hand in your hair, holding it gently then pulling hard enough to sting. It wakes you up from yourself and you grunt, meeting San’s eyes. They’re gentle; no hunger, no desire. Just care and concern and a softness you could get used to. “Hey,” he whispers. “No more thinking, puppy.”

“I…”

Wooyoung shushes you lowly, gently but with a firmness that’s unmistakable. “Pets don’t worry, baby. Everything will be fine. No expectations. You just follow our lead, we’re in control now.”

You say nothing, but the tension fades; fear subsiding enough to breathe. “That’s it,” San coos. “Good baby. Don’t think. Just obey.”

Then you’re on your feet, pulled up by the two men without a word. You notice, now, that everyone’s here. The living room is spacious enough that you don’t feel too crowded—but damn if you don’t feel surrounded. Like a prey among predators.

Hongjoong beckons you towards him with two fingers. He’s smiling, as he was before, but there’s something different to it now, something that wasn’t there before; an intention, a desire. A hunger that chills you to the core.

It’s terrifying. It’s exhilarating.

And you’ve willingly put yourself in his hands, all their hands, and you’re desperate to see what they do with it.

You approach him with small, hesitant steps. He doesn’t rush you; just waits for you to come then points to the floor in front of him. “Here,” he says firmly. “On your knees.”

You obey, eager for his approval but he doesn’t speak even once you’re in position. He just watches you—they all do. The silence rests heavy on you. Hongjoong breaks it softly, quietly, like pebbles in water.

“When did we meet you?” He asks. “For the first time. How long ago was it?”

The question takes you aback; it feels random, without reason and…obvious? You don’t know. “Um.” You frown. “Maybe three weeks.”

You’re not sure why he’s asking that so suddenly, but you decide to just go with it. They have a plan, clearly; perhaps you don’t need to know it.

“Three weeks,” Hongjoong repeats. “Yes, that sounds about right. And we’ve talked to you, during that time. Talked a lot about this dynamic we’re building together. What it would look like. Correct?”

You nod. He taps your cheek just hard enough to make you wince. “Words.”

“Sorry,” you mumble. “Yes, we talked about it a lot.”

“Which means you’re familiar with our expectations,” he says. “You’ve no excuse tonight, then, do you?”

Oh. Your stomach twists at the thought; at the finality and warning in his tone. At the haze of submission approaching on the horizon.

“No,” you reply.

“Then we’re clear.”

“Yes.”

“Good.” His hand grips your jaw without pressure or force, but the control and authority in his touch is such that you doubt you could break free of it if you wanted to. He doesn’t move or speak; just watches you for a moment, like he’s admiring his prize. “Perfect,” he gruffs. “Perfect, pretty thing.”

“Joong,” you whimper.

His grip tightens a little. “Sir,” he corrects. “Watch your manners.”

“Sorry, sir.”

He hums; it’s silent for a moment, his eyes flicking across your face and body like a silent inspection. He tilts your chin upwards a little more.

“You know well by now what we like,” he says. He thumbs at your bottom lip, not quite pushing into your mouth. “We like obedience. Control. Submission. You’ll learn to please us properly, learn the choices that make us happy. You’ll learn to surrender.”

You say nothing, not making a sound even as his thumb presses past your lips. He raises an eyebrow, like he’s waiting to see what you do, but you do nothing. Just let his thumb press in further, and let it sit.

The right choice, apparently. “Good girl,” he mutters.

“Look at that.” Yeosang’s voice is low, distant, a little awed. “So obedient already. Fingers in her mouth but she’s still not sucking them without permission.”

Hongjoong hums, appreciative and taps your cheek with his other hand. “You’re naturally good, aren’t you?” He smiles. “Just untrained. You’ll be a lot of fun.”

“I hope so, sir.”

He nods. His voice dips slightly. “The rules for tonight,” he says. “Verbal answers, unless we tell you not to speak. You obey without hesitation. You call us sir. You ask for permission. Understand?”

“Yes sir,” you whisper.

He tugs at your chin, harsh enough to make you hiss in pain. “Louder, girl.”

“Yes sir,” you repeat. He nods, satisfied, and pats your hair.

“On your feet,” he says. Your legs wobble a little as you stand up, already unsteady from the short time you’d spent on your knees; he’s quick to take hold of you, steadying you until he’s certain you’re stable then letting go. “Good.” He points to the middle of the room, where the coffee table would have been. “Over there.”

Seonghwa is next to speak; his voice is softer and gentler than Hongjoong’s but the air of authority is just as firm. “We’d like to give you a little test,” he says. “It’s not a test you can fail, and it’s not to see if we want you—for this week, at least, you’re already ours. It’s to see how much you can take, what kind of training you‘ll need. Yeah?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good,” he says. “Undress and put your clothes on the chair over there, then come back. You can leave your panties on. Do it now.”

Your response is shuddered, quiet, but you do as he commands. Your hands shake a little as you reach to unbutton your shirt, but you manage to get it done; your skirt is next, then your bra until all that’s left are your tiny white panties clinging to your hips.

You feel their eyes on you as you take your clothes over to the table; following you like stalked prey. You feel—you are—exposed and vulnerable like this, practically nude and surrounded by eight fully clothed men, but you don’t mind it.

You like it, actually. There’s something thrilling to it; something forbidden. It makes your body pulse in delightful submission.

“Very good,” Hongjoong says, tone approving. His gaze finds your chest, running across the bare skin without hint of subtlety. Instinctively your hands reach to cover yourself, but you think better of it—in the nick of time, it seems, if the anger that flares briefly in their eyes is anything to go by.

“Smart girl,” Seonghwa chuckles. “You’ll learn not to hide yourself. Not from us. You don’t have the right to anymore.”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Right then.” Seonghwa claps his hands, sound cutting through the silence and making you jump in surprise. You hear laughter, soft; if your eyes weren’t cast downwards still you’d see their eyes flash, too, at the small flicker of fright evident in your posture. “We’ll start with some commands, alright? We’ll see which ones you know already, and we’ll teach you the ones you don’t.”

“Yes sir.”

“Look at me.”

You obey, lifting your gaze into his and he nods, satisfied. He clicks his fingers. “Down.”

It takes a second to register, your head a little floaty and by the time it does it’s clearly too late; Seonghwa sighs, seeming disappointed and nods to a man behind you. Then there’s a looming presence and five painful slaps against the practically bare skin of your ass. You yelp, trying to escape but the man snakes his other arm around your waist, pulling you backwards to hold your body taut against his.

“Disobeying already,” he breathes. You recognise Wooyoung’s voice, but the playfulness, even the teasing it normally has is gone. You whimper involuntarily and he slaps you again; this time it lands on the front of your thigh, heavy and stinging. “Don’t whine,” he orders.

“Sorry sir,” you breathe. He hums, rubbing the blooming pink mark on your thigh with a momentary tenderness. “No more talking, I think,” he says. “I’m in the mood for a nice, quiet puppy now.”

Jongho comes to stand in front of you; he tilts your jaw upwards with one hand, peering down at you expressionlessly. Wooyoung keeps his firm grip on your waist, holding you in place and stopping you from squirming away from their attention as you’re sometimes wont to do.

“This is your first lesson,” Jongho says. “When we say down, you get on your knees. Instantly and without question. If you don’t, you’ll be punished. So let’s try that again. Down.”

The second Wooyoung lets go, you fall to your knees, desperate to please now—to show them that you can and want to obey them. Jongho smiles, pressing a hand to your cheek and letting you nuzzle briefly against it. ”Good dog,” he praises. “Up.”

You’ve sprung to your feet before your mind has caught up; the pleased looks on their faces is as satisfying as any reward. “Clever girl,” San praises.

Jongho steps away, back towards the others surrounding you; you do your best to stay still, quiet—you figure that’s the best way to avoid Wooyoung’s heavy hand for now.

“Come,” Yeosang calls. He stops you with a raised hand before you can take the first step. “I don’t think so. Crawl.”

Oh. His voice drops deliciously on the final word and it hits you in the deepest parts of your body. You try to keep a semblance of grace as you lower yourself to your knees but you feel your entire body shaking with excitement; with the thrill of being spoken to and treated like this after so long.

It’s only a few feet on carpeted floor, but the weight of their stares on you makes it feel like miles, knees rubbed raw. Yeosang watches you approach like you’re a tiny mouse he’s lured into a trap.

“Sit,” he orders. You shuffle back up onto your knees and he rests a gentle hand on your hair. “She’s learning fast.”

The others hum in agreement. “She’s clever,” Mingi says, sounding proud.

“She is,” Yeosang says. “Alright, pet. The next ones are easy. Eyes up.”

This time they give you a second to figure it out; you don’t need it, really, feeling in the swing of it by now, but you’ll take what little leeway you can get. You meet Yeosang’s gaze with hopeful eyes and he nods. “Eyes down.” That one’s easier; you drop your gaze back down, contrite and obedient and perfect, if you say so yourself.

“Good girl,” he coos. “Isn’t she good, guys?”

“The best,” Yunho purrs. You’re so wrapped up in Yeosang’s attention that you hardly register the large, looming presence behind you until two big hands come to rest on your throat. There’s no pressure in his touch, no force—just surety. Surety that you’re his, theirs, because you want to be. That you’ll accept their touches and attentions and take everything they give you because you want it.

“I reckon she’s earned a reward,” Yunho says. “Being such a good puppy for us.”

You hear low, approving voices, chiming their agreement; Hongjoong’s voice comes like honey in your ears. “You’re right,” he agrees. “Come here, pup.”

You crawl a little faster now, more confident; he crouches down to your level and holds his arms out for you to crawl into. He lets you snuggle into his chest for a moment, a brief reward, then pulls back. He cradles your face in his hands, keeping your eyes on him.

“Tell me, baby,” he murmurs. “How do you want to be rewarded?”

“Fuck me.” It comes out before you can think on it, your body speaking for itself without your mind’s assent; at his raised eyebrows you tack on a whined “please, sir.”

His thumb presses against your lip again and pushes in. “Suck,” he says. You do; he looks enamoured by the sight. “You’re not ready for dick, precious,” he says. “Just a puppy still.”

“No, I’m ready,” you insist, nodding fervently.

Wrong move.

You see his gaze harden into iron from inches away, grip tightening on your face. Silence stretches. His hand collides with your cheek before you even see him raise it.

The hit is quick, wordless; casual, like this is a normal way for him to express his displeasure. Maybe it is. You whine, wincing away from him and he snarls, hitting you again. “Don’t you run from us,” he grunts. “And don’t ever challenge our authority. What you think doesn’t matter anymore. You’re not ready.”

“Sorry, sir,” you gasp. Your head is spinning a little, cheek throbbing from the force of his slap. “I’m not ready.”

“That’s right,” he purrs. “See. You can obey.”

“Yes sir.”

He hums. “You’ll learn to turn that brain off for us. Soon enough you won’t even remember how to talk back. Turn around and show me your ass.”

Fear pulses briefly and pleasantly as you turn, facing down the others who are watching you with what feels like something between fascination and scrutiny. Following your every move and ready to strike if it’s the wrong one. You’re ready for the slap, anticipating it; you’ve spoken out of turn, after all—you’ve displeased him. His hands aren’t the largest but you know they’re plenty large and strong enough to leave a mark. You felt it in the slaps he’d delivered to your face—the restraint held firm but fraying at the edges.

Hongjoong can make it hurt. They all can.

But right now, he doesn’t.

He runs a slender finger down your back like he’s savouring the skin, down across your ass and grazing over your pussy. It makes you squirm; a jolt of electricity down your spine at the sensation. He hums, not sounding affected but rather interested; clinical, almost. Like he’s inspecting you.

Two fingers slide under your panties and push them to the side then press slowly into your heat. It’s a stretch, only just noticeable above the haze, and he shushes your soft whimper with a tenderness you can hardly rectify with that dark, predatory look in his eyes; in their eyes.

You’re realising now just how much sharpness and softness go hand in hand with them.

Seonghwa’s voice comes distantly, faintly; like you’re floating in a bubble and he’s peering in from outside of it. “How does she feel, Joong?”

“She’s perfect,” Hongjoong says from behind you. “Tight and warm like we thought she’d be.”

God, the way they talk about you… it’s degrading and objectifying in the best way—everything about this is hotter than you imagined, their touches like fire on your skin and they know it.

He curls his finger, just a little but it sends a shockwave through you; you jolt forwards, unable to control yourself and he wraps a strong arm around your neck to pull you backwards into him. “Easy, girl,” he whispers. “Easy.”

“So squirmy,” Mingi coos. “She’ll need a firm hand.”

“She’ll learn to stay still.” You hear the grin in Hongjoong’s voice as he pushes in deeper, slipping a third finger past your folds and making you squeal. “Won’t you, pretty?”

“Ye-ah, yes sir,” you gasp.

They’re inching towards you now, closing in on you until you’re completely trapped. Their expressions differ slightly, some enamoured, some hungry, some clouded with pure lust—but they’re all completely, entirely focused on you. On the way Hongjoong pulls you apart like he’s done it a thousand times before.

The arm on your throat moves away and you fall back onto all fours; Seonghwa crouches down to catch your face in his hands, rubbing your flushed, wet cheeks.

Fuck, when did you start crying? How out of it are you?

Mingi and San disappear in your peripherals, then there’s more hands on your ass, running over the soft skin with heavy, lingering touches.

Hongjoong spreads his fingers, opening your hole up for them to see and you feel the shift in energy behind you as they take you in. “Fuck,” Mingi grunts. “The prettiest little pussy.”

“So cute and puffy,” San croons. He runs a finger—you think it’s his, anyway—through your wet folds then eases one past Hongjoong’s and into your hole.

San’s fingers are thicker than Hongjoong’s; a little longer, and when he puts in a second and the older man pulls his hand away you feel just as full as before. Mingi’s just watching; on his feet again and towering over you. If you tilted your head back just a little bit you’d see it; the look on his face that says he’s about to demolish you.

The others are watching—just watching—as San works you open and Seonghwa slips two long fingers into your mouth. “Suckle, baby,” he murmurs. “Show me how you use your mouth.”

He doesn’t give you much of a chance, in reality; his movements are fast, fingers pushing in and out at his own pace. It’s hard to take, it’s been a while since you’ve had your mouth used like this after all, but you do your best; he rewards your efforts with whispered praises barely audible above the sounds of wet, of the men playing with your holes and your body’s response to it.

“Gonna have to train your throat,” Seonghwa says. “Learn to take us all the way.”

Your eyes are watery again, brimming with fresh tears every time he forces his fingers to the back and chokes you on them. It clouds your head and blurs your vision until you can scarcely make out the scene in front of you; can scarcely tell the men apart as they watch you come undone.

Yeosang’s voice, though, is unmistakable; smooth velvet above the haze. “Harder, Seonghwa,” he says. “I wanna see her drooling.”

“Hear that?” Seonghwa chuckles. “You gonna drool for us, puppy? Get your slobber all over the carpet like a good little girl?”

Your response, muffled by his fingers, seems to be good enough; he presses a kiss to your forehead that’s so tender you barely notice his hand closing around your neck. He pulls away, resting his forehead against yours and his voice comes low. “That’s it,” he whispers. “Stop breathing for me. Let sir do it for a while.”

The pressure is pleasant, building slowly; you feel the precision and care in the way he holds you, the way he pulls you over the line in just the right way. Strength on the sides of your neck and tenderness atop your throat; careful not to push too far in the wrong direction. At this point you’re not sure which feeling, which hole to focus on.

The feeling of a finger circling your rim makes it an easier decision; this, you can’t ignore. You’ve never done this before; never explored that side of things. But one of them, apparently, has decided you will.

Mingi’s other hand comes to rest on your hip as he speaks. “Good girl. Ease up for me, let me in. You’ll get used to it.”

“She doesn’t have a choice,” Yunho adds. “Jongho’s favourite hole, isn’t it?”

You don’t know where Jongho is, can’t quite figure out where any of them are at this point; but the sound of his breath hitching tells you he’s dangerously close. “Yeah,” he gruffs. “It is.”

Mingi’s finger slips in slowly, teasingly; careful and steady enough to almost feel pleasant. You look up with pleading eyes—though for what exactly you’re not so sure—and find Yunho looming above the eldest member with an iron gaze. You whine around Seonghwa’s fingers, gagging a little and you feel the drool running down your chin and to the floor. Yunho’s jaw ticks. “Don’t tempt me,” he warns. “I’ll ruin you.”

You just whine again, almost petulant this time. Yunho’s eyebrow lifts. “Jongho,” he grits. “Put a finger in.”

Jongho doesn’t hesitate; doesn’t even pretend to. He pushes his finger in next to Mingi and matches his pace in a way that’s dizzying. Your whimpers have turned to sobs to full on cries, but Yunho seems unmoved. Satisfied, even.

“Naughty puppies get stretched,” he says simply. “Without prep, without pleasure. Remember that.”

You’re not certain how, even in a million years, you could ever be supposed to forget now.

It’s a punishment, you know that; a direct consequence for and lesson against getting too bold with them. But the pain and stretch you know is meant to teach you, to humiliate you, burns deliciously in your gut and you don’t want it to stop.

Maybe it’s the newness of it all, physically and mentally; the resistance your tight hole puts up against them. Or maybe it is the humiliation; the degradation of knowing every one of your holes is open for and owned by these men—and that you, sick little thing that you are, enjoy it.

You’ve never felt this before, though; you know that. You know it in every single way it’s possible to know something.

You’ve never felt this before. You’ve never even dreamed of it.

Seonghwa’s voice cuts suddenly through the fog. “Think you can come soon?” He asks.

You nod, desperate, and he makes a noise of satisfaction. You realise at some point that the others have retreated; only Seonghwa, Jongho and Mingi remain, the others back on the couches but still watching you just as intently. And the layout of the room means that they’re still surrounding you, still caging you in against the wall like perfect prey.

You feel…displayed.

You feel like a toy.

“San,” Seonghwa calls. “Come here and work on her pussy. She hasn’t learned to come from her ass yet.”

Yet. Seonghwa must catch the way your eyes widen some, pupils dilating; his focused expression twists into a small, knowing smile. His voice is crooning, patronising, like he knows exactly what’s happening in your head and loves it.

“That’s right,” he says. “We’re gonna train you to come just from having your ass full. You’re gonna learn to come every time we tell you to.”

Your body burns with need; with the waves and fires of climax approaching in the distance. Another hand comes to rest on your hips and you hear San’s low, calm voice as he pushes his fingers into you again.

You can’t quite make out the words but oh, the way he says them; so tender and so sadistic at the same time. Minimising your suffering as much as possible but enjoying the pieces of it that remain.

You feel the pressure mounting in your belly; your walls clenching around him, each movement felt more deeply and completely than the last. You know what this means; the mounting sensitivity, body reacting to every small movement—you’re close. But you won’t cross the line without their permission.

You want to be good for them. You’re going to be perfect.

“She’s breaking,” San says. His voice is distant, like you’re underwater. You gurgle around Seonghwa’s fingers when he forces them to the back of your throat again. “I can feel it. Tightening around me.”

The fingers in your ass are pulled out and you cry out in shock; your awareness of them had slipped as San worked you apart, but the emptiness without them is profound. Mingi coos and runs a finger across your flushed skin. “Shh,” he soothes. “Greedy baby. Let San break you, honey. Gonna feel so good.”

A strong arm tucks under your thighs and forces them together, tugging them towards him; with your legs clenched and immobilised everything is heightened, everything is too much but at the same time it’s not enough, it could never be enough, you’re going to—

“Come,” Seonghwa orders.

And you do. Your entire body convulses as your climax rips through you like a blast of hot air. You scream, still gagged by Seonghwa’s fingers as he coaxes you through it; your legs tense as you spill out all over San and then collapse forwards, caught in Seonghwa’s arms before you can hit the floor. He pulls his fingers out and wipes them off on your tear-stained cheeks. He’s speaking to you, they both are, but you can’t pull the words apart into something coherent.

You can’t really do anything right now. You feel like…like…

Like you. You feel like you in a way that you haven’t in years.

And you know, in that moment, that you’re going to stay with them. You’re going to sign that contract—you’d sign seven hundred thousand of them if it meant you could feel like this again.

The last thing you’re conscious of is the feeling of your soaked panties being pulled back into place before your eyes close and you drift away, fucked out and exhausted in their arms.

Seonghwa lifts you up and into San’s lap, manoeuvring your limbs like a fragile doll. “Careful,” he mutters. “Gentle with her now.”

“Of course,” San mumbles. He presses a kiss to your sweat-soaked forehead as he settles your sleeping body in his hold. “She did so well,” he says. “I’ll take her to bed now. She earned it.”

“She did,” Seonghwa smiles. “This is going to be so much fun.”

chapter two!!! because this was a short, introductory session for her, i wasn’t able to keep focus on all the members, however they will all be playing main roles in this work and so will all have at least one scene focused on them each. i plan on writing various scenes with different pairings, smaller groups and individuals. you’re welcome to let me know anything/anyone you’d like to see in particular!

taglist (comment on the masterpost to be tagged!): @pixie0627 @pinuspot @sitycc @m00njinnie @tunafishyfishylike @0mrrp @calilovesdilfs @happymochiland @nijisanjigenshin @diekleinesuesse @honghwalvr @paramedicnerd004 @luvlyfandoms @heeheehahahoohoo @herpoetryprincess @d3kstar

reblogs, comments and feedback are very appreciated. love🖤🖤🖤

#SECOND CHAPTER OF PEAK IS OUT WOOOOO #how to say no fave part bc the entire chapter is my fave part #EXCITED TO SEE POST SCENE CARE WEEEEEEEE #yeosang commanding to crawl #im. unwell 😵‍💫😵‍💫#ateez #atz ot8 #fic: in full bloom

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anitease · 1 month ago

Text

me reading this:

no but actually !!!! i binged the whole series and this has me hooked. from the depth to each of their personalities to how everyone interacts in the pack... this is peak mhm mhm 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

“The Day We Met”

chapter five

story tags/warnings : ot8/reader, male reader, polymerous pack, possessive hints, mature series, bdsm, strangers to lovers/mates, fantasy, courting, fluff, angst, mc is just a sweetie pie, male omega reader, alpha!seonghwa, pack alpha!yunho, alpha!mingi, beta!hongjoong, beta!yeosang, omega!wooyoung, alpha!san, alpha!jongho, wooyoung hates reader?, reader is the same height as woozi from svt, 18+ only no minors!!

chapter warnings : fluff, im bad at tags

a/n note : (heart divider by @cafekitsune)

previous chapter-

Wooyoung nodded, detaching himself from the omega. Y/n felt a bit of a frown crawl upon his face. “I don’t know, I just can’t let go of the fact the Y/n was talking to another omega.. I won’t be his first. I mean, I knew but.. I’m just jealous I-I guess.” Woo young admitted. Mingi felt his eyes widen, suddenly the silence of the too changed. Everyone was a bit surprised, everyone would have thought Wooyoung moved on by now but… he didn’t. San thought the little tap was enough, but no. Talking it out, but no. Wooyoung has never, ever felt this attached. Why now?

Y/n watched the omega as he talked, a slight frown gracing his face along with a sense of understanding. The room's atmosphere shifted, the tension palpable. Wooyoung's confession lingered in the air, making everyone reevaluate their assumptions about him. San placed a reassuring hand on Wooyoung's shoulder. "Hey, it's okay to feel that way," he said softly. "We all have our insecurities. What's important is how we deal with them." Mingi nodded, still looking a bit stunned. "Yeah, Woo. It's clear how much you care about Y/n. That's what matters."

Y/n took a deep breath, scooting closer to Wooyoung. "I understand where you're coming from," he said gently. "But you need to know that you're now important to me.

What happened with me and Felix is now in the past, and what me and you have now will have is what counts.” *Wooyoung nods, a small smile on his face. His scent can’t help but burn brighter, a bit happier. At that, the rest of the pack smiled contently. “Thankyou.. I really appreciate this. I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot.” Y/n nods with a smile, his scent clearly happy as well.

“Well.. we can talk about the pack rules?” Seonghwa mumbles, trying to change the subject. There are hums and nods in agreement. Mingi rubs his hand on Seonghwa’s shoulder, reassuring him. “It would be nice if Hongjoong and the others were here.. but I’ll explain.” Seonghwa says, the words slipping off of his tongue like velvet. “First rule we have.. and all agreed on is always tell each other everything. Keeping secrets breaks our bond.. our trust.” Y/n pays close attention, reaching for Wooyoungs warm hand. “So please, if anything bad happens or something you want to speak about.. tell someone.” Y/n smiles, nodding understandingly.

“Second, which is a big one, is respect others. This morning.. what Sangie told about.. I understand you were hurt, but you need to be respectful towards him. Towards all of us, and you deserve that respect too, pup.” San speaks instead, his voice a bit deeper but comforting. Wooyoung nods along with San, looking deeply into the Omegas eyes. Y/n adverts his gaze, his head turning causing his collar bell to jiggle. A small giggle leave’s Wooyoung, a smirk on his face. “Pup, you listening?” Y/n nods quickly, wanting Seonghwa’s approval and satisfaction.

“Last, don't mask your scent, please. We would like to know how everyone’s feeling at all times. yes, masking your scent at some points is..okay, but for long periods of time isn’t good.” Seonghwa finishes, nodding while looking around at everyone. Y/n nods, he knows or at least he thinks he can abide with these rules.

“I think that concludes the rest.” Everyone hums in agreement, some murmurs of yes’s and goods. Mingi reaches over to Y/n, softly scratching the nape of his neck. Y/n relaxes into his touch as everyone else litters out of the living room and back into their respective areas. “You fit in here.” Mingi mumbles, his deep voice sending vibrations through Y/n’s mind.

Y/n smiles, his face slightly flushing. Mingi gives him one last scratch and then presses a kiss to his head before going back into his room. Y/n just sits there, he didn’t know what to do. Yes, he was happy now. Confusion?

Yes, confusion.

Y/n was confused, no, lost. He wasn’t lost physically, but mentally he did not know what to do. Now he had to wait until he got marked, he didn’t have a role in the pack, he was.. a decoration. He wasn’t to the other pack members, but Y/n was just there. He wanted to have a meaning, but he couldn’t do anything.

Guidance.

That’s what he needed. Guidance, maybe by one of his fellow omegas’. And god, if Y/n said he didn’t miss his Felix, he would be lying. Y/n felt as if he was on autopilot. He stands slowly, his feet soft on the floor. His nest was practically destroyed, and Wooyoung said he would make another for him.

Now, he couldn’t do anything. So he cleaned up the mess, the slick stained shorts, whatever of it was left. He pushed it into a small pile in the corner of his room. Now that it was cleaner, he let out a heavy breath. His scent slightly souring, making him quietly wince.

Felix. He just needed to hear his voice. Y/n couldn’t just leave him in the dust, forget him. It wasn’t good for him, nor his pack, because his mood would affect everyone. So at that, he hops on his bed. Y/n was feeling slightly exhausted, so he tucked himself in. Sadly, without the scent of someone.

Then a ring is heard.

‘Ring Ring Ring!’

A call, and specifically, Felix’s ringtone. A deep ring, almost homey. Wait, Felix’s ringtone! Y/n practically trills, snatching up his phone from his side table. He answers as quickly as he could, his old feelings completely forgotten at the moment.

…

“Lix!”

“Mega’..”

‘children’s footsteps and laughing’

“I miss you so much..” Murmurs Y/n, leaning back in bed as rain starts to patter.

‘Small sniffle’

“God, I do too. So much.. so much..” Felix replies, his voice deep and dark like chocolate being melted for a warm, steaming cup of hot cocoa.

“How are the pups? No- how are you?” Y/n cuts himself off, putting the phone to his ear.

“I miss you. That’s all I’m feeling. Just.. lonely at times. But I understand, you have your pack too.”

‘Louder giggles’

“But, y’know, it’s just me being emotional.” Felix finishes, sighing quietly. “But.. the pups miss you. Especially your pancakes.” He giggles, shaking his head.

Y/n could almost hear Felix’s scent singing towards him.

“What’s going on with you, Mega’? What happened to you earlier?” Felix’s deep voice rumbles sweetly.

”Er… well.. my nest is.. well.. destroyed. But that’s okay!”

Y/n quickly finishes his sentence, not wanting Felix to freak out.

“Destroyed…?” Felix huffs in concern, his eyebrows curling. “Hey-!”

‘Loud laughing, toddler footsteps following after’

“Give- hey! Give it back Pav!” Felix shouts sweetly, his voice fading away. “No, not the lake, not the lake!”

‘Heavier footsteps running’

“No!” Felix shouts, but sounding like he was smiling.

…

Then

The Call

Disconnects.

———————

“Oh.. well.” Y/n pouts, but his eyes start to droop. “Those pups..” He mumbles, mentally visiting Felix and the pups back at the comfy home. His old home. But now, this was where he was staying. And he was happy. Y/n, the omega who never thought he could find a pack— or even get accepted, was happy where he was.

With the rain, the sun slowly setting due to the daylight saving and cold season, gave him peace— which made him tired. So he closed his eyes, phone in hand, scent blooming peacefully. Sleep finally claims him, putting him into a calming rest.

…

Y/n, was finally happy.

He, himself, was finally Happy.

#also earlier one you NAILED exactly how subspace has me feeling so i deeply related to this #SCREAMING OVER HONGYEOWOO !!!! THEY OWN MY HEART GRAHHHHH #hoping reader can give yeosang the fattest hug ever (group hug with woo ?) in the next chapter #the healthy communications we love to see it !#felix's phone being thrown into the water had me giggling too #will say :( worried abt felix's and reader's friendship going forward #considering how woo's feelings were addressed ! i have no fear that you won't disappoint. however u choose to go abt it plot wise hehe #anyway this is peak EVERYONE READ IT (male readers rejoice !)#ateez #atz ot8 #male reader #fic: the day we met

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anitease · 1 month ago

Note

I'm a sucker for a sexual yandere withholding orgasms, either forever because their pleasure is not a priority anymore, or using it as a future reward for good behavior. "Once you've learned to behave I will let you feel so good, don't you want that, precious? Hm, don't you want it to stop hurting, for me to stop edging you like this all the time? All you have to do is be good and submit"

*swooning*

➯a/n: *GNAWING ON THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE* WRARARARAR- mh mhm very good concept i like 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️. ➯a/n2: this is naaawt a drabble it's a whole ass fic 😭 you and me are just on the same wavelength so hard kkkkk

Best Behavior

❥Kang Yeosang, Kim Hongjoong, Jeong Yunho

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: YIPES! DEAD DOVE. extremely dubious consent, yandere m / captive fem reader, pretty much free use reader, mind breaking via orgasm denial, extremeeee edging, cock warming, somnophilia, clit stimulation, biting (specifically chest), inappropriate use of a shower head, unprotected (boooo), pet names: angel, precious, good + sweet girl / baby

♡masterlist + navigation !♡

18+, MINORS WILL UNEXPLAINABLY EXPLODE.

"Only good girls get to feel good." That's what he says to you time and time again whenever you ask if he could maybe let you get off after he's done using you. "And you haven't been good, have you?"

You haven't. You're still a brat to the bone. The only reason you even let him touch you is because you've learned that it's easier that way. It even feels nice a lot of the time.

But he never satisfies you — and it's fully intentional.

He isn't an idiot. He knows how to make a woman cum. And he's fully willing to help you out... as soon as you accept your place and start behaving.

But you still like to make random breaks for the door. Even when you know it's deadbolted and will only open with the key he keeps hidden away.

You still fight him on other things — all other things, basically.

Your chores, the clothes he picks for you, the way he loves to crush you to his chest in a hug while he falls asleep. Above those all, there's one thing he always gets onto you for. One thing he wants more than anything.

He wants to be greeted at the door when he comes home, his pretty little "wife" the first thing he sees after a long day.

And you have not been faithful in that duty. You've only met him at the door a handful of times, after particularly rough punishments the day before, so that you might please him a bit and get him to cool down.

But today, he gets home, and there you are. Leaning against the wall with a small, nervous smile as you say softly, "welcome home, baby."

He hasn't punished you lately, so he's immediately suspicious of your behavior. "Hey...?"

"How was your day? What was the weather like?" You ask eagerly, following him into your home after he rids himself of his shoes — eyes shining as you trail after him like a lost puppy.

"What's all this?" He pauses at the kitchen, looking around curiously.

"What's what, baby?"

His heart flutters a bit as you call him that again, so smoothly. Like it doesn't burn your tongue. But he keeps his guard up, turning back to you with narrowed eyes, "it's spotless."

"Oh... yeah! I cleaned our bathroom too, and I did a load of laundry, I hope you don't mind. You didn't tell me I was allowed to but I noticed a lot of your shirts were d-"

Your rambling gets cut off as he cups your jaw and smashes his lips to yours. It's quick, but it's hot — so hot that it lights the fire in your belly that's always been under the surface the past few months, simmering as a pesky ember.

You haven't cum in a long, long time. Your body is always on edge.

You tried to satisfy yourself once while he was at work, and somehow; he knew. He could feel in his gut that you were up to no good. He caught you red handed right before you could finish. And he fucked you to the brink of insanity. Every time you thought he might finally push you over the edge if you kept still and quiet enough, he knew. He always knows.

And he knows you're doing this because you're about to break. You're about to really fucking lose it if he doesn't let you cum soon.

He fucks you on the table, then and there. Nice and slow. Telling you how proud he is of your behavior and how you're on the path to becoming such a good girl for him. But he doesn't let you cum. Even as you start tearing up and clinging to him, begging like it's your life at stake and not an orgasm.

You meet him at the door again the next day. "Welcome home, baby." A begging smile on your face as you follow him into the house, showing him how you've deep cleaned the living room. You even wiped the blinds and windows without even touching the latches.

He eats you out that night. He rarely does. Only as a treat. To encourage good behavior because he knows you love the way his tongue feels against you. He lets you taste the relief on the tip of your tongue before he stops, and he holds your arms to your sides as you thrash and beg pathetically for him to just please let you cum. When it fades away, you take a few deep breath before apologizing for your outburst.

And that pleases him deeply. You're learning. You're finally learning — he's the one in control of you. Every single part of you, down to the clothes you wear and when you cum.

The next morning, he doesn't have to work. You crawl on top of him and wake him up by grinding on his cock until it's hard. Maybe, that's a big maybe, you could've came before he woke up. But you purposely keep your clit angled away from any pressure. It doesn't make you any less needy.

He blinks at you groggily, a small laugh let out. "What are you doing?" His raspy morning voice sends wetness straight down to your core.

"I thought I'd start your day off nicely."

He lets you ride him until he cums, and he's pleasantly surprised to find that you don't even ask if you can. You just tremble and hold back your tears as you cock warm him; thankful that he lets you fall back asleep so your pleasure can die down, shushed softly as he strokes your back. Once again telling you you're behaving so good.

He wakes you up the same way, gently maneuvering you onto your back and rolling his hips into your sleepy form as you hold him close, half-deliriously moaning how nice it feels as he fucks another load into you. And you don't ask if you can cum. Even though you need it so badly it physically hurts.

The day will come soon. He just wants to be extra sure you've earned it.

He keeps you so precariously on edge that the fucking wind could blow the right way and you'd be creaming your pants. Starting after breakfast. He watches you clear the plates with a mischievous glint in his eyes as he stands up and comes behind you. His hand is shoved down your pajamas pants and he circles your clit until your knees are shaking and then he pulls away, kisses your neck and tells you, "keep being a good girl for me, precious."

You do. You don't even have to think about it, you just do.

He joins you in the shower. Washes your hair for you and takes the shower head down to rinse it carefully. Smiles innocently as he changes the setting and brings it down to your sensitive cunt. And you still don't ask, you only take what he gives you and are left a panting mess at the end; dripping with water and arousal.

The next time is around noon, you're both laid lazily in bed watching a show when he wordlessly pulls his cock out and starts jerking off like it's the most normal thing in the world to just do that. "Be good for me and open your legs." You do as he asks immediately; taking off your bottoms and spreading your legs, letting him lay atop you and bite at your chest through your pajama top as he fucks you so roughly that you're seeing stars. You don't ask to cum. Your clit is throbbing even as he stills inside of you.

He gets you back to back. Still hard, he grinds into you slow and messily; dirtying the sheets with his pleasure. You feel like you're going to explode. He hugs you close as you start sniffling, wrapping your legs around his waist to beg silently. "You're being so good for me," he moans into your neck, "don't you fucking cum. You've been a brat for so long, do you really think you deserve it?"

"N-no," you whisper, "but I want it so bad."

"I know you do, but I don't care what you want. It's what you deserve that matters. If you want to cum, you have to work for it."

You work for it. You're starting to doubt he'll ever let you cum, but you try your damnedest to be on your very best behavior. You even say thank you after he pumps another load of his cum into you.

He tests you, leaves his phone unlocked on the couch as he goes to the bathroom later. It, and you, are in the same exact spot as when he left. "Baby, what about this movie," you point with the remote — completely unaware that freedom was just within your grasp.

You've earned it. He smiles as he sits down beside you, kissing your head. "What's it about?"

The next day, there you are when he opens the door. You deserve it. "Welcome home, baby."

"Bedroom." He says shortly, stunning you.

"What?"

"Go to the bedroom," he explains further, leaning to cup your cheek as he kicks his shoes off, "and strip if you want to cum." The way you almost fall over in your hurry to run makes him laugh a bit as he takes his time; giving you enough to do what he asked.

And he finds you there, laid out with a hopeful expression. "What did you do today?" He asks casually as he begins ridding himself of his clothes, his cock growing hard in his boxers at the pure submission in your eyes.

"I d- I did some reading, I vacuumed..."

"So, you were a good girl?" He hums, the weight of his words heavy as he crawls over you. Slipping his hand down to your cunt, he finds it already growing wet with anticipation.

"Yes," you nod quickly, practically floating at the feeling of two of his fingers slipping inside of you slowly. "Please, yes-" You bring your hands to your face, already breathing heavily as he curls his digits into your g-spot.

"Look at me." He slaps your hands away gently, fingers picking up their pace until you're gasping and grabbing his biceps. Already on the edge from less than a minute of fingering. He's made you more than desperate. If he denies you one more time you think you might go insane. "Cum whenever you're ready."

"Holy shit!" You scream, pure joy in every fiber of your being followed by a rush of ecstasy like you've never felt in your entire life as you finally, finally get full satisfaction. "Ffffuck! Son of a bitch!" Every curse word you know is yelled into the void as your entire body convulses underneath him. And then it's followed by, "ahh, my g- I love you!"

He almost faints, as do you. Your eyes rolling back and your jaw dropping and your cunt squelching around his fingers as he sends you to another plane of existence.

You're still trembling with the aftershocks of your first orgasm in months whenever he slides his cock inside of you. You almost want to marry him for real. He doesn't start gentle, and you don't give a single flying fuck. It's all like one continuous wave of relief as he pounds into your twitching cunt.

"Yeah~?" He chuckles airily, gripping your thighs and pulling you into his wild thrusts, "you love me, angel?" The realization dawns on you that you just confessed your love to him mid-mind-blowing-orgasm. And you still can't find it in yourself to care. You do love him for finally letting that fire that's been burning you up from the inside out finally consume you whole.

"Yes!"

"Fuck-" He leans over and catches your lips quickly, kissing you with a whole new wave of energy and passion. Your lip gets tugged back between his teeth as he pulls away. "Isn't it worth it, precious? All you have to do is behave and I'll make you feel so good~ I bet you're gonna be my perfect girl from now on, huh?"

You can't even respond, jaw stuck open with uncontrollable moans as he rattles your tingling brain with each mean snap of his hips. You manage something that resembles a cry of, "babyyy!" As you dig your nails into his arms, legs trembling on either side of him.

"Shhh, you just lay back and enjoy yourself, angel," he leans his head down, nipping at your chest and swirling his tongue around your painfully hard nipple until you're gushing all over him with a second soul-shaking orgasm before your first even fully fades.

The flames have fully enveloped you, every nerve in your body screaming with delight.

"You deserve it, sweet girl," he coos breathlessly as you clench around him. "This is what you get when you're on your best behavior~"

You're certainly going to be on your best behavior from now on.

─..★.─────

₊‧⁺stardust˖⋆ @sunnysidesins @onyxmango @devilzliaison @ateezswonderland @queenofdumbfuckery @emilysecresy @kyomiingi @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @klllerwaifu @seonghwasslytherin @yoonglesbae @wolviejex @estrnrea @lover-ofallthingspretty @willowwyy @jaerisdiction @peelingpaint-heavyheart @satsuri3su @bubbly-moon

#explodes #literally imagined this w yeo or joongie... melts.#u dont understand the mental breaking.... oughhhhhh #everything abt this is so sexy #ateez

579 notes · View notes

anitease · 2 months ago

Text

Tidal Waves

Best Friend!Song Mingi x F!Reader

summary: When you and your ex-boyfriend were still dating, you both booked a cruise trip with the intention of going together to have a romantic week on the water. Well, things didn't go as planned, and the tickets are non-refundable. So naturally, you ask your best friend to come with you in his place! Nothing could possibly go wrong!

warnings: best friends to lovers, cruise trip, tension, curly headed reader implied (3c girls rise), jealousy, mingi is very touchy, you two are very close, attempt at humor, teasing, fake dating(briefly but WHO CHEERED), shitty ex, pet names (baby, sweetheart etc.), thigh riding, unprotected sex(BOOOOO), soft mdom, size kink, choking, fingering, mingi is obsessed with you, NOT PROOFREAD

wc: 11.1k

notes: This is kind of based on that one New Girl episode LMAO. I love that show so much.

(Also in your fantasy released and holy fuck its so good aoty for sure jesus christ I keep relistening to the whole album.)

tracklist: 20cm, everybody here wants you, virginia girls

When the email hit your inbox, you wanted to rip out your hair strand by strand. You had let it completely slip your mind. Granted, you booked it a year in advance, and life has surely swept you up in the waves recently, and it never crossed your mind with all that you had going on.

Non-refundable. The cruise was in a week, and the tickets were non-refundable. The last thing you wanted to do was call your ex and ask if he still wanted to go, which was not an option, regardless of whether he actually wanted to or not. You’d rather jump off the ship than be anywhere near him.

So your next best option was to ask a friend to go in his place. And the first name that came to mind?

Song Mingi.

You pulled out your phone and shot him a text asking him to come over, and that was that. Reaching out to Mingi was more natural than breathing. At this point, you two shared breaths, surviving through high school together and now hanging on by a thread in college, you both knew you had each other.

His easy-going, teasing nature perfectly balanced out the worrywart in you. He always assured and validated your thoughts and feelings. He made sure you knew that everything that you thought and felt meant something, a trait your most recent ex lacked incredibly. You knew you could actually enjoy the cruise if Mingi came along.

Minutes later, Mingi waltzed in your door, having a copy of a key to your apartment attached to his key ring. At this point, he basically lived in your apartment, constantly crashing and walking in like he owned the place, especially when he was uninvited.

“Daddy’s home,” he called out, shutting the door behind him and hitting his fist against his chest like a triumphant gorilla.

You grimaced and threw the nearest pillow directly at his face as soon as he was in view.

“Ew. Daddy needs to go out for cigarettes and never come back.” Mingi walked behind the couch, leaning over the back and gently squeezing your shoulders.

“Tough crowd.” He mused, in his usual black tank top and grey sweats, as he plopped down next to you. His big hands took your ankles in his hands and swung your legs up to let them rest on his thighs. Domestic. Comforting. The norm with Mingi. Taking off his glasses and setting them on the coffee table, he massaged absent-minded circles into your calves, soothing the bit of tension you had been building there from constantly being on your feet at work.

“However, you invited me over, love, so I’m not going anywhere. Enlighten me, I’m sure it's important considering you gave me zero information and just a frantic text.” You rolled your eyes and then furrowed your brow in frustration. The laptop in your lap was hot on your thighs, so you turned it around to face the screen towards him.

“Well shit, hold on.” He grabbed his glasses and put them on again, making a show of squinting his eyes and leaning forward to read the email you had pulled up.

He glanced back up at you, then back at the email. He shrugged. “I dunno’, looks kinda scammish to me.” He smiled as you shut the laptop in his face, putting it on the table.

“I love when you use that big beautiful brain of yours,” you deadpanned, poking his forehead gently. Mingi smiled stupidly, with faux sheepishness at your sarcastic comment, gently pinching your calf teasingly. You sighed and took a second before explaining to him.

“My, well… my ex and I-”

Before you could go on, Mingi stood from his seat, with speed that nearly scared you out of your skin. He threw his hands up and paced around the coffee table, shaking his head like he was in agony and making a quite real gagging sound.

He had always been one for dramatics, and this time was clearly no different. You kept your mouth shut and let him put on his little act.

“That prick!” he placed his hands on his head like he had a migraine, gagging again. “If ever see him I'll-” cartoonishly he balled his hands into fists and rotated them in a fighting position like he was about to roundhouse the air. “I swear I'll give it to him… I’ll let him have it!”

He never liked your boyfriend. At first, you pegged it for jealousy that someone else was taking up your attention, but Mingi insisted he got a “bad vibe” from the start. Every time you complained about him, Mingi always agreed with every negative thing you said, always making sure you didn’t feel crazy about how your boyfriend was acting. It started with small things that simply rubbed you the wrong way at the beginning. Mingi always egged you on with your concerns.

“Why the hell would he open a door for another girl in front of you? Is he dense?”

“Seriously, who hangs up on their girlfriend just to play video games. I’m starting to think he was dropped on his head.”

The comments were always lighthearted, teasing. Like he was annoyed with his actions, but not quite hating him. And then he got worse. And Mingi started opening your eyes to it.

“(Name,) it's not normal to have 4 different contacts in your phone all named 'Pizza Hut.'”

And Mingi was the one who eventually brought you to your senses. You called your boyfriend, called him out, and of course, he got mad when he found out it was Mingi who was encouraging your skepticism and called you some not-so-nice names, accusing you of sleeping with your best friend. You broke up with him, and Mingi was there to babysit you through the breakup. No matter if your ex was a douchebag, it was a 2-year-long relationship, and there will always be wounds to heal.

He punched the air a few times before calmly retaking his seat, directing his full attention to you.

“Are you done?” you asked after letting him have his moment.

“Yes, please continue.” He nodded, hands on your knees as he shook them back and forth softly, urging you to continue.

“Anyway, while we were still together, we bought cruise tickets. Two. Because we thought we could go together. Y’know little romantic outing. Well, obviously, asshole and I are no longer fraternizing and the tickets are nonrefundable, so I wanted you to-”

Here he goes again. He stands up, hands in the air, as he nods triumphantly and looks about the living room like he is admiring a crowd erupting with applause. He bowed. “Thank you, thank you! You are too kind!” He claps a few times, wiping imaginary tears. You reached up and grabbed his forearm, dragging him back to the couch.

“Sit down! And let me speak.” Mingi shut up immediately and folded his hands in his lap neatly.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“So I’m taking that as a yes. The cruise is in a week, and it's all paid for. Please pack more clothes than you did for the Europe trip. I do not want to see you wearing the same stupid pair of khaki shorts the whole time we’re stuck in the middle of the ocean for a week.”

“You know I look sexy in those shorts.” Mingi pats his rather thick thighs, head raised high, while he waits for your praises. You stood up and ignored him, walking to the kitchen to grab some water. You wouldn’t admit to him that, frankly, he looks good in everything he wears, cause then you’d never hear the end of it.

Mingi scoffed as you walked away. “I fear I’m being deprived of the attention I deserve.”

“Do you really deserve it?” You called from the kitchen. Mingi followed you into the room, resting his arms on the kitchen island and playing with the bowl of oranges sitting in the middle of the countertop.

“You have the blessed privilege of being my friend, so I’d say you’re getting way more than you bargained for.” he picked up a couple of oranges and attempted to juggle them, failing pathetically as they slipped out of his grasp and fell on the counter, rolling onto the floor.

You rolled your eyes and mumbled into your glass as you tipped it to take a sip. “I’d say I am, too.” When you set down the glass, you shot him a pointed look when he bent down to pick up the rolling fruits, and flicked a little water at him.

“And aren’t I the one taking you on a cruise? If anything, you should be on your knees thanking me for a free vacation.” And you knew you shouldn't have said it as soon as the words left your mouth, because here he comes, walking over to you and sinking down onto his knees. His hands wrap around the back of your thighs, and he presses his forehead to your lower stomach, that stupid puppy-eyed look in his eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart, thank you so much for the free vacation. I am beyond honoured. How could I ever repay you?” Earlier on in your friendship, this probably would have sent your brain into overdrive, having such an attractive man on his knees for you. But this is Mingi. It's an act; he puts on shows just for you, because he knows that one day he could possibly catch you on a weak day and actually push some buttons. Now you just wanted to kick him. He loved getting under your skin and finding new ways to make you squirm. Not even in a perverted way, that was just simply his nature.

Playful, headache-inducing, too sexy for his own good, Song Mingi.

And like every single time, you can’t help but play along.”You can repay me by getting off your knees and driving to pick us up some dinner.”

He squeezes your thighs, spreading his fingers wider and letting them sink into the plush flesh, clearly not making a move to stand. “C’mon, you don’t like me down here?” he spoke against your belly button, always so comfortable touching you, the gestures never giving you those stomach-twisting butterflies anymore.

You shrug. “I don’t know you’re not really doing anything. You’re just groveling.” Mingi smiles, and he does that stupid thing with his voice that you unfortunately haven’t built an immunity to after all these years.

His eyelids lower, and he drops his voice to a murmur, the baritone of his voice rumbling through your body like a shockwave. “Would you like me to do something? Give me a command, I’m at your service.”

Fuck, you hate when he does that, he knows that. Cheeky prick.

You cough, bringing a hand down and pressing a palm against the top of his head, nudging him away from your abdomen. “I’d like for you to get up and feed me, Min.” You managed to keep your voice steady, pretending to have no interest in his antics, picking up your glass again and taking another sip.

A few beats of silence, his gaze lingering as he cranes his neck to watch you drink, your hand still on his head.

Finally, he complies, and your racing heart slows. He stands, rolling his eyes. He walks to the living room, grabbing his keys and his glasses. “Yes, ma’am. Olive Garden?” he says matter of factly, knowing what your answer would be, hand already on the door handle.

“You know it. Extra Andes mints, please,” you chide, but you knew you didn’t have to tell him. He already knew.

“On it,” he calls, halfway out the door already. “Love ya, bye.” The door shutting cut him off, and once you heard his car start and pull out of the lot, you let yourself have your moment. You brought a hand to your chest and the other splayed on your stomach, still feeling the lingering heat of his touch.

Too intense. Yes, he had always been this way, but since you and your boyfriend broke up, he seemed to be getting bolder. You guess you could understand. There's no other man around, which means he no longer has to honor the “bro code,” so now he can really show you how much he cares for you, and it's always been touch.

Holding hands, lingering caresses against the nape of your neck, fingers buried in your hair soothingly massaging the scalp, he just liked to touch you and to hold you. It's like it grounded him, it let him know you were really here. And you welcomed it with open arms, because he’s your best friend. And you’d do anything for him, and vice versa. He had ways of tearing down your walls, but could still help you build them back up when you needed them. He was your other half, and frankly, you couldn't really say your ex was ridiculous for thinking what he did about Mingi.

But none of that matters. Your ex is gone, and you can enjoy this cruise with your closest friend without having to worry about your boyfriend looking at other bikini-clad bodies and admitting to you that "your head has been getting rather sloppy" after he’s had a couple of mimosas.

What a fucking dick.

♡

“No,” you bite, hand half covering your eyes.

“What? You’re just a hater.” Mingi pouts, posing proudly, the sea winds whipping his hair around his face, sunglasses sitting on the bridge of his nose.

“Mingi, you literally cannot wear that on the boat, I'm so serious.” You look away, trying to make it seem like you didn’t know him. “Change, please. I know you have another shirt.”

“What's wrong with it?!” He gripped the hem of the shirt with his fingertips, spreading it out and looking down at it.

“People are going to think you’re a fucking swinger dude. Pineapples? On a cruise? Are you sure this isn’t your first day on earth?” You turn around and look up at the open blue sky, trying to ignore the pointed stares of people passing by to board the boat.

“I don't get the big deal with the pineapples. Like, why specifically pineapples? Why not oranges? I feel like I might look a little less appealing in oranges…”

“Mingi, who cares what fruit you look good in!”

“I do…” he pouted.

“Just change your shirt, dude, please. I don’t need swingers trying to take you below deck…” You frowned at him, and he looked you over, huffing dramatically. He could never say no to you. Especially when you said please.

“Fine, fine, I’ll change.” You turn to look at him again, and this time he is shirtless, rummaging through the beach bag on his shoulder. The sun caught his skin perfectly, the shadowed dips and ridges in his abdomen highlighted, and his arms flexed each time he grabbed something in the bag as he rummaged. His navy blue swim trunks hung low on his hips, leaving little to the imagination as the very visible V line dipped behind the waistband and disappeared.

“And yeah sure, just go ahead and strip naked while you’re at it.” You threw up a hand in defeat; you could never truly win. Mingi smirked, grabbed a different shirt, and stood straight to look at you again.

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he wiggled his eyebrows. You groaned in response, lowering your voice as he slipped the gray swim shirt on.

“I wouldn’t, but I think all the other women boarding the cruise would be quite partial to a show with the way they’re all gawking right now.” And lo and behold, a group of like 10 girls alone walked past you two, giggling and tripping over themselves at the sight of your shirtless friend.

Mingi paid them no mind, not even bothering to glance their way, his gaze solely focused on you. “Jealous?” he quipped, slinging the bag over his back and cocking his head toward the ship. “C’mon, before they leave us.”

“They’re not gonna leave us.” You sighed, following behind as he walked away.

“Um, uh huh. They’re not gonna wait for your slow ass because you want to sightsee.”

“I am never late,” you bite back, pressing your foot to the back of his knee in a failed attempt to fold him like a lawn chair. “It's always you, don’t try to pass your title on to me. Remember that time we were supposed to be at a study group and you didn’t show up until after the entire session was over?”

Mingi laughed, waving his hand dismissively. “That's different because that was intentional. I didn’t feel like sitting in a library cubicle for 3 hours while our appointed “group leader” wrote barely legible points on a whiteboard. Boring!!! I’d rather be jerking o-”

That deserved a smack to the back of the head, which you administered before he could finish his sentence. “And that's enough out of you. We’re not even on the fucking boat yet.” He winced, rubbing the back of his head.

“I didn’t even hit you that hard, you baby.” You stood in line beside him on the ramp that entered the ship.

“Maybe you shouldn’t hit me at all,” Mingi sneered, reaching a hand out and tugging a lock of your hair.

When you entered the cruise ship and made it to the atrium, you didn’t realize just how grand it was actually going to be. The tallest ceilings imaginable, winding staircases every which way, endless balconies, and chandeliers that looked big enough to live in. It was beautiful in every way.

With your keys in hand, you both took the elevator to get to your shared cabin, and it wasn’t until you were in front of the door that you realized that you had booked a lovers' suite. You pressed the keycard against the door and pushed the door open. Well shit.

Dark, shiny wooden floors, a large window opening up to the vast blue ocean. A recliner, a small couch, and a quite large circular-shaped bed. Elegant. Large. Intimate. White canopies hung around the bed frame, and the furniture was all dark and quite comfy-looking. You had no issue sharing a bed with Mingi, but the fact that it was obviously a lover’s suite, it did feel a little… different.

Like a kid in a candy store, Mingi rushed into the room and immediately threw himself onto the bed, wrinkling the sheets and letting his face sink into the plush comforter.

“Oh yeah,” he spoke, voice incredibly muffled with his face in the mattress. “I’m never leaving.” You set your bags down and walked around, taking in the room. It was spacious, plenty of room to move around, but it still somehow felt so stuffed.

“We’ll have to head to the deck soon. The captain will probably have a few words, and then we can go explore the ship.” Mingi sprang from the bed, whipping to face you.

“Well, why are we sitting here fucking around? Let's go!” He grabbed your hand and dragged you from the room, heading back up to the deck.

♡

You had been on the ship for 2 days. By this time, you had thoroughly explored the ship with Mingi and tried only half of the drinks they had available at the bars. And you’d think you’d learn after 2 crazy hangovers that maybe you should give the drinking a rest, but there was always something new to try. It was like the ship was endless, a whole new world,

You were far out into the ocean by now, sailing leisurely. You often found yourself sunbathing on the main deck, splayed out on a beach chair, and soaking in the sun. Mingi would either be lying next to you or in the on-deck pool playing catch with the other vacationers.

It was interesting watching him get used to the new space; it took some breaking in for both of you to realize that the chance of the ship suddenly sinking was low. Spending hours in the cabin trying not to panic at the thought. Mingi assured you, and in turn, you assured him.

It was going so well, you needed this vacation, and the only issue you had was that eventually you would have to go back home. Well, it was the only issue.

You sat up in your chair to see where Mingi was. He was at the edge of the pool in front of your chair, arms resting on the deck as he lay his head on his arms, looking at you. The sunglasses on his face blocked his eyes, but you could easily feel his gaze on you.

“Can I help you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow in his direction. Mingi didn’t say anything for a second before bracing his palms on the deck and pushing himself out of the pool. Honestly fuck him.

The water dripped off his toned body as he lifted out of the pool, his hair and trunks soaked and his skin sun-kissed from the days in the sun already.

He walked over to your chair, and you had to pretend like looking at him all tan and wet wasn’t making you think of things you definitely shouldn’t have been.

He reached his hand up, running hands through his damp hair, pouting while he concentrated. He always pouted when he was fixing his hair. He had little quirks and traits you noticed about him just being around him all the time. Whenever he took pictures or videos of himself, he was always watching himself so intently, monitoring every move. You had called him self-obsessed, and of course, he didn’t deny it.

“Why shouldn’t I? I look good, who wouldn’t wanna look at me?” When he laughed, he’d fall over himself, unable to keep still as the giggles wracked his body.

And now here he was, dripping wet and towering over your chair, and women all around the deck were staring, their boyfriends desperate to steal their attention back from your best friend.

When he was done with his hair, he looked down at you, nodding as if in approval. “You always look so good in the sun.” He said it simply, like it was just a normal thing to say. You guessed it was, but when you were both half-naked and sweating from the heat of the sun, it had different connotations. You took a long sip of your tequila sunrise, locking eyes with Mingi as he watched you.

Your hair had gotten a bit frizzy after a couple of laps in the pool earlier, and tan lines were beginning to form around the straps of your bathing suit. The stretch marks littered around your thighs are more visible, and the sheen of your skin makes it seem like you were glowing. You both didn’t move for a moment, and time was still. You picked the slice of orange out of your drink, slipping it into your mouth and chewing on it.

“Is it good?” Mingi said, and you could have sworn his voice sounded slightly strained. Maybe it was the heat.

“Yeah, want some?” You reached out to hand him the glass, and you expected him to take the glass from you. Instead, his hand cupped around yours, leaning down and sipping from the glass while it was still in your hand. His palm, large and warm, pressed against your knuckles as he drank.

“Not all of it, asshole!” He laughed around the straw and pulled off, licking his lips and stealing the cherry from the glass, popping it into his mouth.

“Get your own if you’re gonna be greedy.” You pout, taking another sip from your drink. Mingi was about to retort when someone called out to you from the other side of the boat.

“(Name)! No way! Didn’t think I’d see you here!” Your spine pulled, and your eyes widened at the familiar voice. Mingi did the same, an annoyed grimace spreading across his face as he realized who was speaking.

Walking towards you two from the other side of the ship, your ex. In swim trunks with a beer in one hand and a blonde attached to his hip, he sauntered over, waving to you both.

“Mingi’s here too? Hah! What’d you do, give him my ticket?” He was all smiles and laughs, probably buzzed out of his mind. The girl next to him laughed with him. But it was like she was barely there. Like she was an attachment or an accessory.

Mingi turned to you and gestured for you to stand up. “Get up, c’mere.” You didn’t move for a second, eyes too busy watching the asshole make his way over.

“(Name.)” Mingi bent down to be eye level with you, cupping your jaw and directing your gaze at him. “Do you trust me?” he murmured.

“Of course.” No hesitation. That shouldn’t even be a question. Of course, you trusted him

“Okay. We are madly in love, got it? Stupid for each other. And… scene.”

“What?”

Mingi gave you no time, pulling you to your feet and positioning himself behind you. He leaned over your body, his toned chest pressed to your bare back as his arms circled around and locked around your waist, hands resting on your abdomen. He rested his chin against your shoulder, pressing his lips into the crook of your neck.

“Put on a show and make him jealous,” Mingi whispered against your skin, his breath tickling your neck and making you shiver. His fingertips traced light patterns below your belly button, domestic. When his plan clicked with you, you eased into him, melting against his body and relaxing, you smiled lazily, and Mingi pressed his lips to your ear.

“Showtime, baby.” When your ex finally stood in front of you, he made a face, like he was taken aback. Like usual, Mingi was clinging to you like a koala, but something was different.

“That's exactly what I did,” you snipped, but kept a smile on your face despite the annoyed tone in your voice. “Tickets were non-refundable, so I had Mingi come with me. It works anyway, we got the lovers package, so no losses for us. What, salty you had to buy new tickets?”

Your ex sneered, wrapping his arm around the girl tightly. “Well, I tried to contact you about the tickets, but you had me blocked, and I didn’t wanna come over with your human barnacle always over your shoulder.”

Mingi was littering kisses all along the sides of your neck, hands caressing your waist, and just holding you close to him. “Human boyfriend, actually,” Mingi said, lifting his head and looking him up and down, a clear look of disgust in his gaze as he took your ex in.

“She called me, talking about how she had a couple of tickets for this whole shebang, and she wanted me to come in your place. How could I not? Now I get to see her strutting around all day for a week in all these different bikinis I bought her…” To emphasize his point, he reached forward and adjusted the cup of your bikini top, just enough to push your breasts apart to have them sit perfectly.

Technically, that wasn’t a lie. Before you both packed for the trip, you went bathing suit shopping with Mingi. He picked out so many for you, having you try them all on, hyping you up in every angle, one, and assuring you in the ones you felt you didn’t like yourself in. He bought you like 12, which you insisted was excessive, but he wanted you to wear every single one this summer.

Your ex pressed his lips into a thin line as his eyes drifted to where Mingi touched you. “C’mon, man, I leave and you jump on her immediately?” You could hear the jealousy lacing his words, your heart thumping in pride at how you were getting under his skin.

Mingi shrugs, your ex's jaw clenching slightly at his nonchalance. Mingi never took him seriously, and your ex always expressed how he felt like Mingi never actually saw him as a man. He felt small and weak around Mingi, and frankly, it was pretty laughable.

“Technically, I had her first, but you left, so I called dibs. What can I say, I'm not one to shy away from opportunities, dude.” And of course, Mingi just had to amp up the ante in ways that you weren't expecting.

One hand teasingly played with the strings of your bathing suit bottom, twirling it around his fingers, while his other hand grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled it over your shoulder, exposing your neck to him more.

His eyes never left your exes, his gaze cold and taunting, as his lips latched onto your neck. His tongue darted out, licking a filthy stripe against you before sucking, and sucking hard. You winced, feeling his teeth nip at the spot a little, right above a vein in your throat, eyes half lidded and narrowed, he made sure your ex was watching the entire time. There was no way he’d wanna miss this.

Your ex ground his teeth as he watched Mingi suck a mark into your skin. He ripped his eyes away to look at the girl beside him, just to catch her staring at Mingi like he was the hottest thing she had ever seen, practically drooling on herself. You, however, felt like Mingi just might be crazy, because now you’re going to have a very clear bruise on your skin from his mouth. And fuck the fact that it was to rattle your ex. You were still stuck on this boat for 3 more days, and he was killing you.

Mingi pulled off with a loud pop, licking the spot he left to soothe it, before pressing a lingering kiss or two to your shoulder. Your ex laughed when his eyes landed on the forming bruise, taking a deep gulp of his beer, almost crushing the can with his grip.

“Clearly, we’re interrupting.” Your ex bit out, running a hand through his hair and giving Mingi a look that could kill.

“N-no, I think it's fine…” His girl mumbled out, seeming to be enjoying the show. Your ex rolled his eyes when he realized he genuinely had nobody on his side at the moment.

“Well, as always, it was nice seeing you (Name.) Mingi, not so much.” Mingi smirked, his eyebrows raising teasingly like he was asking, “What’d I do?”

“Enjoy your vacation, bitch.” your ex mumbled under his breath as he turned and walked away, back to his respective side of the boat, leaving his girl in his dust. She stood staring for a second before snapping out of it.

“I-it was nice meeting you!” She stumbled out before turning on her heel and following him. Once they were out of sight, you pulled yourself from Mingi’s grasp, turning around to look at him, bewilderment written all over your face.

“Song Mingi.” You whisper shouted, reaching a hand up to touch the tender spot on your neck. “You are insane. This is gonna be here for weeks!”

Mingi bit his bottom lip, trying to keep the shit eating grin under bay as he looked at the mark on your neck. “Whoops,” he shrugged. “I think he’s jealous of you.”

“Whoops my ass.” you groaned. “And what do you mean he’s jealous of me?”

Walking to the edge of the pool and slipping in the cool water, sighing at the stark contrast of the chill against your very heated skin.

“I mean, you’ve got such a hot babe such as myself all over you, how could he not be jealous?” He smiled, feeling triumphant with his joke. The ever-so-humble Mingi. You laughed him off, enjoying the feel of the pool water swallowing you up.

He did not need to go that far, but you didn’t stop him. You let him mark you, and he did it so naturally. Your stomach fluttered, and you dunked your head under the water to try and clear the thoughts from your head. It felt like a line that had never been drawn was crossed. There really was never a line of boundaries between you and Mingi. Everything was on the table for the most part. But the way he so sensually licked up your throat and held you with his burning hands like he couldn’t stand to be away from you had your mind reeling. What now?

Mingi sat on the beach chair, watching as you ascended from under the water, admiring how the droplets raced down your skin and the way your hair didn’t quite soak up all the water, the sun bouncing off the shiny curls.

Mingi was never shy about admiring you. Any friend can admit that their friend is beautiful, and you were no exception. He loved to watch you do anything. Making coffee, reading a book, cleaning your room, or getting out of the car. You looked pretty in everything you did, and he always made sure you knew.

But now there was something different about the way you moved. He noticed the sway in your hips, the way your hair framed your face and your lashes brushed against your cheeks when you blinked. The way your hands kept absentmindedly touching the bruise on your neck every now and then, and how the spots of discoloration and a few scars here and there all over your body decorate your skin like starlight. He was really seeing you now, and you thrived in the sun. You looked so fucking pretty in the sun.

Now you were lying on a float, sunglasses on and relaxing in the pool, drifting slowly and taking a moment to relax from the heated moment you just narrowly escaped with your head still intact. And Mingi simply sat and watched. He could watch you all day. A weird flame licked at his chest every time he looked at the bruise on your neck, a sense of pride and ownership gripping his heart. He did that. And for something deep in his gut wanted to litter your pretty skin with more.

♡

Nightfall descended once again, the blue sea being swallowed in pitch black darkness, the only lights coming from the ship itself, like you were floating in endless nothing. You and Mingi decided you’d try some new drinks and meander around the ship before heading back to the cabin. You still hadn't seen the whole boat, endless hallways, and vast rooms, still left untouched.

“Okay what about a kiss on the lips?” you ask, eyes glazing over the drink menu on the black chalkboard by the bar.

“Oh boy don’t mind if I do!” Mingi clapped, cheesily puckering his lips and leaning towards you.

“The drink, you jackass.” You glared at him, and Mingi pouted, rolling his eyes and looking back at the chalkboard.

“Whatever. I kind of want to try the blue Hawaiian. Or maybe the Miami Vice. I don't know, they're all so colorful.” You both settled on a drink, Mingi getting a blue Hawaiian, and you settled on a mai tai.

With your drinks in hand, you both left the bar area and started to walk around the ship. The rest of the ship was surprisingly empty, most people already back at their cabins or still on deck or at the bar. A few stragglers here and there, but for the most part, you and Mingi were on your own.

“I feel like we’re in the backrooms,” you said, whispering like you might disturb someone. “It's so liminal back here.” You were both walking side by side down an endless hallway, red plush carpet under your feet, passing a door every 3 steps you took on either side of the hall.

“I think it’s just another floor of cabins,” Mingi spoke into the space, his deep voice bouncing off the beige walls.

“It seems really empty, though. Maybe it's just unoccupied. Where are we going anyway?” You two didn’t plan anything in particular; you just started to drink and walk, light conversation flowing between the two of you, the tension from the earlier encounter with your ex fading into the background.

But when you guys turned the corner to follow the rest of the hallway, you suddenly heard groaning and shuffling of clothes. You and Mingi stopped in your tracks right before you turned the corner. You both slipped behind the wall and peeked around just to see your ex and an entirely new girl making out in the dark against a wall. A brunette this time.

Your face twisted in disgust at his behavior, before Mingi shook your shoulder to grab your attention.

“I’m gonna scream,” Mingi whispered, barely hiding the giggling in his voice as he smiled so wide you thought he might split his face. You couldn't stop the grin on your lips, trying to be the voice of reason.

“No Mingi! Don’t do it…” but you weren’t really trying to stop it.

“On 3, I scream and then we book it.” You nodded, and your heart raced; you could hear the kissing getting more heated as you braced yourself to get ready to run.

“1..”

“2..”

“3..”

Mingi yelled, and he yelled LOUD. Immediately, you could hear the girl your ex was swapping tongue with scream in fear, and he screamed just as loud, by the time they were frantically asking “what the fuck was that?”, Mingi and you were flying on your feet down the hall, laughing uncontrollably as you both booked it.

“Back to the room!” he cackled, pushing against your lower back, urging you to run faster. Running down long hallways always made it feel like you were moving faster than you actually were, but it was exhilarating.

You turned the corner, laughter still spilling from you both until you made it to the elevator. Mingi repeatedly pressed the up button like it would make it go faster.

“Stop, you're gonna break it!” you said, smacking his wrist. He stopped pressing the button and waited for it to arrive.

When you both made it back to your cabin, you set your empty glass on the table by the door and fell on the bed, taking a deep breath and sinking into the mattress, trying to regain your composure.

“I hate running." You breathed out, Mingi watched from the vanity as your chest rose and fell with your breaths, still nursing his drink. The alcohol was flowing through your veins and you were hot and tired. You needed to go to sleep.

“Mingi tuck me in,” you called out, flipping over on your back and sitting on the bed looking at him. Mingi raised an eyebrow, saying nothing at your command as he remained glued to his spot.

You groaned. “Please?” And he moved. Setting his glass on the counter and walked over and picked up a pillow. “C’mon, get up for me.”

You stood and let him pull the comforter back, and you slipped underneath as he fluffed your pillows and handed you your phone. “Thank you, Min.” You spoke fondly, feeling pampered.

“I’m gonna go shower, I’ll be in bed soon. Get some rest, I know those 30 seconds of running really took it out of you.” Without missing a beat, you threw a pillow at him, flipping him the bird as he turned, giggling as he walked to the shower.

Sleep took you easily after some scrolling and phone time; you eventually drifted off, the sound of Mingi showering fading into background noise.

When you were stirred from your sleep, Mingi had slipped into bed next to you, his chest pressed against your back as an arm slung over your shoulder, and pulled you into his body. He buried his face in your hair, taking a deep breath and melting into the bed. You relaxed into him, drifting off to sleep once you were comfy again, the steadiness of his breathing lulling and calm. Nothing was weird. Everything was normal. You were just two really close friends. He was doing you a favor; he meant nothing behind it. Nothing was going to change.

♡

“My pretty girl,” he moaned into your mouth, tongue slipping past your lips and swallowing your sounds greedily. “My gorgeous gorgeous girl. I’m the only one who deserves you.” Your head was light, and your body was on fire. His hands were all over you, in your hair and wrapped around your torso, between your legs, and around your neck. His scent enveloped you, and your stomach ached.

“Gonna have you crying for me, baby. Show you what you’ve been missing all these years.” He was all over you, barely letting you breathe. It's not like you needed to; you were perfectly content where you were, tangled with him in the sheets. The world is far away. Just you and him.

“Mingi…” you whined, your voice far away from you, your own hands balled in a fist against his shirt as he claimed you like you were rightfully his.

“What did you say?”

Your eyes shot open, sweat clung to your body, and your head throbbed. Your breathing came fast as you realized you were dreaming. The room was dark, and the sloshing of waves was heard outside the window as the boat continued on its journey.

Groggily, you moved to sit up, but an arm pulled you down by your shoulder, shoving you onto your back into the mattress. Mingi sat up, leaning his head over to try and look at you in the darkness. “What did you say?” He said again, one hand holding down your shoulder while the other pressed against the headboard, effectively caging you in.

You were bewildered. You were having a wet dream about your best friend right next to him. Humiliating.

When you didn’t respond, Mingi’s voice lowered, his grip on you softening as he leaned his head down to whisper in your ear. “You said my name.” Not a question. A fact. You were moaning his name in your sleep. You wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

The room was silent, and the air was stagnant. His voice was thick with sleep, and right now, you were so glad it was so dark he couldn’t see your face.

“Nu uh.” You squeaked, mentally punching yourself. That was the best you could think of. Jesus Christ.

“Yuh huh.” He replied, feeling a hand, large and warm, rest against your stomach, he gently massaged the area, in an attempt to soothe you. But it, in fact, was doing the opposite.

“Min, I’m not doing this right now.” You sat up, moving away from his touch, swinging your legs over to dangle off the side of the bed.

“You started it!” He made no move to stop you. “Literally, I was sleeping and all I hear is 'oh Mingi-”

“STOP.” You cover your ears. “Lalalalala I can’t hear you!” You went to stand on your feet, but his hand gripped your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. You stayed, his grip hot against your skin as he kept you there in the dark.

“Wait. (Name.)” Mingi’s voice was low, careful. Testing. “Don’t go. Where are you going?” You bit your bottom lip; that pout in his voice was always enough to keep you in place. You were so hot. Sweaty and turned on, and his voice was only making it worse.

“Don’t talk.” You clipped, voice shaky. Mingi dragged you by your wrist back to the bed, pulling you on top of his body. His back was propped against the headboard, sitting up. He pulled you onto his lap, both legs straddling his thighs. Both hands circled your waist, keeping your body upright on his lap.

“Why not?” He mumbled, his thumbs massaging your sides. “I know you like hearing me talk.”

“That's the issue.” You said back, no longer trying to get away from him. “The last thing I need from you right now is your stupid voice.”

He ignored you. “Were you dreaming about me?” Mingi squeezed your waist, smiling at the hitch in your breath when you felt it. You didn’t respond, burying your face in your hands. Mingi wasn’t having it.

“Talk to me.” He leaned forward, pressing his lips against that mark he left on your neck, softly dragging them across the skin. You whimpered, and Mingi seemed to like it.

It took you a second to notice the tent in his pants, pressing against your inner thigh where you sat on him. When you finally noticed, you groaned.

“Mingi..”

“Yes?” he whispered into the crook of your neck.

“What are we doing?” You waited, silence enveloped again, then his hand slipped behind your back, pushing it against you and causing you to fall forward against his chest, your forehead on his shoulder, and his lips tickling your ear.

“What do you want us to do?” He spoke, voice barely even a whisper, so quiet it almost felt like he was talking to himself. He smelled spicy, woody. Clean and sexy, like Mingi. “Be honest,” a command almost. It didn’t sound like he wanted any more beating around the bush.

You shrugged, trying your best to keep it together, play it off. “I don’t know... you've been a little more attractive lately."

Mingi laughed breathily against your ear, a hand circling around the back of your neck, bringing your head back so you were looking at him, your noses brushing in the darkness, Your breaths mingled and your heart had never raced so fast. You bet if you could see him clearly you’d have a heart attack.

“Have I?” He kissed the tip of your nose. “Are my charms finally working on you?” A shiver ran down your spine when you felt his hand drag up your thigh, hooking at your hip and pressing you down onto his lap, every so slightly grinding your body onto his. A low groan slipped from his lips, baritone and heavy. You were dizzy. So dizzy.

“Finally?” you whisper, your hands clammy and your underwear feeling unusually sticky.

“Oh, baby, you have no idea,” Mingi mumbled against your cheek, his breathing hot and heavy against your skin. “If you knew the things I’ve imagined about you, I have a feeling you might lose some respect for me.” Challenge accepted.

“Like what?” you asked, genuine curiosity in your tone, but also laced with a fear of what he might say.

“For starters, I would have loved to lay you out on that beach chair in front of your ex and eat your pussy until you were shaking. Show him how he could never lay his hands on you again. Or how, when you have me over for dinner, how badly I want to bend you over the kitchen island and fuck you stupid, till you drool all over yourself and I ruin you for anyone else. My personal favorite trapping you in my arms, looking all pretty in my bed sheets and driving my cock into you so deep you feel it in your throat-”

“Mingi I swear to fucking god I’ll kill you.”

“I warned you!” He exclaimed, pinching your thigh gently. “Can’t get mad at me, plus I know you like hearing it.” He kissed your ear, nipping at the shell. “I know you too well.”

You couldn't hold back the whimper, and Mingi inhaled sharply. “God, your voice is so pretty.” His lips brushed against yours, featherlight. Not kissing you yet. He was waiting for your permission.

“You have to let me know I can (Name.) I don’t wanna fuck this up.” His brows furrowed, and his eyes screwed shut, his hands twitching against your body like he was restraining himself. “Please.”

“Fuck Mingi, I was trying to get you to be a man and just take it, but if you wanna be such a-” he gave you no time to finish, his pillowy lips pressing against yours, groaning like he just relieved the most unbearable pain he’d ever felt.

He kissed you slowly, taking his time with you. His hands were firm and roaming along your body, like he was trying to map out every inch of you. Your skin tingled and you carded your fingers through his hair, gripping the locks at the scalp and tugging him closer to you.

Slipping his tongue into your mouth, he rocked his hips into you, laughing when he felt you moan into him, the most delicious sounds he’s ever heard from you.

“Oh, you taste amazing.” His kisses started to become sloppy, sensual, and all-consuming, like he was trying to eat you alive. You moaned, the tension in your shoulders melting as you finally got what you had been craving. “Need you to ride my thigh, (Name) Fuck, please need it now.”

You didn’t hesitate, adjusting your legs to straddle his left thigh. You braced your hands on his chest, dipping your head to bury your nose into the crook of his neck. His hands held your hips tightly, guiding them.

“Nice and slow, grind for me.” And you obeyed. “Back and forth…” You rolled your hips experimentally, his thigh flexing the muscle right where your clothed clit dragged against it. The fabric of his shorts rode up, exposing the soft skin. The pleasure shot up your spine like a bullet, lolling your head back as you finally let yourself indulge in your best friend.

Mingi landed a playful smack on your ass, smiling when your hips stuttered and your moans hitched.

“C’mon, I know you can do better than that.” You glared at him in the darkness, sinking your teeth into his earlobe.

“If I’m not doing good enough for you then do something about it.” You bit back, rolling your hips particularly hard, purposefully letting your hand graze against the hard on in his shorts. His hips bucked against your touch, a low growl escaping him and causing your cunt to clench hard.

Mingi tugged at the waistband of your shorts. “Lift your hips, let me get these off of you.” You braced your hands on his shoulders and lifted yourself off of him, Mingi peeled your shorts down your thighs and off your legs, throwing them on the floor. His hand pressed against the center of your panties, eyes rolling when he felt the soaked spot.

“Oh, did I make you this wet, baby?” His fingers pulled your panties to the side, letting his fingers drag through your slick folds, slowly, deliberately, and teasingly. He pressed his fingertips against your clit like he was pushing a button, your back arching and your whines hitting his ear. You were so sensitive, you had never been this sensitive. Goes to show how years of teasing and built-up tension, when it finally snaps, just how hot you’d feel.

“How long have you wanted this? Tell me while I fuck you with my fingers.” He gave you a pointed look, your vision finally adjusting in the darkness.

“Do you hear me?” He moaned against your skin, letting a finger slide inside of you, slow and languid.

“Yes, Mingi, fuck, I hear you.” Your hands grasped his hair and tugged to ground yourself, the grumble he let out making you clench around his finger as he slid it deeper, the pad of his finger pressing against that spot deep inside of you that made your breathing halt.

“Good girl, talk to me.” Mingi swallows your moans with another kiss, slowly coaxing his finger inside, slipping a second one in once he’s worked you open a little.

“Love it when you touch me, when you tease me..” you cried into his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip and rolling your hips into his hand.

“Yeah?” he breathed out, curling his fingers just right, pressing the heel of his palm against your clit. “I always knew you loved it. You like to act all annoyed, but I know that every time I talk to you in that way, you like, you soak your panties for me.” He lifted your shirt over your breasts, immediately dipping his head and taking a nipple in his mouth, his groans vibrating through your body as his tongue flicked against them like he was eating candy.

“Isn’t that right, pretty girl? Like when I talk to you sweet?” It was so hard to think with Mingi’s fingers curling inside of you, your brain was foggy, and you couldn’t breathe. You could only manage a nod, tears prickling in your eyes as you felt the pressure in your tummy build as he took what he wanted from you.

He sank his teeth into the swell of your breast, tongue lolling out to soothe the bite after. “Good, arch that back for me.”

Years of dancing around each other. The lingering touches and the heated looks, all brushed off for the sake of being best friends, thrown out the window. You wouldn’t have any other way.

“Listen to my voice, and focus on yourself baby.” Mingi opted for slow and pressurized drags of his thick fingers, your voice caught in your throat as you felt your self start to topple over that edge, Mingi perfectly guiding you through it at just the right pace.

“That's it, fucking take it. God, I can’t wait to fuck you, been wanting to have you to myself for so long…” He pressed his lips against yours, growling down your throat. “Cum on my fingers, baby, please. Let me have it, fucking give it to me.”

He never pulled away from your lips, swallowing every noise you made as your body spasmed and a wave of pleasure so intense it knocked you against your skull, it made you breathless.

“Yes ma’am, fuck… I’m gonna snap you in half. ‘M gonna make you feel so good.” Mingi lets you ride it out on him, his fingers continuing to drag inside of you, your slick dripping down his wrist and onto the bed.

When you finally could breathe again, Mingi gave you no time, flipping you over, your back hitting the mattress. He stood up by the edge of the bed, ripping his tanktop off and discarding his pants. He nodded his head towards you, clicking his tongue.

“Off, all of it.” He groaned. “Wanna see all of you.” You ripped off your shirt and slid your panties off your legs, letting them fall on the floor as you watched Mingi strip in front of you in turn. He climbed on top of your body slotting between your legs, crashing his lips with yours, hands everywhere all over you.

His cock, unbelievably hot and hard, dragged through your soaked folds. His hands ghosted down the inside of your arm, tickling slightly until his fingers flexed and wrapped around your wrist. He brought it to his mouth, kissing the pulse point of your wrist, dragging it up and locking both your wrists together with his grasp, tight and grounding above your head, restraining you.

Your body squirmed underneath him, he brought his head down, pressing a kiss right above your belly button. He locked eyes with you, his tongue falling from his mouth as he licked oh so slowly up your body, up your stomach between your breasts, his lips landing on the side of your neck without the hickey.

“Might as well give my girl another one right?” He blew a gust of air on the nape of your neck, continuing to slide his cock through your folds, moaning at the heat radiating from you. “Let everyone know that you’re off the market.”

He closed his lips over your throat, biting, licking and sucking sloppily. Your hips twitched against him as you tried to get him to slip inside, but Mingi wanted to take his time.

“Patience…” he pulled off your neck with a slick pop, kissing your collarbones and squeezing your wrist in warning, daring you to try and rush it again. “Let me have my fun with you baby.”

You know better. He loves to tease and play. But you could tell that he was holding himself back, you just needed to press his buttons right.

You twisted your hands in his grasp, ripping your hand free. You grabbed a fistful of his hair, dragging his head down to yours, kissing him hard and deep. He groaned, and you could feel his fingers still holding your other wrist twitching.

“Mingi.” You moaned against his lips, your eyes boring into his, pupils blown and cheeks flushed. He looked unbelievable. “Fuck me right now, or so help me god.”

He bit his bottom lip, hips stuttering. “Fine.” His hands slid down to grab the backs of your thigh, pulling them up and lifting your legs a little higher. He sat up on his knees, glaring down at you with a dangerous look in his eyes. Fuck he was so big. Towering over your body on the bed, broad shoulders and bugling muscles. His chest rose and fell with his heavy breaths as you felt the tip of him press against your entrance.

“Don’t whine when it's too much.” Slowly, Mingi pressed himself in, the stretch burning perfectly. “Take it like a big girl, (Name.)” And you did.

Poised tall above you, the grip on your hips borderline bruising as he slid inside of you. Your eyes rolled and your thighs twitched as he took his time thrusting himself into you. Deep and heavy, finally claiming what was rightful to him.

“Yeah..” he groaned, feeling your walls pulse around him as he sat still snug in your cunt. “What a good fucking girl.” Then he pulled his hips back, slipping out of you until just the tip sat inside.

Mean, calculated, and rough, he slammed his hips against you, knocking the breath from your lungs, his tip dragging against that spot inside of you so perfectly. You let out a guttural groan, feeling so full of him.

“Don’t move,” He bit, driving his cock in and out in and out. Fucking you so deep your vision was spotting. “Lie back and take what I give you, baby. I’ve got you.”

He kept his grip on your hips rough, pinning you down to the bed so you couldn’t move. Fucking you like you might run from him, like he couldn’t afford losing this night to you. He’d wreck you, ruin you. Use you in a way only lovers can use each other. You were so pretty under him, body twitching and face twisted in pleasure as he fucked you hard into the sheets. He grabbed your thigh and hiked your leg up and over his shoulder. The new angle was punishing, driving himself impossibly deeper into your cunt, you could feel every vein, and tears pricked at your eyes, and the sheer bruising pace he was setting against your g-spot. Relentless and unforgiving. Like he was making you suffer for having him wait so long to have you.

One hand left your hip, dragging up your body, caressing your throat, massaging your jaw. His fingers flexed around your neck, pressing the pads of his fingers against the sides. Your visions spotted again and your cunt clenched around him hard, a heavy breathy moan slipping past your lips.

“Oh my god… fuck Min, you’re so good.” You rolled your hips a few times to match his ruthless pace, fucking you better than you’ve been fucked before, and Mingi knew it. His ego was thriving and he had never been happier, so deep in your cunt. He rolled his hips, gyrating them a few times so you could really feel every inch of him.

“You’re so warm, sweetheart, fuck… always knew you’d be perfect. Always knew you’d come around…” The confidence in his voice was brain-numbing. He really had been plotting on you. The bastard.

He grabbed your other leg, pressing them together and wrapping his arms around them both, locking them in front of his torso. He slowed his pace, dragging his cock in and out so slow and so deep, really taking his time exploring you.

Your voice was raw and you felt like you could feel him in your ribcage.

Snap. He bullied his dick into you, hard this time. Your back arched, and your legs twitched in his hold. “Too much!” You whined out. “I can’t Min-”

“Not too much.” he hissed, fucking you with no mercy, his hands squeezing your calves and running up and down your legs. “You can, and you fucking will.”

“Tell me you want it. Tell me you need it. C’mon baby. Let me know.” Your hands gripped the pillows under your head. Mingi had full control. Using your legs to hold him to you as he fucked you, like it hurt him not to. It was mind-numbing, and you didn’t want it to end. But that inevitable pressure was building in your lower stomach again.

“I want you…” you whined, voice shaking and raw. “I need you Mingi. Please.. Fuck don’t stop!”

His thrusts increased in strength, harsher and mean as he fucked you without abandon. “Are you mine, sweetheart? Say you’re mine…” he whined between thrusts, his hips sloppy and rough. His voice dropped to that sensual baritone whisper that made your pussy clench and your eyes roll. “Fuck me… please say you’re mine. Say you belong to me, baby…”

“I’m yours Mingi! I’ve always been yours…” you cry out. Mingi spread your legs and laid them back on the bed, dropping his torso down to press against yours and swallow your cries in a deep, soul crushing kiss.

His hand cupped your jaw and the other snaked down to draw close knit circles against your clit. “Fuck yes. You’re mine. This pussy’s mine. All mine.” Your breath staggered, and your eyes screwed shut, focusing on his touches and his mouth on yours. You were so fucking close.

He pressed his forehead against yours, eyebrows furrowed in concentration and eyes half lidded as he focused on you. “Gonna cum again baby?”

You nod frantically, your noises quiet now, Mingi’s rough thrusts leaving no room for you to moan, just heavy breaths and staggered whimpers. It felt like heaven.

“I love making it good for you.” He whispered against your lips. “Love making you feel amazing. The number of times I laid in my bed fucking my fist, imagining this exact moment. You have no idea, baby, no fucking clue. Need you to cum hard for me baby, give it to me, I earned it. You earned it."

And you did. Your body convulsed and your mouth fell open against his. Your mind flashed white with a broken cry of his name as you came.

“Fuuuckk yeah baby.” Mingi groaned. He smiled, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. “So gorgeous when you cum. Could watch you do that all damn day.”

His hips stuttered as he began to lose the rhythm, his own release crawling up his spine. “Gonna fuck my cum into you honey.” You were limp, overstimulated, drooling onto the sheets as he used your body, fogbrained and stupid.

“Just let me use you, almost there I promise.” He rolled his hips a few more times, his voice breaking between moans and huffs. He stilled, one final, deep thrust, spilling himself inside of you. He rocked into you, fucking his spent inside of you, your body shivering from the sensitivity.

“Holy s-shit…” Mingi caressed your hips as he slowly rolled into you, fucking you both through the aftershock.

He stayed still for a moment, you both taking time to catch your breath and come back down to earth. Slowly, he pulled himself out of you, wincing from the pressure and the way you clenched as he moved. Slick, he slipped himself out, taking a deep breath as the cold air of the room enveloped him.

He shivered and laid on his stomach between your legs, his head between your thighs.

“Lemme clean this up…” His tongue lolled out of his mouth, licking up between your thighs, kissing around your swollen cunt, cleaning the stickiness between your legs. You sighed, your hands coming down to massage his scalp, nails scraping against the skin beneath his soft head of hair.

He stayed there for a while, kissing between your thighs and relaxing in each other’s presence.

“Mingi I’m tired.” You croaked, voice strained from all the moaning. Mingi lifted himself from between your legs, moving up to press light kisses all over your face.

“I’d never trade you for the world.” Soft, loving and unprovoked. He just loved you that much. And now he finally had all of you, he’d never let you go.

You reciprocated with gentle kisses along his eyebrows, smiling against his flushed skin. “I hope we’ll be making the most out of the next few days I didn’t pay 600 per ticket for nothing. We’re putting this lovers package to use until its run dry.”

Mingi laughs, his hands caressing your waist and rubbing circles just below your breasts. “Way ahead of you.” He stood, taking your hand in his, having you sit up on the bed.

“Shower with me?” Mingi asked, squeezing your hand gently.

“Of course is that even a question?” You followed him to the bathroom, legs slightly shaky, but he stayed by your side keeping you upright. You glared at him considering he made you forget how to use your legs, he only shrugged smiling sheepishly.

After a warm, lathering shower, you both snuggled under the sheets, holding each ither close as the ship rocked and the waves whispered outside.

Lying behind you, Mingi moved your hair to the side, looking at the marks on your neck, smiling proudly to himself.

“I want you to wear that orange bathing suit I got you tomorrow. It’ll pair nice with these marks and I’m sure it’ll get a rise out of that asshat.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re such an instigator Min.” You laughed, Mingi pressing a kiss to the marks.

“What?” he whispered in your ear. “Am I not allowed to be proud of my work?”

“Go to sleep.” you mumbled, your eyes feeling heavy.

“I dont wanna.” he whined, pressing his nose to your hair inhaling deeply and taking in your scent. “Mmm, you smell so good...”

“Mingi.” you snapped.

“Yes ma’am.” He pulled you closer, resting his head on your shoulder and closing his eyes. Last thing he needed was pisisng you off and you hitting him.

“Goodnight (Name.).” he kissed your temple,

You smiled to yourself; you really had him around your finger. You kissed his arm, letting sleep take over you. “Goodnight Min.” Silence, for a moment. Peace.

“Can’t wait to rub it in that asshole’s face tomorrow-”

“Mingi, I swear to God I will kill you.”

Thanks for reading! I had a lot of fun writing this one, hope you like it!

#screaming crying throwing up #THIS IS ACTUALLY SO PEAK #bangs fist on table. mingi is so perfectly attractive and insufferable in this. god i love him #HIM SCARING THE EX WAS HILARIOUS TOO I LOVE THAT PART #ateez #song mingi

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anitease · 3 months ago

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Vendetta

► 𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 - dilf!Hongjoong x fem!reader ◄ ► 𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎/𝙰𝚄 - mafia au, arranged marriage trope, secret/hidden marriage, slow burn, heavy angst, emotionally heavy, revenge, emotional rollercoaster, power imbalance, age gap (reader is in her early 30s and Joong is in his mid-40s), reader! is resigned to her fate but not for long, enemies-to-lovers, plot twist◄ ► 𝚁𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐/𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 - PG-18+ so MDNI!!! depression as in reader! has almost given up on life, implied familial abuse (not described, but be warned!), implied violence, minor car accident, minor descriptions of near death experience, generalized dark themes, eventual smut (short though) lots of kissing, couch riding, creampie, emotional and possessive sex, no protection (do not do this!) ◄ ► 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 - 33.5K words (hear me out---) ◄ ► 𝚂𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 - After your uncle sold you to the mafia to settle a debt, you were forced into an arranged marriage with the controlling Kim Hongjoong and you expected nothing more than a life of silence and control. He was much older than you, much more calculated and cold, and you had no doubt that he was devoid of light. He'd be displeased to know that you have a backbone, however, but what happens when his dark secrets that could potentially ruin your life slowly unravel when the wolves come out to play? You realize that the secrets he held dear were deeper than you thought, and there was no way out. ◄ ► 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜 - I am sorry that it took this long. I was sick for weeks and had no energy to write. I am also sorry it's this long, but I don't regret it. This was a request from the lovely @midnightreader-06 (she's an adult.) I will be fulfilling the other requests I have soon. ◄ ► 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 - @0rangemilk @ginger-mingi @ruubyrubes @oddracha @jaytheatiny @roxannecos @juicy-red @cheolliehugs @sunnysidesins @jjongbearshoney @midnightrebel1028 @mallielovssyou @jenluvzen ◄

You were ten years old when you held both of your parents hand as the three of you walked side by side in an open field where the vastness of the green Earth was there for the taking as far as the eye could see.

As your dearest father, whose eyes shone with adoration and his lips split with the fondest of grins, carried you in his arms to point at the bright, blue sky, your innocence and naivety paved way for the natural curiosity that lay hidden in your young mind.

“You, my darling,” your mother lovingly booped your button nose. “You are the prettiest, far more special than anything in this world, and I love you.”

The world felt impossibly vast, and yet in that moment, wrapped in the safety of your parents’ love, it felt perfectly sized to hold just the three of you. Truly, you were loved by your parents. It was the kind of love that would transcend even through the afterlife. Until they didn’t.

You were sixteen years old when you stood under the pouring rain that blessed your parents’ grave, your head down low as your expressionless face stared at the freshly dug soil under your feet. There was blackness all around you - black for the weeping sky, black for the clothes you wore around your frail, shivering body that symbolized your mourning and loss.

Black for the two coffins you had watched sink into the ground, swallowed by the earth as if it could somehow keep your parents safe when you no longer could, black for the words no one could say, black for the warning signals in your head as you were led away from the cemetery.

Everything was black. You were far too young for such a travesty, but since when has this life been fair to anybody? Your parents’ death has definitely taught you better.

The hours stopped flowing, the sands of time floating inside the hourglass in a perpetual cycle of your memories where the images of your parents were slowly disappearing, refusing to flow - refusing to let you move on.

You are the prettiest, far more special than anything in this world, and I love you.

“You call that clean? I could lick the damn thing and get road dust in my teeth!”

Your uncle, your mother’s older brother, barked from the doorway, snapping you out of your memories. His loud, displeasing voice echoed down the garage hallway far before you even laid your eyes on him.

You closed your eyes, taking the deepest breath you could possibly take from the deepest chambers of your lungs. Not that there was anything left, you were a walking entity of nothingness at this point, but you had to remain calm like you had learned to be - like you had to be.

Your uncle stepped into the garage, shoes clicking against the polished tile floor most mechanics would kill for. “That’s your problem. Always doing the bare minimum. You’re useless just like your mother.”

There it was. He didn’t have to mention her often like the mere thought of her slowly decayed his tongue inside his sinful mouth. He didn’t outwardly curse her name, it was just enough to let you know he still thought of you like you were a charity case; a stain on the marble floors of his pristine world.

You tried not to gasp out loud when he titled your chin up roughly. His calloused fingers burned every single hair strand on your face, his eyes could have disintegrated you on the spot with all the unspoken hate you knew he had for you but refused to speak out, but you had to remain calm.

He harrumphed, turning around and beginning to walk off to where he came from, but not before spitting up an unholy amount of saliva on the floor with an obscene smirk on his clean shaven face. “Clean it up,” was all he said.

Through gritted teeth, you had begun wiping the floor, and as the water began to wash away all the grime your pig of an uncle had left, you hadn’t realized that your tears had begun to mix itself in the water like it would rinse away all your troubles.

It was like you were sixteen again. You still remember the day like it was yesterday when he led you to his car away from the cemetery, all without a single word of comfort or condolences at the dearly departed. Never mind your father, but your mother was his younger sister. You were not surprised at the sight of his massive mansion - your family did come from old money - but the moment you stepped through it, you saw the facade quickly. You weren’t there as family, but as a liability. All of this was just for show, not for your comfort.

He walked ahead of you, not bothering to see if you were following him. There was no warmth in his voice, just clipped efficiency, like he was giving instructions to a driver. There was no welcome. No open arms. No kind words. Your room was barely one. A cot, no sheets. A single window so cloudy with grime it looked like frosted glass. Little did you know, it would be your room for no less than a decade - a decade long of hell reincarnate on an already scorching Earth.

Sometimes he didn’t call for food, most of the time he called to yell. Once, for leaving a cup turned the wrong way in the sink, he threw it at the wall and told you your parents would’ve done the same if they’d had the guts.

It didn’t stop the bruises, but your perseverance helped you survive the nights. No one came looking for you. No one asked how you were.

You were nineteen years old when you started finally accepting that this was your world. You were reduced to moping spit off of the floor, and after another four years of slaving away and just taking all the burnt end of your uncle’s anger, he decided to finally send you into college. You wanted to scoff, but you will take anything that you could get - anything to get even a sliver of your identity back. He wasn’t doing this for you, you knew he’d use you for free labour after.

“You owe me,” he said, sliding the acceptance letter toward me. “You remember that. Everything you have is because I kept you fed.”

Fed. You saw red. He never mentioned you’d earned every damn underfed crumb like an inbred. But you nodded, anyway, because even a dog learns how to slip the chain if it’s given enough time to watch the master.

And you waited, day by day, for someone to remember you existed, but the ones you longed for were the ones you knew were in heaven by now. And you hoped they weren’t looking down on you.

The last thing you remembered was coming home from your graduation party with a couple of your friends from the restaurant, but the panicked yet controlled voices of the doctors and nurses surrounding you had you concurring that you were in the hospital.

You want to move, but your limbs won’t listen. You want to ask for your parents, but their names get caught in your throat. That sent a magnanimous amount of pain far worse than you were feeling right now down in the middle of your chest where your heart laid. They were gone, and you were soon to follow.

The first tear that fell from your eyes felt like glass shards. You didn’t know how to tell your parents that you had failed them. You were only twenty-eight, and your short life was slowly slipping away from you. You could feel it.

I don’t want to die. I’m much too young to fall.

But hope was bleak. You didn’t doubt that your uncle was already aware of the car accident you were involved in, and you didn’t doubt that he was happy about it. It would be good riddance for him, there was no way he would pay for your surgeries. You were alone, utterly alone. The thought of dying alone hurt more than you’d like it to be.

Until a warm hand wrapped itself around yours. It was big, rough, and warm. You were too weak to open your eyes, but you mentally thanked the kind nurse who comforted you in your time of need. Or more likely, it was one of your college friends, namely, your close friend Yeosang. He was much younger than you, only being a freshman while you were eight years his senior.

You volunteered as a substitute teacher in your spare time for high school students as a part of your program, and Yeosang offered to be your intern. You were the one to write him his recommendation letter to get into your college last year. You quickly became fond of the kid with the siren eyes who squeezed his way into your heart, who still admired you as his mentor and still stuck by you even after his high school.

He was the only regret in your short life. There were times you dismissed him since you were far from his age and you wanted him to spend time with other people. You wish you had more opportunities to tell him that you cherished the little moments of peace he gave you, and to thank him for letting you know what it was like to care for someone when nobody cared about you.

Time passed. It could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been hours, but the hand remained, covering yours in a soothing cocoon, a salve to your aching and hurting heart.

It was just a hand, but it provided you the strength you needed. You might hate your uncle, but if it wasn’t for him sending you to college, this hand wouldn’t be here, helping you sign your own paperwork since you had no family. It must have been a pitiful sight - your soul was nearly gone yet you had to sign your own hospital papers.

Sometimes it would squeeze gently like it needed to be sure you were still holding on as you slipped in and out of consciousness, and you started clinging to it like it was the only real thing in the world.

Because, maybe it was. No one else came - not your uncle, and not the world you thought would notice if you ceased to exist prematurely before you even turned your life around, but the hand stayed.

Against your will, you stood before your own reflection. You always thought you had the prettiest of hazel-hued eyes - you had gotten them from your father, after all - but the hollowness of them scared even yourself.

“Y/N! Come downstairs, or I’m leaving you to walk yourself all the way to the Kim estate!”

You flinched, your fingers pausing from examining the thick concealer you splattered all over your neck to cover your uncle’s purple fingertips. You were still unsure if surviving was a blessing or a curse.

After getting back from the hospital, he had appointed you to fix his business paperworks - all without pay, of course - and he kept you locked away from the world.

Except when it was time to remind you of your place, to remind you of his power. You were thirty-two when he finally decided to get rid of you and sell you off as collateral for his failing business to a man far older than you, because if he didn’t, the business won’t be the only thing your uncle would be losing.

“He’s your last chance,” he reiterated, voice low and full of threat. “You marry him, or you’re done here. I’ll have you on a flight by morning stripped of every cent, every roof, every name. I made a deal, and you’re the damn collateral. Don’t make me waste you.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d threatened to erase you from your own life. But this time, it felt final. “Your face is your saving grace,” he continued arrogantly. “Luckily for you, you inherited your whore of a mother’s pretty face. With luck, that bastard Kim Hongjoong might take a liking to you.”

You tuned out the way he cursed out the said man’s name with words you couldn’t even repeat, focusing on the way your fists clenched tight to control your breathing.

Kim Hongjoong, you thought. That was your future husband’s name, the man who would either be your salvation or be the one to push you into a deeper hell. You’ve given up on the aspect of marrying for love, but still, giving it up like this feels like a punch to your gut.

But there was no way around it, not when your uncle sent you a seething glare that told you that you needed to play along as he forced your arm to link with his as you were both escorted inside the huge mansion that screamed of wealth and dirty money by the stiff-postured butler.

“I welcome you to the Kim estate, you may address me as San,” the cat-eyed butler bowed respectfully before you and your uncle, gesturing forward as he walked on. “I do apologize if I’m the only one to extend the greetings for now, all of our staff is preparing for the bride-to-be.”

He sent you a polite smile, but all you felt was dread. “Shall I make it up and invite you to the dining room? The Master awaits the both of you.”

Your uncle’s fake, booming laughter fills the grandiose dining room. Every inch of this manor screamed of wealth and power, the chandeliers above casting a soft glow down the glossy marble floors, the ornate walls lined with ancestral tapestry partnered with vintage vases.

But none of it reached you, none of it mattered because none of this was for you. As slimy as your uncle was, the fact that this man was even agreeing to the prospect of marrying to settle a debt perturbed you.

You couldn’t help but let your fingers trail along the back of a carved dining chair as you entered the main dining room. Everything looked expensive, it reminded you of your mother who had the finer tastes in life when she was still among the living.

But it was when you looked up that your breath had truly gotten caught in your throat. Somebody was already looking at you, he was already staring at you. Even before you were introduced, you knew in your heart that this was the infamous Kim Hongjoong.

He was seated at the far end of the impossibly long dining table, his sharp eyes already watching your every move. The second your eyes met his, the air shifted, and you froze. All that existed was the intensity of his gaze. For a moment, everything disappeared. It was just you and him. You didn’t know how to feel about it.

Your pulse thudded in your ears as you allowed yourself to stare back. You didn’t even need more than a couple of seconds, it was very obvious from the first glance that this man was undeniably attractive. It was almost devastatingly so.

His face was chiseled to perfection, all without the soft curves of a boy, he held the sharp angles that only belonged to a man of his age. That particular age suited him and you could tell he was years above you, his meticulously styled hair already sporting a couple of whites and greys

But it wasn’t his looks that immediately captivated you, it was his eyes. The way they stared at you heavily as though he was an all-seeing being that could read your every thought and predict your every move. He didn’t smile, he didn’t blink, he didn’t look away - he just observed. Something in your chest twisted. Your instinct told you to look away, to hide, but you stayed uprooted from where you stood. His stare left you unable to do anything else.

But you had to eventually. Your uncle cut the obvious tension with a small, nervous laugh as he nudged you subtly. “Mr. Kim, it’s an honour and pleasure to be in your presence in this fine evening,” he tried to suck up, though you can tell his bravado was nowhere to be seen in front of a person who was obviously greater than he was.

You forced yourself forward, one step towards the other, graciously sitting down on the chair that San the butler had so generously pulled out for you. As you tried to settle comfortably, you looked up again, only to realize that Hongjoong still hasn’t looked away from you, only giving out a small grunt in response to your uncle’s poor attempt to start a conversation.

You would turn and stare at the way you knew your uncle’s face would turn red in embarrassment and anger at being snubbed, but Hongjoong’s eyes had once again held you captive.

Someone cleared their throat purposefully. Right. You didn’t even realize that there were other people seated towards the end of the table. You couldn’t even afford to be embarrassed for being the other end of the tension.

“You’re staring,” the voice, surprisingly rough and deep, said. It was more of a whisper, but the silence was so loud in the room that anything could be heard.

Hongjoong didn’t answer right away. He simply tilted his head, just slightly. Still watching you with those dark eyes. Then, calmly, still without glancing at anyone else, he replied, “Am I?”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement in disguise, a graceful way of telling the other person off. It made the hair rise on the back of your neck. You heard an exasperated sigh somewhere.

Even when dinner was served and the conversation around you flowed naturally amongst the other guests deemed important enough to be here, you couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable. You barely heard their voices. You knew he was still watching you from time to time.

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you kept your posture stiff, trying to maintain some semblance of control. Your hands, however, clenched your utensils so tight, you wouldn’t be surprised if they bent from the pressure. You couldn’t stop the tremor that ran through you from all the weight of his eyes.

At first you thought it was fear, but no, this was something else entirely. It wasn’t flattering, it wasn’t lustful, it wasn’t romantic - this was unnerving, darkness at its purest form.

“Y/N, my dearest niece,” your uncle’s voice suddenly broke through your haze, effectively catching everyone’s attention as well. “I trust that you’re enjoying dinner?”

You swallowed, already reading between the lines. He was basically asking you to look alive, a silent threat. You forced a small smile, nodding in effect. “Yes,” you said softly. “It’s quite wonderful.”

An unreadable flicker crosses Hongjoong’s face as he leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table. Somehow, that made him look more intimidating than he already was. He tilted his head, his gaze sharpened, but his body stayed relaxed. It was the posture of someone who knew he was on top of the food chain.

“Great,” your uncle cleared his throat. “I suppose it’s about time to get down to the nitty-gritty of this dinner. Let’s talk business, gentlemen.”

A saddened frown settles itself on your lips. Right, you had forgotten that this was just business for him at the end of the day. You had somehow forgotten that you were treated less than human, a little more akin to produce being sold off to a wanting consumer.

“There’s no need to drag this out,” your uncle continued, failing to read the room. Even you knew that he was in no position to call the shots like he was doing currently. “She’s all yours, for all intents and purposes.”

You looked down, shame and mortification filling your entire body, gripping your dress tightly in your fists. The implication of what that meant horrified you, given that you were the only woman in the room, surrounded by men who immediately understood the sexual insinuation of the statement.

Thick silence followed as everybody waited for Hongjoong to speak. His posture shifted ever so slightly from your peripheral vision as he started to open his mouth to reply. “I’m not here for that,” he said flatly.

The words were quiet, but they carried more force than your uncle’s screaming. The older man let out a nervous laughter, brushing it off. “Of course, still, it’s a part of the arrangement.”

Hongjoong’s expression didn’t change. “I heard you the first time.”

Your knuckles turned white from how hard you were gripping. His voice struck something in you, sending a zing through your body from your toes all the way to your scalp. His gaze, his voice, his complete control over the room; it was all too much. You hated the way it made your stomach turn into itself.

But your uncle’s ego rendered him unable to stop because he always wanted to be the one in control. “She turned out decent, though mostly useless. It could be changed,” he said, degrading your dignity further down to the ground. “She’s an obedient little thing, knows how to close her trap when prompted.”

You froze, as did everybody. You didn’t need to look around the table to know the weight of every eye. It was a different type of humiliation you had to endure, but you didn’t say anything. Years of training had taught you to just take all of his words in without flinching.

For the first time that night, Hongjoong looked away from you. His stare shifted, slow and deliberate, settling on your uncle who chuckled nervously, but also unable to look away from Hongjoong like you did.

It was his turn to be stared at, you could already tell that your uncle was starting to crack under the pressure of that silent, unnerving stare.

Then as if to rub salt on his wounds, Hongjoong let a small smile curl at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t directed towards you, but it sent nasty goosebumps all over your skin. It was nothing short of sinister.

“How compelling,” he drawled out, leaning forward to grab his wine glass, swirling its contents leisurely before he set his dark eyes back towards your uncle. “Though I don’t recall ever asking.”

Your uncle stiffened, but Hongjoong continued, his voice controlled, and flat. “And if I ever find myself wondering, I’ll be sure to consult someone who’s managed to keep his life longer than selling their nieces to the mafia to save their skin.” Your legs felt suddenly too weak, your numb fingers loosening their tight hold on your dress. The mafia. Your uncle was selling you out to the mafia. The word itself echoed through your mind, a jagged, inescapable truth. Fear, raw and electric, lit up inside you.

Though, an undeniable satisfaction flowed through you at the prospect of your smug uncle finally being put in his place. He opened his big mouth to try and retort back, but Hongjoong didn’t give him the chance.

He sets his wine glass back down, lightly tapping on it with a butter knife. “More,” was all he said. It was just one command, but if you were standing, it would have brought you down to your knees. It was the end of the conversation, all because he said so without actually saying it. There were no more words needed to be said, the message had been delivered. He turned his gaze somewhere else, not looking back at you. There was no need to.

This entire room knew who held the leash, and it was the man you were set to marry sooner than later. The room had been entirely claimed by him the moment he opened his mouth.

Dinner was an awkward affair. The conversation between everyone was never really the same afterwards, but you didn’t care, you tuned them all out, even when you could finally breathe because Hongjoong never looked your way again, partaking in a conversation with the man nearest to him, the same man with the deep voice who called him out for staring at you.

It was every man for themselves at this very table, that much you could tell. Every clink of cutlery made you flinch, every swallow constricting your throat, every smoke coming out of your uncle’s ears petrifying you, his words still ringing in your head the entire time as you tried to eat.

Marry this man or face the consequences, but at what cost? You were damned if you did, and damned if you didn’t. There would be no ending where you wouldn’t end up bleeding. Hongjoong terrified you. It was the type of fear that settled itself deep in your bones. He hasn’t even risen from his seat, yet he’s managed to get under your skin far more than your uncle has in more than a decade.

This was a man who ruled in power. There was something in the way he sat, all composed and relaxed. He had nothing to prove, let alone raise his voice. He simply held everyone’s breath in his palms. One squeeze was all it took.

You didn’t realize you’d been staring until Hongjoong’s sharp eyes met yours briefly once more. He looked at your uncle, back at you, then back at the man who was talking to him. You had made your decision then. Anything was better than being your uncle’s property.

By the end of the week, all of your belongings were packed in a small suitcase, ready to be transported to the Kim estate. Not that you needed to pack a lot, there was no single thing that you truly owned.

The manor was just as breathtaking as it was the last time you saw it, dare say, far more glamorous than you remembered it to be now that the invisible collar that your uncle wrapped around your neck like a noose was now gone. It was far much easier to gaze in awe at the splendor that it represented.

Though you reckon that if you closed your eyes, the walls would be crimson red with blood. Your fingers clutched the suitcase handle with a grip that bordered on desperation, as if letting go might unravel something fragile inside you. The threshold before you wasn’t just the entrance to another home, it was a gate to uncertainty, and that terrified you more than anything.

The last time you crossed into the unfamiliar den of someone else’s house, you were met with a home, but with silent trials and unspoken wounds. But it was too late to ponder whether you should just turn back, run away, and start anew somewhere else - the massive door at the entrance suddenly opened ajar to reveal the familiar face of the Kim family butler, San.

It struck you then, as he was walking towards your direction, that he wasn’t wearing a uniform like the last time you saw him, in fact, he wasn’t like anything you remembered at all even though this was only your second meeting. Gone was the uniform, the gloves, and his rigid posture. Instead, he wore a gray tailored suit and he walked like he belonged in it. He wasn’t performing anymore. He grabbed your suitcase for you, but before he could take a step forward, he hesitantly turned towards you. “I just wanted to say that there are no shadows in this place,” he said softly, cryptically. “You don’t need to keep looking over your shoulders. He can’t hurt you here.”

You tried to keep your face still, unreadable. You supposed that one eventful dinner was enough for everyone to see how much of a swine your uncle was. You didn’t respond to his strange reassurance. Instead, you studied him again, this time more carefully, more warily. “You’re not a butler, are you?” You said quietly.

His brows raised, but he didn’t say anything; he just smiled at you before beckoning you inside the mansion that would be your new home. Everything looked the same, except that in the morning light, everything looked more marvelous than it did rather than when they were covered by the dark shadows of the night. No matter which direction your head turned, awe struck in every corner.

Then you passed the staircase. Something made you pause, there was a prickle at the back of your neck. Without meaning to, you looked up. It was the man at the dinner, the one that sat closest to Hongjoong at the far end of the table - the one who told the older man he was staring. He also donned a smart suit like San, leaning against the bannister while his sharp eyes watched you.

He was a lot taller than you thought now that he was standing and he was younger, too. It was a surprise given his apparent ease with Hongjoong when everyone else wanted to piss their pants with fear. He didn’t glare at you, the only thing that signalled he wasn’t particularly angry towards you, but his stare still made your skin tighten. He was, by all means, intimidating.

“Did you need anything, Mingi?” San’s mellow voice cut the unspoken tension in the air as he also looked up the staircase. He motions to you with his hands. “You’ve met Y/N during the dinner.”

The man, Mingi, didn’t reply. His presence pressed down like a weight, not loud, but undeniable, as he turned around, but not before swivelling his head back, his side profile sharp and intense. “I know,” his deep voice spoke before he completely walked away out of your sight.

Your voice barely rose above a whisper as you turned to San. “Does he not like me?”

“It’s complicated,” he said simply, continuing the walk towards where was taking you.

Complicated. Somehow, that made you feel like you were trespassing in a life you hadn’t earned. Maybe he didn’t like you, maybe it wasn’t personal, but you understood it. You wouldn’t like you, either, ever since you were reduced to who you once were. Those were the thoughts that plagued your mind as you walked through the lavish mansion, until you stopped directly in front of a door that just screamed doom from the other side.

The feeling intensified when San gave the door a few light taps with his knuckles. You had been mistaken when you thought that this would be your room. There was only one reason why San would knock like he did.

“Come in,” a gruff voice replied from inside.

Coldness washed over you, the slight fear during that one dinner night creeping back and settling itself into your bones when you were met at the sight of Hongjoong at the end of his office behind a desk where there were plenty of papers strewn all over it.

You had to put in effort in your jaws so it wouldn’t fall open. You’ve seen plenty of good-looking men in your life, but none of them hold a candle to the enigma that was Kim Hongjoong. That night absolutely did nothing to justify how immaculate this man actually looked. The worst part was that he wasn’t even wearing a suit like San.

He was clad in a casual white-button up shirt, the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, revealing lean forearms that moved with casual precision as he scribbled something across a document. He didn’t look up, not bothering to acknowledge your entrance.

You shuffled your feet awkwardly, your heart beating a little faster, not out of attraction, though it wasn’t out of the realm entirely, but with palpable tension. Hongjoong flipped a page, still without acknowledgement as if he wasn’t bothered by your presence at all. It was San who finally broke the silence, his voice lower, more respectful than you’d ever heard it. “Boss. She’s here—”

“Leave,” the mafia boss cut off, voice hushed in the quietness of the office, but brusque nonetheless.

It was like you were struck with an imaginary hammer straight to your chest with that one single word, but it wasn’t just that - it was the undeniable truth that you were, once again, unwelcome in this shiny, brand new cage you were thrust upon. The silence that followed felt suffocating, even San was rendered speechless, clearly confused.

San cleared his throat. “I’m not sure I’m following, Sir.”

The sound of rustling paper and the pen scratching against its surface resonated in your head. “I didn’t stutter, San,” Hongjoong replied nonchalantly. “Both of you, out.”

There was no room for argument in his tone. He didn’t sound particularly peeved, in fact, he didn’t sound like anything at all, and yet, the dismissal stung you more than you’d like to admit. His utter dismissal was louder than any shout. You didn’t have to spend a minute longer in this room that was slowly beginning to feel like a jail cell - you didn’t matter.

“Alright,” San sighed, conceding, though against his will. “Where will she reside?”

The pen in Hongjoong’s hand stopped moving, and finally, he raised his chin, his eyes lifting slowly to stare at San. You swallowed, it reminded you of a predator being disturbed while it was resting. Your heart almost leapt out of your chest when he turned lazily to you, his eyes half-lidded this time. “Keep her in the dungeons,” he drawled flatly. Your eye twitched at the response.

“Hongjoong,” San’s mouth dropped open in surprise, not being able to stop his reaction at his boss’ reply.

“Apologies,” he said, leaning back on his leather chaise lounge, his tone egregiously insincere as he raised his brows at the butler. “I can’t help but jest at the stupidity of your question, Choi San. What did you want me to say?”

You clenched your fists before they could visibly shake. God, he was beautiful, and it only made it worse, like the universe had handed unimaginable cruelty to the face of an angel just to mock you. You were scared, yes, but you were also annoyed.

You haven’t even been here for five minutes yet he was already seemingly enjoying your discomfort and feeding off of your humiliation. The plan was to keep your head down so you could survive in this battlefield, but if he was going to keep this up, it was only a matter of time until your patience would snap and get you in trouble, or worse, killed.

As if he didn’t just say something outrageous, Hongjoong flicked his pen to start writing again. “I need Mingi,” he said. “And call your Third Master. He should have been back with Seonghwa from Suwon.”

San didn’t say anything as he shut the door behind you both, his steps quick and purposeful as he led you down a dimly lit corridor that felt far too silent for how grand the house looked from the outside. The heavy tension that lingered from the office followed you like a second shadow.

He glanced over at you, as if trying to read your face before turning his eyes back ahead. “I was wondering,” he started clearly just to ease the tension. “I’ve noticed, well, we all did, that you didn’t share a last name with your uncle. Is that on purpose?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. Such a contrast to what had just occurred a couple of minutes ago. But more than that, nobody had bothered to ask you that question before. It wasn't invasive by all means, just unexpected.

It did, however, shoot a pang of hurt through your heart. You haven’t explained this in more than a decade. “He’s my late mother’s older brother.”

San nodded slowly, absorbing the information with interest. Bless this man, you thought. “May I ask what your last name is?”

“It’s Jeong,” you replied softly. Oh, how good it was to say your father's name like this again. “Jeong Y/N.”

When he finally stopped in front of a modest door near the end of the hall, he placed a hand on the knob, but not before pausing. Something didn’t feel right. “D-Did you know my father?”

You frowned at his frozen expression that didn’t last for another second before he snapped off of whatever trance he put himself in.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, turning to face you. “I know this was a horrible start to your soon-to-be life here,” San shook his head, the corners of his mouth tightening. “Hongjoong’s hard headed, but he’s not heartless. Just give it time, okay?”

Your heart wanted to leap out of your chest. He completely changed the topic. “I get it,” you sighed, letting it go. “He’s as much of an unwilling participant in this as I am.”

San opened the door, revealing a clean, minimal room with a bed, dresser, and tall windows draped in heavy curtains. The room was beautiful, not that you expected any less, but this was decay dressed in silk; a trap made to look like a sanctuary to your wounded soul.

“I’ll let you settle in,” he said gently as he left you alone. “If you need anything, please let me know. This is your home now as much as it is ours.”

Indeed, you were alone, but not free. Caged, but not chained, at least, not in the physical sense.

San had said to give it time, but time was a commodity and you feared it - too much of it and it left you rotting away inside your body, and too little of it felt like a countdown.

Days passed from then, and you tried to settle in to the very best of your abilities. It was the only option you had, after all. You explored the rest of the mansion, even going as far as hanging out in the vast garden in the back when you had nothing better to do. It wasn’t home, per se, but it was far better from where you came from.

As suffocating as this mansion felt, at least San was right, nobody has hurt you - not yet at least. But that was always how it went, wasn’t it? Then the shift would be so subtle that you’d miss it if you weren’t already waiting for the sky to fall. You knew the pattern like your own breathing. So you kept your voice light. You smiled when you needed to, but you always stayed one step ahead. Because San was right, no one had hurt you, but they would. It was only a matter of time.

It was still a step-up from your uncle, his loud voice no longer calling you, but coincidentally, neither had Hongjoong. He didn’t look your way once, he didn’t call or summon you, and didn’t acknowledge your existence very much. Somehow, you weren’t sure if that was a curse or a blessing in disguise.

Nonetheless, you did enjoy it so far, and you had so much to learn. You’ve yet to peek through the library, study how the light filtered through your windows at certain hours, or just the layout of the mansion itself. You were just about to walk towards the garden when you heard the familiar, telltale signs of people talking in one of the rooms. No, rather, you were hearing an argument take place between two men.

“You lied to me,” a man’s voice, deep, thunderous, and absolutely furious, boomed throughout the expanse of the house. “That hit in Suwon was supposed to be mine, and mine, alone. Not anyone's, not Wooyoung’s, mine.”

You froze at the sound, instincts screaming at you to turn around, walk away, disappear. But curiosity dug its claws in. Your feet moved without permission, guiding you down the stairs toward the raised voices echoing from the living room just around the corner.

“I did not lie to you. Your lack of proper planning does not constitute an emergency on my end,” replied the familiar voice of Hongjoong, flat and stoic as ever, like he wasn’t on the burnt end of someone’s anger.

“That little fuck. Always stealing my hits. And you tolerate him.”

Heavy, furious footsteps and you barely had time to walk away unnoticed when you almost crashed into the tall and broad-shouldered form of none other than Mingi. His expression was twisted with the fury of a thousand suns as he glared at you. For a second, he looked like he was going to explode on you, but luckily, he just walked past you with rage he looked like he could barely contain.

“You,” came a voice from the living room.

You flinched, your spine automatically straightening like they did when your uncle screamed your name before he struck his fists. But Hongjoong didn’t shout, didn’t even raise his voice, but the sharpness in that single word pinned you in place like a knife. He stepped into view slowly, the light from the tall windows casting long shadows behind him. His expression was unreadable, carved from stone, gaze unreadable but heavy.

“What are you doing?” Hongjoong asked at last, his tone deceptively calm, but lined with quiet disdain. “Sneaking around corners like a rat.”

Despite your speechlessness in the frost of his tone, you couldn’t help but stare. Hongjoong’s back was turned against the window and little bits of sun rays hit his features just right. You tried to tamp the blush trying to sneak up your cheeks to make way at the vexation flickering inside your chest at his statement.

“I-I apologize, I didn’t mean to intrude,” you said quietly, your heart jumping to your throat. “I was just curious—”

“Curious,” he repeated slowly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You were curious.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding in your ears, as he stared you down. It was as if he was truly looking at you for the first time. He wasn’t much taller than you, but the way he stood felt like he towered over you by a mile. You felt numbness wash over you, but you tried your best to answer him with honesty. You had a feeling he’d catch you fibbing anyway. “I was told I could explore a little when I came.”

His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile - too sharp to be one. “But did I tell you that you could go prancing around anywhere you damn well pleased?”

Your breath caught when he took a slow, almost bored, step towards you. For a second, you saw the taller form of your uncle stalking towards you, and before you could stop yourself, you opened your mouth to protest. “I’m sorry,” you squeaked. “I just assumed that since I’m staying here that I can—”

“Immaterial,” he interrupted, low and vicious. “This is my house, and you answer to me.”

Hongjoong stuck his finger under your chin, slightly tilting it up. The tips of your ears reddened completely, not because you were flustered, but because it felt degrading. “I’ve been quite busy, you see,” he continued with a sneer. “But don’t think I’ve forgotten your existence. I can never forget the face of someone who was sold to me.”

You didn’t answer. The words stung too much, mostly because you’d dared to hope, even briefly, that maybe this place could become a safe haven. Being remembered like this hurt even more. “You’re right, I won’t do it again,” you whispered, too defeated to even let your usual anger consume you. “I was out of line, I’m sorry.”

“Then, act like it,” Hongjoong’s eyes stayed locked on yours, unblinking, his tone dismissive and cold.

He turned his back to you, not bothering to wait for your reply as he started to walk away. “You shouldn’t have been here,” he added. “Don’t make the same mistake twice. Stay in your lane.”

You were left standing in the same spot he’d left you even after a long time clenching your fists, shame filling your chest at the minor confrontation, the sharp sting of his words looping in your mind, each repetition sharper than the last.

You dug your nails into your palms until it hurt. Good. You needed something to keep yourself grounded because the rage was almost enough to drown you. How dare he treat you like you were disposable?

The worst part was that you were supposed to marry this man, spend the rest of your miserable days walking on eggshells around this insufferable, arrogant bastard? You closed your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose as you took a deep breath.

San told you no one was going to hurt you. He lied, to a certain extent he did, because hurt here came from humiliation and not the hand that’ll lay itself on your skin. You didn’t have to like him, especially since love was completely out of the question, and you had absolutely no obligation to please him, but you would survive this. You had to.

You were following San one Sunday morning as he’d promised to show you the private library after you were no longer skittish after the last encounter with Hongjoong. “I’d love to show you the library today,” San turned, a smile blooming on his face. “Master is very fond of them, as is the Second Master. I’m sure you would, too. It’s quite fascinating.”

“I’ve heard a second and third master being mentioned once or twice before,” you started. “I assume they’re family. Would I be meeting them soon? Should I be wary of them?”

“You would be correct, they are family,” San nodded, pausing in front of the library doorway to face you. “Unfortunately, the Second Master is currently on a…”

He cleared his throat, trailing off to find the right wording like you didn’t already know you’d be marrying into the mafia. “Mission, so to speak. And as you’ve gathered, the Third Master is in Suwon so he should be back soon.”

He took a pause, glancing at his wristwatch before glancing back at you. “Right now, actually. I completely forgot about that,” he cursed under his breath as he looked at you sheepishly. “I apologize, would you mind if I left to instruct someone of his arrival?”

You gave San a small, amused smile, waving him off. “It’s okay. Go do what you need to do. I’ll just wait here.”

“Thank you,” he sighed in relief, already backing away. “I promise I won’t take long.”

You rolled your eyes fondly as he disappeared down the corridor, the sound of his quick footsteps fading behind you. Alone now, you took a slow breath, soaking in the ornate hallway. You didn’t mind waiting, at least you had something to look forward to very soon.

If anything, the wait was very peaceful, but that peace was soon shattered when you heard the door to your left at the far end of the hallway swinging open and two voices suddenly filling in the space of the house. They were unfamiliar, as far as you knew. One thing you noticed was that Hongjoong kept a very limited amount of staff going in and out of the manor.

You shifted nervously, looking to where San had left to see if he was coming back soon, not knowing where to go and how to interact with Hongjoong’s possible guests. He always had people over he was constantly talking to and you didn’t know how he’d reprimand you if he saw you talking to them.

“You got me fucked up if you think I’m not getting back at you for this,” the first man who entered snorted, his bright and shameless laughter put you on high alert. You watched as he made a show of stretching his limbs exaggeratedly. “You know I can’t stand economy flights, Seonghwa, why would you subject me to this torture?”

Then came the second voice, calm and firm, but edged with exasperation. “Forgive me for being presumptuous if I say you’re not going to die being a normal person just this once, master,” he said flatly, closing the door behind him with a sigh.

They were quite a pair, you noticed. It was easy to assume that this was the infamous Third Master Hongjoong had been waiting for. His eyes sparkled with mischief, his playful smirk clearly irritating his older, taller companion.

“We had to blend in, you know that,” the taller man - model - Seonghwa continued, gracefully trudging two suitcases behind him. “Hongjoong is going to throw a fit if he finds out we’re being tailed.”

The other man scoffed once more, letting out an obnoxious laughter that frankly reminded you of a hyena. “He’ll be fine,” he waved his hand off-handedly as he started to walk. “I could just—”

He came to a dramatic halt when he saw you standing in the hallway, blinking in complete surprise. He was a lot younger than you thought he was, his boyish charm was impossible to ignore. He observed you from head to toe before he let out a grin that was too wide to be innocent.

Seonghwa almost did a halt, but his was more sudden than his companion. Recognition flashed in his eyes and you would’ve missed it if you weren’t paying attention. He was more reserved, after all. If the first man was chaos, this one was control.

“Well, well, well,” the grinning one drawled, ignoring Seonghwa’s pointed sigh. “What’s a beautiful thing like you doing here?”

You blinked, taken slightly aback by the sheer confidence in his tone. “I’m not an intruder,” you said cautiously. “I-I’m waiting for San.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re not. I would’ve already known if you were,” he smirked as he stepped forward, confidence dripping with every step, until he stopped in front of you. Shivers ran through your spine. He reminded you of Hongjoong’s predatory nature. “And I wouldn’t be smiling.”

He held his hands up for you to shake. “Jung Wooyoung, and my heart is yours to intrude, if you’d like. You’ll find that I’m very easy to rob,” He gave a unapologetic bow, his smirk widening. “You could do it now if you’d like—”

“She’s not available,” Seonghwa cut in, his tone flat, his gaze flicking to you with a subtle nod of acknowledgement. “Wooyoung, please, contain yourself, you embarrassment.”

Woooyoung backed off slightly, the confusion in his face palpable. “She’s not available?” He frowned. “Why not?”

Seonghwa leaned in slightly, whispering something low against Wooyoung’s ear, voice so quiet you couldn’t catch the words. Wooyoung froze, his gaze towards you no longer flirtatious, the warmth in his eyes being replaced by something so cold and calculating that had you taking a small step back.

You’d seen that look before - on Mingi, of all people. But then, just as suddenly, the light snapped back on. Your sense of danger heightened; Wooyoung and Mingi reminded you of Hongjoong the most. You had to avoid them at all costs.

Wooyoung gasped, hand flying to his chest like he was scandalized. “I don’t believe it,” he blurted out. “You’re marrying Hongjoong?”

Wooyoung looked at you again, a wild laugh tumbling out as he shook his head. “Wow. Poor thing. You’re how old? This’ll be so awkward during dinners when people ask me, especially Mingi. How did Mingi react to Hongjoong owning you?”

You frowned, not understanding Mingi’s significance. “Not well, I guess,” you admitted before you gave him a pointed glare. “And I’m no one’s property.”

“Nuances,” he shrugged. “Well, if you get sick of Hongjoong’s moodiness, my room’s on the east wing, just a few doors away from his office—”

“There will be none of that,” Seonghwa said dryly, voice heavy with the kind of weariness that could only come from years of enduring Wooyoung’s antics.

“I didn’t hear a no from her,” Wooyoung sing-songed.

“Wooyoung, shut up,” Seonghwa whisper-shouted in warning.

“Anyway, I could take you to dinner,” he wiggled his brows, grabbing your hand. You were almost appalled at his audacity and shied away, yanking your hand away quickly.

“Wooyoung.”

He turned to Seonghwa in exasperation. “Why are you messing up my groove, Hwa? God, you’re just like my father at this point-–”

“You fucking fool,” Seonghwa cut in coldly, stepping aside as he jabbed a finger toward the other end of the hallway. “Congratulations. Now you’ll find out what the afterlife is like.”

Wooyoung followed his gaze, then yelped so loud it echoed through the hallways, because at the far end of the corridor, shadowed in the doorway with the light behind him stood none other than Hongjoong. His arms were crossed and his expression screamed death.

Your stomach turned, the blood draining from your face as he stared at you. They were dark, narrowed into slits, filled with a contained fury. This was the first time you were seeing him days after your altercation at the living room and his presence reminded you of how remarkably terrifying this man was.

“Wooyoung,” Hongjoong said, voice low, crisp, and venomous. “My office. Now.”

All the color drained from Wooyoung’s face, his smirk crumbled, replaced by a sheepish half-smile and a muttered, “Ah. Right. Of course. Be right there.”

“And you. Be ready, there will be a family dinner tonight,” Hongjoong turned his unyielding attention to someone behind you. “Brief her, manners included.” He eyes you up and down, and you blushed in humiliation once more, trying not to look as small as you felt with his judging gaze. “Lord knows you need brushing up.”

You barely heard Wooyoung’s nervous chuckle as he stumbled past you, still trying to mask his own fear. But it didn’t matter, your attention was solely fixed entirely on the man who still hadn’t moved an inch, still standing in that doorway like a judge awaiting a verdict before you felt yourself being pulled back by Seonghwa.

“I am terribly sorry about that,” he apologized, leading you to the side door where he came from. “He’s not that bad, I promise. Just a bit aloof, and Hongjoong, he’s uh, something, but it’ll get better with time.”

You hummed, not knowing what to say. You couldn’t possibly say that their boss spiked a little fear in you somehow. As you were walking, you were pleasantly surprised to see red tulips blooming. You grinned, quickly running off to look closer.

However, you wouldn’t be the only ones to admire them. Mingi turned the tulip in his fingers with surprising care, before he set his eyes on you and Seonghwa before approaching. His walk, alone, screamed intimidation and hesitated. Mingi trained his sharp eyes on you before he set his attention back on the red tulip bud he was holding.

“Since when did we have these?” He murmured absentmindedly. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re back. Wooyoung? I heard him whining and bitching around here somewhere.”

“Since now, I guess,” Seonghwa curiously grabs the tulips and hums. He turns to you with a soft smile and shows you the tulip up close. “Say, Y/N, may I ask what your favourite flowers are?”

You didn’t answer immediately, not with Mingi staring at you. You tried not to look at him, but you could feel his stare dissecting your every breath and it made your spine stiffen. “These ones,” you answered softly, cradling a nearby petal. “Red tulips.”

A strange silence followed and when you glanced up cautiously, you found the both of them staring at one another curiously. Mingi’s eyes narrowed, and Seonghwa raised an eyebrow, as if they all knew something you didn’t. “Anyway,” Seonghwa cleared his throat. “You should go to the office. Your dad’s probably tearing him a new one. He, uh, may or may not have flirted with her.”

Mingi’s brows shot up in mild surprise. “God, that stupid fuck,” he hissed, shaking his head before he patted Seonghwa’s shoulder once and walking away. “I’ll catch up later, I need to settle the score with him and Father anyway.”

Dad? Father? Those were the only things circling in your head even as Seonghwa had guided you back into your designated room and sat you down on the bed. Your mouth opened and closed repeatedly, because Mingi wasn’t just anyone, he was Hongjoong’s son.

“I take it you had no idea First Master Mingi was Hongjoong’s son?” Seonghwa asked, amusement dancing in his eyes at your bewildered expression. You robotically shook your head in denial. He let out a short, breathy laugh. “Figures. That’s very Hongjoong of him to not tell you,” he shook his head.

You smiled bitterly. “Why would he? I’m nobody to him.”

Seonghwa’s eyes softened. “That’s not it. You have to understand, you are only about seven or so years older than his eldest son. It might not seem like it, but he does have morals.”

San did mention that the so-called masters were family, but you thought that meant they had a brotherly bond. You weren’t expecting literal family. “I just assumed he was one of higher-ups,” you blurted out.

“He technically is, yes,” Seonghwa confirmed. “He’s set to inherit the title once Hongjoong retires. Wooyoung is the next in line given that the Second Master is not interested in the title.”

You blinked repeatedly. Then it hits you - there was yesterday when San mentioned a Third Master. Wooyoung is also Hongjoong’s son. “Mingi is the eldest, Hongjoong had him before he hit twenty because his father wanted him to have a son before he transferred the title to him,” he kindly explained.

“And his mother was, uh,” he tenses a little bit before shaking his head. “She’s not a good person. Only married a Kim to sell the enemy information. There was no love in the marriage anyway, so Hongjoong kicked her out when Mingi was only three. Haven’t seen her since. They’re all about the same age, but Wooyoung’s the youngest. There’s a reason he gets away with everything,” he chuckled.

“How come Wooyoung doesn’t share a last name with Hongjoong?” You asked.

“It’s because Wooyoung is not his biological son,” Seonghwa answered. “Neither is Second Master, but they’re biological brothers, however. They were his former right-hand’s sons, but he died in a hit gone wrong. They both got along with Mingi even before then, so adopting them was a no-brainer. But that doesn’t matter, they are his sons.”

You took that in slowly. Three sons; one cold and carved from stone, another a carefree spark of chaos, and a third somewhere in between you hadn’t even met yet. No wonder Mingi looked at you like that. You were just a few years older than him and he was probably naturally weirded out about it.

“Anyway, I’ll leave you to it, you have to get ready for dinner tonight. Since Wooyoung has been gone for three months, it’s customary to welcome him back,” Seonghwa grabs your hand to shake it gently, smiling at you with that smile that eased your worries for a bit. “Don’t mind Hongjoong. I’m sure you’ll do well. It’s very nice to finally meet you, Y/N.”

You didn’t pay much attention to Seonghwa’s words. It’s very nice to finally meet you. You didn’t bother to dress up too much as you stood in front of the mirror longer than you should have, smoothing invisible wrinkles from your clothes. For a moment, you thought about putting on makeup, but you’d always felt like a child trying to play dress-up.

When you finally stepped out of the room and down the long hallway toward the dining hall, your legs felt hollow. The muted murmur of voices from behind the doors swelled with each step. And you hated how it reminded you of that night - your first time meeting Hongjoong.

Thankfully, he wasn’t ignoring you because he was looking straight at you, arms crossed as he watched your awkward form walk to the centre of the room, as San led to the chair to sit directly to his left. You cursed internally, you were betting on settling in the background and would have chosen to sit on the far end of the table.

Thankfully, everyone was here, though you couldn’t really focus on them. Mingi sat in front of you, Seonghwa and San, respectively, sitting beside him. You were sure you wouldn’t be the only one who couldn’t breathe with Hongjoong’s menacing aura. Still, you were relieved, at least you wouldn’t be alone.

“Howdy, pretty,” Wooyoung saluted flirtatiously beside you, his eyes twinkling with mischief and excitement. You saw the man beside him roll his eyes dramatically, but didn’t say a word. You gave Wooyoung a tight smile out of politeness.

“Scram if you’re going to be insufferable, Wooyoung,” Hongjoong sighed, irritation palpable on his expression before he set his eyes on you. “And you, don’t do that ever again. You’re here to represent me. You know what that entails. I know you’re not as dull as you seem.”

You gritted your teeth, forcing a meek nod as a response. Wooyoung scoffs obnoxiously, ignoring the first statement directed to him. “Relax, nobody’s taking your woman from you,” he teased. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you. You’re practically frothing at the mouth.”

You could tell Hongjoong was close to exploding judging from the vein popping on his temples that protruded so much, it looked like it hurt. Instead, he puts his hands up, gesturing to the stoic man sitting beside Wooyoung. “This is Jongho,” he said, voice flat and uninterested. “He will be your bodyguard from now on. Jongho, show your respect.”

You blinked in surprise. This was the last thing you ever expected, but you welcomed it. You were surprised, however, Jongho didn’t look like he was much older than you. His face was carved with stoicism and impassiveness. “I’ll do my best to keep you safe,” Jongho said plainly, voice deep and steady.

“Right, let's get a few things out of the way,” Hongjoong started, voice still as sharp and astute as if time was running out, the entire time the staff was piling dinner on the table. “When did your parents pass away?”

That question hit you harder than all the insults and coldness he directed towards you. You were expecting something else, even about your uncle’s failing business that you had no idea about, but certainly not this. “When I was sixteen,” you blurted out. “It was sudden, I was told it was a hit and run.”

Hongjoong’s question had sliced through the dinner like a blade, and your answer left a ringing silence in its wake.You swallowed, suddenly hyper aware of how cold the room felt. Across the table, Mingi’s gaze sharpened instantly, replaced by something cold and alert. He flicked his eyes towards Hongjoong, a silent communication passing between them. And even Wooyoung let out a slow exhale, his playful demeanor was nowhere to be found.

Hongjoong nodded, his stern face not giving anything away. “Hit and run?” He repeated slowly, like tasting the words. “That’s what they told you? Who told you that?”

“M-My uncle,” you answered truthfully.

“Hmm,” Hongjoong hummed brusquely. “That good-for-nothing leech during dinner?”

You nodded stiffly. A beat passes, something about the way his jaw muscle ticked and his exhale changed. “When did you start living with him?”

“Right after the funeral,” you replied. “He took me before my other family members had a chance to say their condolences to me.”

“And?” he asked, voice clipped. “How bad was he?”

Just like that, memories upon memories of all the hurt, emotionally and physically, started playing in your brain like an old camera film. Subconsciously, you touched your neck. The bruises were gone, but you could still feel his hands wrapped around them. “Bad enough,” you replied quietly, avoiding eye contact.

San’s eyes softened. There was a slight crease in his brow, one of restrained empathy. He leaned back slightly, as if he needed space to process it, or to give you some. “Fucking bastard,” he muttered under his breath.

Hongjoong didn’t respond, his eyes lowering to your hand on your neck. His eyes didn’t soften, but the edge in them did dull ever so slightly. He looked at you for one more second before he leaned back on his seat to stare out the large window that overlooked the entire manor.

"You need to act the part if you're going to stay here," Hongjoong said, voice sharp, still looking out the window. You were thankful for the change of topic, it was hard to pretend the questions didn’t sting.

You glanced wearily at him from where you were sitting. “What part?”

“You are going to be Mrs. Kim very soon, and you will be associated with me,” he said. “That means whatever you do will reflect on me, including both your victory and your defeat. I do not want the likes of you to embarrass me.”

You clenched your hands in your lap to keep them from shaking. Your identity was being stripped down, reshaped into someone he could not even tolerate standing next to. It was next level humiliation.

“I will not tolerate disrespect from any outsiders about what’s mine, hence me giving you a bodyguard,” he continued, casually sipping on his wine. “I refuse my family to be a laughingstock of some sorts. You will be under my name, so you will be under my protection.”

Under his name, not sharing his name. He was basically telling you that you will become his burden and liability. “It is imperative that no one knows about us for now. You will not wear a ring, and you will not speak about our arrangement. ”

You swallowed, throat tight. “So what am I supposed to be, then? Your accessory?”

He leaned closer, and your breath caught in your chest. “Play the game. Or pack your things.”

“Now, hold on a minute,” a voice cut off, one you weren’t expecting. Everybody looks at Wooyoung curiously, the cutlery in the background halting. “Don’t you think this is a bit much, Dad? You’re asking her to erase herself in front of everyone. Hide everything. No ring, no identity, no dignity? You want her to protect your name, but you won’t even give her the same courtesy?”

Your heart thumped. Was someone finally on your side? And of all the people, his own son? The one who you thought was a flirt. Hongjoong shifted his gaze. “Since when did you start calling me Dad?” He asked, tone cold now, sharpened to a lethal edge. “Do not undermine me at my own table, Jung Wooyoung.”

You weren’t that much of an idiot - this engagement was a farce because he was hiding you like a shadow. It was erasure disguised as a strategy. It stung, not that you were expecting him to hold you and show you off, but still.

Your fingers brushed against the gold fork, just drowning out the fight, and you were about to dig in when your plate was suddenly pushed away. Horrified, you stared at Hongjoong who had a passive expression on his face. “Don’t eat anything,” he stated, cold eyes drilling onto your wide ones, his fingers still on the edge of the plate he so callously pushed off. “Not until I say so.”

You froze, absolutely mortified at what he had done. You could accept all the insults and the cold shoulder he’d been presenting you in his house, but this? You swallowed the lump in your throat and kept your head down, your hands curling into your lap like they didn’t belong at the table. Your stomach had long since stopped growling - embarrassment had a way of killing hunger.

“She didn’t do anything. Why would you do that?” Seonghwa spoke, his tone laced with disbelief, his brows furrowed as he looked from the plate to you, then back to Hongjoong. Even Jongho, who had been trying to eat quietly, had stopped.

“No one eats until she does,” Wooyoung muttered suddenly, pushing his own plate away with a sharp scrape. He didn’t even look at Hongjoong. His focus was entirely on you, his eyes softening slightly. “I love you and all, Hongjoong, but we’re not playing these games. If you’re jealous, just say so.”

“Then none of you are eating,” Hongjoong snarled. The sudden sound of a chair scraping violently against the floor shattered the moment. Everyone flinched, heads turning just in time to see Hongjoong push himself up from his seat with a grace so sharp it cut through the hum of the room. “Get up,” he said, his jaw locked, his fists white-knuckled.

Your head whipped toward him in disbelief. “W-What?”

His eyes, narrowed and glinting with something unreadable, didn’t budge. “I said, get up.” His tone was low and lethal; it didn’t leave room for any arguments.

He didn’t wait for your response, not until he just grabbed you by the arm all of a sudden, dragging you away from the crowd and straight to the living room staircase. “What are you—?”

“You,” he spat, voice low and accusing. “What spell did you cast on them? How did you get everyone to turn against me?”

You blinked, stunned by the sudden accusation, but you couldn’t say anything as Hongjoong’s eyes darkened further, shadows flickering in their depths as his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Jongho. Take her to her room. No more scenes.”

Hongjoong’s gaze lingered on you for a heartbeat longer, a mix of frustration and something unreadable in his expression before walking away. It was like Hongjoong ripped your heart out directly from your chest and took it with him, leaving your insides hollow in its wake.

“I apologize on his behalf. Hongjoong’s not good at expressing how he truly feels. You’re not missing much on the food, if it matters,” he assuaged in an attempt to make you feel better as he led you upstairs. “The steak was tough, the dressing was bland, and the avocados were mushy as hell. Our chef was sick, so we had to hire another one. Their last day, it seems.”

You swivelled your head slowly to look at Jongho. “W-What did you say was in the dressing?”

“Huh? Avocados? Yeah, it’s like someone stepped on them and plopped them on the plate. Bleh.”

Your heart rate began to pick up abnormally. You were deadly allergic to avocados. “Really?” Your voice cracked slightly, the information settling in your head like a broken record.

“Really,” he confirmed with a soft smile that emphasized how young he actually was.

Avocado allergies were rare. Even when you were younger, it was easy to avoid them, and even your uncle didn’t know you had an allergy. Not that he gave you avocados, he was cheap on you like that.

But besides that, you definitely screwed up last night. From what you’ve observed, not only was Hongjoong’s fuse short already, but his anger was difficult to dissipate as well. You needed to figure out a way to appease him, you didn’t want him calling off the engagement.

“You want to make Hongjoong’s dinner every night, you said?” San’s brows were both raised up to his hairline. “Are you sure, Y/N? Hongjoong’s quite the picky eater.”

You ignored the voice in your head that bristled at the thought of a man in his mid-forties still picky with his food. “It might not seem like it, but I’m a capable cook, I swear,” you joked. “I’ve had a lot of practice living with my uncle.”

San’s eyes softened significantly, but in the end, he relented. “I’ll instruct the staff to vacate the kitchen come nighttime,” he sighed.

True to his words, the kitchen was all yours by 6 o’clock at night. You didn’t even have time to marvel around the luxurious setup, you had no time to waste. Not when you had to prove yourself useful. When push comes to shove, maybe you could be his chef instead of his wife rather than your uncle’s niece again.

You didn’t make anything fancy, just a simple soup to gauge what Hongjoong might like or might not. You even tried your best to make the vegetables in it barely visible, that’s how much effort you put in it.

You were about to bring the soup up to his office when by sheer coincidence, Hongjoong, himself, showed up to the kitchen, and judging by his slightly raised brow at you holding the bowl with an apron still on you, he wasn’t expecting to see anyone in the kitchen, let alone you of all people.

“H-Hi,” you stammered, avoiding out contact, awkwardly. “I, uh, I made you something.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, just blinking repeatedly, before sighing. “Don’t stay up late next time,” was all he said before he moved past you to walk out of the kitchen as if he didn’t want to be there in the first place.

Hongjoong disappeared into his study, the sound of the door clicking shut behind him like punctuation to the silence he left behind. You let out a shaky breath, the sting of his blatant rejection making your legs shake as you sat on the dining chair. Maybe tomorrow.

But he still didn’t eat. You did it again the next day anyway, even when the results were the same. You weren’t a master chef by any means, but one thing you were proud of was that you put genuine care on all of the things your hands create.

You patiently waited for Hongjoong, ready to try and spend time with him at dinner even though the both of you never got along since he disliked you. The thought of being face to face made your heartbeat go wilder than the prospect of him accepting your efforts.

By the fifth night after another failed attempt, you asked around to figure out what Hongjoong’s favourite foods were. You tried to ignore the pitying looks San sent you while Seonghwa quietly cleaned another plate of ignored efforts, taking everything with a smile on your face even though on the inside, you felt like crying.

You clutched another plate a little tighter again the next day, heat bleeding through porcelain and into your palms. You wondered if he even knew or if he smelled the spices in the air, wondered if he saw your sleeping form on the couch when you were too tired to wait for him.

Maybe you didn’t need him to eat it, maybe you just needed him to pause - to look at you like you were more than the terms of a deal neither of you asked for. But instead, all he gave you was a sigh and his absence. And there you were - offering warmth with shaking hands to a man who’d rather freeze.

Hope began to dwindle when you didn’t even see Hongjoong’s shadow anymore by the seventh night. You started plating smaller portions out of humiliation and by the ninth, you didn’t bother waiting for Hongjoong anymore, just quietly making the food and leaving it in the kitchen, not even bothering to check if it was eaten or if Seonghwa had thrown it away.

You decided to stop after another week. You were tired of waking up in the room to Seonghwa’s shaking head when you looked at him expectantly. However, you wanted to make dinner for the last time not just for Hongjoong anymore, but for everyone who’s been nothing but accommodating to you.

You just needed a couple of ingredients to make what you needed, and for that, you wanted to pick them out yourself. That was how you found yourself directly in front of Hongjoong’s office where you knew he always was, steeling your nerves to knock and ask if there was a car that you could use to drive yourself to the market.

You were about to knock when you stopped yourself. There was a heated conversation going inside the office and by the sound of it, it was Hongjoong and Seonghwa. You could hardly hear what they were talking about.

“....can’t keep doing this….giving her the cold shoulder, Joong…she’ll find out….what are you going to do then?”

“Give me time…..so close to caging in Yoo Jaehwan, that bastard…no one can know….make sure he’ll pay….Yeosang.”

Your entire body locked, coldness spreading all over your chest at the mention of your uncle’s name. Those were Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s voices, you were positive, but what were they talking about?

“....won’t be safe forever, you know that. San….intel on the hit and run….was damn impossible to….think Jaehwan knows?”

“There’s no denying it…..will be safer here....never forgive myself if something happens….my everything—who’s there?”

You cursed internally when you accidentally misplaced your foot, causing your body to bump onto the door. You were about to turn and run away, to pretend that you were never here in the first place, but it was too late. The door swung open, revealing Hongjoong’s stern figure, eyes sharp and searching. His gaze landed on you in mild surprise, his chest rising slightly from how fast he'd moved.

“Y/N?“ You saw his hand squeeze the doorknob ever so slightly. Still, you can’t help the shiver that passed through you. That was the first time he’d ever said your name. “How long have you been standing there?”

His voice was low, but it wasn’t calm. “What did I tell you about sneaking around like a damn rat?”

“I-I just got here, I swear,” you swallowed, hard. He stared at you, deadpan. In no timeline or galaxy did he believe you. “I want to go out. I-I know there’s a market near here and—”

“Absolutely not,” he rejected, his voice rising up in pitch ever so slightly in disbelief. “You’re not going out.”

The denial was harsh and brutal - hell, he didn’t even let you finish your sentence - but this was also the first time you saw any other emotion on him other than anger, annoyance, and intimidation. “I really want to go—” you tried again.

“And I said no,” he repeated, his voice a little harsher this time.

You were taken aback. It wasn’t just the denial that struck you, it was the sheer urgency in his tone. It was the look in his eyes that if you stared hard enough, you could’ve found uneasiness and dread swimming in them.

“But I haven’t been out ever since I came here,” you blurted out in equal disbelief. He was the most arrogant and controlling one you’ve ever met and that was saying a lot. “I want to buy some produce—”

“Order it online, I don’t give a damn,” he snapped. He was about to close the door on you, but you put your foot to block it. “What the hell are you—”

“Please, Hongjoong,” you begged. It was a massive hit on your own ego and pride, but you were going to lose your mind if you don’t find fresh air soon. “I-I won’t even stay long, I’ll keep my phone on me.”

He stilled, his gaze faltered. You saw his throat tighten as he looked towards the floor. “Hongjoong,” he repeated under his breath, so soft you almost missed it.

Your breath hitched. He said it so softly that you almost missed it. Except you didn’t. You weren’t even sure if you were meant to hear it. Seonghwa, who forgot was also in the room, cleared his throat, thus breaking that unspoken tension you found with Hongjoong. “I could take her—” he started gently, but Hongjoong cut him off with a look, his neck snapping up so fast that it scared you a little.

Hongjoong’s eyes hardened again, and this time, they were the darkest you had ever seen. “I don’t keep you to tolerate her, Seonghwa,” he barked before turning to you one last time. “You’re not going out. That’s final.”

His gaze lingered a moment longer on you, eyes glinting with something between rage and warning, before he completely shut the door on you. He didn’t slam it, but it still knocked the wind out of your lungs as the finality of his denial settles in on you.

Something shifted in you at the moment. At first, you had mistaken it for fatigue. The stress of constantly trying to walk on eggshells with Hongjoong just so you wouldn’t say the wrong things in case he decided to call off the marriage, the late nights staying up making him dinner he didn’t even want, they were starting to get to you.

It didn’t happen all at once, but now the weight in your chest didn’t feel like fear anymore, it felt like fury - no, you knew it was. The final push was so mundane it almost felt insulting. You could feel your anger simmering and it was only a matter of time until it boiled over.

You were tempted to bang on the door like a madwoman, but you chose to walk away to the one place you knew would give you comfort - the garden. But even the flowers weren’t enough to make you feel better. If anything, they emphasized how infinitely colourless your world was.

You clenched your jaw, jaw tight as you sat down on one of the benches, arms crossed, trying to remind yourself that you were still here. You were still standing and still breathing. You weren’t going to fall apart over someone like him.

“Your energy is so strong that I wouldn’t be surprised if the flowers started to wilt.”

You rolled your eyes, not really in the mood to talk to anybody, but when Jongho sat beside you, you couldn’t help but relax a bit. You’ve always loved company regardless of how you felt. You’ve been alone all your life, so it was always nice to have someone. “How did you know I was here anyway?” You murmured with a small pout.

Jongho chuckled, absentmindedly fiddling with a lone petal. “I’m not your bodyguard for nothing. I’m always watching.”

“That’s totally not creepy at all,” you chuckled a little, shaking your head.

He laughed, shifting his weight before letting out a slow breath. “He’s not mad at you, you know.”

You snorted, giving him an incredulous look, but Jongho just smiled. “I’m serious. Don’t take it personally,” he said softly. “He’s just scared. That’s all.”

You didn’t care what Hongjoong’s intentions were, but in reality, you were starving for anything that made you feel less like a ghost haunting someone else's palace. Yet your mind wandered, uninvited and unwelcome, back to that moment at the door when you’d said his name. But it wasn’t your own desperation that haunted you - it was his reaction. How his gaze had faltered and how he’d gone utterly still.

If there was something to behold about your personality, it was that you were nothing but persistent, after all. It was the reason why you’ve come so far in your miserable life. So you tried again after a couple of days to ask Hongjoong again if you could go out.

Whatever conversation you overheard him and Seonghwa must have set him off that day so you figured you’d let his anger simmer and try to catch him in a good mood. Yesterday, you even saw him in the living room, casually reading the newspaper - you almost smiled at that because it inadvertently showed his age - while chatting casually with Mingi.

Now that you knew the real nature of their relationship, you could clearly see how much Mingi resembled Hongjoong, who honestly didn’t look a day over forty if it wasn’t for reading glasses resting low on his nose. God, you thought, that detail alone betrayed his age more than anything.

So you gathered your courage and waited when you knew he was going to be alone in his office in the afternoon. You took a deep breath, rapped your knuckles on the door before opening it slightly enough to poke your head in.

But he wasn’t here. That surprised you more than anything, mainly because it wasn’t much of a secret how much of a workaholic Hongjoong was. Even if you didn’t hear Wooyoung complain about it a lot, it wasn’t like you couldn’t see it.

Against your better judgment, you entered the room, opting to just wait in his room for his return, but not closing the door to signal that someone was here. Last thing you wanted was for Hongjoong to think you were intruding. You were hanging on your last thread with him as is. His office screamed of him all over.

Admittedly, you balked at the slight mess on his table as you walked towards the leather couches to sit down, but before you could do so, something inadvertently catches your eye amongst the mess that was his desk.

Half-tucked under a stack of manila folders and faded blueprints, barely sticking out like it had slipped by accident, was a photo. You reached for it on instinct - then froze. It was you.

Specifically, it was your graduation photo. You were smiling, though you could tell that it didn’t reach your eyes.. The photo was frayed along the edges and the corners were soft from wear. There was a faint crease running down the middle, as if it had been folded and unfolded a hundred times over. Your heart thudded, your hands shaking immensely. You shouldn’t have looked.

“You have thirty seconds to explain what you’re doing in my office before I lose all civility.”

The way your entire body trembled with uncouth shock was something to be seen. Hongjoong stood there, his sharp eyes trained on the photo you were holding in your hand, his jaw tightening. “Time is ticking, Y/N. You’re twenty-seconds away from having a very, very bad day.”

You put the photo haphazardly back on his desk. “I wanted to ask again if I could, perhaps, go out—”

You were stunned into absolute silence when he banged his fist on the door once but with enough force to shake the whole world around the both of you. “Are you deaf?” His tone sliced the air in half like a blade. “Or just unbelievably stupid? Didn’t I tell you that you cannot go out? How many times do I have to tell you?”

You stood frozen, the heat of his fury scorching your skin, but he wasn’t done. “You’re either acting like an imbecile, or you really are one. And I’m supposed to marry you? I’m already doing your uncle a favour by not shooting him between the eyes, but my God, this is pushing it. ”

His words gutted you. You were used to your uncle calling you all the insults in the book, but this was something else, Hongjoong was basically judging your entire personality from the skin side out, and that hurt more than anything else because he doesn’t even know you.

But you were only human, and even animals bite back when wounded. “You’re no different than my uncle,” you slipped out, unshed tears lining the corners of your eyes. “You’re hiding something from me. Why are you locking me in?”

He scoffed, eyes glinting with something that felt like contempt. “Please. Don’t insult me like that. He sent you to me like a lamb to a slaughterhouse. You just haven’t thanked me for the knife yet.”

You didn’t even know what expression your face was making, only that your cheeks felt hot and your throat burned like you’d swallowed fire. “I hate you,” your lips wobbled, looking at him with indignance in your eyes. “I hate you.”

He laughed bitterly, without humor, without restraint. “Yeah?” His voice was sharp, venomous. “Well, you’re about to hate me more.”

Then he turned, grabbed an envelope from the desk, and threw it at you. Money spilled out like a slap, some bills fluttering to the floor at your feet. “There, this is what you wanted, is it not? Now you can pretend you’re not living inside a cage.”

To say you were appalled would be an understatement. Your heart curled into itself, shriveling behind your ribs. Before you could fully break down, you ran out without another word, not bothering to look at him or the money littered across the room as you ran until your legs gave out in a random corridor of the mansion.

You didn’t bother minimizing your loudness, your hands trembling against the marble as you choked back a sob, quiet and broken. You haven’t cried in a long time, mainly because you refused to for someone like him, but this wasn’t just for Hongjoong. They were for everything; for the girl you used to be, the child who lost her parents, for the woman you were failing to become, and for the bride you never wanted to be.

The rubber band holding yourself together snaps, so you ran down the corridors, through the driveway, past the gigantic gates, anywhere but there. You didn’t know where you were going, but you needed to breathe somewhere he wasn’t.

It wasn’t until your shoes hit an unfamiliar pavement that you realized that you were far away from the estate. In fact, you were in a small park with a playground. The sight was haunting, the play place devoid of the telltale laughter of children. It was perfect.

The adrenaline that kept you going had long worn off, but you didn’t care as you walked warily towards the swings and sat on it. Your fists clenched around the swing’s cold chains as more tears fell freely now. You didn't bother wiping them away. Why were you here anyway? To get away from a man who doesn’t want you even when you knew the invisible chains that tied you two together would shorten again?

Pathetic.

You had fantasized about the idea of finding freedom in a marriage that saved your life. You had hoped that maybe Hongjoong would grow on you, and him on you, but those fantasies had shriveled and rotted the moment Kim Hongjoong opened his mouth. And so, you let yourself swing, forward and back, forward and back, as if maybe, just maybe, you could go far enough to leave the hurt behind.

You were there for a while, you didn’t move when the sun started to set. You didn’t move when thunder clapped on the sky above. You didn’t move when the first set of raindrops fell onto your skin, sticking to your clothes like a fever that you can’t sweat out. You didn’t care.

You would’ve stayed there forever, let the ocean take you, but someone else had plans for you that day. At first, you couldn’t hear it above the rain and the thunder, but the unmistakable sound of footsteps hitting puddles was impossible to ignore.

You closed your eyes, willing your mind to focus, but when you opened them again, you froze. Hongjoong stood from afar, drenched to the bone, his head whipping around like a madman. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths, but when his eyes met yours, his shoulders hunched like the entire world had just been lifted off his back and thrown back on again. You closed your eyes again, praying that he’d go away if you pretended to not see him, but just like you, Hongjoong was nothing but persistent, after all.

“Open your eyes and look at me,” he demanded, his voice losing its sharp edge, making way for an emotion you weren’t sure you were ready to hear from him.

By God, he looked devastating. His breath ragged, chest rising up and down, jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might snap. His usual posh and classy look was missing as water dripped from his hair into his dark, unreadable eyes. And he looked absolutely furious.

“Go away,” you said, voice thin and cold, wrenching yourself from his grip. “Leave me alone.”

You stood up, but your legs wobbled, and he caught your arm before you could fall. His grip was tight, almost bruising. Your heart almost thudded out of your ribs when he pulled you close, both of his hands holding your shoulders now.

“Stop it,” he barked, but his voice was hoarse. He shook his head, closing his eyes before opening them again with a shaky sigh. “Why are you such a fucking pain in my ass? I’m too old for this shit.”

He sighed sharply, his hand hastily pushing his wet hair away from his face in frustration. His other hand lingered at your arm, warm despite the storm, as he stepped in closer, lowering his voice. “I will bring the market to you next time, alright?”

The wind howled around you, but you didn’t even notice. His fingers twitched like they were about to reach for you, but you turned your face away just about when he stopped inches away from your skin before he fisted his hand, his gritting teeth audible in the rain.

“I’ll take you back,” he said, voice sharp again. “Before you get yourself sick and make my life even more difficult than it already is.”

His hand clasped yours tightly as he pulled you along with him through the rain. His hand didn’t leave yours until you reached the car, and maybe he felt bad for you, but when he grabbed your hand again when he started driving, it wasn’t out of pity.

If anything, he held tighter. His hand found yours on your lap, his thumb softly caressing the still damp skin of your upturned hand, not letting go even when he had to swerve and turn. He said nothing. He stared ahead through the rain-blurred windshield, jaw clenched tight, knuckles white on the steering wheel, but he never let go.

And you didn’t pull away either. Because even though your chest hurt from his words, the warmth of his palm over yours was the first thing all day that didn’t feel cruel. It seemed to lull you into a short slumber even.

The soft brake of the car was what brought you back to sentience. You watched Hongjoong press some sort of button on his car before radio static comes to life from it. “Third wing master bedroom. I’m going for a ride,” he said gruffly before he let go and pressed the bridge of his nose.

The chill of the storm probably disoriented you and you didn’t understand, but when your door opened to be face to face with the gentle Seonghwa, you were a bit surprised to find that you were parked directly in front of the mansion front door.

“Come on,” he said quietly, holding onto your shoulders and not caring if you were wet, like he knew what you had already gone through. “Let’s get you warm.”

He guided and helped you get out but you yanked to a stop when you realized that something was stopping you - Hongjoong’s hand still entwined with yours. You turned your head toward him. Hongjoong hadn’t moved, his eyes locked with yours, burning but hollowed out. And for a heartbeat, everything was still. The world, the storm, the ache in your chest.

But he let go, shutting the door softly before driving off to the night to God-knows-where. You wouldn’t know, Seonghwa was already guiding you inside the mansion by your shoulders. His hands were gentle, his movements even more patient.

His eyes dropped into sympathetic comfort, his hand slightly squeezing your shoulders. He gently walked the both of you into the living room where the fireplace was already hot and going.

San was already there waiting for you, eyes wide with panic along with Jongho who handed him a thick blanket. “Wrap up, yeah? Don’t want you getting sick now,” he said, quickly bundling you to warm you up. “You ran out during that storm? What the hell were you thinking?”

“Give her space, San,” Seonghwa said, but the relief in his voice was palpable. He handed you a mug of something warm, ginger tea, you guessed, and crouched down beside you, eyes soft. “We were all looking. You scared us.”

Suddenly, Jongho dropped to his knees, bowing his head low, much to your surprise. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I should have kept an eye, I didn’t guard you enough.”

“W-What? No,” you frowned, hesitantly patting his head. “It’s not your fault. You’re not my keeper–“

Before you could even answer, Wooyoung appeared behind him, surprisingly less loud but just as concerned. “Yeah, you tell him that,” he scoffed softly, arms crossed to his chest, shaking his head slightly. “Hongjoong almost killed him in sheer anger. Seriously, why did you do that?”

It was the most serious you’ve ever seen the man, but of course, he was still as dramatic as ever. His eyes darted from you to the others before dramatically flopping onto the arm of the couch. “I’ve never seen him like that before,” he chortled. “Like, ever. Hell, he doesn’t even react that bad when me and my brothers get shot or something.”

“It can’t be that bad,” you murmured, fiddling with the blanket. “I wasn’t even gone for long. I was going to come back.”

That was when all three of them looked at you like you’d grown a second head. “Not long?” Jongho echoed, his brows shooting up in disbelief. “You’ve been gone for hours, Y/N.”

“Hongjoong practically tore the city apart,” San shook his head. “You were gone for over five hours. Five. That’s not just a walk in the park, that’s a goddamn vanishing act. I swear he was about to murder us if he couldn’t find you.”

You blinked, confused. “He was…looking for me?”

“Obviously,” Wooyoung rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue. “I’ve never seen him lose control like that before. But seriously, please don’t do that again. I’m not ready for Mingi to inherit the business in case Dad gets an aneurysm.”

You looked down at your lap, shame filling your lungs along with the thudding of your heartbeat. “I didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

“But you did,” Wooyoung muttered, but his tone wasn’t offensive. “But I get it. I do apologise on his behalf, though. He shouldn’t have thrown money at you. That was unnecessarily cruel, even for him.”

Seonghwa gave your shoulder a squeeze. “You’re safe now and that’s all that matters. Hongjoong should be back shortly,” he helps you up once more. “Come along. You should wash up so you don’t get sick.”

You thanked everyone before you let Seonghwa guide you into a part of the mansion you’ve never been at, let alone the room he took you in before he bid you a goodnight with a promise to check on you the next day.

You sighed deeply, trudging your feet to the shower. Your heart swells the moment you opened that door, it smelled of Hongjoong. It was hard not to remember the way his fingers had clung to yours, how they didn’t tremble until after he’d let go, the entire time you washed up and got ready for bed.

When morning came, your eyes fluttered open when the first ray of sunshine hit your face, but you didn’t want to get up - the sheets smelled faintly of sandalwood and something distinctly him, and that the pillow cradled your head felt like a welcome comfort.

For a second, you had, perhaps, thought that everything was a dream, but when you rubbed your eyes and made a move to get up, you were completely startled awake to see the last person you ever thought you’d see the moment you’d opened your eyes.

Hongjoong was fully dressed in a crisp black turtleneck and slacks, hair slightly tousled, as he typed something furiously into his laptop. He didn’t look up when you stirred, but you noticed the subtle clench of his jaw.

“I trust you slept well?” Hongjoong asked, lowering his glasses to stare straight at you.

You willed for your heartbeat to stop thumping so much for fear of him hearing it. You stared straight back at him, noticing the faint shadow under his eyes. “I suppose so,” you said. “You didn’t, though.”

“I’ll say,” he shut his laptop off, reaching for a folder beside it, before leaning on the couch, crossing his arms, his sharp eyes trained on you. “You did sleep on my bed, after all.”

You blinked, the words not sinking in your morning-addled brain yet, but when it did, your mouth dropped open in surprise. “I-I’m so sorry,” you blurted out, heat pooling in your lower belly at the information. No wonder the entire room smelled like him. “I didn’t sleep here on purpose—”

“I know,” he sighed. “I asked Seonghwa to bring you here. Lest you already forgot.”

He took his glasses off, rubbed the bridge of his nose like the weight of the world had been sitting there. “Next time, don’t run off in a storm just to prove a point.”

“That wasn’t what I was doing,” you frowned.

He looked at you then, brief and unreadable. “Then what were you doing?”

“Trying to breathe,” you croaked, your voice dropping down to a whisper that you wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t heard it. “Plus, you looked all night for me.”

He didn’t say anything at first. But the shift in his expression, the subtlety of it, was louder than words. “Freshen up and eat breakfast,” he muttered, tapping the folder in his hand twice. “I have a couple of questions for you.”

You weren’t in the mood to argue with him, certainly not after his obvious attempt in shutting down the conversation completely. Unsurprisingly, your body still ached from last night. You opted for a quick brush of your teeth, tying your hair presentably.

The scent of you had me dizzy. I have to get out of here.

You didn’t bother changing out of the pyjamas Seonghwa had provided for you since you didn’t have clothes here. It would give you an out, and you weren’t ready to face Hongjoong out of shame. That’s exactly what you did. You were about to slip out, when he cleared his throat.

“Where are you going?” Hongjoong stared at you, brows raised.

You gulped, feeling like you were caught doing something you shouldn’t. “Uhm. I’d hate to bother you further. Didn’t you tell me to have breakfast?”

“I did,” he confirmed, gesturing towards a particular direction of the room. “With me.”

Your brain almost shut off with the information. With him? He rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he stood up and opened the balcony door. Your heart practically leapt out of your chest, you were positive that the breakfast set up there wasn’t present when you woke up. Had he instructed someone to set it up while you were in the bathroom?

This was the first time you were ever going to eat with Hongjoong. Not beside him, not five feet across the room like some barely tolerated shadow. With him. And worse, he was making you so nervous that you felt like you’d forgotten how to walk properly as you followed him out, sitting across him awkwardly, not knowing how to place your stiff limbs properly.

You didn’t even register how your hands trembled until you reached for your fork and nearly knocked it off the table. You were just about to dig in, not knowing what else to do, when he stopped you. “Wait,” Hongjoong halted you brusquely.

“W-What?” You froze, hand still mid-air, wondering if you did something wrong.

Instead of replying, Hongjoong reached over your plate and began digging into your food with his chopsticks. You narrowed your eyes in slight annoyance, ready to mouth at him for possibly controlling what you ate and picking at your food without asking, but your heart dropped to your feet by the time he was lifting his chopsticks back up again.

He picked out a couple of raisins from your plate, setting them on his plate one by one as if this wasn’t the first time he’s done this. You stared, blinking rapidly to stop the sting behind your eyes. “I hate raisins,” you suspiciously pointed out.

He pauses, glances at you once through his lashes, before eating like you didn’t say anything. And suddenly, your chest ached with the weight of all the things he wouldn’t tell you. Before you could open that can of worms, he was already flipping open a folder he had brought to the table, effectively cutting off the topic with the sharp precision he was known for.

“I need you to look at a couple of faces for me,” he said, back in business as usual with his clipped utterrance. He slides the files towards you in one, smooth motion. “It’s imperative that you tell me immediately if you see a familiar looking face.”

You were confused, but you took the folder with ease, flipping through pages and pages of different photos of both men and women alike. Hongjoong staring dead into your soul was distracting, but you were sure you'd never seen these people before. You were going to tell him as such, until you stumbled upon the very last photo.

“Him,” you drawled out, surprised at both the face and yourself for pointing it out. “I’ve seen him before…”

The moment you showed him the photo, the tension in his shoulders snapped into visible rigidity. “Where?” he demanded, his voice sharp and urgent. “Where did you see him?”

Truth be told, you would have forgotten about the man if it wasn’t for this. “I passed through him before I reached the park,” you frowned. “I remember him because he had this weird lip piercing.”

Hongjoong cursed under his breath, making the dread in your chest spread like a disease, before he hastily snatched the folder from your hands, his hands fisting the edge of the folder. “Finish your food, darling,” he said hurriedly, the darkness in his face making you nervous. “We’re going for a little trip downstairs after.”

“I-I don’t understand,” you frowned, doing as he says and stuffing your face with some bread. “You’ve been acting so damn weird lately, I’ve never seen this man in my entire life before yesterday.”

His head turned slightly, those unreadable eyes locking onto you again. “Rather,” he said slowly, voice dipping towards something ominous. “You’ve never paid enough attention.”

You stopped mid-chew to stare at him. This was the longest conversation you’ve had with Hongjoong and the foreboding feeling of potential sinisterness was the first thing he made you think about?

He held your gaze, his fingers curling gently around your chin. His voice dipped to a whisper, low and graveled, brushing across your skin like smoke. "Look closely," he murmured. “I want you to think about why you’re truly here.”

Your brows furrowed. “Because my uncle sold me to you—”

“Think, Y/N. Think,” his tone laced with a cutting sort of irritation. “I know that desiccated, dried-up brain of yours still works.”

You rolled your eyes, the backhanded insult slicing through the tension with a bitter familiarity, but it didn’t lessen the heat brewing behind your ribs. “I owe your uncle absolutely nothing,” he said, letting go of your chin with a scoff. “I could’ve killed him before you even set foot in this house.”

“Have you killed people?” You blurted out before you could stop yourself. He raised a brow like it was a question unworthy of a response. "A-Are you going to kill me?"

“Do you want me to?” Hongjoong countered, tilting his head.

Your blood began to thrum in your ears, anger bubbling up in your chest like acid. “I’m not that stupid, you know,” you whispered, your voice cracking with frustration. “I’m aware there are things I’ve no idea about, but I know what a lie tastes like when it’s shoved in my mouth.”

You looked back at the spread of photos he’d shown you. But something inside you stirred as your gaze landed on the photo again. It was faint, like a memory just out of reach and a sense of recognition that felt older than logic.

“Have you ever wondered,” Hongjoong said slowly. “Why I’ve been so adamant in keeping you here?”

You opened your mouth, but he held up a hand. “No,” he said. “Forget that. Ask yourself this, have you ever wondered why your uncle took you in back then?”

Your heart stopped, but he wasn’t finished. “Surely, he wasn’t the only family you had. Worst of all, of all the people he could have sold you to, it had to be me. I know you’ve done your research on who I am.”

Indeed, you did, and the Kim family was not to be messed around with. Your throat felt like it was closing. You wanted to speak, but your brain was too busy racing through every memory you had, trying to connect dots that refused to sit still. Was your uncle much, much worse than you gave him credit for?

Hongjoong leaned close just enough to make you squirm under the intensity of his focus. The movement was subtle, but it was calculated - a hunter testing the waters, seeing how far he could push without you breaking. “Predators don’t fear prey,” he said. “They fear another predator.”

A scream threatened to bubble from your chest just lying around the surface. His statement echoed in your head far, far worse than a broken record. It was the only thing you could think about the entire time you followed Hongjoong downstairs towards his office. You couldn’t even lament what happened here the last time, the money he threw at you already cleaned up as if they were never thrown at you like dirty rags in the first place.

You didn’t even notice that Mingi and Seonghwa were already in the office, seemingly waiting for the both of you to arrive and such, until Hongjoong started to talk to them again. “This,” he slammed the folder rather harshly on the table directly in front of Seonghwa, who just took it in stride and opened the file. “That snivelling bastard on the last page. I want him gone.”

“And you,” he turned back to you, eyes ablaze with newfound anger you didn’t even know was already there. You raised a defiant brow, why was he looking at you like this was your fault. “You’re not going out anymore, you hear me? Never let me repeat myself.”

You narrowed your eyes, the simmering tension in your bones finally boiling and tipping over into something far more dangerous than you’ve ever felt. Your jaw ached from how hard you were biting down on your tongue, and the polite mask you’d worn like second skin started to peel.

Your feet started to march towards the bane of your existence like a bull who found the red spot. You didn’t even care that Seonghwa’s mouth dropped slightly and he was subtly shaking his head, you still poked Hongjoong’s chest pointedly and boy, you were sure that hurt a little.

“You could at least tell me why,” you snapped, your voice low and trembling with rage. He narrowed his eyes in warning, but you were done caring. “Or is it because you can’t keep your dogs in line? Tightening my leash is the only way you won’t lose control over your goods? Maybe it’s not the outside world you’re afraid of, it’s that someone might realize your entire empire is built on fear.”

Silence. A sharp, immediate silence that sliced through the room like a guillotine. Mingi visibly stiffened, Seonghwa’s face paled, but Hongjoong? He started to laugh. At first it was soft, then it turned into a full-blown laughter so sarcastic, you wanted to cover your ears from the grating sound. “The wolves are at my door, waiting for my empire to fall. I won’t let you destroy it just because you refuse to fall in line, brat,” he sneered.

You laughed, not out of humour. It was cold, sharp, and laced with every ounce of your pent-up exhaustion and rage. “Frankly?” You said, meeting his glare with one of your own. “I don’t give a flying fuck. You want to talk about wolves? Look in the damn mirror, Hongjoong.”

You poked him twice more in his admittedly toned chest, and you did it hard, too, just so he could even an ounce of how heavy he’d made you feel. “I’m not some damsel you could fool around with just because I was thrust here. I won’t roll over just so you can stroke your ego.”

A slow, unreadable flicker crossed his face. His gaze sharpened, but his body relaxed, curious now, as he tilted his head, slowly. His expression didn’t change much, but you saw it, that glint of something deeper. Respect? Amusement? Recognition? “She bites,” Hongjoong murmured, his voice dropping to a note lower, smooth and quiet like a blade sliding from its sheath. He crossed his arms, a ghost of a smirk fleeting on his sinful lips. “Finally.”

He was still watching you, but it wasn’t the same stare anymore. It wasn’t the same power dynamic. You had shifted something, and he had noticed. “You’ve mistaken my compliance with submissiveness,” you replied, your voice steady, your pulse roaring in your ears. “I’m terribly sorry to tell you that you’re wrong.”

Hongjoong’s lips parted slightly, as if that, too, had surprised him. Or pleased him, you couldn’t tell, but when his smirked widened, you almost faltered. You gritted your teeth, cursing whichever God had molded him for making this demon so devilishly handsome, it was maddening.

“That doesn’t negate the point, little darling,” he continued, still sharp as glass. “I built this kingdom with my soul, and I am the king of this goddamn empire. Whether you like it or not, you are in it. ”

“I’ll bow to your king when he shows himself,” you said, clipped and cut. It was a direct dig towards him, it was a deliberate show of disobedience, but you didn’t flinch. You kept your chin up, gaze level as you started to walk away from him for the first time.

The adrenaline didn’t wear off even hours later as you paced around your room in heated anger. But God, that felt good. You’ve never directly expressed your grievances towards someone else like that and now that you’ve gotten a taste of it, you don’t think you could hold your mouth longer around the menace that was Kim Hongjoong. It might get you killed, but at this point, death might be the only salvation you’ll feel.

One was for sure - something had definitely changed ever since that nasty confrontation between the two of you. If before you’ve barely seen even his shadow, lately all you’ve been doing was butt heads with Hongjoong, and man, are you not happy about it.

“Was it you?” Hongjoong marched towards the living room one day with steam coming out of ears. “Did you set the thermostat at twenty-eight?”

“I did,” you sneered, not backing down. “Not everyone in this house has cold, dead blood like you.”

He scoffed in disbelief, pinching his nose bridge. “This isn’t a sauna, go outside where you belong if you’re so cold.”

You watched him stalk towards the thermostat, cranking the heat lower so roughly, you were a bit concerned it would break. Oh no you don’t, you dictating bastard. You got up from the couch, pushing him away to crank the thermostat back to low before giving him the stink eye.

“Fine,” he nodded stiffly, his glare so intense, it had you backing up slightly. “I’m locking it. Don’t expect me to lower it when summer hits.”

It was the littlest of things that set the both of you off, but if you were being completely frank, you more or less enjoyed his annoyed reaction. Serves him right for all the months he put you down.

“You finished all the cookies,” you glared at him heatedly one afternoon, pointing at the plate of half-eaten cookies that lay next to him on the coffee table as he read his newspaper. “I liked those cookies.”

He didn’t even look up from the newspaper. “That’s just too bad, isn’t it?”

You yanked the paper from his hands. “You don’t even like cookies! They were for me.”

“I bought them for the house,” he glared, snatching it back.

“Yeah?” You snarled, snapping your eyes towards the coffee mug you knew he was very, very particular about before a smug grin fills your face.

He stared in disbelief, his eyes widening at what you were about to do. “You insolent brat, don’t you dare—”

But it was too late, you gulped all his coffee in one go. You tried so hard not to grimace at the bitter taste, or else your pride will tank, but the redness in his face from sheer anger made it oh so worth it.

Everyone had definitely noticed at that point. Even the stoic Mingi would give his own father a dirty look whenever he’d catch that both of you mouth off to one another like you were in a damn competition. Woooyung, of course, was nonetheless fascinated about the turn of events.

“You two act like an old married couple, I love it,” he cackled while he ate dinner with you as you glared at Hongjoong’s turned back when he instructed the chef to put more raisins in your plate just to spite you. “I’m slowly getting over how my stepmother will only be like a decade older than me if this is the entertainment I’ll get for the rest of my life.”

You scoffed, grabbing a piece of raisin with a deep frown. “It’s not my fault he’s a petty bastard,” you said, flicking the raisin towards Hongjoong’s ear with an accuracy you didn’t even know.

Wooyoung laughed with you not-so discreetly while San paled ever so slightly at the scorching glare Hongjoong sent your way. “You are something special, Y/N,” he shook his head. “Boss would have had our heads a long, long time ago for something less.”

Unfortunately, you couldn’t fully finish your dinner. The taste of the raisins were so prevalent in the food even when you’ve removed all of them that the taste of it just permeated all over the dish.

You sneaked in the kitchen at two in the morning where you knew no one would be up just so you could ravage in the cupboard for some midnight snack, but you were so wrong. You squeaked, blinking at Hongjoong who was in the middle of drinking water and he blinked back at you.

“Couldn’t sleep from the guilt?” You asked, referring to you not eating dinner. And you knew that he knew, he was watching you the whole time smugly.

“No,” he muttered. “Just the sound of your attitude echoing through the halls.”

You snorted. “Wow. You’re real original for someone who thinks being emotionally constipated is a personality trait.”

He scoffed, shaking his head as he walked past you towards the exit. “Don’t hog all the snacks,” he brushed with your shoulder and it sent a zing of electricity through your spine. “Money isn’t as easy to come by, yes?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re good at it,” you countered with a snarl. “If being a raging psycho and asshole was your living, no wonder you’re filthy rich. Let’s not even mention your head count.”

You blinked as he walked back toward you. He stopped in front of you, his hands coming to rest beside your waist on the counter, trapping you. “Would you like to know my head count?” He asked, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. “I’d love to add you to that roster.”

You tried to breathe, his face was so close, your noses nearly brushed. His eyes dropped to your lips for the briefest moment before snapping back up. “Because I’ve been real patient,” he muttered. “But I’m tired of your mouth lately.”

And as quickly as he’d closed in, he pulled away with a sharp inhale, the smirk curling wider as he turned on his heel. “Sleep tight, darling,” he tossed over his shoulder, voice laced with poison and something dangerously sweet.

And just like that, he was gone, leaving behind blush on your cheeks, the thundering of your heart, and the faint scent of him clinging to your skin.

Usually, your banters were harmless. Dare anyone say that even though Hongjoong got under your skin, you’ve never felt more alive than you did whenever you’d cross paths with him. You didn’t know what it was; maybe it was because that finally, he wasn’t avoiding you like the plague even though nothing nice came from that mouth of his.

But this time, you didn’t know what completely set the both of you off. You just wanted to have lunch like normal, and today was very different, too. Usually you’d eat with one or two people only as everyone’s schedules didn’t quite align, but this time, even Seonghwa and Wooyoung were at the dining table.

You were laughing at something that Jongho had mentioned when Hongjoong’s cutting voice rang around the table. “Can you shut your mouth?” He snapped, cluttering his utensils against his paperwork. “I’m trying to concentrate here.”

You rolled your eyes. Ever since he got off a phone call he got before everyone started eating, he’s been in a horrible mood. “Get off the damn table if you can’t handle basic human interaction,” you snapped back.

He stared you down, voice ice sharp. “You’re not clever. You’re a loud, useless distraction and an irritation everyone’s sick of pretending to tolerate.”

“Father, stop it,” Mingi, who sat at Hongjoong’s left, shot back, eyeing the older man with warning. He turned to you and you almost faltered. How is it that his son was more intimidating than him? “And you. You’re not helping.”

“No, let her,” Hongjoong scoffed. “No wonder your uncle gave you away. You’re nothing but a liability.”

Patience was a trait you had that you were proud of, but not today. You can barely contain yourself, because that was a low, even for him. I'm sick to death of swallowing every single thing I'm fed. You slammed your hands on the table, rising swiftly, your chair scraping loudly against the floor. Everyone’s eyes followed you, wide and stunned. “Oh, give me a break, you belligerent, deluded, pompous prick,” you barked. The room stilled. You hadn’t raised your voice, but the words hung in the air like glass about to shatter.

Even Hongjoong seemed to falter a bit before his eyes narrowed once more. “Have you lost your fucking mind?” He yelled so loud it echoed through the halls, making everyone flinch. “Watch your tone, you ill-mannered disgrace—”

You scoffed in disbelief. “That’s tough shit coming from you who’s done nothing but make me miserable here.”

“That sounds like a you problem, darling,” Hongjoong’s eyes ticked.

“Well, to that, I say you're a cunt—” you were about to say, but your voice caught in your throat, the fierce words dying on your lips as a wave of dizziness swept over you. You faltered, mid-step, your knees threatening to give out.

He scoffed, the sharp edge of his haughtiness cutting through the silence. “Giving up already?” Hongjoong sneered with a smirk that promised he didn’t believe you had the strength to stand your ground.

No, this was different than anything you’ve felt before. Your breathing became laboured, the suddenness of it threatening the bile in your stomach to rise from your throat. You grabbed the nearest thing you could hold on to, but your grip slipped. “Hold on,” San balked, grabbing your arm in mild concern before his face shifted. “Y/N, are you okay?”

No, I’m not, you wanted to say, looking straight at Hongjoong just as your steps wobbled and your vision blurred. It was when his expression cracked, panic flickered across his face, eyes widening with sudden concern, breath hitching as he reached out instinctively.

But before he could reach you, Jongho was there, his strong arms catching you just in time. “Y/N? Oh, God,” he tapped your cheeks hardly, but to no avail, your eyes were closing. “Stay awake, fuck—”

Hongjoong’s face, the devastated, unsettled look you weren’t ready to see, and the way he grabbed your body was the last thing you registered before darkness swallowed you whole, but not before you heard Seonghwa mutter one word that would have made you faint regardless.

“Poison.”

All you could feel was pain. It hurt to try to move your limbs, it was more reminiscent of bones grinding against each other sharply against sandpaper, it hurt to take the smallest gulp of breath, hell, it hurt to even blink. It was like that car accident after your graduation all over again. Why did death love chasing after you? And why didn’t you chase it back?

But this time was different. You weren’t in a hospital bed, there were no nurses around, and there was none of that sterile scent you hated so much. Rather, there was warmth - warmth so comforting, you couldn’t help but snuggle into it, burying your head in hopes for the ache to go away.

“Fuck’s sake, It’s been days, why hasn’t she woken up yet?”

Even you could feel your subconscious frown at what you heard. Days. And you didn’t even feel better about it. “Give her time, Joong. I mean, look at her, so frail—”

“Frail, my ass,” a rough, familiar voice snapped just as you felt your arms being squeezed so tight, it would have woken you up if you hadn’t already. “She’s my little fighter, poison isn’t going to break her. Have you not heard the way she talks back to me?”

A deep laughter resonated through the entire room. It wasn’t quite like Mingi’s - not that Hongjoong Jr. would ever act normal around you - no, but this was richer, familiar, even. If you could just open your eyes and see.

“I see she hasn’t changed. Good to know you’re getting your money’s worth, Dad. You should go eat something. Anyway, I need a complete rundown, Hwa. I didn’t fly here for nothing, and I need to go back soon. The longer I stay, the more danger we attract.”

The warmth you had disappeared followed by a door closing nearby. Silence envelops the room and the familiar sigh of Seonghwa fills it. “Well, like we said, it’s poison. Someone who isn’t supposed to be here is here.”

“But how? What are the odds? It could’ve been anyone at that dining table. You think it’s Yoo Jaehwan?”

“Who else? To do it not only in his house, but right in front of Hongjoong’s face…whoever did it is asking for death.”

“Should’ve seen your father’s face,” San clicked his tongue. “I swear something inside him died.”

“Well, fuck, maybe because she could’ve died?” The familiar, deeper voice counteracted with a sass that knocked in your memory. “Because that’s not just a wife he’s protecting, that’s someone he’d burn the world for.”

“Anyhow. We should come back later. I have to check on your father to see if he’s eating or I might have to get your older brother to tie him up or something.”

Half of that conversation went through your head. You weren’t a total idiot, you knew what most of it entailed, but all you could think about was the missing warmth that enveloped you. You forced yourself to come to, your weak arms supporting your upper body as you tried to sit up. It was hell as your eyelids fluttered open against a dull ache pounding in your skull, but you needed to move your stiff limbs before they started to throb from prolonged unuse.

Just then, the door opened. Silently, carefully, like doing so would trigger another bout of faintness in you and you were met with the surprised eyes of Hongjoong. He froze in the doorway like he’d walked in on something sacred.

For a moment, he just stood there, unmoving. Then, the tension in his shoulders released slightly, only to be replaced by something else entirely - pure, unadulterated relief. You didn’t have to touch him to know that he was the warmth that kept you stabilized the entire time you rested.

He started to walk toward you in slow, controlled steps. His glasses were gone, his hair a mess, and there was a tremble in the hand that rolled up the sleeves of his unusually wrinkled shirt like he’d been gripping it in fistfuls.

Most of all, his eyes were tired. He sat on the bed next to you, his eyes never leaving yours, and you thought that was it. You certainly weren’t prepared for the way he lightly gripped your shoulders to pull you into a hug, and just like that, the warmth you’ve been craving for had returned.

“Get off,” you rasped weakly, but your voice betrayed the fight you didn’t have in you. Still, your pride flared, because nothing stung more than collapsing in front of him.

He didn’t budge. “Don’t even try,” he said through clenched teeth, his arms tightening around you. “Stay still and let me have this even for a moment.”

It was in the way he gripped you too tightly, in the quiet desperation of that whispered please. You didn’t even realize he was trembling slightly. His arms weren’t caging you, rather, he was a man holding on to you as if he was sinking at the bottom of the ocean and you were the balance he needed to stay afloat.

Pride be damned. You wrapped your arms around him, silent tears falling from your eyes as you held onto him. This was all you wanted, what you didn’t have back then when you had nobody. The prospect of never waking up was settling into you and you didn’t have enough strength to keep holding it in together.

“I’m still angry at you,” you sniffled.

“Get angrier. The sooner you get your strength back, the sooner you can talk back again like the brat you are,” he shushed, the tremble in his hand now visible at the way he smoothed the damp strands away from your face along with your tears.

“As touching as this is, I believe we have more pressing matters at hand.”

You tried to pull away, but Hongjoong wasn’t letting you - though if you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t even really want to - so you opted to look over your shoulder at the source of the voice.

Hongjoong groaned when you pushed him away, your breath caught in your throat. Your eyes widened slowly, your hand flying up to cover your mouth in shock. “Y-Yeosang?” You whispered, like saying his name too loud might shatter the fragile reality in front of you.

The man in question stood from the plush armchair, casual in his posture but carrying an unmistakable grin, one you hadn’t seen in years. “The one and only,” Yeosang said with a lopsided smile, walking toward you. “How have you been, Miss Jeong?”

You stared at him in disbelief, the air knocked clean from your lungs. “I-I haven’t seen you since…” your voice faltered, because the rest of that sentence hung heavy in your throat.

Yeosang seemed to know what you meant without you saying it, because his expression softened as he gently pulled you into a hug. “Y-You’re the last person I expected to see here,” you mumbled against his shoulder, pulling back to get a proper look at him. “Wait, what are you doing here?”

The both of you turned around to look at Hongjoong when he cleared his throat. “You wretch,” he looked pointedly at Yeosang with a bitter scowl. “Aren’t you supposed to be down there with everyone?”

Yeosang scoffed, rolling his eyes so dramatically you were surprised they didn’t get stuck up his skull. “You were the one who called me and threatened to cut my allowance if I didn’t fly here soon,” he deadpanned as he pulled away from you to stand up. “Relax, she was my mentor. I’m allowed to say hello, Dad.”

Your eyes flew between the two men in shock. “Dad?” You blurted out. “How many kids do you have? Because holy sh—”

“Soon to be two if this one doesn’t shut his trap,” Hongjoong hissed. “I can still cut your allowance, Kang Yeosang. Don’t test me.”

“Oh, please. You need me,” he chuckled sarcastically, tapping on the stethoscope he had around his neck that you didn’t notice was there. You stared at him proudly, remembering the young Yeosang who always told you of his dreams to become a doctor one day back then.

“Anyway, you need to get out of here, Dad,” Yeosang said in urgency. “Mingi will take care of everything. It’s good training for the future, anyway. We need to purge your staff and I need to test every single surface of the manor to see if there’s more antifreeze contamination.”

Goosebumps erupted on your skin. Antifreeze. It was how you found yourself saying goodbye to Yeosang, with the promise of catching up as soon as everything was safe, and then the others before you were dressing up to go with Hongjoong to his supposed safe house.

“I can walk, you know?” You frowned when Hongjoong walked beside you the whole time, steadying you with a firm hold on your elbow. You hated how flustered it made you - how close he was, how natural it felt.

He glanced at you once, opting to ignore you as he opened the car door for you. But just before you could step in, he stilled. Hongjoong plucked a single sunflower and he tucked it carefully behind your ear. His eyes didn’t meet yours, but his touch lingered longer than necessary.

Your heart stuttered so sharply it almost hurt. It fluttered against your ribs, traitorous and soft, the way it always did when he did something gentle without meaning to. The warmth of his fingers near your cheek lingered longer than the sunflower itself.

He helped you into the backseat, settled beside you without hesitation, and closed the door. You thought he’d pull away once the engine started. You thought he’d sit back in his own thoughts like always.

But he didn’t. He pulled you close, gently but without question, and you leaned against his chest. His arm wrapped around you, fingers curling slightly against your side, grounding you. He held you the entire ride. And for the first time in days, the ache in your chest quieted.

“Where are we going?” You couldn’t help but ask, giving in to what your body currently needed and letting yourself lean onto his firm chest for once.

“Must you always ask irrelevant questions?” Hongjoong sighed.

You scoffed softly, thumping on his chest lightly. “How do I know you’re not leading me to my death?“

“Are you stupid?” Hongjoong snapped, his eyes widening slightly in irritation. You met them with an equal force of annoyance. He sighed exasperatedly, already sick of your antics. “One of my rest houses. It’s on the far end of the city, almost near the suburbs. You should sleep.”

“Would you still hold me when I wake up?” You croaked, not knowing what you were thinking when you blurted the words out.

His thumb, which had been idly brushing against your arm, stilled. You didn’t dare look up, didn’t even breathe, until you felt the slow, deliberate way his hand curled tighter around you. “Yes, darling,” he murmured, fixing the flower on your ear before fixing your hair.

It was infuriating, really, how a man who so easily sliced you open with his words could undo you completely with a simple touch. Your pulse betrayed you, and you didn’t dare look at him, afraid he might see just how deeply that one small act had shaken you.

You couldn’t sleep, not after that. Not while Hongjoong held you in his arms the entire time, his hand brushing your hair away from your face every fifteen minutes and he did so until the car stopped moving and he was helping you get down again.

“Easy, there,” he frowned when you took the wrong step and almost tripped.

“Don’t pretend you care now,” you raised a brow, even as your fingers curled instinctively into the fabric of his shirt.

“I don’t,” he said too quickly, too defensively. But he was still holding you like you were made of glass and you couldn’t help but fist the front of Hongjoong’s shirt. He didn’t push you away and neither did you pull away.

Surprisingly, the rest house was of modest stature, situated in the middle of a small town. It was smart, blending in would be easy. It was simple and cozy, there was the typical small kitchen, a bathroom, and one bedroom with one bed. You stared. Hongjoong stared back.

“We’ll manage,” he said as he set the bags down, looking away and avoiding eye contact. “It’s easier to keep an eye on you this way.”

You opened your mouth to object, but your mouth wasn’t cooperating with your mouth today. “I-I'd love to sleep with you,” you blurted out without thinking.

Hongjoong froze mid-step, one brow raising with almost comical precision. It would’ve been endearing since you’ve never seen the usually poised man this caught-off guard before, but right now, you wanted to dig a hole, crawl in it, and never see the light of day again.

“I mean sleep as in literally sleep–I didn’t, I meant to say I don’t mind sleeping with you, uh, literally—oh my God,” you stammered, hands flying up to cover your face in pure panic.

“Why don’t you, uh, relax on the balcony while I do this?” Hongjoong said, and you didn’t miss the smirk on his face as he turned back to the bag he was unpacking.

You slept facing opposite sides that night. But somehow, the air between you was tighter than before. You lay stiffly on your back, eyes on the ceiling, acutely aware of every tiny shift in the sheets with each of his movements. “Can you stop fidgeting too much?” Hongjoong clicked his tongue. “I’m not going to eat you.”

You scoffed softly. “You don’t hear me complain about your awful breathing sounds.”

“You want me to stop breathing, then?”

“That’s literally not what I said,” you turned sharply toward him, only to find him already watching you. The two of you blinked at each other in silence. Eventually, you turned away again, cheeks burning, pulling the covers over your head.

You tried to find a comfortable position to sleep on, tossing and turning until your body felt right, but when the right angle had your leg up on Hongjoong’s by accident, he didn’t move, and neither did you.

And when you woke up the next day with your arm wrapped around his chest with his own arm cradling your head to his neck, you both didn’t say a word about it, but he didn’t move, and neither did you. “Hongjoong,” you rasped, half of your brain still dead from the world. “...Joong.”

“Hmm?” He hummed huskily from sleep, the vibrations of his chest traveling straight to your spine.

“I’m hungry,” you said. “Haven’t eaten since last night.”

You felt him turn his head, his lips touching your hairline directly, the warmth of it searing on your skin. “Five more minutes,” he replied hoarsely. “Can you do that for me?”

You nod groggily while he molded you closer to him, your cheek pressing just a little firmer to the warm space beneath his collarbone. “Good girl,” he whispered softly, low, and utterly wrecked by sleep.

Your body tensed like someone had just poured ice water down your head. Your eyes snapped open as you felt your throat tighten, not daring to move or breathe too loud. You just lay there, heart hammering wildly in your chest, trying to pretend like you hadn’t just short-circuited. “Are you drinking my coffee?” he snapped at you the next day, catching sight of your cup. “Again?”

Just like that, the both of you were back to bickering like normal. “It’s not my fault you bought me that shitty sugar-free crap that tastes like nothing,” you said, sipping smugly. “Plus, your coffee tastes better.” He crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes in annoyance. “It’s black with three shots of espresso. You can’t handle that.” “I can handle you, can’t I? Nothing worse than that.” He scoffed loudly in disbelief, muttering about how the younger generation was disrespectful before he snatched the cup and handed you a water bottle instead. “Hydrate before you pass out on me.”

You frowned, fully irritated at your caffeine being stolen. “Hey, I wasn’t don—” “And you call that breakfast?” He looked pointedly at your sad-looking toast. “It’s no wonder why I mistake your brain for an ornament sometimes.” You didn’t even get a chance to shoot back at his arrogance before he rolled his eyes but took your plate, setting down a neatly packed bento box. “Eat something that’s actually worth eating. Fuck’s sake, do I really have to do everything around here?”

The both of you went on like that for days, and as maddening as Hongjoong was, you were somehow thankful for how normal everything felt, though now, the change between you and Hongjoong was starting to become evident.

“How long would it take for you to clean this entire house?” He asked one day out of the blue. He stared disapprovingly at the phone in your hand. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was riling you up just to get a reaction out of you.

Your eyes ticked, but you didn’t look up at him. “It depends on how many helpers you want me to hire.”

“Why would you hire cleaners?” Hongjoong frowned.

“You asked.”

He scoffed, clearly displeased at the response. “No, I asked you. If you’re going to live here, you might as well do something that lessens the burden you put on me.”

“I did,” you shot back, finally looking up, mildly offended at the insinuation. “I made you dinner every night, one that you refused to eat.”

“Who told you I didn’t?” He raised a brow. Your expression froze, but before you could say anything, he waved a hand. “Anyway, you still need to clean. If I’m paying for your shit, I need something in return.”

Your mind was still reeling at the things unsaid between the lines. “Why the hell would I be doing free labour for you?”

“Well—”

You cut him off, refusing to go down. “I just got poisoned, in case you forgot. I should be resting, for God’s sake.”

“And I took you here to recuperate,” he replied sarcastically. “What now, then?”

“What about the times I had to deal with your grumpy ass? I don’t see you paying for my mental state.” You retorted back, putting your phone away to stand up to him.

He paused, blinking repeatedly in thought. “I could get you a therapist.”

“Yes,” you smiled brightly, a little too brightly. “I could also hire helpers to clean this house.”

His ears and neck redden in sheer frustration, and from here, you could see his mind malfunction slowly. “Shut up,” he muttered, refusing to admit you one-upped him.

“Well, why don’t you shut me up, then?”

You stilled, realizing what you just insinuated. His lips quirked, smug and amused, like he’d won a round you didn’t realize you were playing as he shook his head.

The nighttimes weren’t any better either. It was like bickering was both of yours’ defense mechanisms. “Turn off the light,” you yawn from under the covers.

“You turn it off,” Hongjoong replies from his side, brows raised in defiance. “You got in bed last.”

You groan, swing your legs over dramatically, but just as you reach the switch, the light clicks off behind you. You turn and find Hongjoong smirking, holding a small remote control in his hand. “We’re supposed to be a team here,” you hissed. “There is no “I” in team.”

“No, but there is in idiot,” he grinned.

Your mouth dropped, charging at him to hit him over and over again with a pillow, and he didn’t even let out a single sound as he deflected your so-called attacks. You huffed, trying to push off him, but the sheets had other plans. And truth be told, so did some strange, traitorous part of you.

Eventually, you both gave up, tangled under the blankets, breaths evening out against shared warmth. Once again, neither of you moved. In the hush that followed, you felt his thumb barely brush against your arm where it rested across his chest. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to.

And it would have stayed like that if it weren’t for the heavy weight that settled on your chest in the middle of the night. Literally. When you opened your eyes, an arm was pressing down your chest and you were met with Hongjoong’s glaring eyes.

“What—”, you were about to say when he covered your mouth hurriedly. He puts his finger to his lip to shush you and in your peripheral, you could see his arm slowly raising up a gun as he pointed at the door. Your eyes widen and your heart drops - someone was in the house.

Hongjoong didn’t say a word. He shifted, slow and precise, the mattress barely creaking as he slipped off it and tiptoed towards the door. You clutched the sheets to your chest, your breath lodged somewhere in your throat as the door clicked open. It was silent; too silent.

Bang. Bang. Pause. Bang. Bang.

Your ears rang. You flinched with each shot, your hands shaking as you sat in the dark, unable to move, unable to breathe. You shut your eyes, covering your eyes to will all the sounds to stay distant, the reality of who Hongjoong was dawning on you. It was just a couple of weeks ago when you asked him whether he had killed or not.

The door creaked open again, slower this time. You jumped, expecting the worst, but Hongjoong stepped in quietly, expression unreadable, but the blood spattered across his cheek told you more than words ever could. The gun was nowhere to be found.

He didn’t speak as he walked to the bed, just sat down at the edge and looked at you, eyes searching. You reached out, wiping the blood off gently. He closed his eyes at the touch, but it was enough. No words were exchanged, and there was nothing either of you could say that would ease the fear that settled in your gut.

So instead, he slipped under the covers again, pulled you into his chest, arms wound tightly around your body, trembling just a little. You closed your eyes, your hands digging onto his hand so hard, your fingertips might as well embed themselves on his skin.

“I wish my creator would tenderly wrap me in their own clothes to keep me sane and protected,” you murmured in the silence of the night. “God has abandoned us and my uncle was a cruel substitute.”

“Should we choose to remain here together, would you forget the world that’s waiting outside?” Hongjoong’s hand held yours just as tight. ”Would you let the world fall away, if only for a while?” The world has fallen the moment I set my eyes on you. You nodded, shivering when he tucked a finger under your chin, pulling your face closer to his to press the softest of kisses upon your lips as if the both of you had been holding your breath for years, and this, it was the first exhale. If only for a while.

You woke to an emptiness you hadn’t expected. The bed was still warm where he’d lain, but without Hongjoong’s arms around you, you felt oddly cold. But that wasn’t what woke you up. It was the voices that came from the living room, one of which was Hongjoong’s, and you didn’t have to listen in to know that he was in a heated argument with someone.

You tiptoed out quietly, careful not to make a sound, peeking from behind the hallway wall. Hongjoong lounged on the couch like it was his throne, legs spread, an elbow draped over the armrest with a smirk that screamed arrogance, like danger wrapped in lazy elegance.

The man standing in front of him, however, was anything but calm. He was tall, broad-shouldered, about the same age as Hongjoong, and radiating heat like a bonfire about to explode. His fists were clenched at his sides, jaw tight with restraint.

“You’ve got some nerve,” the stranger ground out. “Keeping her hidden this whole time like some secret you planned to hoard. If my men didn’t hear the gunshots the other day, I wouldn’t have known, you sick fuck.”

Your breath hitched. They were talking about you. Hongjoong chuckled, crossing his legs exaggeratedly. “The only regret I have is that I didn’t bring suppressors. We would have been out of here before you knew it. ”

“You bastard,” the tall man gritted his teeth, stepping closer to Hongjoong. “This is my territory, you don’t get to waltz in here with my niece and pretend I wouldn’t kill you for it.”

Your ears rang at two words - territory and niece. This man was in the same business as Hongjoong was, and apparently you were this man’s niece. Slowly, you stepped out from behind the hallway wall, the silence in the room growing razor-sharp with each step.

Hongjoong’s back stiffened, but the other man’s posture tenses completely at the sight of you. “Y/N,” he whispered, as if disbelieving he was seeing you in the flesh. “It’s really you…”

You stared at the man closely. He looked familiar, it clawed at the edges of a memory you didn’t know you still had. It wasn’t the way he moved; it was the way his eyes mirrored someone else’s eyes that you thought you’d never see again after all these years - your father’s.

And then, it hits you. You remembered the way his huge hands held yours every time he offered to babysit when both of your parents worked. His younger, puppy-like features were slowly coming to life in your head. “Uncle Yunho,” you blurted, eyes wide.

Yunho’s head jerked up, like he hadn’t dared hope you'd remember. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “It’s me, kid.”

Your knees nearly buckled, threatening to fall under the weight of the missing family that you could have had instead of your other uncle. Hongjoong was immediately by your side, catching you in his arms and holding you close and sitting you down beside him. “You can��t just come barging in here like you did,” he hissed. “You’re in my house, I could kill you and no one would know.”

“I’m her blood, you blithering fool,” Yunho’s lips twisted into fury. “You’re the idiot that dragged her into this mess when she had a family - me.”

Hongjoong’s expression darkened. “You weren’t there---”

“And you think you were the better option?” Yunho growled. “You’re like, what? A good thirteen years or so older than her? You’re too damn old to be with her!”

That made Hongjoong stand, slow and deliberate, his stance loose but lethal. “And who the fuck are you to tell me that? You weren’t there when shit hit the fan, don’t get too cocky now.”

“I would have been if you didn’t hide her from me,” Yunho scowled bitterly.

You barely registered your own shallow breathing, still stuck on the fact that your father’s older brother was there all along. All this time, you thought you were alone - that you had no one. Yunho’s eyes followed the sound, and when he saw you, all the anger on his face softened instantly.

He was about to walk towards you, but Hongjoong quickly raised a hand to stop him. “One more step and I swear I’ll end you right here,” he snarled. If you weren’t sitting beside him, you wouldn’t have noticed the way his eyes shifted into something a little more desperate.

Yunho scoffed, crossing his arms. “I wouldn’t act like this if I were you, Kim. You’ve had her in your manor all this time. By mafia standards, you should’ve married her within the first month. Why haven’t you? Did you want to keep her locked up like a secret no one else can touch? Or are you just dragging her through the mud?”

You flinched, the implication sinking in like stones in your gut. You immediately locked eyes with Hongjoong whose expression dropped, shaking his head ever so slightly as you stared at each other. That was right, why hasn’t Hongjoong married you yet? Come to think of it, the both of you haven’t even talked about anything marriage related - the date, the venue, the vows—hell, not even a promise.

Just tension, stolen touches, sleepless nights and a thousand unsaid things hanging heavy in the air. You swallowed thickly, trying not to let the sting of Yunho’s words show, but it was too late. Or worse, was he planning to secretly give you back to your uncle after all?

“Don’t listen to him,” he said tightly, crossing the room in three strides. His arm wrapped around you possessively, like shielding you from Yunho would shield you from the doubt unraveling in your chest. “She’s mine, Jeong. Get lost. It’s not like that, and you know it.”

Yunho’s lips pressed into a thin line. But he relented, lifting his hands in a gesture of peace. “Fine,” he muttered, then turned to you, his expression softening. “I’ll be back.”

You hesitated as you watched your uncle walk away, but something tugged at your heart. You pried yourself free from Hongjoong’s tight, possessive arms, despite his protests, to run as fast as you could to follow Yunho out. The chill of the morning rain bit at your skin as you stepped into the yard. “Wait, please!”

Yunho turned to face you fully. The hardness melted from his face, and in its place was something unbearably gentle. He completely halted in his steps, letting the rain soak through as he watched your pitiful form catch up to him. “Y/N–”

“There’s something I don’t understand,” you murmured, voice unsure. “I-I needed you when I was alone, I had no one. But why now? Why didn’t you ever come for me?”

He sighed, taking his trench coat off to gingerly put it over your head as a deterrent for the pouring rain. “I did,” he said quietly. “Believe me, I did. I never stopped. Even if I didn’t find you here, I still wouldn’t have stopped.”

And that, that was what broke you. Tears filled your eyes, sadness and relief pouring over you in waves. “Are you…in the same business as Hongjoong?” You asked wearily. “Were my parents?”

He pursed his lips, patting your head. It made your tears flow faster. Yunho had your father’s face, albeit older and more rounded. “There are so many things you don’t know,” he said softly. “Things you would have if you would’ve been with me when your parent’s died. It’s better this way. I’m still enraged that that bastard hid you from me, but he’ll keep you safe.”

But what did you know at this point? It was what plagued your mind the entire walk inside the house after Yunho had left after promising to catch up on lost time. You clutched the wet, dripping coat that still carried Yunho’s familiar scent in your hands that wrapped around your senses, nostalgia hitting you full-force.

You didn’t look up at Hongjoong, the haze of all the memories - of what could have been - attacking your mind. “Why didn’t you tell me?” You began, voice cracking, looking up at him with emotionless eyes. “You knew and—”

“Would you have gone with him if you knew?” Hongjoong cut off, the familiar sharpness in his eyes pinning you from where you stood.

“I don’t know that,” you replied sarcastically. “How could I give you something I had no idea about the entire time?”

“Oh, for the love of fucking God, Y/N. This, this is what pisses me off about you the most,” he snapped, stepping close, his gaze darkening. “Contrary to your belief, I’m not as callous as you deem me to be, and there are reasons for the things that I do around here—”

“And what about me?” Your hands balled at your sides. “What about the life I was robbed of? You don’t know what I’ve been through, you prick, the things that I had to endure. Yunho was right - you don’t want to marry me, in fact, you fucking hate me, don’t you? I didn’t even want any of this in the first place!” For the first time, Hongjoong’s expression fell, and you didn’t know what to feel about it. He was a beautiful man with a soul full of venom and a heart you weren’t convinced actually beat, but right now, his expression only told you one thing - I do, I do know what you’ve been through. His hand twitched at his side, and the muscle in his jaw jumped. “Don’t you dare say that.”

“Why not?” You seethed, shoving him backward with both hands. “Because it’s true, isn’t it? You had no plans in marrying me, but then again I was nothing but sold goods to you, I wouldn’t be surprised if you end up killing me in a ditch somewhere—”

Something snapped in him. He pushed you back until you stumbled against the wall. The air was electric. “Shut your mouth,” he seethed, but his voice was breaking, furious and wounded all at once. “You would have gone with Yunho, I don’t want you to go with him. You faltered, taken aback by how possessive he sounded. "I don’t need to see you walking away from me when we had just begun. You want to know why I didn’t tell you? I’ve already given up enough and I’m not giving you up again.”

Again? He just stood there, panting, one hand curled in a fist over his chest like the words had ripped something open in him. “You wouldn’t understand,” he snarled, shaking his head vehemently. “You never do.”

The silence afterward was deafening. You stared at him, chest heaving, tears hot and furious in your eyes, the confusion swirling in your head even more. It might be part of why your mouth moved on its own in either the best or worst decision of your life. “So make me,” you whispered in quiet desperation. “I’m so tired of being kept in the dark, I know you’re hiding things from me, make me understand—-”

He surged forward without warning, cupping your jaw as his mouth found yours like it had been searching, starving, waiting across lifetimes. The kiss was bruising, breath-stealing like he needed to taste the ache in your throat and the anger in your blood just to prove you were real. You gasped against him, and it was his undoing.

Your back hit the wall again, but it didn’t matter anymore. Not when his lips softened slightly, tracing the corner of your mouth like an apology. Not when his breath was hot and reverent against your cheek, your jaw, your throat. His forehead fell against yours, both of you breathless. “Tell me to stop,” he rasped, voice shaking as his thumb brushed your lip, swollen from his kiss. “Tell me now and I will.”

But your fingers were already curling into his shirt, pulling him close. “I can’t,” you whispered, voice wavering. “Don’t make me.”

And that was all it took. Your lips refused to part from his as he pulled you to the couch, there was no way the both of you were reaching the bedroom, your clothes slowly peeling themselves away from your bodies all the while your tongues clashed against one another. His hands roamed with reverence, memorizing every tremble, every sigh. You didn’t know where you ended and he began - just that the space between your bodies was no longer enough.

“Oh, fuck,” his lust-addled voice sounded through the hush whispers of the intimacy you both found yourselves in. “You’re beautiful, I knew you’d be, fuck…”

You couldn’t even have the nerve to cover your naked body as you stood in front of him; not when he was looking at you like you were the only salvation left in a world gone mad. He grabbed your hips, positioning you until you were straddling him as he sat plush on the couch. “You don’t have to do a thing, darling, I’ll take care of you,” he pressed a thumb on your swollen lips. “Would you let me?”

You nodded, feeling feverish in your head as he placed his hand on your hips, his hardness poking you in the spot where you wanted him the most. “Y-Yeah,” you said. “Please, I-I need you.”

The world could wait. Right now, it was just the two of you both bared, bruised, and still reaching for each other in the dark. He lifted your hips up, lowering you slowly onto his aching cock until your foreheads were clashing with each other. “Y/N,” he whispered, straining, summoning chills through your ears. “I’ll make it up to you next time, I’m not going to last. It’s been a while for me.”

You tilted your head, biting your lips to stop the lewd sounds threatening to come out from you. “W-What do you mean? You haven’t been with o-others?”

Hongjoong shook his head with an earnest smile. “No. Why would I when I have you?”

Your eye contact didn’t break even when Hongjoong pushed your plump ass to grind on him, your eyes fluttering shut as you moaned out earnestly. Your fingers tangled in his hair, his breath warm at your collarbone, and when his name left your lips, it prompted him to snap his hips up to meet your grinding.

“Hongjoong, ngh, fuck,” you gasped out, mouth slacked open at the force of his thrusts, your breasts bouncing their way freely at the pace he set. “H-Hongjoong—Joong.”

You both finally let yourselves feel it all. Not just the passion, but the ache of the longing between you both. You held his face between your hands when his eyes fluttered closed, and for once, he looked unguarded. “Mmm, ah, yes, yes, yes,” were all the sounds you could make amidst the skin slapping against skin as Hongjoong continuously pulled you up and down on his cock. “More?” Hongjoong’s voice trembled at the pleasure clouding his brain. “You can’t leave me, alright? Not when I’m making you feel so good like this.”

You nodded, mouth still open, snapping your eyes close in the pleasure of Hongjoong’s nails digging in your hips, scratching a line all the way to your chest until his hands were grabbing onto both of your plush tits. “So fucking good,” he growled, his other hand traveling to your head, grabbing your hair. “Come here.”

Your lips met into a feverish kiss, your heated moans of lust and longing being swallowed by Hongjoong’s sinful mouth, and when you subconsciously squeeze his impaling cock, it was his turn to groan into your lips and bite onto your lower lip until you opened to let his wild tongue mess with yours. The moans that fell from the both of you created a dizzying sound in combination of the wet tongue kiss and the slapping of his balls up your ass.

“Touch me, please,” you begged, grabbing onto his hand down to your throbbing clit. “T-Touch m-me, I need to come, Joong, p-please.”

“Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me,” he groaned, immediately drawing circles on your swollen bud, instantly drawing a garbled scream from you. “That’s it, baby, fuck me. Ride my fucking cock, yes.”

You had not once paused from bouncing, continues fucking yourself ardently onto his thick, intruding cock until you were nothing but a senseless doll. “You don’t understand how long I’ve wanted this,” he rasped, his voice rough and uneven, his lips kissing and sucking every surface of your skin he could claim.

“I’ve wanted you long before the day you looked me in the eye at that dining table. Each day was a risk I couldn’t afford to take, but God, I wanted you anyway. Every day. In every fucking way.”

He kissed you again, deeper, needier. It wasn’t just hunger - it was reprieve. Years of restraint burning away in the heat of a single truth finally spoken aloud. You were what he wanted. Always had been.

“Joong, a-ah, that feels so good,” you moaned out, all sense of mind gone from the feeling of him finally ravishing you the way you always wanted. “Just like that, say my name,” he gritted out, cupping your face tenderly in contrast to this thrusts, his eyes lidded and desperate. “I’ve waited so long to hear you say my damn name, baby, please, I’m begging you.”

“Hongjoong,” you let out, loud and clear. His cock twitched in your cunt, but you weren’t done yet. This was a man you had no problem seeing all of you. “Hongjoong, Hongjoong, Hongjoong.”

Soon enough, you exploded. It wasn’t the delicious rubbing of his fingertips in between young legs that or how deep his cock fucked that undid you, though that was a huge factor, but it was the way he kissed you, the way he looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky for him to admire. “Oh, I’m com—Hongjoong, Joong, Joong—”

Hongjoong didn’t last much longer. With his final thrusts, Hongjoong lifted his hips to fuck into you until all the both of you had was mind-blowing blankness fulled with heat and lust. Overstimulation coiled in your groin as your eyes rolled in the back of your head, your little whimpers spurring Hongjoong on until he came with a loud groan and spilled inside of you.

Everything slowed down with you slumped completely onto Hongjoong’s rising chest, meeting yours as you both tried to catch your breaths. The sex was fast, but it was all the both of you needed. “Good girl,” he whispered, turning your face to his for a quick kiss. “My good girl—hey, you don’t have to move yet, stay.”

You pulled out anyway, whimpering slightly at the sensation of Hongjoong’s cum dripping onto your thighs as you bent down to give him a kiss in return before sitting comfortably on his lap and laying your head on his chest, resting your head onto the crook of his neck as his arm quickly wrapped around you protectively. “It’s okay,” you whispered, your eyes slowly closing, your breath evening.

“You want to stay like this?” Hongjoong asked fondly, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your back.

But for naught. Sleep had caught on to you and the last thing you felt was Hongjoong carrying you as he chuckled affectionately at your drowsy state. It was the most peace you’ve felt in a while.

Just like everything in your life, nothing good seemed to last forever. In the beginning, everything was smooth sailing. You and Hongjoong went back to the manor the next day, and it was nothing short of chaos the moment you stepped in the house where everyone was already waiting by the entrance. Seonghwa was the one who greeted you at the front door and his brows almost reached his hairline with how close you stood next to Hongjoong.

“The hell’s wrong with you?” Hongjoong asked sharply. “Why are you looking at us like that?”

Seonghwa raised his hands, blinking innocently. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

You frowned, not noticing the way you linked your arms with Hongjoong’s, but everyone did. Not one step inside the manor and everyone was already looking at the both of you. Jongho bent to grab both of your suitcases, but paused when he took one look at the both of you. “Huh,” he whispered. “Weird.”

Even Mingi who greeted his father, and you albeit stiffly, raised a brow, but opted not to say anything, just walking away while looking back at the both of you repeatedly like he was seeing what he wasn’t supposed to be seeing. You and Hongjoong looked at each other, thoroughly confused, but shrugged it off.

And that’s when San walked by, carrying a tray of cookies you loved so much, only to freeze when he saw Hongjoong gently placing a hand on your back to guide you past a stray step. He blinked over and over again until all the cookies plopped down towards the floor. “I’m sorry, what have you done to my favourite dysfunctional couple?”

You were horrified, mouth agape as you stared at all the sugary goodness on the floor. “My cookies,” you frowned, tugging at Hongjoong’s sleeve. “Joong…”

It only got worse when Hongjoong leaned down, pressed a kiss to your cheek nonchalantly and murmured, “I have to work for a couple of hours to catch up while we were gone. I’ll be back to spoil you rotten, yeah? I’ll see if I can order cookies after, so be good.”

You blinked, stunned, and so did literally everyone else in the hallway. The silence that followed could’ve cracked glass. You stood there, flustered, a hand over your cheek where he just kissed you in front of everyone.

Wooyoung took one look at you, one look at Hongjoong’s retreating form as he walked away, before letting out a screech so loud and unholy that you covered your ears immediately. “Oh my fucking God, what was that?” Wooyoung shouted, flailing like a game show host on a sugar high. “Did you just call him Joong?”

But that was it, because after that, it was like everything never even happened. You weren’t sure what you expected. Hongjoong pulling you aside just to hold you again like he did that night? Instead, life resumed as if nothing had changed. He never really did get you those cookies nor did he spend time with you afterwards anymore.

He wasn’t snarling or glaring at you anymore, that was for sure, but he always kept you close even in the small gestures like sitting beside you or holding your hand, but that was it. You still slept in separate rooms, and there were no more whispers in the dark, no more soft kisses, no more of him asking for five more minutes in bed before he got up. No one questioned it.

It started small, you almost convinced yourself you imagined it. During meals, he no longer sat beside you. He’ll speak, he’ll nod, but his body always angles away from you. That was when the absence of touch came next. Once, Hongjoong’s hand would find your lower back or brush yours when passing you a glass, but now, he didn’t reach out, didn’t accidentally graze your skin.

One afternoon, you entered the library. You hadn’t even called out his name, but the moment he saw you, he stood, gathered his things, and left. It was when his cold formality started again, never with warmth, and when he gave you instructions, he didn’t say your name. When you responded, his eyes would flicker, but he never truly looked at you.

By mafia standards, you should’ve married her within the first month.

Yunho’s words sank deeper than you wanted to admit. They curled under your skin like thorns. What if he was right? What if Hongjoong had never planned to marry you at all? Your eyes burned, and you blinked furiously to push the sting away. He had kissed you, held you, had made love to you. And now, he was walking around as if he hadn’t touched every inch of your soul.

You rubbed at your chest as if you could soothe the ache building there. What if this was it? What if this cold civility, this silence, was all he thought you were worth? Maybe he didn’t want to marry you. Maybe he never did.

Then came the locked doors. You never really hung out with him when he worked, but the locked door was suspicious. He also began sending people in his place. Hongjoong no longer filled your space, he ghosted it. You couldn’t even remember the last time he told you something directly.

You weren’t stupid. You knew how this world worked, how alliances were made and unmade at the flick of a wrist, at the spill of a secret. Maybe you had just been another deal. A piece of a war you weren’t meant to survive. Which was why you barged into his office one day without bothering to knock or close the door.

He didn’t seem at all surprised at your intrusion. He sighed, lowering his glasses and looking at you with tired eyes. “What’s this about, darling?”

“Do you regret us? Touching me? Kissing me?” You started, unable to stop the spiral now. “Or are you just pretending it didn’t happen so I don’t get any stupid ideas l-like marriage or a future?”

He didn’t answer. A bitter laugh escaped your lips, barely a sound. “I can’t believe you,” you murmured, your voice cracking around the edges. “Are you telling me what I felt was nothing? You almost had me fooled there, Hongjoong. I thought for sure hope wasn’t just a word anymore—”

“Can you not? How about this,” he sighed, placing his hands on your cheeks to cup it like he did before, and your traitorous body leaned onto his touch. “I’ll take you out later, okay? Let me just finish working. Sounds good?”

“Are you going to marry me?” You blurted out instead. He stiffened. You felt it immediately his arms didn’t fall away, but his hold loosened just enough for the space between you to feel colder than it had before. “Hongjoong?”

It spiraled. Your brain wouldn’t stop spinning. You didn’t remember pushing him and running away to the comfort of your room after locking the door. All you remember was his refusal to answer and look at you. And the way he never did take you out after.

And the worst of all, everyone had noticed. You had lost your spark, that light in your eyes, that drive in your walk. The anxiety, the paranoia, was slowly eating you alive. You were falling apart at the seams, and no one dared to say it out loud. But you could feel it; this immense pressure building in your chest like a ticking bomb.

Another thing was you were also starting to notice the way everyone was looking at you. It wasn’t quite pity, no, but it was akin to the end. To be fair, if Hongjoong was to keep acting like this, the end was nigh, indeed. What if this was all a game? What if he was keeping you close for power? Or pity?

You were thirty-three when your heart had failed you in a way that stayed. Your reflection in the mirror didn’t even look like you anymore. It looked like someone trying to be worthy of being chosen. Marrying Hongjoong was a want now, not a necessity, and that broke you.

And then, one day, it all seemed to shatter. You were passing by Hongjoong’s office, an excuse you’ve been telling yourself just to see if you were going to have a small glimpse of him, when you heard it. Voices low, urgent, and hushed. One of them was Hongjoong’s.

“It’s being finalized, then?” Hongjoong’s sharp, business-like voice asked.

“Yes,” Mingi replied, serious and deep. “I reckon we’ll be able to make a move soon and then everything will be settled. You could let her go after.”

You froze in place, feeling like ice has been poured over you. Seonghwa sighed. “It’s just…are we really doing this? After everything? Won’t it destroy her?”

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Besides, it’s not knowledge she deserves to have, anyway. I didn’t go this far just for her to know. It’s better this way,” Hongjoong said curtly.

“Does she even know?” San’s voice now asked. “I’m confused. You both looked like you almost had it going, Joong. Why didn’t you tell her then?“

“No,” Seonghwa replied, sighing. “Hongjoong’s keeping her in the dark until all the loose ends are tied. Her bastard uncle did sign a contract after all, so technically she’s with us. It’s a good thing.”

Mingi clicked his tongue. “It shouldn’t have gone this far, Father. You’re lucky she’s still loyal after everything. You should’ve told her from the start this engagement was a fraud.”

Your heart stuttered. You covered your mouth, willing yourself to stay silent as tears started to pool on the side of your eyes.

“I still think it’s cruel,” San murmured. “Are you ever going to tell her, Hongjoong? You’re really gonna let her go? Just like that?”

There was a beat of silence that stretched for far too long before Hongjoong spoke again. “There was never supposed to be an ‘us’ anyway. It was a mistake that should have never happened.”

You couldn’t take it anymore, taking off as soon as that conversation ended. You sat on the floor of your room, knees tucked into your chest, the ache in your bones eclipsed only by the quiet, creeping devastation hollowing you out from the inside. Yunho’s words echoed in your mind like a curse you couldn’t shake. By mafia standards, you should’ve married her within the first month. Why haven’t you? Did you want to keep her locked up like a secret no one else can touch? Or are you just dragging her through the mud?

But now? Now, after hearing that conversation, after watching him pass you in the hallway like a stranger, after everyone’s pitying glances and whispered silences, it all felt so grotesquely clear - you weren’t something he was building a future with, you were someone he was using.

You tried to breathe, but it came out ragged, your chest too tight. The truth clawed at you with wild, unforgiving hands. Yunho had been right all along, and now you were stuck in a house that felt more like a mausoleum than a home with a name he would never give you and a heart he would never claim. You spent days like that, refusing to see anyone who noticed they haven’t seen your face in a while, leaving the trays of food placed on your door untouched, and only going out to use the bathroom. It was how you had accidentally left the door ajar for someone to find you, face blotchy and swollen when Jongho came in, eyes widened at your messed up state, as he helped you up to sit on the bed.

“Y/N, what happened to you?” He let out in concern. He stood up, and you thought for a second that he was giving you the space you clearly needed when you didn’t answer, but you were wrong. “I’m calling Hongjoong,” he said, already pulling out his phone. “I don’t know what happened, but you clearly need him.”

Something in your mind snapped into a quiet haze. Jongho was handsome. He was kind, and he was always there for you. For one breathless second, you wished that you could feel something, anything, other than the emptiness Hongjoong had left you with.

“Don’t call him,” you murmured, voice cracking as you reached for his hand. You looked up at Jongho, his brows furrowed in confusion. And before you could stop yourself, before you could think, you whispered, “Kiss me.”

Jongho’s entire body froze. His lips parted slightly, eyes widening, not with desire, but with shock and pity. He roze, the blood draining from his face. “Y/N, I don’t—”

“Please,” you begged. “I need to feel like I’m not losing everything—”

“Y/N?” Hongjoong’s voice suddenly crackled on the phone. “What’s going on? Jongho, what in God’s name are you doing?”

The call had connected after all, but you were done caring about Hongjoong. You grabbed Jongho’s shirt, lowering him to your lips. “I-I need to feel something, Jongho, please pretend I’m wanted,” your voice cracked.

“What the fuck is going on?” Hongjoong's voice roared through the speaker, frantic now. “I am going to skin you alive and drain your blood if you do it, don’t you dare, Jongho—”

But Jongho didn’t move. He respectfully held your shoulders, keeping you at arm’s length with utmost care. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice soft, heavy with pity but unwavering. “You don’t need more lies right now.”

On the other end of the phone, Hongjoong’s breathing was ragged, silent, tortured, like he was ready to rip through space to get to you before the line went dead. It was when you broke down, sobbing in Jongho’s arms apologizing through and through for your utterly shameful behaviour, thanking him for not taking advantage of your momentary weakness.

And then, the anger settled in. How dare Hongjoong act like that after what you overheard? What’s it to him that you wanted to kiss someone else’s lips besides his filthy ones? You remembered the way his voice sounded when told you that one dinner night that you were not to wear a ring. You should have known.

You made up your mind then - you were leaving him. You weren’t going to live trapped in the unknown. You’d spent years chained under your uncle’s care, and now under the illusion of Hongjoong’s protection, but no more. Maybe you’d stay with Yunho to start again and figure out who you really were outside of the Kim manor’s walls.

But first, you needed that damn contract. The one that bound you to Hongjoong as his property. After much deliberation, the easiest way would be to drive him out of his office long enough for him to not come back.

So you picked a fight, purposefully targeting his tendency to get possessive of you like you were his property. It spurred you on, and at first, he wasn’t budging, but when you mentioned off-handedly about the kiss you wanted from Jongho, he bit.

The effect was instant. Hongjoong instantly stopped what he was doing, his entire frame taut with tension, his eyes narrowed dangerously. “What did you say?” He asked coldly.

You bit your lip to hold your smirk back. “I said,” you drawled. “Maybe I should’ve asked Jongho to kiss me again.”

That did it. His steps toward you were slow, deliberate, dangerous. He growled low under his breath, shoving past you, practically vibrating with possessive rage. “I don’t know what game you’re playing at, but don’t test me, Y/N,” he snapped. “I’ve killed for less without blinking.”

Your heart beat erratically as you listened to Hongjoong’s furious commands to hand him his keys so he could drive off that were sounding further and further until you heard the front door slam so hard, you could practically feel it vibrate from where you were.

Perfect. Now all you had to do was find the damn contract - and whatever other secrets he’d been hiding.

Luckily for you, Hongjoong didn’t lock his cabinets. To be completely fair, nobody in their right mind - except you, apparently - would even dream of digging through his files while he wasn’t present. It was like finding a needle on a haystack, but whenever you’d recall the conversation you overheard here, it gave you a newfound sense of determination. Finally, you found it. With trembling hands, you gingerly took the contract that basically held your uncle’s life and bound you to Hongjoong. You hated your uncle for selling you, but at the same time, you couldn’t imagine not meeting Hongjoong at all.

This was it, you were done, and you were leaving. You had already packed what little you brought here and all that was left now was to burn the bridge behind you and never look back. Tears welled in your eyes, however, as you willed Hongjoong’s fond eyes as he looked at you out of your mind. Your story with him had happened, but now, it had to end.

You folded the contract resolutely. Just as you turned to leave, something fluttered from between the pages. It was a thinner piece of paper, tucked behind the contract, and it fell towards the floor, face up. You blinked in confusion, was this another part of the contract?

You crouched, hand shaky as you picked it up, but before you could touch it, you froze. Your pulse skipped, heart sinking the moment your eyes caught the title - it was a marriage contract and it had Hongjoong’s unmistakable signature on it.

You blinked once, twice, but the name didn’t change. The blood drained from your face, a sudden rush of nausea coiled in your gut with bile that started to burn your throat as you backed away from the fallen paper as if it had a contagious disease of some sort.

Was this it? The secret he’d been keeping? Your chest felt like it had caved in. No wonder he didn’t want to marry you - he literally couldn’t. He already belonged to someone else and you seeked comfort in his arms like you belonged in it when, in fact, you did not. You never did.

You ran out of the office, your pathetic tears finally falling from your eyes as you felt your heart starting to break. You didn’t bother stopping for Wooyoung, who looked genuinely worried for your state, and you pushed past a surprised Seonghwa, who was the last person you ever wanted to see besides Hongjoong.

You shoved the contract hastily in your luggage, trudging it silently towards the back door you knew nobody passed or guarded, each movement mechanical, like your soul detached itself long ago. The suitcase was filled with your clothes, but really, it's all the things you never meant to carry - bitterness and heartbreak.

You barely made it one step outside when a hand grabbed your arm from behind, spinning you unceremoniously. It was someone you never expected in a million years, and he was already waiting by the door like he knew you’d come out here. “Running away again, I see,” Mingi eyes your luggage. “Though it seems you have no plans of coming back.”

His features are etched from the same ice as his father's - cold, unreadable. He’s never spoken to you beyond what's necessary. You pulled your arm away harshly from his hold. “Not that it would matter,” you scoffed. “Hongjoong has no plans of marrying me, what’s the point?”

Realization seemed to dawn on him. “You found the certificate. Is that why Wooyoung said you’re crying?” He sighed, long and breathy, as if he wasn’t prepared for what he was about to say next. “I have to give it to you, you’re clever for driving him out of his office, but whatever it is you’re thinking, you’re dead wrong.”

You laugh once, bitter and sharp. “I saw it with my own two eyes, and the facts speak for themselves, don’t they? All he’s ever made me feel was that I was an inconvenience to him.”

“You’ve only seen what he’s allowed you to see,” Mingi says quietly. “You think my father doesn’t care about you, but Y/N, he’d sell his soul for you. For what it’s worth, we all think it should’ve never gone this far.”

“Yeah, well,” you exhaled sharply, turning to leave again. “It’s a little too late for that—”

“Don’t leave,” Mingi said, almost a whisper, almost a plea. You faltered, stunned at how he wasn’t letting you pass. He rubs his face between his hands in distress. “How about this, let me show you something, and if that still doesn’t change your mind, I’ll even help you walk away.” “Why?” You asked coldly, but followed him back to what seemed like Hongjoong’s office anyway. “You made it clear that you never liked me from the beginning.”

“Because I’m not going to let him lose you, not like this,” Mingi opened the door for you to enter. “And I never disliked you. You are my father’s one shot at the happiness he never got before, I could never dislike you for that.”

San was already there. He looked up as you entered, and your breath caught. In his hands was the very marriage certificate that had shattered you just moments ago. He eyed your luggage, resignation clear in his eyes. “Y/N, I am so, so sorry,” his voice cracked when you refused to meet his eye. “You deserve to know the truth before you walk away, at least.”

Mingi sighed and walked over to the far side of the desk. He reached under the edge, clicking something underneath. “This,” he held out a small recording device. “Is for protection and insurance whenever he invites people over here. It never stops recording. I’m sure you know where I’m going with this.”

And with that, he presses play. You didn’t speak, just listened. At first, you heard nothing, just pure static and a couple of movements before San fast forwarded it, stopping when he was satisfied.

“She’s beautiful, Hwa, my goodness. Her photos don’t do her justice,” Hongjoong’s familiar voice sounded all over the room, slightly startling you. “I-I must’ve looked like a fool during dinner. How am I supposed to pretend that I’m not head over heels in love with her?”

“You did look like a fool,” Seonghwa’s voice said next, deadpanned. “It’s embarrassing, Joong. Your own son had to tell you to stop staring.”

Head over heels? It didn’t make sense. Not when he avoided you for the longest time, not when he stood silent while you begged for clarity. San started fast forwarding again.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” The voice was unmistakably Hongjoong’s sharp, furious, and barely restrained. “Flirting with her in front of me? Do you want me to ship you back in Suwon, you uncultured swine?”

Wooyoung’s familiar laughter shrieked all over the room so loud, Mingi rolled his eyes. “My God, Dad, you are so down bad. I’ve never seen you so jealous in my life. I have no plans to steal your wife, relax.”

“That’s not the point,” Hongjoong snapped. “Don’t touch her like that again. Don’t talk to her like she’s anyone but mine. Do you understand me?”

You stood there, frozen. Your hands trembled slightly as you remembered that day so clearly in your head. San gave Mingi a glance before silently playing the recording again.

“I fucked up,” Honjoong started, but it was in a voice you’ve never heard on him before, and for some reason, it hurt your heart to hear. “I shouldn’t have shouted at her during dinner, she looked at me like I’d hit her. And I-I hate myself for it, she probably hates me—”

“You think?” Jongho’s voice responded, unusually sharp. “She looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her whole. Seriously, what were you thinking?”

“I shouldn’t have pushed the plate like that, but it had avocados in it,” Hongjoong’s voice faltered, like he was trying to rein himself in.

There was a pause in the recording, and in your head as well. You felt like you were about to faint. “Avocados?” San in the recording asked, clearly confused.

Hongjoong sighed heavily and you could practically hear him pacing in his office. “She’s allergic to avocados. Allergic enough for anaphylactic shock.”

“You could’ve just said something,” San replied, dry and disbelieving. “That wasn’t just over the line, Joong. It was humiliating.”

“That’s why she reacted like that when I told her about the dressing,” Jongho commented off-handedly. “But still, you scared her. Hell, you scared all of us.”

“I was scared as well, that’s why I’m furious,” Hongjoong snapped. “I clearly told the staff to not put avocados in her food. How was I supposed to tell her without arousing suspicion of the fucker that did it?”

That night, you’d gone to bed wondering if he hated you. Meanwhile, he was probably pacing the floor in this very room, wondering if you were still breathing, wondering if he should have just shouted your allergy across the table rather than risk letting you eat what could’ve killed you. “You okay to keep going?” San asked softly. When you nodded stiffly, he pressed play again.

“Did you order food out?” Wooyoung’s voice sounded out this time. “Oh, that actually looks good, can I have some—”

A loud smack can be heard in the background before Wooyoung’s yelp. “No,” Hongjoong’s light, almost boyish tone, smugly denied. “My love made this for me. Can you guys believe it? She’s literally perfect in every way, she even cooks well, too. A literal angel in every sense, I tell you.”

“Hold on, is that why she’s been hanging around the kitchen late?” Wooyoung asked, confused. “But she looks so down everytime—she doesn’t know you’re eating them, does she?”

There was a pause before Seonghwa spoke next, his voice quieter. “You have to tell her, Joong. Me and San have to carry the burden of seeing her tears the next day every single time we pretend to throw away the food the next day. She makes them with love, you know?”

Silence. Then Hongjoong sighed, deep and hollow. “God, I want to, but not yet. You know there’s a mole in the staff. If I let on that I care too much, it puts a target on her back. It’s the only way to protect her without tipping my hand.”

There was a pause. “She’s so bright when she cooks, and I never tell her,” he continued heavily. “I said nothing, like I always do. So for now, all I could do is savour her food, you know? It keeps my longing away for now.”

Something in your chest cracked. You remembered those nights. You never imagined he cherished every bite in silence, keeping up a mask to protect you from shadows you didn’t even know were looming. Suddenly, it transitioned into a conversation you knew far too well, the one you heard before you ran away to the playground.

“But you can’t keep doing this to keep giving her the cold shoulder, Joong,” Seonghwa clicked his tongue. “She’s too perceptive and you know she'll find out, what are you going to do then?”

“Give me time,” Hongjoong’s tone shifted into something darker. “We’re so close to caging in Yoo Jaehwan, that bastard ruined her life. Please, no one can know for now. I have to make sure he’ll pay for that car accident that almost cost her and Yeosang.”

You gasped audibly, almost tripping at what you just heard. There was only one car accident that had Yeosang and you in it, did this run deeper than you initially thought?

“She won’t be safe forever, you know that. San’s working on Mingi’s intel for the hit and run. It was damn near impossible to find who hit her parents back then. You think Jaehwan knows?”

“There’s no denying it. That bastard killed them. She will be safer here, so please, watch over her for me. I will never forgive myself if something happens to her. She’s my everything—who’s there?”

And all this time, the man you thought didn’t care,the man whose cold shoulder and distant silence had crushed you, had been carrying the weight of it all in secret. You shook your head in denial, if this wasn’t enough, your uncle had something to do with your parents’ death as well. “Make it stop,” you begged. “I-I can’t—”

“I’m sorry,” Mingi apologized, and you could see he was genuine this time. “We have to keep going. This is why Father was the way he was with you. You have to know.”

You heard a glass clink against another, followed by the unmistakable sound of Hongjoong’s tired hiccup, more human than you'd ever heard him, before the familiar sigh of Seonghwa followed. “That’s enough,” he gently coaxed. “You’re drunk, Joong. You’re half gone–”

“Half gone? I haven’t been whole since I lied to her,” Hongjoong’s drunk and pained voice slurred. “She ran away from me, Hwa. And I deserve it. I was prepared for her hate, but not her absence. When I couldn’t find her, I was so damn scared, none of you even understood.”

Hongjoong swallowed more alcohol. “I love her, Seonghwa. I love her more than this house, more than the empire, more than anything. But if she knew what I’ve done, she’d never stay.”

You clutch the edge of the table like it’s the only thing holding you upright. “There’s still time to tell her,” Seonghwa advised. “Mingi still thinks you shouldn’t hide this.”

“What if she realizes I’m the reason her life turned to hell?” Hongjoong cried out in melancholy. “I’m terrified she’ll disappear for good when she finds out what I’ve done and made the selfish decision to make her mine—”

“But she doesn’t know that,” Seonghwa said softly. “She doesn’t know you held her hand the whole time in the hospital. You did it to protect her. You married her, for God’s sake.”

Your knees nearly gave out. That hand - warm, calloused, unmoving but steady - had been the only thing tethering you to life. That hand was the only one that stayed when no one else did. Tears sprung to your eyes, that hand had been your lifeline, and after all this time, you had been his.

“I married her to settle a score. But somewhere along the line, I just,” Hongjoong sniffled. “I just loved her. Every day I don’t tell her, she drifts further from me. And I-I don’t know how to fix it.”

You swallowed audibly when the recording paused. There was only one question lingering in your head, one that San read on your face but refused to acknowledge. Instead, he reached forward and pressed play. The room was silent again, except for the soft static of the next recording beginning to play.

“I’ll bow to your king when he shows himself,” your voice played out this time, clipped and cut. You cringed internally. You remember how liberated you felt after that day, but now you were about to find out what happened after you stormed out.

Seonghwa and Mingi were in the room that day and you were expecting the three of them to talk about your utter disrespect, but you were not expecting Hongjoong’s laughter, loud, bubbly, and full of mirth after a few seconds of you walking away.

“Well, would you look at that,” Mingi snorted, but even through the recording, you could hear the subtle fondness in his voice. “You’ve finally found your match, Father.”

“God, I’m so proud of her,” Hongjoong said through his laughter, his voice breathless and utterly thrilled. “Did you see the way she stood up to me like a champ? I’ve never been that close to finishing on the spot.”

Mingi let out a sound of pure, exaggerated revulsion. “Please, never let me hear that again. That is fucking disgusting, this is why I get drunk often.”

“Oh, it gets worse,” Seonghwa chortled. “Did you see the way he looked at her? He was looking at her like he wanted her to break his neck and thank her for it. It was sickening. I wanted to bleach my eyes.”

“Shut up,” Hongjoong muttered, but there was no real heat behind it. You could hear the smile in his voice. It was small, secretive, a little lovesick.

“No, you shut up,” Seonghwa shot back with playful disbelief. “She literally insulted your bloodline and told you that you are not the king of your own empire in her eyes and you look like you’re ready to carve her name onto your chest.”

“Well, he just might,” Mingi answered dramatically. “You two make marriage look fun. My money’s on her, you know? Hell, everyone’s is at this point.”

Hongjoong laughed again, sounding more genuine, if that was possible. “So is mine.”

You’ve barely let that settle before the next recording sounded. You froze. This was the most recent, the catalyst that set this whole thing in motion. “I still think it’s cruel,” San murmured. “Are you ever going to tell her, Hongjoong? You’re really gonna let her go? Just like that?”

“There was never supposed to be an ‘us’ anyway. It was a mistake that should have never happened,” Hongjoong sighed and you were confused. You didn’t remember him sounding this torn about it. This was when you ran away crying to your room utterly heartbroken.

“That’s my wife, San. I don’t want to let her go, but it was cruel for me to take her secretly. I have to let her go if she doesn’t want to stay even if it hurts me. We go for the kill, but leave Jaehwan to me. I want to kill him, myself.”

The recording ended there, for good this time. You just stood there shaking, lips parted, eyes glassy. He hadn’t just tolerated you, he adored you - no, he loved you hopelessly with a hidden love that he kept choking down behind layers of silence and strategy.

You feel your knees weaken not from pain, but from the crushing, beautiful truth that maybe you were never unloved. “I-I don’t understand,” you blurted, tears blurring your vision. “T-There has to be a mistake. He’s married to someone else—”

San started to show you the marriage certificate again, but you didn’t want anything to do with it. “Y/N,” San said gently, catching your hand before you could shove the paper away. “Just look closer, please. At the bottom.”

Your gaze dropped, unwilling at first but your breath stopped, your mind stilling into chaotic silence when you saw it - your name and signature right beside Hongjoong’s. You blinked hard, heart thrashing in your chest. “I don’t remember this. I never - how could I not know I was married?”

“Our job is done. We shouldn’t be the ones explaining this. You need to hear it from him,” Mingi said as he stood and with a final glance, the door clicked shut, and you were left alone with your thoughts, the weight of the paper, and a heart that no longer knew what to believe.

You were shaking your head violently, eyes already welling up with tears you refused to acknowledge. One by one, everything started to make sense, even the little things you ignored for fear of falling too hard - your avocado allergy, how he picked raisins out of your food, your photo on his desk you now knew for sure he kept staring at every single day.

And everyone knew too, there were also the telltale signs of everyone slipping by accident - the way San froze when he found out your name was Jeong, Seonghwa telling you it was finally nice to meet you, overhearing Yeosang say you weren’t just a wife, you were someone Hongjoong would burn the world for.

You should’ve been angry, and you were, but underneath all of that was grief not just for yourself, but for him too. Your chest ached as you imagined all those nights he must have sat awake, planning, hiding, hurting. All those moments you begged him to speak, and he couldn’t not because he didn’t want to - but because he loved you too much to risk everything.

A sob clawed its way up your throat. You wiped your face with shaking hands, but the tears wouldn’t stop now. How long had he carried all this alone? How long had he loved you silently, forced to cage every affection? How could you hate someone for hurting you when all they ever wanted was to protect you? It must have been crushing.

Your heart was a tangled, desperate mess in your chest by the time the door finally opened. Hongjoong stepped in, his brows pinched together in confusion when he saw you there. When he saw the marriage certificate crumpled tightly in your hands, it was like the ground vanished beneath his feet.

He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes blown wide, his breath catching audibly. It was like you also held his heart in your hands. All the color drained from his face, but somewhere in his eyes, relief shone through. And you knew why - all the pretending has to stop now and you both knew it.

Hongjoong slowly closed the door behind him, eyes never leaving yours, and for once, he looked afraid, vulnerable and human. “We need to talk,” he said hoarsely, and there wasn’t a trace of command in his voice, only quiet pleading as he slowly approached you.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” You cried out, heart aching and throat tight, the paper trembling in your hands like the storm inside you that was finally meeting his. “Everything hurts, Hongjoong. I can’t breathe.”

Without another word, he knelt in front of you, like the wind had been knocked out of him, and reached for you with trembling hands. You collapsed into his chest, sobbing openly as he cradled you to him. His warmth surrounded you, his scent grounding you, and for the first time, his arms didn’t feel like a prison - they felt like home.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, over and over again, his lips brushing your temple. “I’m so, so sorry. I never wanted you to find out like this, and I never wanted to hurt you. But I was wrong. I was so wrong.”

You shook your head against him, trying to make sense of the chaos in your chest. “I wanted so desperately for you to care for me, Hongjoong,” you confessed angrily, lamenting for all the times you spent yearning. “I wanted it so badly that I never blamed you for how you treated me, no matter how bad, I never blamed you.”

He clutched you tighter as if the very fabric of his soul depended on your forgiveness, his breath shaky, his words barely held together. “Blame me, Y/N. My soul can’t be saved if I sell you my sins and the scars in your heart are mine to atone, but don’t think for a second that I never loved you,” his voice cracked. “That I don’t love you now.”

Rage sets in as his words wrapped around your heart like a chain, heavy with the weight of long-buried truths. “You’re cruel, you know that?” You thumped your fists on his chest repeatedly. “After all the things you made me go through? You tell me this now?”

You could feel his tears now, each one a testament to the pain he had buried beneath the armor he wore for too long. “You think I’m cruel, but I’ve been your husband longer than you’ve known. And I’ve loved you every single day of it,” he whispered, his hands trembling.

Your breath caught as his words sank in, deeper than any wound he’d ever left behind. Husband. You wanted to scream, to cry, to pull away, to collapse into him all at once. How could he say it like that? So stripped of pride and power, like a man offering up the last piece of himself and hoping it would be enough? It was too much. It was everything.

He pressed his forehead to yours, lips barely apart from yours. “If you want the truth, I'll give you that. If you want to leave, I will never stop you."

But somehow, all you could do was hold him tighter. “I don’t want freedom from you, Hongjoong,” you whispered, breaking apart in his arms. “I just want the truth.”

Hongjoong didn’t speak at first. You felt his body tremble as he held you, as though the truth itself was too heavy to carry alone anymore. “I’m not the right person to tell you this, it would be Yunho, but to put it simply for now, your parents both served my father, and in turn, me after he passed away.”

You pulled back slightly, your breath catching in your throat. “M-My parents were in the mafia?” You asked, heart pounding with the realization already forming. Somehow, it made sense - they were absent throughout your teenage years and they did keep their career a secret.

“They were. Yunho took over your father after, but we didn’t get along much, but that’s another story,” Hongjoong said softly. “They were good people. One day I got myself into something I wasn’t supposed to. I would’ve been dead if it weren’t for them and my sons would be fatherless. I was young and stupid and they saved me. I owe them my life, I still do.”

He paused, voice tightening with grief. “I didn’t have much power back then, so I did the best thing I could. Assets, lots of them. I gave your parents millions, Y/N, but before I could fully ever thank them, before I could protect them…” Hongjoong looked away, sighing heavily.

“They died before they could use the money. My uncle wanted their money, didn’t he? Did he kill them?” You blurted out. His silence confirmed it and you shuddered, anguish and clarity warred within you as the weight of your stolen past pressed down on your chest.

“At first I didn’t have proof it was him,” you felt Hongjoong’s hands holding you steady, his warmth anchoring you to something real. “I was investigating their deaths for years. It was my way of getting back for them for saving me. It wasn’t until your car accident with Yeosang a couple of years back.”

You swallowed. This was it, this was the part you weren’t sure you were ready to hear. His face turned dark before he continued. “Yeosang was suspicious of the accident. We both thought the hit was for him at first since he’s my son. When I investigated, it was how I found out who you were. It felt like the universe just punched me in the gut.”

“W-What does this have to do with marrying me?”

“Everything,” his expression twisted, like it physically hurt him to relive it. “When your parents died, all that money went to you automatically. Do you remember that day when I asked you why your uncle took you in when Yunho was losing his mind looking for you all this time?”

You nodded, your stomach sinking. “He took you in to drain every cent out of you. He was bleeding you dry,” his jaw ticked in concealed anger. “He got impatient, that car accident back then would speed up the process.”

You shook your head, denial flaring. Your lungs were too tight, your heart racing painfully in your chest as you tried not to throw up. “So, what, you married me to stop him?”

“Not just that,” he said hoarsely, and then, softer. “I had to make it legally binding. As your husband, I could legally control your funds. It was the only way I knew how, so I married you in secret, in the hospital, while you were unconscious. And I held your hand while you signed.”

Your head snapped up at that. Your blood ran cold, because you remembered that day. The warmth of a hand in yours, grounding you while the world spun wildly. You thought it was just hospital consent forms. “That was the marriage certificate?” you whispered, your voice breaking. “But that was years before my uncle sold me to you, Hongjoong, that doesn’t make any sense—”

“I had to let you go back to him after,” he explained, eyes shut tight with regret. “He was desperate, and desperate men get dangerous. I needed time. I needed him to think he was still in control, still bleeding you dry while I worked behind the scenes.”

You stood there in stunned silence, your hands trembling with the weight of a truth you never asked for but now couldn’t ignore. “I watched you for years,” he continued, voice hollow but steady. “Always from a distance. I told myself it was enough.I kept telling myself I was doing it for your parents, that I owed them everything. That’s how it started. But then…”

His voice cracked, and for a moment he didn’t go on. “Then I fell in love with you,” he whispered, trembling. “Without even realizing it, I fell. Hard. And for that, I’m sorry. I will regret taking that choice away from you for as long as I live. The plan was to annul the marriage when I was done compiling evidence against him, and believe me, I tried to do it quickly. I didn’t want you to stay with him for long.”

Your breath caught when he smiled faintly, and it was the saddest, most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. “You were always strong, and I hated that I couldn’t tell you how proud I was. I’m sorry I got selfish because the thought of annulling the marriage just hurt me on the inside.”

You looked down, heart racing, remembering the moments. All that time you resented him for being locked in his office instead of being with you, he was working to finally set you free. “Then why keep it a secret?” You asked, voice fragile. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I was scared,” he admitted. “Scared you’d hate me. Scared that if you knew the truth, you’d want nothing to do with me. I didn’t want to rip open old wounds by making you relive the past. So I just… watched and made sure you were doing well.”

“But everything changed. One time I sent Jongho,” Hongjoong went on, voice turning sharp with memory. “We didn’t know he was violent with you. He caught him hurting you. That fucking bastard,” his cracked slightly. “Not only was he stealing from you, he was beating you up the entire time, I-I wanted to die when I found out—”

A lone tear escaped his eyes when you shushed him, putting your finger on his lips gently. He cracked a bitter smile, kissing your finger before continuing. “So I bankrupted his business. I had Seonghwa pose as his client, made him plant the seed that Kim Hongjoong was giving money for something in exchange. It worked, that’s how I got you into my house.”

You froze up, suddenly breathless. Your whole life - every twist and turn, every unexplained pain, every confusing encounter - was beginning to piece together like a puzzle you never knew existed. “You were never a liability used to pay a debt,” he growled. “Once you were under my roof, I knew you were safe. I could fully start making my move on your uncle. I sent Wooyoung to Suwon to start—”

“Suwon?” You blinked in surprise, remembering the very first time you met Wooyoung. “He went there…because of me? Because you told him to?”

He nodded. “The man your uncle hired who hit your parents were both hiding in Suwon. Mingi wanted to do it since he was the one who found them for me, but Wooyoung…let’s say that son of mine is a little trigger-happy. Trust me, he was more than glad to do it.”

You felt your chest caving in. All this time, everyone - San, Seonghwa, Jongho, Wooyoung, and even Mingi - had been watching, protecting, quietly fighting battles for you that you didn’t even know existed.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you stared at the man who had haunted your days and nights with confusion, rage, longing - only to discover that, all along, he had loved you in silence.

“What now?” You sniffled. “What are we going to do?”

“I was going to kill him and then come clean to you,” he admitted ruefully. “But death is a salvation that he doesn’t deserve. I have all the evidence I need to send him to jail, because there’s one more thing your uncle cost me, ” he said, voice low and rough. “Yeosang.”

You felt your chest twist. “I had to send my own son away,” he spat the words like poison. “Because if your uncle ever saw him around, he would’ve figured it out that Yeosang was the one who called me, panicked, sobbing, begging me to save you.”

You knew that Hongjoong called Yeosang in a panic when you were poisoned to wherever he was hiding from to come and treat you. He risked all of it to save you. “Your uncle didn’t just steal from you,” he growled. “He didn’t just beat you, he stole from me too. He robbed me of time with you, your parents, and my son.”

He dropped to his knees again. “I did terrible things to keep you safe,” he said quietly. “And I can’t undo them. But if there’s anything left in your heart for me, even just a piece, I swear to you, I will make it right.”

Hongjoong was a man weighed down by guilt, someone laying every wound bare before you. You looked at him, this broken, bleeding man who had shielded you in ways you never even saw. And now, maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop surviving and start living. You gripped his hands tightly now, because for the first time, you understood.

“I hated you,” you whispered. His jaw clenched, and he closed his eyes like your words were blades, but he took it like he promised he would. “But I think I hated myself more for still loving you anyway.”

His eyes snapped open, wide and raw and shimmering with a hope he tried to suppress. “Y-You still do?” His broken voice stuttered.

“I don’t know how not to,” you said, your lips trembling. “I didn’t realize how much I fell for you until you started pulling back. Even when you pushed me so far away I thought I’d disappear, I kept looking for you.”

His breath hitched, and then he was kissing you, not out of possession or dominance, not like a man taking what he believed was his, but like someone starved for something he’d already mourned the loss of. His lips trembled against yours, and you tasted your shared sorrow, your silent tears, your aching, stupid, impossible love.

Hongjoong exhaled shakily, as if the weight of everything unsaid was finally buckling his knees. Now that you were in front of him, there was no more holding back. “I never meant to ignore you,” he said, voice rough and uneven. “These past few months, I-I know I’ve made you feel unwanted, like you were nothing but a pawn to me, but you never were.”

His eyes flicked to yours. “We were so close to getting your uncle. I could taste it, that justice. And I lost myself. I thought, just a little more time and I could finally give you peace.”

You opened your mouth to speak, to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but he shook his head. “No,” he whispered with a bitter smile. “It is my fault. I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t supposed to love you, I was supposed to distance myself because your uncle’s mole was watching us. But how could I not?”

“Hongjoong,” you tried to coax him out of these thoughts, but to no avail. Your vision blurred as his words sank in.

“How could I not hold back when you looked at the world with eyes that still trusted even after everything?” Hongjoong continued. “Every time you touched me, I felt like I was being forgiven for sins I hadn’t even confessed yet. Every night you were in my house, pretending not to care that I was cruel, pretending it didn’t hurt, I wanted to fall to my knees and curse every God out there for doing this to me, to us.”

He took your hands, his thumbs brushing your knuckles, and he held you like you were something fragile. “I even got you poisoned,” he said, pressing your hands to his chest, where his heart thundered violently. “Because I let my guard down. I’ve lived every day terrified that loving you would be the death of you, but it turns out, not loving you openly was killing me.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, thick and hot. When he finally pulled back, it was only just enough to whisper. “I married you once to protect you and I’d marry you again just to love you. Marry me, Y/N, please.”

You looked at him, the man who had fought in silence for you, bled in shadows for you, and lost you just to keep you alive. And for the first time, you saw him as the only person who had ever loved you enough to break his own heart to save yours. “You already have me,” you said softly, hands rising to cup his cheeks.

His exhale of relief and wonder, grief and gratitude all at once. No more pretending, no more secrets. Just the two of you, finally choosing each other in the light. You were already his long before you knew it and he’s always been yours.

“Let me get this straight,” Yunho uncrossed his long legs, his upper body leaning forward ever so slightly as his sharp, glaring eyes trained on Hongjoong’s flat, expressionless ones. “You’re telling me that you’ve been married to her this entire time? That you made her suffer in your slimy presence for the grand scheme of catching Jaehwan when you could’ve just left her with me?”

He removed his glasses to put it on top of the coffee table in front of him, its reflective surface and visual lightness made it a striking centerpiece while keeping the room feeling uncluttered and elegant, very befitting of someone like Yunho who exuded an exorbitant amount of grace. The way he scoffed after was anything of, however.

“You fucking bastard,” he seethed, banging his fist on said table with a sarcastic laugh that left his lips in a disbelieving pace of staccato. “I ought to kill you on the spot, Kim Hongjoong. I cannot believe you thought that this was normal, you’re not right in the head, I’m telling—”

“Now, now Yunho,” Hongjoong - or should you say, your husband - smirked smugly, snaking his arm around your waist to pull you closer. “In front of Y/N, really?”

“You won’t get away with this, also you mean my niece—”

“Don’t you mean my wife?” Hongjoong grinned, all of his teeth bared out in a daring show of possessiveness that was not to be messed with, clearly not even Yunho. “And I already have,” he turned to look at you, his eyes softening significantly as he smiled. “Isn’t that right, darling?”

Yunho balked at the blatant display of Hongjoong’s disrespect towards him. He looked at you expectantly, but all you could do was give him a sheepish smile as you toyed with the ring on your finger.

“Sorry, Uncle,” you giggled. “You heard my husband.”

Hongjoong whispered ‘that’s my girl’ softly on your ear as Yunho let out the most undignified squawk you’ve ever heard a grown man do.

Yunho covered his face with his hands and groaned. “You love him,” he deadpanned. “And you, you manipulative, delusional, leather-wearing tax fraud—”

“Tax fraud?” Hongjoong raised a brow, a slow grin spreading across his face like ink in water. “Really, Yunho? That’s the best you’ve got?”

“---you love her. Oh, Sungho is probably rolling in his grave right now,” he groaned, and you laughed at how he whispered his grievances in your dad's name.

He sat up, reclining back with one arm thrown over the couch. “Well, if you ever come to your senses, I know a great divorce lawyer,” he said dryly. “My door is always open for you, little love.”

You bit back the urge to laugh when Hongjoong rolled his eyes dramatically. “I’ll keep it in mind, Uncle,” you grinned. “But you should know by now that I have a type.”

Hongjoong only smirked from his seat, one arm slung lazily over the backrest behind you like this was his damn throne. “You’re just bitter I won,” he snorted at Yunho.

“Oh, I’ll be bitter until my dying breath,” Yunho snapped. “You married her and didn't even invite me to the wedding. I was supposed to walk her down the aisle.”

“Then die—”

“Fuck you,” he retorted. Yunho waved his hand, the humor in his eyes dimming slightly as his tone shifted, more measured now. “Alright, jokes aside. What happened to the motherfucker that is Jaehwan?”

Hongjoong’s arm around you tightened as his entire posture changed. “We got him. He’s in jail.”

The words dropped like a stone in the room. You looked down, purposefully grabbing the mug to take a sip, your mind flashing with the bright lights of one shot that gradually turned into two, three, four shots. Yunho’s brows furrowed. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly,” Hongjoong tried not to smirk, side-eyeing you with intent. “Nothing crazy, really. He doesn’t deserve anything theatrical for everything that he’s done. I had my men watch him for a couple of days, ambushed him when he least expected it, and that’s that. You recall that car accident from a couple of years ago, yes?”

You closed your eyes, the faux splatters of sticky red coating your face feeling realistic enough if you concentrated. Lifeless, hollow eyes stared back behind your eyes before you opened them again. Hongjoong’s fingers massaged yours with purpose back then, too. You kept your mouth from curling too far at the corners.

“How could I not? You took her that night,” Yunho scoffed, sitting forward again, steepling his fingers under his chin. “I was this close to finding Y/N at that time. I dislike talking about this, but it was hard. Years of failure meant I failed her father.”

Hongjoong hummed, ignoring Yunho’s pointed look. “My son was also there, you remember my middle son? He’s a neurosurgeon now,” he replied softly, his fingers playing with yours. “You could say I had a different drive back then. I had my reasons.”

Yunho’s brows shot up in mild surprise before they softened ever so slightly. “I didn’t know, I’m terribly sorry that your son got caught up in this fiasco,” he murmured, his soft eyes landing on you. “I suppose everything that happened was like a trigger set in motion, wouldn’t you say, Y/N?”

You shrugged as you gave Hongjoong a look. You let your lashes lower slightly and adjusted your posture, just like you did when after the kickback from the trigger that had made your shoulders ache. “Perhaps.”

“Anyway, it’s over,” Hongjoong said with a clipped edge. “There’s enough evidence now to tie him to the attempted murder, fraud, and embezzlement. Stalking as well. The bastard didn't even stop at the mole in my house, he always sent his sleazy men around the area in case she went out. He’s done, I'll make sure of it.”

“Good riddance,” Yunho said with an unsurprising amount of venom. His shoulders sank, years and years of burden lifting off of his shoulders. Relief settles in his expression, and though it made him look a decade younger, the faraway look of a thousand suns in his eyes told you otherwise. “I knew your father would be proud of you," he sighed. "That bastard took everything from our family. But you…you gave it back.”

The man who haunted your childhood, the one who used your grief as a tool to strip you of everything, was finally out of your life. You squeezed Yunho’s hand, hoping that it said everything you couldn’t say out loud. You stayed quiet for a moment, trying to absorb the weight of what Yunho was saying.

There was no reminiscing on your end, no smirk, no memories; just the hurt between two people who have lost their loved ones. He held your hand, holding it tight. “And your mom,” he added softly. She would’ve held you so tight. You look like Sohee, you know? Same fire, same goddamn backbone. Perfect for your father.”

“I hope they’re at peace now,” you said quietly.

“They are,” Yunho replied with a surety that only blood could lend. “Because you’re finally safe. And I can finally breathe again.”

You took in his words, the finality of them. The war was over now, justice had been served. And it sounded like a dull thud of a body hitting the floor, the heaviness of it almost satisfying in your ears. The conversation shifted into something lighthearted, with you and Yunho reminiscing about how he babysat you when you were younger, how your own father was when they were both teenagers, to all the mundane things like how your father would have reacted to your marriage with Hongjoong.

And Hongjoong was just there, laughing and smiling along like he’s always meant to be there with you. He would quip once or twice with his own accounts about your parents and you fell a little harder for the man, for the way he spoke about your parents with unparalleled fondness was something to behold. He truly adored them, and it just made you miss them even more.

“We should go,” you said gently, standing up, smoothing your dress daintily with a small smile. “I want to visit my parents today. It’s a good day and I haven’t been to ever since I was in college.”

Yunho, ever the gentleman that he was, walked both you and Hongjoong all the way to the door to see you out instead of sending his right-hand man like a man of his status should. The shift in his demeanor was immediate, but you tried your best to not pay attention to it as he hugged you goodbye.

“She’ll be back, Yunho,” Hongjoong rolled his eyes, noticing the small tension, subtly pulling you away back to his side with a curt chuckle. “Stop smothering her.”

Yunho didn’t answer with words. He just stared long, quiet, and with enough weight behind his gaze to make most men sweat as both you and Hongjoong speed walked all the way to the car to try and get away, but of course, there was no escaping. You were a Jeong, after all, and so was he. “Stop,” he spoke out, firm and absolute.

You halted from walking, giving Hongjoong a knowing look, who only squeezed your hand supportively. “Hmm?”

“I know what you did,” Yunho said, his voice just a touch lower than before. He swept his gaze on you from head to toe, stopping lightly at your shoulders. "Your sore shoulders tells me everything."

Your spine straightened, barely enough to notice, unless someone was trained to notice. You turned your head over your shoulder, lips curled into an innocent, almost amused smile. “Oh?”

He smirked, his body stilling like a predator catching scent. You faltered, suddenly reminded that Yunho wasn’t just your uncle - he was mafia, just like Hongjoong. Worse, perhaps, more patient and more precise. Hongjoong took pride in the brutality of it all while he was the kind of man who could make a death look like a ghost story.

For a moment, he looked overtly threatening, his intelligence sharper, and his confrontation carrying a much colder, calculated menace. He tilted his head mockingly, willingly playing your game. “Must’ve felt good,” he chuckled. “I bet you looked him in the eye.”

You had to laugh out loud at that one, not confirming nor denying what he was insinuating. “Maybe I just found peace,” you said innocently.

“I see. Say, what jail is he in? Might have to pay him a visit,” Yunho smiled, truly smiled, wide and cold, but still, it was impossible to miss the adoration and pride in it. “Let me guess - it’s two feet wide and six foot deep.”

Hongjoong, who’d been watching you both with amusement simmering just beneath the surface, finally spoke. “What vivid imagination you have,” he mused, smirking with dark intent, his eyes shining sadistically as he looked at you with faux curiosity. “Don’t you think, darling?”

Yunho nodded slowly, pursing his lips in a poor attempt to stop himself from smiling. “Not vivid enough,” he shrugged playfully. “Humour me this, if someone were to, say, shoot someone…would it be better to aim for a quick kill or prolong the agony? Hypothetically.”

You tapped your chin thoroughly, pretending to think. “ I’d prolong the agony. Shoot them four times on pressure points. Hypothetically, of course.”

“Next one,” Yunho said, clearly enjoying himself. “You’re standing over the body, hypothetically, and he’s looking at you, what would you say?”

“Hypothetically? You pondered, tilting your head as if you were really thinking about what to say. “I would have said ‘you should have killed me when you had the chance.’”

Hongjoong exhaled, something like reverence in his breath. “God, I love you.”

“Just one more,” Yunho said softly, his voice losing its teasing edge, now carrying the quiet weight of someone who’d once held you as a child, who had once promised your father to protect you. “Was it clean?”

You met his gaze evenly, nodding very subtly with a serene smile, one that he returned with all the love and unwavering support only someone who truly cared for you would do.

You wanted to tell him that it was so clean that after your hands didn’t even shake as you pulled the trigger and that the air smelled sweeter. Instead you said, “Like it never even happened.”

Yunho stared at you for a long moment, his eyes melting into something rawer, wearier. “If anyone asks,” he said lowly, the gravity in his tone undeniable now. “You were with me that night. Both of you were the entire time.”

His gaze cut to Hongjoong, who for once, looked struck silent. The air between them simmered with unspoken understanding. He nodded deeply with reverence. It wasn’t flashy, but it was sincere and genuine enough that Yunho didn’t mock him for it. “Thank you.”

Yunho just waved a hand, though his voice cracked slightly when he said, “Don’t thank me, you bastard. Just keep her safe or I swear, I’ll drag your sorry ass down and make you wish you’d stayed single.”

Hongjoong chuckled low in his throat. His hand settled gently on the small of your back as he led you forward. “Don’t worry, she married a man who never stopped watching her back.”

“God help us all,” Yunho rolled his eyes in mock disgrace, staring at the two of you as you both got in the car before he called for the last time. “Tell your parents I said hi.”

You looked back to see him watching you as Hongjoong started to drive away, arms crossed, but eyes glassy. And though he didn’t say it, you understood. You were safe, you were home, and he’d go to hell and back before anyone took that from you again.

The car ride was quiet at first, not from discomfort, but from something softer. Reverent. Hongjoong kept one hand on the wheel while the other was placed on your lap. It reminded you of that one stormy night when he sought out to find you in that lone playground. He turned to look at you, knowing that he was thinking the same as you were.

“I love you,” he said, pulling your hand up to kiss your knuckles. His eyes searched your face like he was memorizing it all over again, as though he still couldn’t believe you were here. “I should’ve said it a long time ago, I feel for you so much that it almost hurts.”

You blinked back the sudden tears, the sincerity in his voice cracking something wide open inside you. You laughed wetly. “That’s very sweet of you, I believe you, but why now?”

“I wanted to wait until everything was said and done,” he continued, pressing another kiss to your fingers. “I want to give you everything. A house to grow old with, a bed where you always feel safe, dinners where I burn the rice and you make fun of me for it. I want lazy Sundays and soft arguments and kisses, just like we’ve always done it.”

You looked at him, heart aching with how badly you wanted to believe in all of it and how, against all odds, you did. “You’re serious?” You asked softly, squeezing his hand back.

He placed a hand over his heart in a rare show of insecurity. “I would place a piece of my soul in every time and place you’d ever felt lonely, just so you wouldn’t be alone. I love you enough for the both of us, and there must be something about me worth loving if you would just see–”

You leaned in and kissed him the moment he parked, slow and sweet and full of the kind of hope neither of you had dared to hold onto before. When you pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. “I want that too,” you whispered. “I want everything with you, Hongjoong.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for years. “Then we start today,” he smiled as bright as the brightest star. “We say hello to your parents. We tell them you’re safe, then we build a life that’s entirely ours, okay?”

You nodded, your smile trembling. You finally look up at the sky after all these years, tearing up as the clouds seem to part way for the sun to finally shine, the rays beaming down at your parents’ tombstones. Finally, justice has been served, they can rest in peace now. You couldn’t help but stare if only for a little while.

Hongjoong approached the stones first, his head bowing low between them. He placed one hand gently on your mother’s grave, the other on your father’s. He didn’t speak loudly, but you saw his lips move, whispering something too quiet for even you to hear. It could’ve been anything - a greeting, a promise, or perhaps maybe even a thank you.

You didn’t ask what he said. You didn’t need to. For the first time, the cemetery didn’t feel like an end. It felt like a door closing softly behind you because the weight of grief was gone now. They could rest and so could you. You stood by Hongjoong’s side smiling at him as he gave you a small kiss on the forehead, coaxing you to talk to your own parents just like he did.

You brought your hands to your lips, kissed your palms, and pressed them reverently to each stone. “Rest easy now, Mom, Dad,” you whispered full of love and release, voice catching as you tried not to tear up. “I’m safe now, and I’m very happy. Happier than I’d ever been.”

You turned to look at the man standing just a few steps behind you - your husband, your protector, your love - watching you with a smile so soft, it nearly broke you open again. “I’m married now. It’s Hongjoong, remember him? Please bless our marriage, I really love him,” you paused, taking a deep breath. “I-I wish you were both here, I miss you…”

Then, slowly, you stepped back and began to walk away, hand in hand with Hongjoong. But before, you glanced back one last time, your heart feeling lighter at the sight of the wind blowing from the tombstones to your face lightly. You couldn’t help the serene smile on your face.

Hongjoong will take over now, he’ll take care of me like you would’ve wanted.

You were thirty-four years old when you finally found your peace that didn’t feel like a surrender this time and instead felt like home, hand in hand with the love of your life.

𝙽𝚎𝚝s - @keopihaus @dove-net @othersideoutlawsnetwork @illusionnet @pirateeznet @ksmutsociety @cromernet

Dividers by: @enchanthings and @anitalenia

#THIS DESERVES A MILLION NOTES AND THUNDEROUS APPLAUSE OH MY GODDDDD #i actually cried twice reading this #once when hongjoong pulled the plate away #the second time when the tape was being played and all of hongjoong's cards were on the table #how to reread this for the first time with fresh eyes. this was too good 🥺#ALSO YEOSANG MINGI AND WOO AS HIS SONS !!!!!! OUGH TOO CUTE TOO CUTE #ateez #kim hongjoong

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